Change

I feel I'm changing

but

I don't recognize myself anymore.

and that is
seriously
disturbing.

Indeed, it is disturbing
because
I am roused
from the familiar
to the unfamiliar.

Is it good or bad?

I alone will know.

It Isn't the End of the World

Coming from a Bikram yoga class last night, pre-dinner, I weighed myself, and heeeey, as of July, I have lost 12 pounds! =) OK, so it varies between 7-12, depending on how much I ate--or didn't eat, haha. But still! Wow! Yippee! I stopped weights and just focused on cardio...and yoga [I only do cardio when I can't do my yoga practice], and lookit! Kewl ;) Weight aside, Bikram yoga has helped me establish better breathing, better stress management [what stress? why stress?], better posture, and most importantly, better respect for my body. Bikram, or "hot" yoga entered my life in April this year. I stopped for a month last June, and it was a very low, hopeless time in my life, but ever since last July, I have returned, going strong, trying my best to go twice a week, once a week if I'm totally booked. There were two weeks in a row where I went four times each week, for which I'm proud of having done. And those two weeks being just last week and the one before that, I think it helped me get stronger and more flexible: I've been commended for my backward bend and recently, my rabbit pose, the latter which I'm very surprised about, 'coz I never got that right before. But well, expect the unexpected, I guess. I just hope things can only get better. I dream of training to teach this someday, impart the awesome transformative personal power it unlocks, but I can't say when yet. One day at a time.

Recently, since I like sharing what I reflect on with friends, especially the ones I don't get to talk to, I shared one particular entry with an aunt. It had a meme, or a questionnaire type of quiz. She replied by rounding on me, soundly berating me [her letter mostly written in caps] for being such a trusting fool, threatening me with identity theft, in effect somebody swindling me and my family and me ending up in the poor house: how lucky and privileged I am, how immature and so naïve and trusting. OK fine, she has a point, and I did reveal my birthdate, the meme I have now removed [to which she said not to 'coz it'll attract attention, but to me, it's preventing possible future damage, right?]. Yes I opened myself, and yes, there is a possibility of that, but I don't like thinking that way: thinking I can't trust anyone, that everyone has an ulterior motive, and will kick you down if need be. She says to go along these lines, but OK, it must sound foolish, but I like thinking that there is still some hope in mankind. I believe in personal space VERY MUCH, but I don't believe in imposed, constructed walls. I believe in respect, and mutual harmony. It must sound too idealistic, and I must sound really sheltered, or as a friend incredulously said once, "Where are you from, Carebear-Land?!" I admit, there are people with evil, selfish intentions; perhaps cruel at times, but selfish above all. But there must be a point where we can all set aside differences and work together! So I'm not giving up: there must be a spark of goodness in everyone, somehow.

On a somewhat related note, along the line of prejudices and anti-freedom, pro-conformity, I've been toying with getting inked for a really long time now, and I know others who've held back, as well. I don't understand why they say they will but haven't done so: it sounds so hypocritical! Fine, the teapot calling the kettle black and all that jazz, as I'm in the same boat, myself, but for me, it's 'coz I don't know any decent artist, plus I want a unique but timeless design that mirrors my pro-conservation, vegan, harmonist ideals. Perhaps it's also got to do with the taboo in the workforce against inked folk. But why is this still the case? My Mom explained that in their time, it would usually be criminals who'd have tattoos, hence the reluctance for people to be inked then, but times have changed: celebrities across the board have been getting themselves inked. Thus the association of tattoos with criminal activity should be junked! Besides, in the end, isn't ink really a form of personal artistic expression? And shouldn't freedom be exercised and encouraged, especially if our global civilization [thus, not only technology, but theories and beliefs, as well] has truly grown in leaps and bounds? Argh, I don't know.

As for my current complicated dilemma/source of upset: I am still an undergrad because I have pending community service which I wasn't able to do because the NGO [non-government organization] I was assigned to hasn't been able to give me something to do. ADSA, the student affairs/discipline administrative arm of our uni, finally sat up and listened and changed the NGO. I start next week, thank God. But because of this, I have to quit as grad assistant and my classes aren't credited. So far, two of my three teachers have allowed me to continue classes as a "sitter-in." However, I have yet to ask the third. Hopefully, when all this is settled, I can have my classes credited: if not, 9 units gone! I also believe my boss has to give me an honorarium for the months I've worked. I loved my job, and I miss it horribly. For now, though, I don't want to dwell on it and just get all down. I am hoping for the best: in Miranda Priestly's tone, "that's all," and as O-sensei always tells me, to take one day at a time.

However, it's the uncertainty that spirals me into despair when I think about it. So I won't obssess, and instead just deal with it as it comes. To this end, thank God for [Bikram] yoga, which gives me the peace and singular concentration I sometimes forget to do for myself.

Pray for me, though. Please.

Grounding, soul-saving literature:

First Lesson by Philip Booth

Lie back, daughter, let your head
be tipped back in the cup of my hand.
Gently, and I will hold you. Spread
your arms wide, lie out on the stream
and look high at the gulls. A dead-
man's float is face down. You will dive
and swim soon enough where this tidewater
ebbs to the sea. Daughter, believe
me, when you tire on the long thrash
to your island, lie up, and survive.
As you float now, where I held you
and let go, remember when fear
cramps your heart what I told you:
lie gently and wide to the light-year
stars, lie back, and the sea will hold you.

and the piece by Oriah Mountain Dreamer that was shared in Bikram Yoga last Friday.

Peace.

More stuff

So. The Crocodile Hunter's dead. I'm personally not a huge fan of his, especially because he has a zoo, and I don't support zoos, animal circuses, rodeos and bullfights, as much as I am against pet mills and factory farms. I'm sorry, but NO. However, he gave awareness to people, and he cared for animals in his own way. So rest in peace, Steve.
**************************
Mom and Dad are back...and I'm glad. And I got lotsa new stuff. Clothes!!!! A bag!!!! Teeeeeaaaaa!!!! None of it's leather or silk or fur. No honey, though one product has yogurt--and it's a gift. Eek. Oh well. It still was sweet of her, though. Luuuuffff. And I do realize I'm lucky. Then I got Mom this new Frog bearista magnet from Starbucks. She likes it; I'm glad. We texted while they were away--Mom and me: WHOA! My technophobe Mom. I'm so proud. But nothing beats seeing them, hearing them, kissing them. I'm glad they're home.
***************************
So much to do, so little time is a mantra most people already have on autopilot. I am not an exception. Indeed, I wish there were more hours in a day to accommodate all the things I set out to do. Then again, with more hours would also be more time to procrastinate, or get sidetracked, or nap, and whatnot. Ah, to heck with it. There will never be “enough” time; however, one can choose to do something about it or not. Now I should get off my lazy butt and do the former. No more excuses; no more “breaks.”

Was finally able to meet up with R. last Saturday evening, and it was plain surreal seeing her again, and this time not professionally but socially. Walls weren’t erected as high, and we could talk about all kinds of topics, for which I am glad :) One thing she mentioned in particular was that I’m growing up so quickly—down a straight and narrow path. And she sighed. Then I sighed. Maybe. Haha: I don’t really like thinking about it. Well, thing is, being one of the “elders” of the “next generation,” on both sides of the family, I feel I am obligated to take on responsibility. I know it’s a choice I can choose to do or not to do, but I care too much not to, anymore, because I’ve seen that, too often, no one else will step in. Maybe, too, my parents ingrained in me very deeply that sense of responsibility, even the Golden Rule. Oh well. But now, I worry about the time slipping by me. As much as some would say I still have my whole life before me, I agree with my friend Nicole in saying that, increasingly, one must already have a life plan to ascribe to. And indeed, I have my own dreams to consider. However, they seem to be from a different planet as that of where my family resides in! I have also been asked by relatives when I will “settle down” to assume responsibility over my parents’ company. Ackackack. This despite my telling them I have no interest in taking over. But now, with all the pressure, I wonder if I should—sacrifice my dreams and “continue their legacy.” At this point, I think my dreams can wait, but then I fear failure. I am not the economist my Dad is, nor the visual artist and color genius my Mom is. I don’t think I’m even cut out for the job! On the other side of the sphere, there are my dreams. What if they aren’t lucrative? I sure as hell don’t want to return like a prodigal daughter. No frickin’ way. So yes, I’m scared to take the leap on either side. Heck, I’m not even sure about my graduate studies-status now. And what about “settling down?” Sometimes, that seems to be the escapist way out, just so I won’t have individual finances to think about. But who says that if I get hitched, I won’t have money problems? I would like the whole shebang one day, though, but I don’t even know if I’ll get it. Ohmygod; of course: the more I hem and haw, the less I get things done, and the less I want to go on.

So yes, I’m growing up so fast. But I don’t want to think about it so much, at least for now. I’ll cross that when I get there.

Contemplations

I haven’t written in a long time, and I miss writing. I truly do. But lately, things have been hoary, and jumbled, and I’m still trying to get back on my feet, re-assume responsibilities outside familial boundaries, trying to get my breath back. My heartbeat’s been steadying, from a thumpety-thumpety-thump to a thump-thump; my breath too. Now to assume responsibility once again, get my life back on track.

And as much as it is difficult to do, what with my [usually-but-very-changing/moody] affectionate and effusive nature, I’ve also realized not to divulge or take others too close, to stay them at arm’s reach, because getting too close leaves me open and vulnerable, too trusting, wide open for set-up, for abandonment. And it almost always happens: wherein I’m taken advantage of, mentally abused/subjugated/bullied, or abandoned. Just when I thought things would be peachy. No, no, no. And sometimes the good people who want to make a difference I drive away. Tsk, tsk; sigh. Sometimes...OK, maybe a lot of times, I tend to be a fool: foolish, foolhardy, fooled. At the same time, to those I drive away, I am the masked, the shrouded, the bluffer, shrouding myself in shame, in terror—of the gamble of uncertainty, of the terror of uncharted territory: for what if I am not, never enough?

And what if my life will be like this forever? What if the person I fall for doesn’t fall for me back? And if that happens, then in terrified self-preservative bitterness, I might choose to live alone, but still with the cobweb longing for someone to love, and to love me in return, but petrified of the if, preferring cold certainty to vulnerability, to hypothesis, to blind faith?

What if I make nothing out of my life, living in limbo, forever, scrimping like a miser, locked up in my house, banishing all enterprise, all possibility from my life, shrouded in darkness and dank and stagnant silence?

Do I even dare hope?

But hey, why should I even sweat over this, agonize over this? I mean, que cera, cera. Whatever is in store, what greets me around the corner, can just surprise me, and hopefully delight me.

Maybe, may be.

This ties up with a recent conversation I had with a friend on men. Ah: a favorite topic among females, regardless of age and marital status. Another friend [whom I had a falling out with, but that’s another story] said that based on the census, men are fewer than women. Add in the gay population and what’s a girl to do? What about standards, “quality control,” as my Mom and I call it? Then factor in the oft-unrealistic expectations men have of women: the whistle-bait figure but with dazzling wit and [pardon the word] “meaty” conversation topics: honey, more often than not, girls with such figures have almost just as much [or the lack of it] on their minds. Also, men won’t admit it, but from my paltry experience, they expect a simpering, damsel-in-distress, your-opinion-is-my-opinion kind of girl. Increasingly, with the rise in educated women, this has become less and less the case; invariably, there are less and less “vestal virgins” and “nurturers,” as well. The alpha, chauvinistic male, this side hidden in some, boasted of by others, but nevertheless is in each and every male, straight or not [I’m pretty sure], looks for that aspect of a woman. My friend and I agreed that this is an unfair imposition, what with “empowered” women on the rise nowadays. But perhaps as much as that alpha male mindset is in every male, maybe there is the vestal virgin/nurturer dichotomy in each and every female, as well. I admit to it: despite my fierce need for independence, I admit I want to have children and a spouse one day, with the yard to tend, the house to clean and wax and scrub, the dog to play, feed, and take long walks with. I want it all. But it has to be with one who understands and celebrates my contradictions, my full figure, my moods, my cerebral-but-usually-offbeat musings, and so on. So yes, we women have high standards to: we have much to offer, after all.

In light of this is something my aunt Oa challenged me to do, years ago, in the midst of my (then) teenage angst:

10 Things I Hate and Love About Myself*:

*I couldn't think up 5 I like about myself before, but now...my, things do change! :D

Hate:
-my full figure (esp. the hips!)
-my procrastinating nature/complacency
-my dependence on others (driver..)
-my tendency to hyperventilate
-my allergic reactions (sinusitis, asthma)
-my sense of responsibility
-my habitualness and apprehension when this is disrupted
-my (overly) sense of propriety
-my over-sensitivity to what others may think
-my aimlessness

Love:
-my luminous(?) eyes
-my calm nature
-my vegetarianism/compassion/sense of eco-harmony
-my passion
-my voice
-my ready smile
-my charm (if I want to use it)
-my (usual) ready wit
-my refinement
-my flexibility
*to which my friend Sidd added:
-my affection, my ability to light up her day (“you're a happy blob of sunshine, yes you are!”--Sidd)
-my grounded-ness, my fashion sense -->I like these two, hehe

Thanks, Oa. Thanks, Sidd.
******************************************************
Then there is the issue of the Guimaras oil spill. Recently, information from the Coast Guard has been such that the oil spill may spread to and invariably affect the coasts of Negros and Palawan, while already affecting the coast of Iloilo. As of now, it is still a case of whodunit, no one admitting to the catastrophe. Mr. John Silva is one of those who have called for the boycotting of Petron, as, if I’m not mistaken, it was Petron that was the oil company who contracted the service of the ship and thus the oil [spill]. This is a national calamity, and President Arroyo has been calling for international aid. From what I have read, Japan has responded to the call, with a meeting to be held today, I believe. Greenpeace, which to me is the primary environmental organization seeking to arrest this situation, has been concentrating massive efforts in helping arrest this situation, helping the local fisherfolk in relief efforts and so on. Pam Pastor of the Philippine Daily Inquirer’s 2BU section has been sounding the call for civic aid, citing urban locations as Reyes Salon branches sending human hair, which can supposedly be used in the clean-up efforts. Then there is the relief effort headed by Antonio Oposa Jr. to aid in the cleanup of the Visayas coastline. He is a staunch advocate for preservation of local marine life, and the oil spill is a major threat to these life forms: Guimaras was said to be a haven for dugong and pawikan, both extremely endangered species. Guimaras was also one of the islands with a pristine coastline and abundant natural resources, one of these being preservative/calburro-free mangoes. But what now? With our meager local sources, what with the majority tied up in pork barrel funds, Filipinos may lose yet another of its precious heritage sites. Ms. Pastor said in her article to take action, get moving, before it’s too late. Indeed, but hope dims daily. Still, the light must shine on, however dim.

Dark mists enshroud
surround
wrap and
choke, choking
ever so slowly
draining the sunlight
his glowing
warmth
[he generously shared]
transforming into
fog.

But just
may be

his rays will break through
break away from

the dark encompassing
choke, choking
darkness mist fog

to shine
[take back]
warm and bright

once again.


For petitions to sign, here's one on behalf of the people of Guimaras and
another one from Greenpeace for a more far-reaching petition: renewable energy. Or how about writing poems for Guimaras? Press Release below:

San Agustin calls for poems to help save Guimaras

THE Fray Luis de Leon Creative Writing Institute at the Coordinating Center for Research and Publications of the University of San Agustin is calling all writers to submit poems to help save the islands of Guimaras province from the oil spill. Poems celebrating and lamenting the beauty of the beaches and the seas around Guimaras, and other sea wonders in the Philippines will be accepted to form an anthology with the working title, Poems for Guimaras, to be published by the University of San Agustin Publishing House. The poems may be written in English, Filipino, or any of the Philippine languages. Poems in the vernacular must be accompanied with English or Filipino translation. The anthology will be edited by award-winning poet John Iremil E. Teodoro. He will be assisted by a board of referees made up of nationally-acclaimed poets.

Submissions may be e-mailed to libroagustino@ usa.edu.ph or iremil@usa.edu. ph.
Manuscripts may also be sent to the anthology editor at UCRP, University of San Agustin, General Luna St., 5000 Iloilo City, Philippines. The deadline for submission is on January 15, 2007. The book will be launched in Naoway Island, Guimaras in April 2007. The royalties will go to the rehabilitation of the Guimaras province from the disastrous effects of the tragic oil spill.

The Fray Luis de Leon Creative Writing Institute is the only center of creative writing in the Visayas. It organizes the San Agustin Writers Workshop every summer, gives the annual Fray Luis de Leon Creative Writing Grants to Western Visayan writers, sponsors the yearly Fray Luis de Leon Creative Writing Lecture, and publishes the multi-lingual SanAg Literary Journal every November.


For inquiries please write/call:
Mr. John Iremil E. Teodoro
(033) 337-7716
Fray Luis de Leon Creative Writing Institute
University of San Agustin
5000 Iloilo City, Philippines
E-mail: iremil@usa.edu. ph / iremil@yahoo. com

A Week-ender

What a way to end a week. =)

Last Friday was Ahma (my paternal Chinese grandmother)'s 71st birthday and the day after her release from the hospital. So cheers for that. During that dinner, Achi Carol also taught me the basics of Sudoku, and yes, it IS fun! *gasp--from non-Math major me!* It was also a hectic day for my stint as grad assistant: besides loads of paperwork, I was made to proctor a class! It was supposedly for a Basic English (non-credit) class, for a test they were to take, but then another teacher called for a sub(stitute), and this time it was for TWO classes, and "Regular" (credit status) English at that. The secretary and I worried and fussed, but finally were able to ask another teacher teaching Basic English, and teaching at a nearby room, to proctor the Basic English class in question, along with hers. Meanwhile, I was to take the Regular English classes. And I did. When I gave them the question, they were absolutely flummoxed, and dismayed. Needless to say, it was vague and sweeping, and VERY LACKING--as lacking as his attendance in class *frowns*. Poor kids. The bisexual in me found one particular girl in the first class attractive: she wasn't va-va-voom, but bookish, in a cute, worried way. [Stop it, Therese] I tried to help them, and be nice and got chalkdust all over my pants from writing and erasing, ick. And while I was proctoring, I was doing paperwork--so exhausting to multi-task x3 But despite this, I saw the kids' personalities shine through most especially. Heh, it must be the extreme stress of [insert teacher's name here]'s test. Oh well. Then they called me MA'AM. O_o What.the.heck. It was freaky, but it felt...exhilarating? At the same time, I began to feel more the heavy responsibility a teacher has over her students. I believe most kids would think being a teacher would mean bossing a class around, but that's only part of the equation: for there needs to be someone to lead for others to follow a certain way. Just the same can be said with students and teacher. However, both are essential, and must work in tandem, for either to flourish. Being a student is much easier than being a teacher--having to [usually] have all the answers, the grand plan, to the destination. But as much as it looks hard, and very unrewarding, what with the pittance of a salary, and demanding parents who think their kids are always on the right, or gossip-spreading students, and so on, I still would want to teach at some point in my life.

Then yesterday was GREAT: Had yoga in the morning--Christina taught, though I was disappointed my friend Tina wasn't there. However, I chatted up with someone new, called Vicky. She looks like she's in ad(vertising), but as much as she looks like the type A go-getter ad exec, she seems nice. Yoga boy wasn't there, too, but that didn't deter me from having a great practice! :D They're having a sale, too, so I'm thinking of buying a bigger class-card...which means not spending on anything else UNLESS absolutely needed :3 We'll see. Then there's the POWERPLANT VINTAGE BAZAAR, ongoing 'til today, that I went to. And I got kitschy stuff: gold Buddha bead-necklace (what my Dad calls my Shaolin necklace) metallic beady layering necklace, huge white-and-gold wooden cuff-bracelet, and a new transform-this-into-a-million-things hair/neck thing for BOTH heat and cold called Schizo Gear. Heh, the kikay in me clamored to be heard! Good thing Sayee told Ahma to give me PhP1k for "taking care of Ahma--managing everything," else my wallet would be crying now! xP Of course, monetary gain wasn't on the agenda, something my abuela knows and credits me for, and to which my Mom says, "You're a good kid." But hey, I'm not complaining. =D Incidentally, my aunt was a concessionaire in the bazaar, and I used her bag that day, so I was her "model," if even for a few hours, haha. And I think that she gave me that bag more than paid off with my "modeling:" She told my Mom so many people went to her booth to look for a similar bag xP Went with Mom and Dad to the factory to hear mass with them for a "lazier" Sunday, then after dinner, Mom and I watched The Witches of Eastwick. Of course, before dinner, Dad, being hungry and overstressed, was carping about EVERYTHING. Mom was getting pissed, and telling me so, but I'm pretty used to it. I just don't like it when he affects other people, blaming them, and so on--something he often does to me, causing me to break down into tears from all the negativity. But I was lucky: he didn't this time.

Today, so we thought, I mean, with mass out of the way, and nothing pressing to go to, it'd be more relaxing for Dad. Wrong: Angkong (my paternal grandfather) called early to inform Dad that Ahma's wound was bleeding! After a hasty breakfast, he rushed her to the ER. It turns out it was fat and blood oozing out (eew). Still: she goes up and down the stairs, despite having been newly-operated on, which she shouldn't do! So she caused all this on herself! *frowns, tosses head* Tsk, tsk. I wish she'd stay put, at least until she heals, not stretching herself! Now I bet she doesn't follow her soft diet. Aaaaargh. Whywhywhy!!!!!! BUT it was a shallow wound, so that was a relief. Afterwards, Mom, Dad, Mama Cez (my maternal, mestiza abuela) went to the El Cirkulo building along PasayArnaiz Road, to find it closed. However, there was this other restaurant called Tsukiji. And ohmyGOD, it serves VERY good Japanese food. I had all kinds of vegetable goodness, PLUS a green tea/redbean dessert afterwards enough that had me ready to die afterwards, swear to God. It was that good. PLUS we didn't smell (like one usually would after eating Japonais). I so want to go back. Mmm-mm-MMM.

Now, I'm readying to go stay with my grandfolks for some time, and this includes one of our helpers to keep me company. Then she half-protested, muttering "diet." Honest to GOD, I hate that word. I associate it with conscious-starvation, acquiesced-deprivation, with unreal body-images, hasty, short-term, unrealistic goals, and so on. Needless to say, I don't believe in it, and am totally against such a mindset. Why deprive yourself of what you want when you don't have to? That's just her excuse to not go, and stay with the other helpers here, just as that though she knows how to cook, when our cook is on leave for the day, she just cooks instant noodles for lunch(!empty calories, chemicals=bad!) because she doesn't want to be bothered to cook. What.the.hell. What about nutrition, sustenance, TASTE!?!?!?!?! But nope. She hides behind the flimsy excuse/term of "diet." So now, while I'm in school, I devised for her to go home so she doesn't have to "diet." Wow, talk about spoiled: the boss is making concessions for the helper?! Along the same vein, it's my abuela's birthday on the 28th, so our cook said, "So I don't need to cook for you anymore?" I said, yeah, but what about Sunday? And she replied, "Don't they have food over at your grandfolks'?" to which I replied that they just eat junk food. [Our helpers also see junk food as "diet" food, when it's actually the reverse, to nutrition-conscious folk like I know.] Then she said, "Well maybe you can just diet like them." And I affrontedly, crossly said NO! Again they just use it as an excuse, this time to appeal to my aesthetic self: for me to perhaps look better if I were slimmer, because I'll (a) eat less food, so (b) she'll cook less. But no, no, NO. I won't. Sure I'm not thin, but I don't think I'm totally fat. And it can bother me sometimes, but I won't "diet" for it. And it's not like they can't cook/prepare my food, which incidentally is easy-peasy to prepare [vegetables?!]; they're just lazy to. They're not doing much anything else. So why the hell NOT?! Dammit. My apologies for showing the bratty side of me that demands quality. But yes, I demand it. And quality=no diet, no shortcuts, no deprivation. Diet=shortchanging yourself on LIFE. HELLO: Diet=a short-term stop-gap. I believe in long-term, I believe in conscious choices [hence my vegetarianism: for my health, the animals and the environment]: choices I can CELEBRATE. And a diet just isn't it. Besides, I believe in living my life the way I want it, so there.

Now, I'm typing this from my Firefox browser, which I junked Apple's Safari for, and what the heck, it's slow: not only slow, but on-again-off-again connection! WTF. I think there's something wrong with PLDT DSL. And it's driving me batty.I moved closer to my DSL source, and it's working fine, actually WAY better than Safari. So I'm glad I'm a (Mozilla) Firefox user now! No regrets...yet xD

Defining Perfection

The best thoughts can come while one is in the shower, as I myself was awhile ago. While sudsing away, I thought back of what my Dad had said, that my thighs are even bigger(!) than my Mom's, adding that she bequeathed me that particular gene of hers. I admit I have HUGE legs. And that it's not the ideal. But then again, not everyone has a "perfect/symmetrical" body (as in 36-24-36, as the saying goes for women). However, those we see in ads and magazines are usually these "perfect"-looking people. So sometimes I wish that they'd show us people with real bodies--with a little roll of flab here, some lines of cellulite there--all without airbrushing them out. However, as much as I am not alone in calling for more "real" bodies featured, neither is it a prime global call. For deep within all of us lies that aspiration for a personal peak, a personal ideal: to achieve a personal best. Our real bodies will thus not show perfection, and these "perfect" people will continue to grace billboards and flyers, magazines and the like. Then again, who dictated them to be the ideal? Wasn't there a period of time when fat was the ideal? In the end, it is still society who dictates how we think, act, and so on. And by seeing this, we're back to square one: it is a part of our consciousness, and thus already a seeming uphill battle with no end in sight. Perhaps, however, there is hope--in progeny, for a better, more accepting social view and consciousness. But we need not wait, maybe, but try to start now.

Brain Blanking, Roger and Out

So I attended my nth Bikram (aka hot) Yoga class today last night. I've been trying to be religious about it--twice a week since it's a bit far from home. And I feel fantastic. It's so past yoga boy now; it's well and truly marvy (marvelous): it's such an intensely cleansing, detoxifying experience--of the mind and the body. I just feel so at peace afterwards. This is a far cry from weightlifting, which I had used to do. I now find weightlifting too harsh and cold--partly because of the atmosphere, and too agressive and flashy. Yoga's all about personal commitment, and individual concentration--hell, I just want to do my pose correctly: I don't care about the person next to me, nor does he/she! So because of my absence from weightlifting, my gymtrainer's been moping, thinking it's him (though OK initially, I was pissed 'coz he'd dish out opinions like they were to be taken as Bible truth, like it's the ONLY opinion, the ONLY solution. Hmph.) But now, it's obviously NOT, plus hello, I've been caring for my grandma in the hospital, whom today I had released from the hopsital (complete with the paying and the clearing); grad assistant work which due to the looming PAASCU accreditation, has been frantic; LOTS of MA work; and now, rebounding asthma and a new bug: sinusitis. So yoga has been my oasis, also complementing my vegetarian, animal-hugging lifestyle, and encouraging the free spirit in me (helped by my now sleeping in my room, allowing me to lounge in a shirt, and nothing else, etc.). Mindless cardio helps with stress too. However, weights just brings out all the needless aggression and helplessness and frustration in me. So no thanks. Now if only he'd understand.

For the subject of this entry, I put a meme here from Kae. I tag whomever wants to take it--that includes Patty, 'coz she previously complained that no one tags her ;p
1. Name: Therese-Cecile Manalo Sua
2. Age/Birthday: 19 May
3. Single or Taken: Happily Alone
4. Favorite Movie: This is a hard one. I can't pick one off the top of my head, but maybe Kill Bill? I loved it!!!!!!
5. Favorite Song: Another hard one! Now it's Paula Cole's Tomorrow I Will Be Yours
6. Favorite Music Artist/s: The Cardigans, Dido, Coldplay, Ennio Moriccone, Annie Lennox, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Paula Cole, Vienna Teng (something and I share)
7. Favorite Book/Comic Book: Yet another hard one: there are too many! Maybe Clare Coss' The Arc of Love, though that's a poem anthology, and I only borrowed it. For graphic novels, however, it's got to be Gaiman's and Amano's Dreamhunters, which Jem had signed, something I'll never forget
8. Tattoos and/or Piercings: none, but I want Japanese-inspired art on my nape or right hip..or even that place just above the butt?
9. Favorite TV Show: Voyeur for what? On where? No teevee, but I love LJ
10. Favorite Video Game/Board Game: I am still a loyal fan of Neverwinter Nights, though I don't get to play anymore; on Gameboy, I used to play Pokémon, heehee
11. Do we know each other outside of Livejournal? How'd you know me? I knew you first through Janine and Myka, then we became Ph101&102 classmates, plus I'd sit in Lit127.1 with you and listen to Danton navel-gaze :3
12. Random Statement. Fee fie foe fum, I smell the sap of an English mum! (?!?!?!)...told you it's random.
13. Tell me one odd/interesting fact about you: I tend to literally stick my nose into almost everything--sniffing stuff, (especially hair--but that's another story) even when I shouldn't. Smell is a huge thing for me.
14. If you could change anything about your current life, would you? Hmm. Yeah--learn how to drive, and be allowed to, so I won't have to rely on a driver.
15. Will you post this so I can fill it out for you? I'll post it, but you'll fill it out???? I don't understand...*scratches scalp*

Ode to (Nutritional) Yeast

Apart from eschewing animal flesh (including fish!), I avoid eggs, dairy, leather, silk, fur, HFCS (high fructose corn syrup)...but not so particular with honey and wool, and sometimes fish sauce, pearls and gelatin (living with omni gourmand parents), though I'm borderline with the latter three, so I'm not vegan...yet.

Apart from dairy cheese promoting cattle murder, et al., I am lactose-intolerant, so I get stomach pains and migraines and diarrhea and gas, to name a few effects.

Being from the Philippines, I thought I'd have to make do with no cheese, and so far, it's been OK.

Then Healthy Options, our local mega-healthfood store brought in Nutritional Yeast, and I was one of those who placed in an order. I was given a lax recipe of soymilk+mustard+margarine+nutritional yeast by a fellow community member over at Livejournal. Holy cow (pardon the phrase), it was orgasmic. I next tried it with fried tofu and Heinz Tabasco Ketchup, and it tasted like eggs without the murder. Mom looked at my "cheese sauce" with interest, and when she found out what it was, and that it was nutritious (um, "nutritional yeast" must be called that for something?)--especially high in B12, she was all for it. I mean, the recipes one can use with it are endless! A next one to try would be steamed broccoli and nutritional yeast. As she said, "So we're not limited to tofu anymore!" Um, I never was, Mom, but coming from an omni...fine. xP

Thus my first foray (and hopefully not my last) into Nutritional Yeast Heaven.

Yey!

REALLY now.

SEPARATE OPINION
'Don we now our gay apparel'

By Isagani Cruz (*former Justice in the Supreme Court, NOT the playwright)
Inquirer
Last updated 02:14am (Mla time) 08/12/2006

Published on Page A10 of the August 12, 2006 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer

HOMOSEXUALS before were mocked and derided, but now they are regarded with new-found respect and, in many cases, even treated as celebrities. Only recently, the more impressionable among our people wildly welcomed a group of entertainers whose main proud advertisement was that they were “queer." It seems that the present society has developed a new sense of values that have rejected our religious people's traditional ideas of propriety and morality on the pretext of being "modern"” and "broad-minded.”

The observations I will here make against homosexuals in general do not include the members of their group who have conducted themselves decorously, with proper regard not only for their own persons but also for the gay population in general. A number of our local couturiers, to take but one example, are less than manly but they have behaved in a reserved
and discreet manner unlike the vulgar members of the gay community who have degraded and scandalized it. I offer abject apologies to those blameless people I may unintentionally include in my not inclusive criticisms. They have my admiration and respect.

The change in the popular attitude toward homosexuals is not particular to the Philippines. It has become an international trend even in the so-called sophisticated regions with more liberal concepts than in our comparatively conservative society. Gay marriages have been legally recognized in a number of European countries and in some parts of the United States. Queer people -- that’s the sarcastic term for them -- have come out of the closet where before they carefully concealed their condition. The permissive belief now is that homosexuals belong to a separate third sex with equal rights as male and female persons instead of just an illicit in-between gender that is neither here nor there.

When I was studying in the Legarda Elementary School in Manila during the last 1930s, the big student population had only one, just one, homosexual. His name was Jose but we all called him Josefa. He was a quiet and friendly boy whom everybody liked to josh but not offensively. In the whole district of Sampaloc where I lived, there was only one homosexual who roamed the streets peddling "kalamay" and "puto” and other treats for snacks. He provided diversion to his genial customers and did not mind their familiar amiable teasing. I think he actually enjoyed being a "binabae" [effeminate].

The change came, I think, when an association of homos dirtied the beautiful tradition of the Santa Cruz de Mayo by parading their kind as the "sagalas” instead of the comely young maidens who should have been chosen to grace the procession. Instead of being outraged by the blasphemy, the watchers were amused and, I suppose, indirectly encouraged the fairies to project themselves. It must have been then that they realized that they were what they were, whether they liked it or not, and that the time for hiding their condition was over.

Now homosexuals are everywhere, coming at first in timorous and eventually alarming and audacious number. Beauty salons now are served mostly by gay attendants including effeminate bearded hairdressers to whom male barbers have lost many of their macho customers. Local shows have their share of “siyoke” [gay men], including actors like the one rejected by a beautiful wife in favor of a more masculine if less handsome partner. And, of course, there are lady-like directors who are probably the reason why every movie and TV drama must have the off-color "bading” [gay] or two to cheapen the proceedings.

And the schools are now fertile ground for the gay invasion. Walking along the University belt one day, I passed by a group of boys chattering among themselves, with one of them exclaiming seriously, "Aalis na ako. Magpapasuso pa ako!" ["I’m leaving. I still have to breastfeed!”] That pansy would have been mauled in the school where my five sons (all machos) studied during the ’70s when all the students were certifiably masculine. Now many of its pupils are gay, and I don't mean happy. I suppose they have been influenced by such shows as "Brokeback Mountain," our own "Ang Pagdadalaga ni Maximo Oliveros” (both of which won awards), "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy," and that talk program of Ellen Degeneres, an admitted lesbian.

Is our population getting to be predominantly pansy? Must we allow homosexuality to march unobstructed until we are converted into a nation of sexless persons without the virility of males and the grace of females but only an insipid mix of these diluted virtues? Let us be warned against the gay population, which is per se a compromise between the strong and the weak and therefore only somewhat and not the absolute of either of the two qualities. Be alert lest the Philippine flag be made of delicate lace and adorned with embroidered frills.
-----------------------------------------------------------

My (tentative) reply:

Dear Mr. Cruz:

Greetings!

Sir, I'm afraid to say that as much as you make a "disclaimer" comment early on, about respecting some gays and so on, its validity seems to have been obliterated by the rest of your statement.

The way you have formed an irate statement against gays is similar to how the Americans saw Filipinos as "little brown monkeys," barring the President and people in power, of course (but are we sure they didn't think of them the same way within closed doors?) Your statement's tone and message can be likened to the way Americans saw African-Americans in the succeeding years of their Reform Movement (think Rosa Parks, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King, Jr.), or even how the Spanish saw Chinese traders as they eventually took over commerce in the Philippines. Your statement reeks of the same tone, I am sorry to say. For in the end, Sir, it just boils down to respect--for our individual quirks, our individual differences.

As you said early on, there are decorous gay members of society. Neither were we "little brown monkeys;" I believe you will agree to that. And such analogies can go on--but always debunking the dominant view, who had formed that view on feelings of being threatened to be overcome. Such seems to be the case here, as well. But don't you see, the "little brown monkeys" did not want to dominate the Americans, but to live in peaceful co-existence, with different boundaries that may sometimes peaceably overlap. The same case can now be applied to heterosexuals and homosexuals. Homosexuals are built of the same stuff heterosexual members of society are, too, only with different tastes and predilections. That doesn't authorize persecution. For as much as there are differing races--even within our own Filipino culture--so too are there different forms of sexuality, converging into one big being. For as much as we should be all one people--one global community, so too are we of different sexualities coverging into one giant [sexuality]. We all have different forms of expression. Such differences have enabled us to grow as a species, as a culture. Homosexuality is a part of this equation. There should thus be no reason to condemn it.

I hope this puts things at a better perspective for you--a better worldview, with more respect and tolerance. Thank you for your time.

People as Arms

In light of the recent bomb threat in the UK, airlines the world over have tightened security measures. United Airlines has issued the new measures here.

Yes, aircraft passengers can no longer bring cologne, alcohol, even toothpaste and lip balm, for crying out loud. I heard there was one particularly stringent occasion when a book wasn't allowed. Now I hear carry-on luggage might not be allowed, as well. What about passenger rights--people who pay to ride, mind you? What if our teeth form cavities, or our lips crack from the cold, stale air? The consequences of those mayhem-lovers go on and on. Admittedly, these airline measures are safety precautions for our betterment. But in protecting us, they are stifling us more.

It seems to me that in causing these measures to be effected against us civilians, these mayhem-loving terrorists are now using us as their weapons against the dominant institution/s, in this case, the First World countries, more specifically the US. It's sort of becoming an attempt at parricide, brother against brother, only different ideologies form a gulf between them, between us and the radicals.

I can't help but link this to the war in Iraq. And this tension now sort of feels like a prequel, a last step before Cambodia in the throes of Pol Pot's regime, or because of this seeming stand-off, the Vietnam War (with the US, which though the latter had superior fire-power and wealth, the former won) The US has no proof that the Iraq war should continue. Perhaps this is the bone of contention the fundamentalists want to settle [with the US]. For innocent lives are being continually lost--as in the Lebanese-Israeli war right now, as well. So they fight back, using innocent civilians, as well, thus my quasi-analogizing this to the Pol Pot regime.

In the meantime, it is us civilians who suffer, who bear the brunt of their actions--of both opposing sides. Then again, that's why it's a matter of concern: because many are affected. And that's how it always seems to be. Now I feel it to be a chicken-and-egg argument: this will never end, because this already seems to be part of the human psyche.

Nevertheless, I do wish it'd stop. In spite of this seeming futility, I still believe in hope--for a better tomorrow, for a change in psyche, of not seeing people as objects/pawns--the more, the merrier, but instead see them as different and unique individuals.

How I wish that morrow would come in my lifetime.

busy busy busy

Whatta day. So last Friday, after GA (grad assistant) work and crammed research, then a horrific two-hour traffic wait, preventing me from attending Bikram yoga, over the (hospital) telephone, Angkong finally allowed to have the operation done to Amah, after realizing that YES, the stones will return to block more ducts, and YES, next time can be even WORSE. After persuading him, and talking to the doctor, and asking for Diko (Auntie Carmen, his sister)'s support, he caved, as Mims liked to say. All this time, I was also corresponding with Sir Jonathan as my number was still with him and he needed me to contact the others that he would be absent the next day, though the deadline for the paper was still tomorrow. So I complied, texting the others--or at least those whose numbers I knew! Then I sped through the pre-operation process, arranging the formalities with the nurses, the cashier, the interns, the chief doctor, and relaying all this to my folks through my low-batt mobile, because the hospital phone was acting up. Then Diko and Achi Carol came, took me out for dinner at Pho Hoa (which has a nice revamped menu, by the way!) and brought me home--at 11:30, leaving me with little, precious time to do my various requirements. I tried...'til about 4:40, upon which I promptly succumbed to slumber, promising to wake at 5. Hah. Like that ever happened: I woke at 7:30!!!! Eeeek! But I was too tired to rush. So I left at around 9, being too late for Danny's class, choosing to cut (as I heard he was in a nasty mood--I have to apologize to him on Monday for doing this! :-s), instead getting my requested articles from the microform area, and getting ready for my Sidney presentation. The presentation....floundered, or maybe (hopefully?) not: Perhaps Dr. Lu was just really preoccupied. Who wouldn't be: her son is convalescing in UST! Then rushed to do Jonathan's paper, and squeezed a small lunch-snack in between. By the time I was done--5 pm--I was utterly drained. I then called the hospital to check on Amah, if she had already returned from the operation slated at 2 pm today, but my cousin Marco told me she's still in the Recovery Room. When Remus fetched me at 6, I thought to comfort myself with finishing the NBS coupons Mom gave me that were set to expire by Sept.15. And hey: NBS is having a SALE! 'Til the end of the month! Powerbooks too! But anyway. After some tired scrounging, I found Pullman's HDM Book 3--selling at PhP 392. I had PhP's 330 worth of coupons, so I only shelled out PhP 62! On to Starbucks, and hey, luckylucky: they had one last PINK liter-tumbler--the solution to my water shortage, I hope, and my current one to be set up as a "contingency." By the time all this was done, I was just floating. 'Tis a good thing I just rode and slept. When I got home, I could barely see straight: no cardio tonight, I guess. Slept 'til dinnertime (about near midnight), and caught up with my folks, which is almost always nice. But then, hehe, I was wide awake 'til 7 am, writing and surfing on the "Innernets," as Dubya calls it ;)

I'm hoping to go to this place after grad school, referred by a NYT article on Ayurveda: They offer Hatha Yoga and Ayurveda classes!
Then there's a place to be a volunteer and be close to animals, and not WWF, which promotes animal testing! :-s

As a consumer, I am currently going nuts over clothes from Lululemon (usually for yoga, hehe). Eeek. I can't wait for the next shipment to arrive at Aura, the store they sell to here! Can't wait can't wait!:

-Reverse Groove Short
-Curved Rib Lulu Pant
-Globe Trot Jacket

Hopefully Aura will come out with them!!!!!

AND

I'm thinking of switching from Nokia to Motorola. Looking at the Motorola Maxx.

Or should I just stay and go user-friendly Nokia, but heavy on $$$ and save for the Nokia N71?

Sigh; I'll wait 'til December, or try to. Perhaps things will be clearer by then (and I'll have more $$$$ also, I hope!)

Hmm. I like my newfound hairstyle of pigtails: my hair's neater, and it still leaves my scalp flat for Savasana and sit-up poses in (Bikram) yoga--though it does make me look more like a kid than I already do! ;) I also like going around bra-less at home, being quite the liberating experience (envies flat-chested girls who can go out bra-less). But my tummy's all fat and gross just now: I'm hoping it's only PMS :(

Okay okay: Just heard LUSH has a buy one take one promo. And I need my fresh soap, hopefully with exfoliant & moisturizing properties! I'll be giving that a look later while Mom goes gaga over Prada and whatnot, after we visit Amah in the hospital. Hopefully, she's better. Yey. :)

Obedience is a Virtue

All this stress and responsibility....

To put it mildly: dammit.

I don't know. Maybe I'm just tired? But really: sometimes, just sometimes, I want to take a break from being the responsible daughter/granddaughter, having to shoulder the responsibility my parents are given at times in familial matters. Last time it was my grandfather being confined in the hospital and I having to stay with him in the midst of preparations for thesis defense, oral exams and a written exam. Crapola. So of course my exams suffered, me blanking out totally in one of them. Hot damn, I can still remember that. And now my grandmother needs to be brought to the hospital tomorrow because she was diagnosed with pancreatitis. And I was tasked with bringing her admitting her and staying the entire day-and-almost-entire-night with her. Again. I normally wouldn't mind, really, but I had already practically spent the entire midmorning-to-afternoon with her (result: I lunched at 3:30 pm), running around the hospital for her ease, losing valuable study/research/reading time today. And I have to do it again tomorrow. OK, so I know the doctor, and vice versa. Still...!!!! Argh, such obtrusions make me sometimes want to tear my hair out.

***I mean, why can't my aunt and her kids take care of her/their parents/grandparents, instead of it being me/us all the time too? The last time with my grandfather in the hospital, they'd come, sure, like twice or thrice in the entire duration of his confinement, and only to eat, then leave afterwards Why don't they heat his food and feed him, monitor his IV fluids and talk with the nurses, truly watch over him as I did?. As if that weren't bad enough, they'd bill him for the food they ate! So where's the "service" in that?!

But I'll do it of course I'll do it: 'coz who else will?. The Confucian ethic has been too deeply ingrained in me as it is, being the only child of the firstborn son (and only child of a male child, so far). So yes, in this Oriental side of me, I have no choice but to obey. Besides, the obsessive-compulsive streak in me--wherein things done have to be done right, or not at all--rears its great head. So there you go.

But the Western influence in me, with its consumeristic, self-centered ideals--rebels. But this insurgence must be quelched, and I must submit, once again.

--This must seem like such a childish sentiment, but I assure you, it is real: I have my own hopes and dreams, after all.

To each and everything its own time, I guess, is something I still have to learn and appreciate. Point taken, then: lesson in progress.

A Tenuous Relationship

Hurtful words
released:
hateful, angry words
blaming incidentals
on the innocent.
Affront
indignation
prescription of
a bitter pill
to be imbibed
when necessary.

-I love my Dad; I really do. Heck, I know I'm lucky I even have a Dad! But there are days when he can just be too much. Today was one of them. My point is, if he's in a funk, he doesn't include others who have nothing to do with it into that funk. Other people don't have to feel miserable, don't have to be stressed, just because he is. It's not that I don't care, but I figure, why stress over something unavoidable (like traffic)? And cursing the air blue, thickening the air with tension, won't clear the traffic up. Nor is the traffic jam MY fault. Hello?!

So I cried--out of indignation, out of outrage, out of incredulity, out of hurt. And unlike others who feel relieved after a crying jag, I just felt funky, wretched and plain exhausted--exactly why I hate it when I cry (which consequently isn't often). I cried in the car. I cried again when I spoke to my Mom in the English Department (it's a good thing it was a Tuesday: hardly anyone save Ate Jo and Ate Rack...(and Dr. Vilches in her office) were there! Ohmigoodness, how mortifying! But shit happens. So I just plunged myself into work. Later, even my grandma called to commiserate! (I assure you, this is real life!) She told me just to bless the offender in my mind. How Christian. Ah well. ;) So there. I just followed Mom's advice, which was to just "offer it to God as my good deed for the day." Well, so I didn't follow it as she said it, but as the poem above says, I [am just to] swallow the bitter pill. I listened to my music, took a short nap, and breathed it all OUT.

As I said, shit happens. But we get up and move on. And yoga has helped me so much to deal with such events. I just breathe a bit and try to move past it. How I wish my Dad could imbibe even a little of that.

Brazil down there

Among the humdrum activities of this day...wait: should I even be proclaiming this in cyber space? But whatever.

So. Aside from celebrating my first so-far-successful (with my parents) week of sleeping in my room (I AM 22, for goodness' sake) and so far succeeding (again, with my parents) in being vegetarian (almost no eggs and even less milk)...

I had a Brazilian done today. For the first time.

Yes, there is pain. But weirdly, the pain felt...good? Like a release of sorts (can anyone say orgasm)? And the thick, sticky mass of heat, with the syrup smoothed down to be ripped off, along with the offending hair, felt oddly..good--like something thick, creamy, smooth: licking, sliding down you, before the immense, hair-raising, muscle-trembling, belly-clenching PAIN.

And when all is said and done, the feeling of..emptiness and bareness, smooth expanse, was like a skewed perverted return to childhood. I mean, I haven't been smooth down there since I was like 12! But as much as it did feel cleaner and barer and freer as was promised, it also felt more empty.

So I don't know if Brazil will make a return down there. Perhaps. But then again, perhaps not.

Monsoon Season

Water water
everywhere all around
dripping, beating-bearing down
savagely relentlessly mercilessly
soaking
clothes
hair
skin.

The very walls are seeped with
water, moisture.
The skin is bloated (bursting) with
water

but

the water continues to bear down
down
down.

Something Nice

THE GREATEST* ADVICE
(*well maybe not the greatest I think, but great nonetheless!--Therese)

Don't date because you are desperate.
Don't marry because you are miserable.
Don't have kids because you think your genes are superior.
Don't philander because you think you are irresistible.

Don't associate with people you can't trust.
Don't cheat. Don't lie. Don't pretend.
Don't dictate because you are smarter.
Don't demand because you are stronger.

Don't sleep around because you think you are old enough and know better.
Don't hurt your kids because loving them is harder.
Don't sell yourself, your family, or your ideals. Don't stagnate!

Don't regress.
Don't live in the past. Time can't bring anything or anyone back.
Don't put your life on hold for possibly Mr./Ms. Right.
Don't throw your life away on absolutely Mr./Ms. Wrong because your
biological clock is ticking.

Learn a new skill.
Find a new friend.
Start a new career.
Sometimes, there is no race to be won.
Only a price to be paid for some of life's more hasty decisions.

To terminate your loneliness, reach out to the homeless.
To feed your nurturing instincts, care for the needy.
To fulfill your parenting fantasies, get a puppy.
Don't bring another life into this world for all the wrong reasons.

To make yourself happy, pursue your passions and be the best of what you can be.
Simplify your life. Take away the clutter.
Get rid of destructive elements: abusive friends, nasty habits, and
dangerous liaisons.
Don't abandon your responsibilities but don't overdose on duty.

Don't live life recklessly without thought and feeling for your family.
Be true to yourself.
Don't commit when you are not ready.
Don't keep others waiting needlessly.

Go on that trip. Don't postpone it.
Say those words. Don't let the moment pass.
Do what you have to, even at society's scorn.

Write poetry.
Love deeply.
Walk barefoot.
Dance with wild abandon.
Cry at the movies.

Take care of yourself. Don't wait for someone to take care of you.
You light up your life.
You drive yourself to your destination.
No one completes you - except YOU.

It isn't true that life does not get easier with age. It only gets
more challenging.
Don't be afraid. Don't lose your capacity to love.
Pursue your passions.

Live your dreams.
Don't lose faith in God.
Don't grow old. Just grow YOU!

When you give someone your time, you are giving them a portion of your
life that you'll never get back. Your time is your life. That is why
the greatest gift you can give someone is your time. Relationships
take time and effort, and the best way to spell love is T-I-M-E
because the essence of love is not what we think or do or provide for
others, but how much we give of ourselves.

-Rick Warren, The Purpose Driven Life

Twilight

Tonight
beckons with its stillness,
its lazy calm:
the crickets chirping their benediction.

Tonight
lures with its inky blackness,
its velvety silence
the desolate isolation.

Tonight
comes the irresistible siren’s call:
to revel,
to (be) still
(in solace)
in sleep.

A Communicative Decision

Friends, help:

what 3G triband phone should I get:

Nokia 6233N73

or

Motorola RAZR v3x?

Well, I want to get something that has all sorts of features (but not too much), a bit different, but not that hard to use. I was already leaning towards the RAZR v3x, but now that Nokia's 6233N73 came up, I'm not so sure. Thing is, I heard the 6233 doesn't support video calls?N73's a bar phone and not foldable and well, Nokia (i.e. mass appeal: everyone will have it) But Motorola has no FM station and infrared, and I read it's slow?

Help!

On the Here and Now

Life's been quite good, though it might seem boring to some. I mean, I read 'til my brain is close to bursting (maybe from struggling to soak up all the information?), and my job as a grad assistant is basically doing the stuff teachers usually don't want to do(!). Having time for yoga and voice has been pure bliss, and having more free time (conceptually, but it's taken up by reading, and running errands!). However, just the other night, my cousin came over--my cousin in Marketing, who earns about 50k a month (minus taxes is 35k, but still) And that brought up issues of the rat race, the money game, which is so not me. But I'll figure out what exactly I do best sometime in the future, soon, I hope (it needs to be soon), so that I won't have that feeling of inferiority and failure stamped on me (by parentals?) Well, I guess as long as I don't spend too much, I'll be OK. And I don't--well, except for books, and organic stuff (sometimes!), but not luxury items (like cars 'coz I don't drive...or fur, poor animals!). I'll see what the future will bring later, but for now, I'll enjoy the present, I guess. So much to do, so little time! Well, now, there's more time to burn, more dreams to realize, I hope. And indeed, I can hope.

Hairy Hostility

Who says I have to go to the gym every day?

Who says that the only way to take care of my health is to lift iron and cycle endlessly without going anywhere?

I say no longer.
I say enough.
I say to take another road, from time to time. So I did.

When my sanctuary becomes a mindless automaton of a place, there is a certain alarm to that, so I dashed all gym plans...and went to the salon. I needed a change of scenery, man.

I damn my trainer for a short stint in hell as he said I bloated over. Well, you won't understand 'til you become a woman, which is never, BOY. And even if I don't stuff myself to bursting but still look like I did, well, dammit, I GIVE UP. Your opinion isn't my end-all and be-all, nor will I let it come close.

So now I am an auburn-streaked goddess, with tended feet and polished nails. See me dazzle. Hear me roar.

Complacency in Conspiracy

Homeostasis
I am in the cradle of civilization
(I am its cradle)
asleep curled up
lying in wait
biding
biding

'til catastrophe
threatens
to break the cradle
shatter into a million pieces
eschew the wood
masticate pulpify
until it
(I)
turns to dust

but that is still too far away
for now

I will sit back
lie still
drift into slumber
complacency
amidst
conspiracy

To My Beloved Stranger

You probably won't read this,
nor know of its existence. For
after all,
we only meet once
in a week
exchange pleasantries,
then
go about the business of living.
Nevertheless--
thank you,
for teaching me how to truly savor again,
pause to feel the air
dance to the music
marvel at the whistling wind,
to re-engage in life's mystery
to rediscover my innermost being
for reawakening my inner goddess,
for loving myself
all over again.

Appendage

Legs.Feet--
alabaster,
long and
lean,
smooth
perfection unflawed

but

golden
narrow knotted
vein-filled, rough
chunky

real

and

mine.

Anti-Nirvana

Will you allow me
to dream
blueberry dreams
henna hues
orange sunsets
and
purple dawns?

I want to
dream,
aspire,
for vibrance
passion.

Will you allow me
to reach
(feel)
my state of
bliss?

Beautiful Beast

Is it beauty that
vanquishes
the beast,
or the beautiful beast
vanquishes
the brutish belle?

Another light dims
for darkness to envelop
as the world get
smaller
lonelier once again.

One Dream at a Time

Truth be told....

it was awkward suddenly accepting the GA (grad assistant) position.

After the advice my lovely mentor, O-sensei, gave me, I had actually told myself that I would stick it out with PETA for one year--for the experience of working outside the academe, thus broadening my perspectives, at the same time work still being for something I believe in. But it was a grim sort of tenacity. I didn't feel anything really going for me anymore: I was sliding into this daily, mindnumbing grind. Then my manager--my MANAGER (R, who's become the big sister I never had) told me that I don't need to be at PETA to save the animals, that I shouldn't hang on to something just because I'm afraid to let others down. And ohmygod, she was right. I felt stuck, and I feared I would never get out. On the other hand, once I got past the grim determination to stay with PETA, no matter what, I saw that by going the grad assistant way, I would finish faster, and have more possibilities (with the hours freed up from PETA--20 hours from 45!)

Because I do have dreams, 20 of which are the following I hope to do before I leave this earthly plane:
-become a certified yogini in either Vinyasa or Bikram or Integral
-become a certified openwater diver
-take a vegetarian cooking course
-learn how to ride the bike! (I prefer this to fossil fuel-run vehicles, thank you very much)
-be accepted into, and attend, a writing workshop (preferably the Siliman one!)
-take a summer course in Cambridge/Oxford (and go rowing, natch!)
-read (and FINISH!) James Joyce's Ulysses, among other books...but this one is numero uno
-take a 6-month "sabbatical," backpacking across England or India--preferably ALONE, or with a trusted, bosom-friend
-get a grasp of the French and German language (if only 'til the level of my current Spanish!)
-(maybe) become fluent in Spanish and Mandarin
-have my own flat, my own plants, my own animal companion (if ever!), in as much a plant-based environment as possible--food, cleaning agents, furniture, and all that jazz (and yes, I want the solar panels, the rainwater barrel...), getting to decorate it myself--or have a say on how it would go, and being a part of its creation, at least!
-(try to) have twins--preferably with matrimony
-(maybe) open a vegetarian restaurant/holistic center (with partners?)
-(maybe) re-take ballet (thunder thighs be damned!)
-(maybe) learn the art of SLR film cameras
-(maybe) get a tattoo
-re-take art lessons (never went into this seriously)
-re-take voice lessons-->DONE
-pledge to have my organs donated
-make sure my body is burned and my ashes thrown from atop a mountain facing the sea (how oh so melodramatic)

In pursuit of these, I'm going back to yoga on Thursday--and hopefully yoga-boy, though he's a side-benefit: Bikram yoga feels so cleansing and calming, ohmyGOD. Then I'll be going back to my voice "roots" as well. Truth be told, back in Senior Year High School, I was thinking of applying to UP College of Music. However, I was held back by what my Dad had said: that "to make it in the music scene, you have to be really good." And I was afraid I wasn't, that there are too many other people better than me, that I wouldn't make money from it, making my college degree a waste, so I didn't. Then again, I don't know what taking an MA in LCS will bring me financially, either! Ah, well. Such financially-inept persons as I do exist in the world...!

But ever since I stopped singing for the Glee club back in High School, and taking Solfeggio with my quite-renowned violinist-conductor (he was a candidate for National Artist) grandfather(back when he was still in control of his somatic and cerebral qualities), it's always been an ache--ACGC practices being 'til 8-9 pm NOT helping! Besides, as much as most of us grandkids are musical, none of us never really took it as a passion. And I want to take that torch up. So I will: I'm going to (try to) take it up, and hey, why not? I've got the time :) As O-sensei said, one step at a time, to which I add, a discovery of my self, one step at a time. And right now, I just don't think PETA will allow me this "gradual self-discovery" that becoming a GA does.

For now, my decision stands, and this time, I truly feel it's right. Maybe this is what Oa (my Tita Lolita, who is my grandmother's cousin and best friend residing in Maryland, and who is a close friend too) meant when she asked if I had asked God what he had to say (?!). For now, though, we'll see where it goes. So Saturdays, it's Danny in the morning, then Lulu and Jonathan in the afternoon (Lit 251: Fiction, Lit 202: Theory and 201: Research, respectively). ALL 3, in one day.

GOD, I hope I survive grad school!

The Path Less Travelled

Being a relatively fresh graduate with graduate school looming ahead and NGO work not quite having removed its loose threads from me, I am taking the slower road to success than most. However, it can also mean "biding my time," finding out what I really want to do, or even discovering myself as it is. In the capitalist world we've ensconced ourselves in, it is very easy to have our ideals and ethics topple by the wayside, to pursue higher-paying jobs and so on. But then..heck, I dunno, as much as it pays the bills and more, is it really what we believe in? Is that how we--how I--want to project myself? Perhaps yes, perhaps no. Again, I am operating from an idealistic perspective. But then again, shouldn't we all shoot for the stars, even if at the back of our heads we know we might still end up falling? For nonetheless, doesn't it make the stars a whole lot closer?
---------------------------------------

On Work by Kent Nerburn

I often hear people say, "I have to find myself." What they really mean is, I have to make myself." Life is an endlessly creative experience, and we are making ourselves every moment by every decision we make.

That is why the work you choose for yourself is so crucial to your sense of value and well-being. No matter how much you might believe that your work is nothing more than what you do to make money, your work makes you who you are, because it is where you put your time.

I remember several years ago when I was intent upon building my reputation as a sculptor. I took a job driving a cab, because, as I told people, "I want some job that I will never confuse with a profession." Yet within six months, I was talking like a cab driver, thinking like a cab driver, looking at the world through the eyes of a cab driver. My anecdotes came from my job, as did my observations about life. I became embroiled in the personalities and politics of the company for which I worked and developed the habits and rhythms of life that went along with my all-night driving shift. On the days when I did not drive and instead worked on my sculpture, I still carried the consciousness of a cab driver with me.

Whether I liked it or not, I was a cab driver.

This happens to anyone who takes a job. Even if you hate a job and keep a distance from it, you are defining yourself in opposition to the job by resisting it. By giving the job your time, you are giving it your consciousness. And it will, in turn, fill your life with the reality that it presents.

Many people ignore this fact. They choose a profession because it seems exciting, or because they can make a lot of money, or because it has some prestige in their minds. They commit themselves to their work, but slowly find themselves feeling restless and empty. The time they have to spend on their work begins to hang heavy on their hands, and soon they feel constricted and trapped.

They join the legions of humanity who Thoreau said lead lives of quiet desperation - unfulfilled, unhappy and uncertain of what to do.

Yet the lure of financial security and the fear of the unknown keep them from acting to change their lives, and their best energies are spent creating justifications for staying where they are or inventing activities outside of work that they hope will provide them with a sense of meaning.

But these efforts can never be totally successful. We are what we do, and the more we do it, the more we become it. The only way out is to change our lives or to change our expectations for our lives. And if we lower our expectations we are killing our dreams, and a man without dreams is already half dead.

So you need to choose your work carefully. You need to look beyond the external measurements of prestige and money and glamour to see what you will be doing on a day-to-day, hour-to-hour, minute-to-minute basis to see if that is how you want to spend your time. Time may not be the way you measure the value of your work, but it is the way you experience it.

What you need to do is think of work as "vocation." This word may seem stilted in its tone, but it has a wisdom within it. It comes from the Latin word for calling, which comes from the word for voice. In those meanings it touches on what work really should be. It should be something that calls to you as something you want to do, and it should be something that gives voice to who you are and what you want to say to the world.

So a true vocation calls to you to perform it and it allows your life to speak. This is very different from work, which is just an exchange of labor for money. It is even very different from a profession, which is an area of expertise you have been sanctioned to represent.

A vocation is something you feel compelled to do, or at least something that fills you with a sense of meaning. It is something you choose because of what it allows you to say with your life, not because of the money it pays you or the way it will make you appear to others. It is, above all else, something that lets you love.

When you find a vocation, embrace it with your whole heart. Few people are so lucky. They begin their search for work with an eye to the wrong prize, so when they win, they win something of little value. They gain money or prestige, but they lose their hearts. Eventually their days become nothing more than a commodity that they exchange for money, and they begin to shrivel and die.

I often think of a man I met on the streets of Cleveland. He was an assembly-line worker in an automobile plant. He said his work was so hateful that he could barely stand to get up in the morning. I asked him why he didn't quit. "I've only got thirteen more years to go to retirement," he answered. And he meant it. His life had so gotten away from him that he was willing to accept a thirteen-year death sentence for his spirit rather than give up the security it earned.

When I spoke with him I was about twenty. I was young and free; I didn't understand what he was saying at all. It seemed incomprehensible to me that a man could have become so defeated by life that he was willing to let his life die as he held it in his hands.

Now I understand too well. Lured by what had seemed like big money at the time, he had chosen a job that didn't offer him any inner satisfaction. He lived a good life, rolling from paycheck to paycheck and getting the car or the boat that he had always dreamed of having. Year by year he advanced, because businesses reward perseverance. His salary went up, his options for other types of employment went down, and he settled into a routine that financed his life. He married, bought a house, had children, and grew into middle age. The job that had seemed like freedom when he was young became a deadening routine. Year by year he began to hate it. It choked him, but he had no means of escape. He needed its money to live; no job he might change to would pay him as much as he was currently making. His fear for the health and security of his family kept him from breaking free into a world where all things were possible but no things were paid for, and so he gave in.

"I've only got thirteen more years to retirement" was a prisoner's way of counting the days until the job would release him and pay him for his freedom.

Most people's lives are a variation on that theme. So few take the time when they are young to explore the real meaning of the jobs they are taking or to consider the real implications of the occupations to which they are committing their lives.

Some have no choice. Without money, without training, with the pressures of life building around them, they choose the best alternative that offers itself. But many others just fail to see clearly. They chase false dreams, and fall into traps they could have avoided if they had listened more closely to their hearts when choosing their life's work.

But even if you listen closely to your heart, making the right choice is difficult. You can't really know what it is you want to do by thinking about it. You have to do it and see how it fits. You have to let the work take you over until it becomes you and you become it; then you have to decide whether to embrace it or abandon it. And few have the courage to abandon something that defines their security and prosperity.

Yet there is no reason why a person cannot have two, three or more careers in the course of a life. There is no reason why a person can't abandon a job that does not fit anymore and strike out into the unknown for something that lies closer to the heart. There is risk, there is loss, and there likely will be privation. If you have allowed your job to define your sense of self-worth, there may even be a crisis of identity. But no amount of security is worth the suffering of a life lived chained to a routine that has killed all your dreams.

You must never forget that to those who hire you, your labor is a commodity. You are paid because you provide a service that is useful. If the service you provide is no longer needed, it doesn't matter how honorable, how diligent, how committed you have been in your work. If what you can contribute is no longer needed, you are no longer needed and you will be let go. Even if you've committed your life to the job, you are, at heart, a part of the commercial exchange, and you are valuable only so long as you are a significant contributor to that commercial exchange. It is nothing personal; it's just the nature of economic transaction.

So it does not pay to tie yourself to a job that kills your love of life. The job will abandon you if it has to. You can abandon the job if you have to.

The man I met in Cleveland may have been laid off the year before he was due to retire. He may have lost his pension because of a legal detail he never knew existed. He may have died on the assembly line while waiting to put a bolt in a fender.

I once had a professor who dreamed of being a concert pianist. Fearing the possibility of failure, he went into academics where the work was secure and the money was predictable. One day, when I was talking to him about my unhappiness in my graduate studies, he walked over and sat down at his piano. He played a beautiful glisando and then, abruptly, stopped. "Do what is in your heart," he said. "I really only wanted to be a concert pianist. Now I spend every day wondering how good I might have been."

Don't let this be your epitaph at the end of your working life. Find out what it is that burns in your heart and do it. Choose a vocation, not a job, and you will be at peace. Take a job instead of finding a vocation, and eventually you will find yourself saying, "I've only got thirteen more years to retirement," or "I spend every day wondering how good I might have been."

We all owe ourselves better than that.

--------------------------------------------
So. I started grad school last Saturday, and my schedule is as follows:
0800-1100-Lit251 (Development of Fiction)--Mr. Danny Reyes
*1100-1200-LUNCH--preferably at Blissful Belly, traveled to by foot*
1200-1500-Lit202 (Literary Theory and Cultural Studies)--Dr. Lulu Reyes
1500-1800-Lit201 (Research...something)--Mr. Jonathan Chua

By Mr. Chua's class, I was nodding on and off. Ohmygod. By the end of the class, I think sheer will just forced me to walk to National Bookstore and Aeon Books.

*********************************

This past weekend, went on a shopping spree, ahehe. I swear, if I die one day, my greatest treasure will be my BOOKS! Saturday, I bought Joyce's Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and Flaubert's Madame Bovary at NBS, not to mention getting Spiegel's The Dreaded Comparison, Burton's Vive Le Vegan and Counihan's Food and Body..ish from an aunt in the US; Sunday, bought Edge's Yoga School Dropout, Zola's Germinal, Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being, and Camus' The Stranger at Powerbooks; David's Goodbye, Chunky Rice, Robbins' Conquering Your Quarterlife Crisis, Rashid's Design Your Life, Woolf's To the Lighthouse, and an unabridged Murasaki's Tale of Genji! Monday, I got Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird and an abridged copy of Bulfinch's Mythology from Powerbooks, and Voltaire's Candide and Milton's Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained from Fully Booked. So YES, it truly has been booklove season *squeal* Aside from books, I also went on a Healthy Options rampage, buying Agave Nectar, Blackstrap Molasses, besides cereal, egg-free mayo, chocolate soy/almond milks, vegan sea vegetable and carrot(!) chips, organic, vegan Mint cream Oreo™-type cookies, as well as bought two reversible Gap pleaty skirts and two unique-ish (as usual) Paul Smith shirts(ON SALE!) last Sunday as well (besides all the books!), so more reasons to squeal and dance ;)

Yesterday, worked from home. Good thing, as I had an upset stomach spewing out...stuff. Bleh.

*need to lose 29 pounds* -->high school weight {HEADDESK} But I love my food...oh well.

Today...lunched with Migs at Oody's for the first time. And we are both extremely chatty, haha.

Danny's class on Thursday, so will be in AdMU again. Will be processing GA stuff by then, too. Blissful Belly for lunch, methinks.

FridayWednesday, because 'twas awkward enough and R said 'twas best--last day in PETA Asia Pacific :( Aw. Time to move on. But I'm hoping the friends I gained will be friends for life.

humdrum matters

How come the people you love most can also be the people you abhor most? Perhaps because they are so deeply ingrained into our feelings, our unconsciousness, because we've placed our TRUST in them. And trust is always a tricky, fragile thing.

-----

Watched the movie "Take the Lead" and "Munich" (finally!) several weeks ago.

On the topic of Munich
Personally, if comparing Munich to the Da Vinci Code, Munich deserves a higher censoring. Seriously. So the Da Vinci Code is all about the Magdalene theory, putting into doubt Christ's divinity. But wasn't he human and divine? Would the proposal of the Magdalene theory thus bring his humanity and divinity into sharper contrast and yet into deeper communion with humanity--we, who are so Other from Him?

Munich, on the other hand, deals with the Jewish take on Black September (no surprise, it being directed by Spielberg, an enth-generation Jew, himself). It is a bloody, vengeful and righteous film, but still beautiful. Rightly so--and for which it was vigorously protested to for a while by Jewish extremists, I believe. But this movie had a lot of violence, and extremist beliefs.

But perhaps both the Da Vinci Code and Munich had extremist beliefs to a certain point. However, I mainly believe it is more on a more openness to ideas than anything else. But as with all things, such "radical ideas" can be taken to the extreme. Hence the PG-13s and R-18s. But really: an R-18 for Da Vinci Code? That's like saying you don't trust kids nowadays to think for themselves. It's bad enough that our education system is declining (which I believe has to be a prime platform of any political candidate, and MUST be acted on); now we can't even give our kids a chance? Pfft.

And on the topic of Take the Lead
It was a great film, purely for the "movie experience." Not for cinematography, oh no, or plot, but just its message of equality through dance (Pierre Dulaine:"Do you like to dance?" Caitlin: "Yeah..." Pierre Dulaine: "Then you're meant to dance"). I especially liked what Pierre Dulaine (played by Antonio Banderas) said to the parents when his detention/ballroom dance class was to be abolished: that when a boy learns how to dance, he knows how to treat his female partner better, giving respect to her on the dance floor, and in the rest of life--affecting the way he treats all women. And that if a woman knows how she should be treated on a dance floor, she knows how she should be treated in the rest of life. Something like that. And it helps that the moves were hot ;)
------

On to environmental issues, which I am quite concerned with, the CEAE will be holding a documentary fest, called Moonrise Filmfest. They are calling for Philippine documentaries; however, on the international scale, I was suggesting Earthlings, narrated by Joaquin Phoenix from the animal rights perspective. Then I also mentioned Al Gore’s documentary, An Inconvenient Truth. I personally have Earthlings, but now I want An Inconvenient Truth, as well.

On to the issue relating to An Inconvenient Truth, my manager and I were talking, and this is how it was: (R=my manager; T=me)

R: It’s strange how for a fanatic misanthrope I can love animals to the extent that I do

T: I see how it is ironical to loving animals, but my Mom told me years ago that when she was growing up, she’d rather have dogs than children. So I understand that (however that runs contrary to the human-animal connection in studies) But what’s being a fanatical misanthrope got to do with the environment?

R: That I don’t care for the environment…if anything the worse the environment the better, cos more animals die :) thus fewer are subjected to cruelty at the hands of people. So no, don’t really care for organics, the environment and such (had an interesting conversation with an environmentalist in NZ about this).

T: Point made. It makes sense: the environment dies, the animals die, less animals live to suffer at the hands of man. But in a way, I believe in sustainability, recycling and all that. I really believe AR is an integral part of environmentalism, that it is a cog in the big wheel. Because silly naïve little me believes that if we care for the environment more, so will we care for animals more, too. And as much as people are still not that aware of environmental concerns, so is it with AR issues. Thus I believe they come hand in hand. But again, I believe in sustainability. As much as I support euthanasia to ease suffering, I do not want to kill a being if I don’t have to. Hence I believe in the earth’s conservation—for the animals and for people. I believe in a more compassionate world, and not the “compassionate” label capitalism has banked on (those m*therf*ckers that we tend to be at the mercy of). I’m just hoping I’ll experience part of it in my lifetime.

R: Ah well I’m more simplistic minded than that. I just want to alleviate animal suffering – ta da! Animals don’t care about being extinct.

T: True; point taken. :p But human conservationists and scientists do. Heh. In a way, AR is to a point about conservation. But then again, there can be the anarchist, misanthropic side, too :) About that conversation with a NZ person, was it like this too? ;)

R: AR is never about conservation. You’ll see most/ all ar activists hate conservationists.

Nah NZ boy was talking about honey and bees and organic farming and GE. Very smart boy but not into animals as much as he was the environment (he’s vegan though). Pity. In fact I wasn’t even part of the conversation but I had to interrupt because his idiocy was getting to me.

--never about conservation? Might I be in the wrong organization, then?
-------

Another thing of concern from another friend was GMA's take-no-prisoners stance on the NPA. Lately, GMA has truly been taking a stand against the NPA "rebels," for lack of a better term. And though my trainer-friend pointed out that this "insurgency problem" (again, for lack of a better term)has been ongoing since the Magsaysay era, post-WWII, and seems to have no end in sight, you never can be too certain, right? So I was thinking of just emigrating from here to the US. Why? Because I can, having been born there (by US law granting me citizenship). But that would mean leaving behind everything I've built my life around. As much as Buddhism believes in letting go, as well as Christianity...wow, man. That's just tough. But truy, it is something to think about. :-s GRE's, US PIN number (for the FAFSA), housing, moving, packing and all that DEFINITELY included.

--------

Was looking at Lucha Libre (due to office-related concerns), and while it's big in the US (maybe partially due to the huge Latin population), I heard it's only gaining ground here. I looked at some info here. Apparently, Jack Black and Jared Hess (yey: he's vegan!) made a movie adapting from Lucha Libre called Nacho Libre. Looks like something I'd like to watch, if even for fun.

---------

And a nummy, nutritional recipe to try because it's avocado season:

Quinoa Avocado Stuffing from Naughty Curry:

1 Tb pumpkin seeds or almond slivers
2 tsp oil
3/4 cup quinoa
1 ½ cups water or broth
3/4 tsp salt
1 ½ tsp maple syrup
½ cup coconut milk
1 avocado, cubed
spritz of lemon juice

Masala 1
1/8 tsp asafetida
½ tsp black mustard seeds
1/8 tsp black onion seeds

Masala 2
½ tsp cumin powder
2 tsp coriander powder
½ tsp turmeric
1/4 tsp ginger powder

Dry roast the pumpkin seeds or almonds. Set aside.
Get out your medium skillet and heat the oil until it's sizzle-hot. Add Masala 1.
When the seeds are done popping, add quinoa and Masala 2. Saute for 1-2 minutes.
Add the water and salt and bring to a boil. Cover and simmer.
Uncover and turn off the heat. Add the coconut milk, pumpkin seeds or almonds, honey and avocado. Spritz on the lemon juice. Done.

And more Indian vegan goodness here!

The Phenomenology of Blood

I smell its coppery, metallic smell.
Mal--to my odor,
red red red
color of life coming, going
seeping in
seeping out.
I touch its viscosity
and yet it is liquid
run run run
awayalloveraround
body
system
tissue
heart

bearer, deliverer
taketh, bringeth away
of

life, life, life.

Da Vinci Schmavinci

At my mother's insistence, we watched the Da Vinci Code last Saturday, and I found a tongue-in-cheek review from the New Yorker here.

As for me, I took the movie at face value. And it wasn't bad-bad for a movie adaptation. But it was...flat. As much as I laud Sir Ian McKellen yet again for a stellar chameleon-like performance (you wouldn't suspect he was Gandalf or Magneto!), I was somewhat disappointed by Tom Hanks' performace (and what the HELL was with the hair?!). I agree with previous criticisms that this particular performance was quite washed out and bland for him. Shame, shame. Audrey Tautou's performance seemed wooden, as well. No offense to the Francophiles and polituically-correct folks, but it was as stilted as her English. The cinematography was quite picturesque, and I acknowledge that the "holograms" were to show the audience what Robert Langdon was thinking. Ditto for the flashbacks, or at times, visualizations of bygone eras. And it was nice...but after a while, it just went via the route of MI:2's mask overdose. The ending conveniently left out that Sophie's grandmaman was Sauniere's wife, so either Sauniere married into the Merovingian line, or she isn't Sophie Neveu (nee St. Clare)'s blood-grandmother. Jean Reno, in his portrayal of Capt. Fache, did not make use of his acting prowess, as well. I felt Fache looked like a crazed man, when the book did not make him turn out that way in the end. True, Fache was supposedly brusque...but Reno was a bit abrupt in the potrayal. I admire Paul Bettany's portrayal of Silas, however, if even he was a scrawny Silas. Still, he played the fanatic to a T. Molina more or less did his part justice, as well. He truly makes you hate Aringarosa's character, yet still show the man behind the title.
As much as the movie tied the book nicely together, and made the Magdalene Theory highly plausible, it still left quite a few ambiguities, and shoddy acting more often than not to the point of predictability and (gasp) cheesiness. I thus give the movie a 2.5 out of 4.

Faith-wise, what is the big DEAL about having the Magdalene Theory in the silver screen? It shows that Jesus could have been mere mortal, and that he has descendants who became a royal line. But at the basic level, what makes a prophet, a king different from a commoner? Just a title, just his works. But at the end of the day, we are all of the same specie, so what's the big deal? I think that if we think that way, as much as God was divine, because of Jesus, he was made common man, true, and thus more familiar to the human psyche. Going back to philosophu, because we cannot contain the Other, perhaps the story of Jesus Christ, as much as some parts were real, such as his life, were later magnified to better articulate to us limited beings the idea of the Holy, the idea of the Wholly, Infinite Other, to our finitude. Jesus's "elaborated tale" that is the basis of our belief is thus simply a symbol pointing to an Other. For the idea brought forward in the Da Vinci Code should thus NOT be a big deal to those with a strong and grounded faith.Therefore, to take that as Gospel Truth--to see it as the Holy Himself--as the Church seems to see it as--is already blaspheming the Holy; commiting idolatry. So take that, low-tech dumbasses. It is YE who are of little faith. We never thought THAT in the first place.

B-E-A-U-T-Y

Beauty is in
you, me
(all of us)
.
Beauty is in
providence, fate
unfolding uncurling
(letting things be)
.


Beauty is in
the eye of the
beholder/beholdee

Beauty is
us
all.

Transformation

I want to
change
change you
be changed

mold
twist
shape
(be shaped)
.

Let me be the change
(be my change)



or maybe not.