IGME Files

Another Prophetic Dream (I Hope Not!)?

(I have blog entries in another site that I haven't posted on this blog page but here's a post I'd like to share now.) 

I woke up last night at 11, July 13th, to yet another lucid dream.  I found myself in a rustic hilly town, winding roads turn from one uphill or downhill to another street.  These are the key images and events that are still stuck in my mind, in particular order:

1)  children playing mindlessly on the paved roads

2)  me seeing the scenic view from the top of somewhere (a mountain? a lodging house? It doesn't matter)

3)  me looking up in the sky, time suddenly stops for a moment...

4)  everyone feels a sandy, dry, big wind coming from nowhere but now turning in all directions...

5)  the noise of the townsfolk, scampering away

6)  I looked at the sky and saw half of the sky turned black

7) people evacuating the area... the people don't know what's happening but they knew something's up.  They can feel the piercing wind on their skin.  I could feel it too.

8)  I was inside the jeepney and a few others -- fugitives running for dear precious moments


...And then I woke up.  You don't want to be in my situation when and where I was there.  I just hope it's not a warning for something catastrophic, but rather the state of my mind. 

Intimations with the Sea

     After I shared with my friend my recent road-trip and island-hopping in Quezon last Good Friday, unbeknownst to me, he just laid one big fact that I have already circled two ends of the Pacific Ocean.  That's within a five-month span.  The first one was during my trip to San Francisco.  When I heard that, I was nonchalant then, but I knew deep in my heart that there's a bigger reason I was brought here, right at this place, on October 25th, 2007.   

Friends of mine would think I'm one damn lucky person for having traveled without really spending anything (an understatement).  I have traveled far and wide, yes, but little did they know that this family trip was also a spiritual journey of mine.  I have had several intimate  experiences of that alone and my interaction with others.  I want to honor that now that I'm still sane.

      If my first view of the bursting of the waves in the above pics show, truly there were many times in my life I have been pushed around by external forces of guilt, shame and inadequacy beyond my control.  I went through all the tough times of wanting to be accepted but myself.  I have been shut off, put down, ignored, demoralized, abused by others, and sometimes there were self-inflicted wounds that won't heal.  I have been laughed at, been called all sorts of names.  They have somehow regained controI over the first 25 years of my life.

      Your opponents seemed to speak different voices, but these voices tell you one thing: they want you to feel inferior more than them and they want you to self-destruct. 

      That won't happen in my case.  I may have committed the same old mistakes, but one thing is for sure, I'd strive to be better.  One has many chances to correct oneself and even if it will take me a lifetime to stand up for my convictions, I shall do it.  I have half a dozen stories why my life have been saved (near accidents, sickness, thoughts of suicide, etc) by a Higher Being. The deep appreciation that I'm still alive is enough cause for me to live. I know hundreds of people who have worked their way by giving off themselves and I want to thank these people, those who have touched me and those who will.  I will post some stories about you at a later time. 

       Ironically, the onrushing currents at a San Francisco seashore was one unforgettable scene.  I caught a man standing (if you can, please maximize the second picture) along the sturdiest of all foundation, with his dog in tow, looking at the horizon in a meditative gaze.  This is no different from the calm and reassuring sea I saw in Quezon Province last Good Friday.   We will come full circle at some point wherever we are, whether by land, or by the two ends of the biggest ocean that is the Pacific.  By then, I'll be ready for you.                                   

      

Of Old Railways and Bridges

     New England, specifically the state of Maine, afforded me to take a glimpse not only of the cottage-style houses found in the rustic towns, but also of railways and bridges. If this would have been another booming city, these structures would have been torn down.

     Something I learned about myself when I cross under them, I just feel "weird." It's something ethereal, enigmatic, and romantic. Like I'm hearing age-old stories told to me again, the keeper of their secrets.

                                                   

                                                         

Helluva Disney Ride Together: Mama and I

   Mama, my mother, prefigures in my life more than anyone I can think of. 
We are in a love-hate relationship thing, she and I being both under the sign of Scorpio -- an exciting combination of ego-complementing-ego-fighting in the household. Mostly the latter.  I terribly miss her lang siguro, she's in Tagaytay for yet another seminar I guess.  My mom is turning 59 this year and she's the most active and workaholic person I know.  A major chunk of her work at the Bureau of Alternative Learning System at Department of Education (DepEd) requires travelling, and more travelling.  She has been from the northernmost tip to the southernmost end of the Philippines, from Aparri to Tawi-tawi.  I am waiting for the day when she gets promoted as Chief of the department, a position she so rightfully-deserved for her more than 30 years of service. 

     Anyway, an epiphany about Mama happened of all places -- in Disneyland, Anaheim.  I was with my Mama and Papa, my first in Disneyland; and they, their second time.  The Mama I saw in Disneyland was different from what I saw at the house who's domineering, strong-willed, provider, and all the strong qualities I have of her.  In Disneyland, she was the trouper.  She and I easily bonded and rode the rides together, unwittingly leaving Papa on some rides.  The first ride we rode was "Grizzly River Run," the the lame circling, rising and falling motions, soaked-wet.  Piece of cake for me.    Our second ride (with Papa) was the favorite of Mama.  It's called "Soaring Over California."   You're waist-strapped on a board and you'll be soared over a moving screen of images.  The illusion was as if you feel you're flying so fast over a vast of images.  It's great though. 

     I was beginning to get sweaty palms because I know we would encounter gravity-defying rides after.  I have fear of heights. That meant facing that fear head-on sooner than expected.  But that vanished when Mama did want to take the rides again (where she took the rides 3 months ago), and with me.  In making the decision whether to ride or not, you don't even have time to tinker about it.  When your companion wants to, you are forced to join the fun, else you'll be left behind.  So, I "enthusiastically" joined her in that ONE, BIG Freefall Drop, where I felt my insides were turned over suddenly. 

     Moreover, I had to tackle yet another staple in theme parks -- the dreaded roller-coaster. I was never a fan of roller coaster.  I have only ridden three of those in my life, and they didn't have the loops. Anyways, here in Disneyland, they have "California Screaming," where part of the attraction was gliding the 360-degree loop around Mickey Mouse's large outline.  The picture below was the aftermath of the said ride, with Mama showing composure (for the camera? heheh) and me, exhilaration.  I should have really enjoyed it for I wanted to do it again but coudn't, were it not for the incredible queue. 

     Now, going on a loop was not even in my list of 100 things to do before I die, but thanks to Mama, I should add it in my list and checked it off right away.

    

     After all that's been said and done, I think we are going to mark this off as one of icing on the cake.  I feel that Mama and I are being thrown away against each other it seems, but we unbelievably keep on holding on to each other.  And enjoying the ride as well.                               

Originally written on March 27, 2008:  http://paraiggy.multiply.com/

Naked Glory

     Serendipity happened yesterday as I looked over to one of my care-worn pictures posted here below.   My five maternal aunts, together with three young cousins to boot, stayed in our house at their week and a half long reunion/bonding time with their eldest sister, my mom.  The "girl-siblings reunion" were complete: four came from our home province in Masbate, another came from Kuwait, and my workaholic mom who's on the go all the time.  When there's a reunion, especially among first-degree relatives, one almost always has anecdotes, present concerns and plans to fill the time.  I got my own piece of simple, factual info from a first-hand source, my aunt, after I showed this family picture -- she has not just one, but few baby pictures of me!  It happened on the day they were about to leave.  I thought my quest for a baby picture is a lost case.    

That's me on my lollipop with my family, early 80's

     To others you'd wonder why fuss over baby pictures.  Without falling into sentimental trap,   keeping them would be a priceless treasure-trove to one's identity.  It's one aspect to self-knowledge.

 
     I recall one homework in my preparatory school where I could not produce my baby picture. I made an alibi which I have forgotten.  Another of that “show-me-your-baby-pic” homework came when I was in second or third grade.  Mama said I ought to have my sister’s pic when she was just a couple of months’ old or so.  Much to my apprehension, I had to make a white lie, anxious lest I lose my face.  As early as that time in my life, I made an awkward smile when I heard from classmates I was a cute, chubby baby.   Looking back now, I tried to take them for a ride but we really didn't know how to distinguish between a 1979 (my birth year) picture to an older, grayish one.  For all we know, I could have submitted my mom or dad's birth pic and the reactions were similar.   Nonetheless, I was glad I had an adorable baby pic, in my sister’s image. 

 

    From my early teens up until my early 20's, I had continued searching for every family picture and failing miserably that I didn’t have one solo baby pic.  I begun to completely understand our family situation then.  Ours started as a really humble beginning.    My father left for Saudi when I was four or five.  I had photos alright at my baptismal ceremony, but they're too old for me simply because I was baptized when I was 5 years old.  My baptism had to be compromised in favor of immediacy and practicality.  Maybe we didn't own a camera then. I couldn’t argue with that. 
 

    Ohh, I have another one which is considered a baby picture since it was taken when I was about 3 years old. But I won’t post it here unless it’s completely restored or if there's any hope if at all. I was the ring-bearer (??) of an aunt’s wedding. The lone picture was me at the round dinner table looking up at the camera. My face there is so mangled, it’s being slowly being eaten out by ghastly-looking dirt over my face. 
 

I am excited about my oncoming photos to be transported from the province.  My aunt, who owned the camera, was trying her darn best to make me remember a swimming outing at Tierra Pura that time, to no avail.  So I assume I must’ve been really young to frolic au naturel. I’m semi-excited about that one too. But it’s very nice if I can have a glimpse of my past , have a baby Iggy picture I can truly call my own.

 

A Gift For The New Year...

    Since yesterday (Saturday, Manila time), I've been conjuring up words, ideas and how to form them about one topic I'm strongly passionate about -- writers and their rights. When American guild writers in Hollywood 'can' have their own picket lines, 'can' disrupt tv shows and 'can' influence A-list stars to have no-show appearances in the likes of Golden Globe (well, let's see), it's something that Filipino writers, especially television writers, find a brazen act.  Anyhow, I will have to skip this and give way to a more fitting entry for the new year, 2008. 

        My gift came in the form of a dream, rather, my gift was/is my dream.  It happened on the first day of the year.  I've posted some of my dream entries here before because of searing visuals and their latent interpretation, but the question of "when" were just aside from the dream.  This time around, having a significant dream on the first day has impacted my life more than ever. 

     Doom!  How many times have I dreamt of scenarios of deluge, burning pot of fire, an asteroid explosion (at UP Sunken Garden), UFOs, ghastly sightings, a flashy conveyor-like tunnel to heaven, more extraterrestrial invasions, wars.  I've seen and heard each of them.  Did I tell you, I'm also in those scenes (I wasn't the UFO, okay?).   Scary, eh?   

        The dream on January 1st 2008 was no different, but with a twist.  I had two different dreams, one personal, the other, prophetic.  I will choose to share the latter coz one must take notice of this. 

            I am somewhere at one coastal area.  I don't know why I am here and I don't even see the coast from where I stand, except for the cool ocean breeze. I see myself standing at a big vacated lot, an empty outdoor basketball area filling up one mid-section area of steeply cliff private island.  It's been newly vacated, and I could sense something ominous is in the air.  In one flash, I see in my mind some people scampering away, I hear one dominant male voice empathetically tell others to "run away, there's flood."  I was frozen for one sec.  The eerie silence suffocates. Realizing I am the only one left in the area, I had to take action and leave promptly.

         I hear the sound of thunder.  Then a drizzle.  Instead of going up, I skid past rows of small terraced steps until...until I end up in a sprawling cliff.  What I see around the cliff are a few lifeless trees bending sideways or just lying there on the ground.  They're young black trees with thin trunks.    

         I see the ocean, there's none going on.  It's calm.  Then I hear a girl/woman close to my back, telling me to "hold on."  I turned around from the origin of the voice and saw "her" clutching to the one tiny dead trunk. Big cries from heaven suddenly roared.  I follow what she says, that is, to hold on to my own tiny dead trunk within my grasp.  But before I could begin to sense the portending thunder, I saw the massive ocean across horrendously turns into...ONE, INCREDIBLE TSUNAMI.  It not only overwhelmed me because of its massive size, I also see IT coming from the horizon and beginning to create chunks of inner waves from all sides, gaining strength.  Its sheer magnitude never before imagined.  I am so afraid, trying to hold on to dear life in one lifeless trunk.  I see the prussian blue wave matching the color of the sky one last time bracing towards me.  Its expanse covers an estimate of 100-ft in height by 200-ft (or a mile! I dont know) in width.  It's almost reaching the sky in perfect illusion and zooming in towards my direction, just a few hundreds of feet away from me.  She/he wants to devour me and the lifeless cliff. 

           Then, like a horse rider, I hold on to the lifeless trunk, bend my body upward and close my eyes.  Slowly, fragments of rain from the waves wash me down.  I pray to the high heavens to stop it...I hear only drizzles. 

           Moments after, I stand up...I only see a clear, blue horizon.  No waves.  Only the dark clouds clear up.  It's as if nothing prophetic happened.

          Not asking for another "show," but I see one thing falling down at me.  Just like a visual representation of tears, a big, crystal-clear white drop of rain the size of a quarter coin slowly and carefully heads to touch my right cheek. It is the most pleasant sensation of all:  minty cold, fresh, and alive.  End of dream. 

          Upon finishing this, why all of a sudden I am humming to Luther Vandross' "So Amazing."  Yes, if I have to borrow the lyrics from it, "God, You're So Amazing!" 

         And can my artist-friends please show up and sketch this dream. Paging Lara K. This latest dream behooves a visual representation. 

    

Happy 'Dysfunctional' Christmas

    So what will be the day's news for our country during the holidays? Reduced crimes or no petty crimes at all? Cool. Even the communist rebels vowed a four-day ceasefire against the government forces. Great. Just because it's Christmas -- uncool.

     Reading an international news engine today at latimes.com, I read that a family of atheists in Illinois is seeking to overturn a state law requiring public schools to have a moment of silence everyday for "reflection and student prayer." You couldn't have a more interesting news on Christmas like that. This is only the tip of the iceberg. What I'm driving at is time and again we have used the holiday season as a vain reason to be considerate and kind (not bad), be merry and joyful (not bad as well) to achieve...World peace? Let's set aside issues and rest? Then what?

     If travelling for some is for pure pleasure, it has afforded me that and has also expanded my perspective. In the state of Maine I have learned, business establishments and some residence have flags in their own frontyard at half-mast. They are opposed to their government whose soldiers are being deployed and hoping if they could see their shadows back home. In America, people wear their self-imposed beliefs in their flag-bearing yard. Can we say that to Filipinos without the fear of being threatened, sued, lost or killed? Or do you still care?

     Last December 14, it was my first to attend the annual UP-College of Arts and Letters Faculty Follies (that is after my six-year undergrad). I was expecting the staff and the professors of each department would do a romp, a riot and fun althroughout, as what previously have been done. The Art Studies Department, with just a two-man show and a couple of musical accompaniers, performed a mini-"Pasyon" (Passion Play) with a twist. Prof. Edru Abraham (founder of the Kontra-Gapi fame) skillfully and gamely performed with the different masks and movements that represented the main characters at hand, while Prof. Roselle Pineda sang an otherwise painful journey of the Lenten characters vis-à-vis contemporary Filipinos' wretched plight. While ‘Mam Roselle, my former teacher, was wailing for Edita Burgos (the real-life mother of her still-missing activist-son, Jonas Burgos); Mr. Abraham echoed the parallelism of the profound anguish that Mother Mary was feeling at her crucified son Jesus.

    At that moment, something roused in me.

    At the UP Lantern Parade a few days later, it was STAND-UP’s (the leftist University student group) turn for their presentation and while they made noise about their causes, I overheard these two young female UP students at my back who deridedly said, “andyan na naman sila (here they are again).” They said that repeatedly until they finished.

     Have we totally lost our nationhood to indifference? Columnist Conrado de Quiros said so in his article, please click: http://opinion.inquirer.net/inquireropinion/columns/view/20071217-107249/Dysfunctional. I hope not. I’d rather whine this Christmas and do something than do nothing.

Breaking news: another broadcast journalist was slain in Davao. No zero crime today this Christmas.

Colors 1 -- Shades of Gray and Sepia of New York

    I was egged on by my good friend to post a blog again, this time about my travels in the US.  He was expecting not another goody-goody entry like giving up my airplane seat to someone and receiving a compli drink for that (hey, haven't I got a right to post anything?).  I got his point, it's very "untravel-like," to say the least.  Ironically, I have not had posted a travel piece at length here, pakagat-kagat lang, or in bits and pieces.   Before the prodding, I was on the verge of planning to write about the places I've been in recently -- the bountiful Davao, the private Talikud Island and Boracay (more on those soon). 

     I have not given anyone a reason why I havent wrote anything about my travels.  That's because I didn't think I have it in me to show it off other than what people see obviously in my pictures.  Another heavy reason is the places I found were ineffable and deeply personal, hence, the need to value the sense of anonymity.  Try as I my attempt to write here, I feel I am only touching the surface. 

     When we arrived in Manila from the US, it was Halloween.  Something had been bothering me thereafter.  I was being led to look back about the myriad colors I saw during my wandering times.  I felt haunted by that constant daydreaming, those lingering memories that stayed with me.  By what I meant by haunted, it's not the way I looked in this picture when I first set foot at Times Square in Manhattan last May, aptly called "City Lights." 

      
   This moment seemed magical; however, it only lasted as the glittering lights went off (which in Manhattan, never goes off until early morning).  The beautifully-framed boards were there to look at, but could I feel them?  To me, they just blinded and swallowed everything up. 

      If the commercial lights at Times Square didn't tickle my fancy, I have learned to appreciate the subdued colors of gray in paved roads and streets while bright yellow cabs passed me by; and the long-standing structures that borne the prevalent architectural times. 

     I have been a fan of sepia.  When I was three or four, I remember I saw a bird's eye view picture of a massive cathedral.  In it, I could only see dot-sized people swarming around the cathedral.  I was amazed to see the cathedral in sepia, washed aglow by the sun's rays.  I didn't know I could see a world of sepia and a semblance of that picture in flesh at St. Patrick's Cathedral at Madison Avenue. Though it is made of white marble, the church turns to sepia when the bright sun hits it. 

    Among the fewer buildings that I saw (given the limited time) in NY and had me astounded, color and otherwise, was when I saw the western entrance of the "Cathedral of Saint John the Divine" along Amsterdam Avenue.  THAT thing (and I mean THAT, being the third largest Christian church in the world) is massive.   My family and I were on the way to eat after the commencement ceremony and before the doctoral hooding of my sister, snaking our way to the avenues and streets.  When we turned around another side of the street, we saw this Gothic cathedral, comfortably sitting on its own grayish elegance and magnificence. I had to stop for a sec and took a snap.  I hardly breathed and gaped.  (My friendster's barring me to post another pic, so, no pic...).  I was completely awed I didn't even notice there's a scaffolding (an ongoing reconstruction was in place) at the right side of the facade.  I'm hardly a church-goer, but If I'm going to visit NYC again, I'll pay a visit to the cathedral, feel its cathartic presence, and make a wish. 

Next up:  The green and the whites

      
 

Illumined

    I have an anecdote from the 2007 Teachers College Doctoral Hooding Ceremony at the Riverside Church, New York where my sister, Charisse, finished her Doctorate.  The Gothic-style church is so staggering, (see sample photo at http://www.flickr.com/photos/biotron/6203718/), that you'd feel you're being transported back in the 13th century in an instant.  My parents and I were stricken with fatigue already, what with the University Commencement held at the Columbia Univ's Morningside Campus held earlier mid-morning of May 16th. 

      Anyways, we were seated at the balcony of the Church.  As they were calling out the names for the hooding, I went down to the center aisle and stood quietly.  Armed with a camera and the program as cue, I shouted at the top of my lungs when my sister's name was called out and said "Mabuhay" and followed it up with a "whoooo, whoooo."  I got a faint, amused laughter from the conferred doctors.  Each family had their own kind of cheers, why should we be left out?  It was a proud moment, not only that a Filipina, my sister, has achieved this far, but also a moment for our family.  I knew my voice bounced all the way up the balcony, to my parents.  I was also cheering them in a way that they have instilled the value of hard work in us.   

     My father worked in Saudi Arabia even before I learned the real meaning of the initials -- OCW were (overseas contract worker); meanwhile, my mother was then working in Bureau of Education as a researcher.  Our money wasn't enough for the family and for our other relatives.  I realized we didn't have enough money when I was like 5 years old, a cotton candy seller was plying our neighborhood, I excitedly called my mama for that sweet rolled-up candy.  I was refused, then I thought to myself, "that was just 25 cents."  And then twenty-two years later, I was standing in front of my sister, a scholar in one of the best universities in the world.  Amazing. 

     I THINK WE RIGHTFULLY DESERVE THIS TRIP, IF NOT FOR MY PARENTS.

     The speech was by Thomas Sobol.  He used a beautiful poem towards the end of the speech.  It behooved me to download this and share this with you, knowing that humanity is going in this direction. 

In Time Like Air

by May Sarton

Consider the mysterious salt;

In water it must disappear.

It has no self.  It knows no fault.

Not even sight may apprehend it.

No one may gather it, or spend it.

It is dissolved, and everywhere.

But, out of water into air,

It must resolve into a presence,

Precise and tangible and here.

Faultlessly pure, faultlessly white,

It crystallizes in our sight,

And has defined itself to essence.

What element dissolves the soul

So it may be both found and lost,

In what suspended as a whole?

What is the element so blest

That there identity can rest

As salt in the clear water cast?

Love, in its early transformation,

And only love may so design it

That the self flows in pure sensation

Is all dissolved and found at last

Without a future or a past,

And a whole life suspended in it.

The faultless crystal of detachment

Comes after, cannot be created

Without the first intense attachment.

Even the saints achieve this slowly;

For us, more human and less holy,

In time like air is essence stated.

    

      This poem stands on its own, but for those who want to have the bigger picture and how it was used contextually, please click http://www.tc.columbia.edu/i/media/tomsobolmedalspeech.doc for the full transcript. 

Due To Disinterested Public Demand

    Exactly after two weeks since I announced it would be my last blog, in Friendster blog that is, I am taking back what I said because of, you guess it, two people.  My then-decision was based on my lame reaction of reaching the point that I was at my most vulnerable and closing-off would be the better, if not the best option at the time. 

    One of those two is a former colleague, the other a stranger; my friend brought this 'stranger' along.  I felt the hunch to meeting this friend of mine after a lengthy phone conversation, catching up on each other of sorts.  On the day of our meeting, I had a dream that just wouldn't go away.  This is one of my weirdest dreams I knew I was bent on searching for clues, or answer to the clues (however you may look at it).  The significance of this dream in my life and the seeming connection of my meeting my friend and her friend became real to me. 

     A book of poems was handed to me by my friend's friend, written by her.  I opened the book randomly and there it was, a poem called "Decline/Ascent." Now, that was a direct answer to my dream.  I felt joyous, didn't know a dream and a little poem could empower me so much as this.  Have lots of work to do.

P.S.  For those people wanting to know what my dream was, just ask me.  I'll tell you.

Lettin’ It Out – My Last Friendster Blog

      Initially, when I started this blog, I made myself clear that I was going to express myself, through writing, the experiences I went through or any emotion or thoughts I have, even my included here dreams I have.  I have filtered them out – for an audience.  Right now, I have 606 people on my list, friends and strangers alike.  Who’s reading?  I don’t want to deny, but hell, I care, not for the number of those reading or the number of comments.  I care for the composition of those reading.  It came to a point that a dilemma has cropped up, whether I want to let everyone know without them passing judgments on me and my being. 

      In blogging, you could be your own self, but what happens when you feel you have crossed the line between writing to express and writing to impress.  When you have put all the embelishments there is, but still, something’s missing.  Even when you are compelled to write, you will have already filtered out in your mind other things that you think would not be accepted.  Conversely, it’s also hard to put those details of your life without thinking of shocking your loved ones, or incriminating friends or yourself, putting off strangers, or worse, losing your job.  When you decide to let it out, is too much information enough to liberate oneself?  When you write, for whom do you validate? 

     There are few of my blogs here that after posting them, I really felt exposed that I wished I had not posted them.  And I want to tell you this too, that those lazy times (meaning the times I had not written and decided to keep them for myself) were happy times and great insights I’ve had. 

     My main argument in blogging is that it has so democratized how you view your world (and the world to you) that it has left out intimate moments with people.  A ‘friend’ reads your blogs and he/she may not even keep in touch for a month, a year; and still can know about what you do.  Your good friend becomes your anonymous-reader/virtual-friend.  I don’t want to have relationships like that. 

     I have thought of deleting at least a hundred profiles that have infiltrated my account who I have no connection at all, but that would mean going through their names and trying to have a face-recall.  And before I know it, that would also require questioning the remaining hundreds if they deserve a glimpse of my life, and I have no time thinking about that either. 

    Frienster blog has served its purpose and I have learned I can’t separate myself/edit myself out from my writing.  I am moving on to another blog site that has a private and public viewing feature.  Or maybe I’d just create an anonymous account for everyone to read.    I just know I love writing, but it will never love me back.    

   

I Left My Heart...

    I can't just mention one particular place, but I am leaving my heart in the bountiful street life of New York; the quiet walks by the riverside bridge at Providence, Rhode Island; the long but exquisitely brimming drive around Maine; the vibrantly cosmopolitan Boston life; the mystical mountains of the dreamy California; and certainly not the least, the tranquil calling from the Pacific Ocean winds in San Francisco.  I am now a staunch believer when searching for happiness, one even has to travel around the world.

    To all the amazing people I met -- till we meet again. 

    Manila, here I come!

Things That Make You Want To Say ‘Wow’!

    Interjections are part of our daily speech. They represent a particular culture, for example, in Filipino showbiz parlance, who’d have thought Ruffa Gutierrez coined the term “super duper” in the early to mid-90’s to every sentence unthinkable and made it our own. A hundred and one list goes on.

     “Wow” easily dislodged my oft-expressed Pinoy two-word invective which has a ‘mother’ in it. To all those moralists, invectives are just it, spurs of the moment. When I came to the United States last May, wow became my byword and barely six months after and into the homestretch, it’s still my universal expression – never leaving my side. I am making a wow game for you.

     Wow is/ wow isn’t…

• when you get a US visa and you realize only one out of ten people is ‘awarded’ to…(my rate isn’t accurate, just a guess)
• when your nationhood is put on a litmus test by the study of contrasts of what an airport looks like, e.g. Taiwan Int’l Airport’s massive and organized airport as opposed to NAIA’s…
• the inexplicable joy that you’re family is actually growing in number (having a niece and a sis-in-law), the memories you share and the sad irony of your mortality
• when friends and strangers gravitate towards you and lend your ear about life’s complexities and you intuitively feel that’s the one thing they need from you
• seeing little and big miracles open up to you, like seeing a moose trot in front of you on the highway when most people have not seen an elusive moose in their lives.  Make that two moose sightings in one day!
• or when you visit a grand and majestic of a place and you instantly remember a dream several years back, a subliminal message slowly unravelling
• or when you recall a person, whether a friend or a stranger becoming your angel, who in the most dramatic and death-defying way said, (imagine her as the drunk pedicab woman-driver with you as the lone passenger traversing the dangerous and busy stretch of Roxas Boulevard) “nandyan lang ang mga pangarap natin” (“are dreams are only there to reach”); and after all is said and done, your dreams do come true
• when you have seen and touched the earth’s ‘creative pageantry,’ you just have to participate by honoring the earth…
• when you realize that wherever altitude you may be seeing a mountain, a coast, a harbor, an ocean or a river, they are the same thing, beautifully-created as ever
• when you’re on top of the mountain trail, can see the heavenly-reaching horizon and taught where the sun rises first in the whole East Coast.
• the awe when you first see the turning of maple trees, the signal of autumn.
• the details of the past and present, the pains and the joys, the secrets and fantasies that only an intimate friendship is shared with…

Royal Treatment from American Airlines (cont'd)

    From East Coast where I travelled to some places where each has its own ascribed charms and idiosyncrasies: from New York to New Jersey, from Washington to Boston, from Rhode Island to Maine (my own travel insights will be discussed later), now comes the West Coast.  But first, I got a royal treatment from American Airlines on my way to California out of a really small deed I did. 

     For a relatively new traveller like me, getting to the airport alone and going to the ins and outs of all the airport procedures as enormous as JFK airport in New York could post as a threat to my sometimes logically-challenged self.  For people who don't know me, I'd just save you from all the details lest you find me irritating and stop reading this entry through and through. 

     Fast forward to my looking for my seat, 37 C which is at the center aisle and the fourth row to the last, a lone empty seat was there for me waiting (meaning:  I was one of the last people to sit).  A girl beside my chair asked me if she could let her boyfriend who's seated behind her be transferred to my assigned seating.  What's really in it for me but to rest my tired muscles and be anywhere; I want the lovers together.  No big deal.

     The lovers excitedly informed the stewardess about the incident and she was so delighted about what I did that she reached for my arm and squeezed it.  Then, she went to get an earphone for me before everyone else!  That was just the start of things.  I received another compliment from her when I went for a john.  I played a bit incredulous knowing that was not a special case.  Later on I realized changing my corner seat for a center seat was quite a discomfort.  You don't want to bother your seatmates anytime you want to go for a break.  But that's okay. 

     I got up for a stretching break during the last hour of my five-hour travel.  I saw the stewardess again and she was awfully nice about that thing that she asked whatever drink I wanted.  I got myself a small bottle of red wine for free!

     The disembarking was another; she also had a glowing aura around her that asking for a hug from her was easy in a snap.  We embraced.  I didn't know what got me to say this after but I told her never forget that I'm a Filipino, but she said "it doesn't really matter." 

     The good thing about it is that I've learned to smile about compliments.  And I still have that certain naivety about me pa pala.  Btw, the stewardess' name is Victoria.  Hope to fly with you again when I come back to Manila. 

Just Can't Get Enough of my 'Fillers'

       Youtube has been my favorite site for months.  Yesterday, I have mined songs that's been my "fillers," those songs that I want to 'fill-in' every minute of my day whenever possibe to keep me sane and happy (or insane and mad).  I was obliterated from hearing these songs when my favorite radio station in Manila, Citylite 88.3, changed its programming from smooth jazz to another music format, bordering on the acid jazz and club music.

    

       Some surprises are in the order.  First, I didnt know I have been listening to the quartet group Manhattan Transfer all my life. I know "Shaker Song" is theirs, but I didn't know these songs are from them too:  "Smile Again" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GPYh7bhCha0 (no music video), and "A World Apart" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JS0fqSlkjjI, an ironically reassuring message about loss and separation (with a cool video to boot). 

      

     Secondly, "Stay Awhile," a ditty song about begging a loved one back after a night gone astray (from infidelity?), from the late Colombian-American singer Soraya http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ApRrYdew84c. 

    

    Thirdly, a very romantic song about staying always close with a loved oned, "Stay Awake" by Ronnie Laws http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jbDusLVNTEo. 

    

     Who wouldn't be caught up with the catchy friendship song of Incognito's "Still A Friend of Mine" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xd2hLtJwBfA. 

     I'd love to hear your thoughts, do we have the same fillers?

Scary Scenarios (The Wowowee Brouhaha)

     Our minds will be roused; our values questioned. 

     Can someone as visible as Joey de Leon not speak his mind on the matter?  For sure Joey's been waiting for another debacle by Willie and the bigwigs of ABS, and he has found the perfect timing to provoke the other side than now.  Is that wrong?  The means of broadcasting the complaints on a television program may not be the right avenue, but I'd rather lean towards some people whose not afraid to speak their minds.  So Joey has my back, or rather, I'd go for the truth. 

     Willie Revillame has struck back with yet another tactic.  Is this how anyone responds to an inquiry by serving the pity effect and then washing the enemy's dirty linen in public?  If our justice system had not allowed the show to run and put whoever's responsible with the 70-plus lives lost almost a year and a half ago in the ULTRA stampede tragedy, then none of this would not have happened. 

     Willie Revillame vs. Joey De Leon. 

     Pro-Willie/Anti-Joey or Anti-Willie/Pro-Joey. 

     Wowowee vs.  Eat Bulaga.

     ABS-CBN vs. GMA-7. 

     Our viewing public split for personalities, more artistas will come to Willie's rescue, the audience is divided on which tv shows to watch, either you're maka-dos or maka-siyete.  More exposure-starved politicians will be seen, more media mileage from them and the media will lap them up as well.  A Senate inquiry comes in, then another fact-finding committee is created; more money and time is wasted.  In time, we will all go back to our tv sets and forget about it. It's only a ratings game after all.  But wait, how about people lobbying Willie for President?

     Do we Filipinos really deserve this travesty? 

A 'Heart' Life

     My current read is Carlos Castaneda's "The Teachings of Don Juan:  A Yaqui Way of Knowledge".  It's the anthropologist's (Castaneda) experiences with a Yaqui Indian shaman, Don Juan, in Sonora, Mexico.  Early on, I've been interested in things occult, but never really have the diligence to follow through.  I hope this book will help me further become more aware.  How wouldn't one be amazed in this book and learn that shamans have their own cognition and find terms such as dark sea of awareness as their belief/reality.  Just amazing! 

     I just know I'll finish this book when I read the introductory quote:

         "For me there is only the traveling on paths that have 

         heart, on any path that may have heart.  There I travel,

         and the only worthwhile challenge is to traverse its full

         length.

         And there I travel looking, looking, breathlessly."

                                                                    -- Don Juan

                                        

Attention: Calling All The Lighthouses of the World

    We call it "parola" in Filipino, lighthouses function especifically as beacons of light which serve as a military manuever and/or economic advance by fishermen. 

     My fascination about lighthouses started in movies where they often use it as romantic picturesque backdrops against a striking sunset.  The last time I saw one in film was a couple of years ago in the film "The Majestic" starring Jim Carrey.  The postcard-view lighthouse was shot at Point Cabrillo in Mendocino, California.  Pic is shown below:  

                                     

    

    

   

   

    One can only see a lighthouse on the coast or by the rivers, and so the obvious reason why I like lighthouse is that it's near the water.  And I'll always find my way back to water, in whatever state of life I am in. 

     Ligthouses afford a time for lovers for that romantic isolation; when alone, a wish fulfillment.

    Standing on a hill or in coastlines, a lighthouse is a constant reminder for a sign of strength. If one can reach that tower of light in their midst, then anything's possible.  Really. 

     That's me in that all-embrace moment.  I'll get to the perfect lighthouse myself.

  

    

At the Portland Head Light, Cape Elizabeth, Maine.  Enjoy!   

Coming Soon...Pics and a Blog

some of the earthly dreams realized before I die...

Dream Files: Pure Survival Story

     Water most often than not appears in my dreams. It's not surprising since I'm a water-born sign (Scorpio).  In material form, water has been my refuge.  That's why an excess of water in my dream baffles me no end. 

     The last time an impending flood flooded my sub-conscious realm was like a CGI-manipulated Hollywood scene, replete with fantastical elements like a UFO spotting their lone target (that would be "me"), of running away en masse to a huge Chinese temple, of suddenly freezing time, of colorful moths slowly emerging, fluttering the air.  Get the picture?

     In m dream today, I work in a basement of a school building when suddenly, a tsunami-like ball rolled over the building.  I was trapped, together with some students (real names and people of my college blockmates included).  The wierdest part was the building is underground-built, and the basement where I am was 7-8 floors down!  I knew in my dream that I didn't know how to swim, let alone float my way up.  And then I saw myself deep under the sea, trying to hold my breathing for as much as I could, my body gliding up, my feet in tow, a few bubbles escape.  I felt the calm sea, but what I'm after was my life. 

     In the news, I was the the lone survivor of the underground school that was engulfed by the flood (!).  I attended a simple funeral rites for my colleagues.  There was profound sadness in the air for the 25 or so lives lost.  All the people could not believe I survived.  They deemed it a miraculous act.

     A lavish motorcade followed, with me standing beside Angel Locsin on her seat.  What?!

Demonic Love/Lovely Demon

     Two weeks ago, I dreamt that a demon in disguise of a human being was beguiling me to be near him.  There's no mythic horns and tail, but I could see his dark gaze drawing an inexplicable force on me.  I did not make the first step; our eyes met, and suddenly, I was in a trance-like state -- a dream inside my dream. 

     Your 'soul' was inside me, and that hurt.  (We're a few feet away facing each other, possible?  Impossible?!)  I forced myself to cease the dream away.  I was frigthened and ecstatic.  Clueless.

     A lead was in store two days ago.  Gabriel Garcia Marquez's novel put it succinctly, love is "the most terrible demon of all." My awakening or destruction, all remains to be seen. 

Leaving On A Jet Plane While Most Filipinos Cast Their Votes

     As I've mentioned before, it was my first flight ever, and it happened on election day.  My parents and I boarded China Airlines.  The night before we left, I had our monthly lunch gathering with friends.  They all gave their well-meaning support:  Walter informed me about China Air having one air crash every year, Ricky seconded I would not be missed because I would see him in two weeks (read between the lines), Nestor concerned I will have brought a "gift" when I come back (read between the lines again), and Hans offered his one good advice for the day -- make a bomb joke at the airport.  These are some of my good friends and I am "lucky" to have them.  Those bitches.  hehehe

     Here's a poem I wrote minutes we left the dreary Taiwan skies.  But it revealed something beyond.   

Under a dome of fluffy clouds -- illusions of touching you, is but a window besides.

That piercing but gentle rays you glowed lined oft-beaten paths.

The grayish winds that portend inescapable air turbulence.  Hang on to "air turbulence."

Amorphous lightness we leave behind, guiding our rear side.

The massive toy playing once again with you...waiting to be licked...barely passing one thin moving layer over a bed of static and heavy set.

Souls rising and passing the dark orange upper net. 

Beneath it --

Island maps forming out of mushiness, the sun's final bow gently illuminating my line of sight.

Its last moments of the endless moments. Highlights!

Forever wanting.    

Groban's "You Are Loved" is the message.   

   

   

The Heat Is On in NY

     It was spring when my parents and I arrived here in New York ten days ago, the time when the transition between spring and summer was at its numbing 'chilliest'.  Just when I was about to enjoy wearing jackets during the day, summer came all too sudden yesterday (Friday).  I feel that I never left Manila after all.   

     My writing has become limited lately because of three main factors:  one, the fatigue that comes with daily treks to tourist spots (I have seen barely 20 min of tv for 10 days, even missing out on the last 5 shows of American Idol), because I usually arrive late at night and be up early the next day; two, we stay at a relative's house and it's a bit of a hiya (shame) if I act like I own the pc; and lastly, my rolls of film have not yet developed and what I want is to create a "travelogue" where I could write and pictures are seen altogether.

     What I'm excited to tell you is that I saw my first film at Walter Reade Theater at NY's Lincoln Center (the Philippine's counterpart of the CCP) --John Schlesinger's "Midnight Cowboy" where a mini-retro on Schlesinger's works was featured.  The film was somber and heavy for most parts, disturbing in a few scenes, eerily chilling in a couple of scenes, most esp the "wackos' party scene."  It beautifully depicted what an unusual friendship can happen between an emotionally distraught and 'lonesome' hustler (played by John Voight) and a crippled tramp (Dustin Hoffman) amid the chaotic world in where-else -- New York. 

       The bonus of the night was when Sylvia Miles (never-heard of her before), an Academy Supporting Actress nominee of the said film, was there during the forum.  A bit of the trivia she shared was that the film was "rehearsed like a play for about two weeks."  Not bad for its psychologically grotesque appeal. 

     After the last name of the film credits rolled up, a few moments of hush were in the air, and then an involuntary applause came aftewards.  That's how tugging and relevant it still is today after 37 years it was made. 

New Horizons, Introduction

        I am now embarking on things very alien to me, what with the windfall in terms of travelling.  They say that travelling for children is part of one's "education," while for adults, it's part of an "experience."  For me, being in NEW YORK now is both an education and an experience.  SInce arriving on Monday (US time), it hasn't sunk in to me yet that I'm here; I have defied time by its forward and backward shifts.  Technically, my family and I travelled for two days.  I'm still feeling a bit drowsy, must be the effects of a jetlag.  Still, I don't have any reason to complain. 

       

        I have no pictures as of the moment because of time constraints and won't have the energy (the main reason) to do all things together.  I have just attended the school and the college's graduation rites of my sister in Columbia University, and I'm using the Internet facilities at their library to write this. 

      

        I couldn't wait to add more blog and pics here.  I hope you enjoy them as much as I do because it's an unexpected dream that was fulfilled.   

        I will see you in six months.   

"A Trip Of Your Lifetime"

     The consul at the US Embassy told this to us -- twice.  The first was an egging on, since it was all three of us, my parents and I, it would be our first time to the States.  The question led if it was our first time to go overseas.  My father paused a couple of seconds, thinking of what he would be going to say, talked about his stint at Saudi in one brief sentence.  Then the consul read my mom's fellowship stint in Australia, she said, "I studied there." 

     It was my turn.  He looked at my paper, "So you're an artist...a filmmaker."  I lowered my shoulders and bent my face towards the glass mirror that separates the questioner and the questioned, seconded, "An independent filmmaker."  The bold-faced "Mowelfund Film Institute" I put in really helped. 

     The next was the purpose of the visit, the clincher part.  When he saw the reason of our visit, "So, Columbia University is a very expensive school, how could she (my sister) afford it?"  My mom politely responded, "She's on a scholarship."  He was amazed at that fact.  A follow-up question was, "What's her plan after her graduation?"  Mother said, "She got accepted for a Post-Doctorate Research position at Brown University this July."  Now, the consul was floored. 

     I don't recall what went previously or next, but the consul looked at my paper and joked if I'm not going to go to Hollywood and make "Superman 4."  I flashed my beauty pageant grin and said, "No, I'm going to make films here and live (here) in my lifetime."  He asked me again:  "So you teach, what do you teach?"  "I teach English, I have two students, one (basic) English, and the other under creative writing program."  And for how long, I should have said four, but I answered two, when I started teaching English for Koreans as my first job. 

     There's a long quiet while the consul was typing, he was also biting the end of his ballpen with the cap on...then he asked for our bank certificates, my mom frantically gave them...The last paper was my bank certificate.  It was the longest time he read a paper during that interview...hmmm...bakit kaya?  Was it that it's not too much?  I kept my poise.   Then he asked, "Is it all your funds?"  I retorted, "Some of the funds, I saved, part of it, I borrowed."  This was a blur, because after that I think he referred to my parents, maybe to take care of me.

     Then the moment came, the three yellow slips were returned to us, a signal that you're application is accepted.  I did know that, but it was not on my head.  Then he handed his last sentence and smiled, "Congratulations, this will be your trip of a lifetime,"  And he quickly pointed a finger at me: "And you, come back, okay, there are only a few independent filmmakers in the Philippines."  I was not sure what he really meant, I heard the word "a few."  Our resolved and excited sighs deafened his last words.   

     After a three and a half hour wait for three separate waiting lines, the interview was a breeze.  We were scared shitless, that's for sure.  But my Mom, whose more superstitious than I am, believes in signs, slightly got fate's approval when we received our number to the interview, 3218; the number eight being a lucky number. 

     Ate, were it not for you and what you've achieved, we would have been denied.  We will be together again really soon. 

     A friend told me before that applying for a US Visa is like an elephant passing through the eye of a needle; he was totally right on.  But it was offset by a lot of prayers on the family's part.  On my end, I told it to some of my dear friends and offered for their prayers. 

     After the interview, I listed each friend that knew about this, and it amounted to twenty-nine (29) people.  I thought I only told it to less than 10 people and it's supposed to be a hush-hush.  I realized that I have a lot more to be grateful for more than a visa approval--real good friends.  A pasalubong is looming...(bibisita lang po ako...heheh).