Head Over Heels (at all times) Please

This afternoon, I fell. Not in love. I fell on my knee and as a result I scratched myself (yes, as logic suggests, on the left knee). While I don't like finger-pointing, I must say that my shoes are to blame!

I used to fear falling while balancing in the bus or train while wearing high heels. I never thought I would fall while walking on a perfectly level, carpeted floor, on my way to my cubicle--at work!

You would think you got it, you think everything is under control, then something happens.

And that something surprises you.

I, by the way, am not a big fan of surprises.

Unless of course, it is when you are caught off-guard the first you try the dumpling at Crystal Jade La Mian Xiao Long Bao and as your teeth sink into the outer layer and it breaks, you realize that there is hot soup inside the dumpling. Beautiful.

My Space

I received an email from my good friend, Pam today. She says that she saw my My Space account and was very surprised because of some vulgar comments in there. Apparently, my account is set to auto-approve comments.... It is not something that I would pay attention to, as the last time I accessed that account was in 2004. I don't even remember my password. Bummer.

Jailed Jeffrey

I read Jeffrey Archer's Prison Diaries, the first diary at least. I didn't quite enjoy it as his other books. I refused to read any more from the series.

Thanks to Carl, I am now reading his latest work--Cat O'Nine Tales. After I read the foreword, I was surprised to learn that he was actually incarcerated (after some research I found that it was for perjury and libel), the Prison Diaries were not fictitious. I was curious and wanted to know more about how the crime came about but I stopped myself from looking up details of his case as I want to associate him only with happy reading and interesting twists.

(Lord) Jeffrey Archer is most definitely the greatest short story writer! Cat O'Nine Tales is, as expected, very enjoyable. It is composed on nine short stories about crime shared behind bars (loosely) based on fact.

I have two wishes for My Lord. First is that I hope he writes ten more books before retiring (he is into his sixties) and second is that he lives the rest of his days as a model citizen.

It's My Fault!

Today was a very tiring day! I woke up late, as usual, had late lunch, as usual and headed to Orchard Road to meet up with Odell. I dragged him to a certain shop, and he ended up buying shoes. We then headed to Paragon, where he shopped for tops--button downs, afterwhich we went to Wisma because he wanted to look for more tops--t-shirts this time, but no such luck.

Our next stop was to have early dinner with Obet and Cindy at this particular hawker. I had been craving for Mango Chicken for the longest time. It turns out that the establishment has moved, so I called some friends to inquire but nobody knew where exactly the new location is. We settled somewhere else. The only consolation was that we had cereal prawn.

The following item in the agenda is to watch Smokin' Aces. So we all headed to Cathay Cineplex to catch the 9:50 show. When we got there, we found out that it was no longer being shown! Bummer. I was in the mood for some violence and dirty language. Haha.

We ended up going to Clarke Quay for some Dad Drinks. I got to really talk with Cindy again. I missed her. There was a time when I saw her everyday. It is funny how a lot of things have changed but still it seems as though everything is the same. Some oxymoron there.

Anyways, it started to rain real hard, and I had the sinking feeling that we would get stranded. As in Cast Away. We had not one umbrella on us. I had with me a cap, though I seriously doubt how much it would help.

Of course we eventually got cabs. And got home safely.

I had a fun day. It was totally unexpected, all the plans didn't quite push through. I am reminded of a line I read or heard somewhere, (I think it is from John Lennon, I'm not sure if it is a song though) Life is what happens to you when you are busy making plans.

Obet, Cindy and Odell, I admit it, I was my fault that Odell bought new shoes, it was my fault that we didn't get to eat Mango Chicken, and it was my fault we didn't get to watch the movie.

She is Haunting Me!

I was reading the supposed last of Thomas Harris' Hannibal books, Hannibal Rising. What was supposed to be a fifteen-minute read before sleeping, turned to an hour of reading.

I liked all the books from the series, this was no exception. I was really into it when I came across a quotation from Ono no Komachi!

She is definitely haunting me! A ghost of a poet who lived centuries ago is calling me.

Oh and I am suddenly reminded that a few weeks ago, I got myself a couple of kimono tops :)

Nose Picker

I was on a shuttle, a transfer from the resort to the ferry terminal. The sun was at our side of the shuttle, I closed the curtain and looked at the scenery through the window on the opposite side. I was shocked to see a middle aged man pick his nose with his pointing finger (while carrying his child, a toddler with a head full of hair). After a few jabs, he puts his pointing finger to his mouth! It was mortifying!

I poked at my almost-asleep friend beside me and motioned him to look at the scenery through the window at the opposite side of the bus.

After a few seconds, he faces me laughing and says "Bakit kailangan ipakita mo pa sa akin yun?" (Translation: ""Why did you have to make me see that?").

The answer is that it was so scary that I could not face it on my own.

Walking Tall

As long as I could remember, I liked high heels. Friends would wonder how I managed walking, officemates thought I was tall. It might be genetic; my Mom has trouble walking in flat shoes!

My life changed in more ways than I could imagine when I moved to Singapore.

On my second day to work, I took the bus. The ride took me by surprise. It was as if I was riding a giant bump car. I almost fell; it was such a struggle to balance. If there were less people standing, I swear I would have fallen on my face. My shoes didn't help.

I was faced with the ordeal of giving up high heels. My life depended on it. Another issue was that I didn't have flat shoes for work.

To make a long story short, I started wearing flat shoes. I would gradually increase the heel height until I was able to determine the optimal height. Two and a half inches. Perfect.

As I gained confidence in my balancing skills, I would once in a while wear my 4-inch-heels. Of course my feet still suffered as I did a lot of walking here. My only consolation was that at least I still get to wear the shoes that I like without jeopardizing my life. Balancing in buses, it is like riding a bike, once you have mastered it, the skill is yours forever.

It is probably over-confidence on my part when I purchased this pair of shoes that caught my eye.

The first time I wore it, it was a Friday. Come Saturday, I could hardly walk, my calves hurt!

The second time I wore it, I went to a party. I spend 95% of the time seated. The minute I got home, I immediately took off my shoes. No, not when I got inside my room. I took my shoes off right after I got in the front door.

Today was the third time I wore them. The third time was NOT a charm.

Despite the suffering brought about by this pair, I still have not given up on them. I will continue to "train" myself. I refuse to give up. After all, I fell more than a few times and even scratched my legs in more places than one when I was learning how to ride a bike.

Kampai to the Funny, the Good Looking, the Rich & the Invincible

I don't remember where I read it (probably GQ), or when, but it was about the stages of drunkness. Although it was very short, it was apparent that much thought and maybe research had been put into it.

Stage 1 - You are funny

Stage 2 - You are good looking

Stage 3 - You are rich

Stage 4 - You are invincible

Nins, with or without alcohol, you are funny and good looking. Turts is the rich one when drunk. I don't know about invincibility though.

Odell, don't be confused. You are not invincible. However, you are something that starts with INVI and ends with IBLE too. I can't quite remember that one letter that I missed. Sssssssorry.

Settling

In one of my friend and I's email exchanges, we tapped on the topic of settling.

He says that there is no way a person can NOT settle.

He argues that there is always someone better, so when you meet someone and decide to be with that person, you have settled. You have given up the chance to meet "better". And he adds that maybe that is why marriage is called settling down.

As the once queen of cynicism, I understand his point completely. It made sense, it made perfect sense.

However, despite all my boo-ing on the cheesy theories people have about romantic love, I have a different view. I think that when you line up all the women (or men) you have met, dated, liked, loved, dumped, glorified, lost, what-have-you, there would always be that one person who would be, over everyone, more. And if you end up with that person, that is what I call, not settling.

Show Stopper

After a long rainy day spent singing "I Need to Know", hunting for bargain books, tracking down watch service centers that are open on weekends, watching The Reaping while munching on popcorn, helping out a guy friend shop for tops and jeans, teasing Kristine, eating quesadillas and drinking mojitos, I come home under the attack of hyper-acidity, the lime being the culprit.

I look at the pantry to realize, there is no bread. No carbs in sight! Not even crackers!

Vegetables, check.

Raw meat--chicken and beef, check.

Nine eggs, back bacon and salami, check.

Laughing Cow cheese, check.

Chocolate cake, check.

Everything. Everything but what would help neutralize my complaining tummy.

I grabbed a big bag of potato chips (what seems to be the only carb in the house apart from the pack of uncooked rice and corn soup mix) and a bottle of water then headed to my room to watch Alfie. Again. Probably for the fifth time.

I was hopeful that being engrossed in something would take my mind off the searing pain in my intenstines.

After watching the movie, I started to write thinking that it would be about Show Stoppers, Alfie does that to you. But I realized, I am too sleepy to go on. It is, after all, a very interesting topic and so, I am putting my foot down, I am not going to write about it when in my current state: seriously sleepy and in pain (stupid lime!).

Can't Eat, Can't Sleep

As I could sleep all day and eat like a sumo wrestler, when I say--write Can't Eat, Can't Sleep, it is not about my present state.

This is about the invisible man.

Mr. Invisible has loved and lost, loved and lost, and loved and lost. Some may say that he has striked out. Others may think, this qualifies him to join the major league. I just think he is wiser now.

He is a real person, and though visible, he argues that sometimes, on vary rare occasions, people fail to see him. I think it is a conscious decision, he doesn't want to be seen.

This person is contemplating on going on a different direction, a new approach, the other way. I think he is selling himself short.

Though with him, it seems that lately, I am always playing devil's advocate; I totally agreed with what he said yesterday, I'D LIKE THAT CAN'T-EAT-CAN'T-SLEEP-FEELING, EVEN FOR A WHILE, EVEN IF IT ONLY LASTS THE BEGINNING OF THE RELATIONSHIP, for even as mature, rational individuals, there is always that puerile (such a big word!), anxious, indulgent imp in us who is restless for even the briefest moment of being dead-drunk with mad love.

What do I tell him on the day he tells me "I can't eat, I can't sleep"? I'd say "Good for you man, good for you".

Ono no Komachi

While watching tv at our little cottage almost alongside the beach, I find myself engrossed in the Discovery Channel feature. It was about a japanese poet, Ono no Komachi. While I read translated books by japanese writers such as Banana Yoshimoto and Haruki Murakami (who, by the way is one of my favorites), I am yet to explore the realm of ancient japanese poets, featuring takas. Takas are poems with 5 7 5 7 7 syllables per line. Of course, upon translation it is nearly impossible to keep the same number of syllables per line.

When I got home, I did some surfing and realized how truly extraordinary she is, not only is she gifted in prose, she is also quite a character, femme fetale if you may. It is quite hard to imagine considering her time.

(http://www.gotterdammerung.org/japan/literature/ono-no-komachi/)

Very little is known about this Japanese poetess, and most of it is legendary. She lived around 850 C.E. (b. 834?) during the Heian period. The story about her is that she was a woman of unparallelled beauty in her youth and enjoyed the attention of many suitors. She was, however, haughty and cruel, breaking many hearts. She was punished by living to an old age and dying as a destitute and ugly hag in loneliness. The legend is almost certainly false, but the passionate nature of her loves survives (minus the didactic ending) to this day. In fact, the town of Ogachi in Akita prefecture celebrates an annual Komachi Festival on the second Sunday of June (legend has it that she was born in the village of Ono in Ogachi). There is a shrine dedicated to her.

Could I just make this entry about me and add that my birthday, in some years (like 1988, 1994, 2005), fall on the second Sunday of June?

What especially captivated me was the legend about her supposed lover. It is like the story in the movie Cinema Paradiso.

(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ono_no_Komachi)
There are legends about Komachi in love. The most famous is a story about her relationship with Fukakusa no Shosho, a high-ranking courtier. Komachi promised that if he visited her continuously for a hundred nights, then she would become his lover. Fukakusa no Shosho visited her every night, but failed once towards the end. Despairing, he fell ill and subsequently died. When Komachi learned of his death she was overcome with sadness.

There was one particular taka I liked, however I failed to both memorize it and find it online. I, however found one, not quite as touching/disturbing, but I should say, as eloquent.

Heart! We will forget him!
You and I-- tonight!
You may forget the warmth he gave--I will forget the light!
When you have done, pray tell me
That I may straight begin!
Haste! lest while you're lagging

I remember him!

Here is an interesting site to visit http://www.temcauley.staff.shef.ac.uk/waka0809.shtml, it features some of her work, the translation alongside the original text.

More info at http://home.infionline.net/~ddisse/ono.html.

A video lecture on Japanese Poetry at http://www.gresham.ac.uk/event.asp?PageId=39&EventId=483.

Dad Drinks

It's Saturday night and I find myself at the resort bar with some friends.

Two seemingly married couples were playing billiards.

Three men were at the bar, drinking beer while alternately singing sentimental songs.

A large group of teenagers were having a blast, telling stories, snickering, singing along karaoke songs.

The waiter was hitting on my friend.

Looking at my Johnnie-7, I am suddenly reminded of Dad Drinks.

Back in Manila, I usually spend Saturday nights with Poldo, Ricks, RP and Quiel. We'd watch movies, go to Tagaytay, bowl, food trip at Dampa, but whatever activity, we always end the night with a couple of drinks.

Everyone would get beer, except me, my drinks depended on my mood.

Sometimes when we feel like celebrating, Poldo and I would get Asti. That was our special bonding drink.

The set-up changes a bit when there are parties.

Guys drink beer, the girls drink vodka or bailey's while the older gentlemen drink Whiskey or Brandy, hence Dad Drinks. Being the girl who makes the supposed-all-boys-group interesting, as Quiel put it, (because they have a female companion, they are not seen as dogs, I de-dog the group), I drink with the boys. This translates to, when the booze starts running low, I'd switch to the Dad drinks so that the other girls could have what is left of the ladies' drink.

They used to laugh at me drinking these dad drinks. And I wasn't too happy giving up the cutesy drinks. But as I finished my drink and ask for a Johnnie-Walker-on-the-rocks, I'm thinking that I miss Saturday Night parties at the Southside.

World's Cutest Monkey

Summer Place

Beach season!

Being the tropical person that I am (when in cold climate, I get static hair, my skin breaks out and my lips chap), I love the summer. Although my body has yet to recover from the seven pounds I gained over the Christmas holiday, I am excited to head out the the beach this weekend.

I am suddenly reminded of Nins. She is the only person besides myself who thinks that November is the best time to go to Bora.

This is one of our favorite beach pictures. We both had this picture stuck on our whiteboards, maybe to remind ourselves that working at least 12-hours a day would entitle us to a productivity bonus, giving us more offset days and not to mention, extra money, hence we could go to the beach more often.

This picture was meant to go this way and it is really funny how when we get to our respective desks, we would ALWAYS find that someone has turned it the other way. We never figured out who did it, and why. We used to joke that maybe it was the cleaning lady who did it. Although we do have some suspects! Hahaha.

It has been too long since I was last in the beach with Nins.

Drunkard Nihuhu, you are veru much missed.