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.