tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68660256952066267252024-03-17T09:09:31.950+08:00Markings of a DreamerPatronizing Tsismosang Kapitbahays and Potential Readers via Live-tweets and Random RamblingsMaria Ellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02146796288931176718noreply@blogger.comBlogger256125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866025695206626725.post-20888294132396988542024-03-17T07:30:00.005+08:002024-03-17T09:08:50.330+08:00To: Dennis (cc: Kim)<p>Kumusta? </p><p>Minsan, nape-pressure ako kapag ano ang dapat isulat sa araw ng kasal, pero siguro unahin ko muna ito: salamat sa pag-imbita. Sakto, nasa estado na ako ng buhay na wala na masyadong pake kung gaano kalayo ang wedding destination, basta't makasama ako sa espesyal na araw na ito. Gusto mo ba isulat ko pa kung paano tayo naging close sa opisina? Actually, I cannot answer that, because I used to be not close to workmates as I compartmentalize my social life. And I used to separate authentic friendships within and outside the office. Mas "friendly employee" ako kaysa sa "office friend". Iilan lang ang mga nagiging kaibigan ko sa workplace, lalong-lalo na kapag hindi ko ka-transaksyon o ka-relyebo sa workload. Isa pa, si Lyra at Jhana pa lang ang naging amiga ko na naging training buddy and non-work buddy ko over the years. Pwedeng ikaw na ang nasa third place. </p><p>Siguro dahil kalog ka, o kapareho ko ng work ethic, o dahil sa minsanang boy's talk over vape sesh natin, dun ka naglalabas ng sama ng loob at mga nadarama sa loob at labas ng opisina, at naging saksi rin sa kwentong puso ko na medyo komplikado. Baka susi mo sa pagiging friend ko ang pagkakaalam ng kwentong puso ko, katulad ng pagdinig ko sa kwentong puso mo. Tingin ko, sa ganitong pagkakataon ko nakilala si Kim. Noong una, nakikita ko lang sya sa mga daily reporting mo at sa mga instagram stories mo. Millenial dating mindset rin kayo, unang nagkadaupang-palad sa social media. Akala ko sobrang mahiyain lang sya, pero nang makita kong nagiging daily chill pill nya ang jeje kong Instagram stories ay mas lalo ko sya nakikilala bilang kalog at masayahing kasama. Iba ang kinang ng mata nya kapag kasama ang kanyang mga malalapit na amiga, at lalong lalo na kapag kasama ka. </p><p>Masaya rin ako na dumalaw kayo sa bahay kong kulang-kulang pa noon, at handang makinig sa mga naging proyekto ko (lalong-lalo na ang pinagmamalaki kong gypsum wall). Mas natuwa ako nang magbigay si Kim ng mga halaman para may makasama ako sa araw-araw na pag-iisa sa bahay at tumatangke ng gastusin sa bawat pamamalengke at paggamit ng tubig, internet at kuryente. </p><p>Ngayon mo siguro maba-vibe ang samu't-saring sansaglit ng Singularity: lahat ng karanasan ng nakaraan, nararamdaman ng kasalukuyan, at baka-sakali ng kinabukasan. Natutunan ko ito kakapanood ng Kamera Trilogy ni Jerrold Tarog, lalung-lalo na sa pelikulang Sana Dati. Hindi sa dahil pareho kayo ng kwento ng bida, at hindi dahil kasing gwapo mo ang groom na nahihiya sa SDE, at lalong hindi dahil sa lugar kung saan kayo ikakasal ni Kim. </p><p>Kanang, usa lang akung palihug (wow, bisaya!): be patient and simply surrender everything today. Because today is a sensory overload of sorts. Not everything will be up to the T, and not all SLAs will be at 100%. Also, learn to have the romantic eye on moments that you tend to overlook, and just enjoy the relief after the ordeal. </p><p>That way, you savor the singularity, and you will realize that all those days of hardships and anxiety will be worth it, as you close the old chapter of your respective lives and open a new one — conjugal version na haha! </p><p>Singularity rin ang karanasan naming mga magiging saksi sa inyong pag-iisang dibdib, mula sa aming mga mata (at sa pamamagitan ng mga SDE at camera) na makakaipon ng maliliit na alaala sa kwento ng inyong buhay. Sa tuwing uma-attend ako ng kasal, naalala ko ang naitanong sa akin ni Lyra, "Tayo rin kaya, magkakaroon ng ganoong klaseng pag-ibig?" at sa mga minsanang saglit ng pag-iisa, ako'y naluluha. Minsan dahil sa inggit, minsan dahil sa awa sa sarili, pero parating luha dahil sa ligaya. Kasi sa bawat pag-iisang dibdib ay ang katotohanang lahat tayo ay may pagkakataong magkaroon ng kakampi at kasangga, at hindi araw-araw ng ating buhay ay pagsasanay sa pag-iisa. </p><p>Congratulations and best wishes!!! </p>Maria Ellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02146796288931176718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866025695206626725.post-55112210566483702002024-03-03T02:36:00.003+08:002024-03-04T02:37:01.402+08:00RT BT: Aftermath<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/44448321-pag-mabilis-na-umalis-baka-di-naman-talaga-dumating" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img border="0" alt="Pag Mabilis Na Umalis Baka Di Naman Talaga Dumating" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1552797670l/44448321._SX98_.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/44448321-pag-mabilis-na-umalis-baka-di-naman-talaga-dumating">Pag Mabilis Na Umalis Baka Di Naman Talaga Dumating</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/771560.Rolando_B_Tolentino">Rolando B. Tolentino</a><br/>
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/6279837562">3 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />
To be honest, I am not familiar with sir RT except for that one post about call for submissions to Daang Bakal way back 2022. Let me digress (and I have mentioned this in our most recent #BookTalakayan), I was too intimidated to submit my personal entries even though I have had drafted (and subsequently trashed) my entry about my younger years in the PNR, and how it has made me aware of the little social reality outside the catwalk and beyond the words of the PUP Hymn. He was one of the editors of that project — that has been now a shelf-item, all because of the lack of material, or maybe because of carcentricities of our cities.<br /><br />Maybe it was titled as <b>At Iba Pang Kwento</b> because it contained not only some straight-forward short story-telling, but it also included some writing exercises (<i>"Ang Magnanakaw"</i>), or a splash of reflective essay (<i>"Ang Presidente sa Palasyo"</i>). I even imagined a TedxTalk content (<i>"Kwento ng Kapital"</i>), assignments and other guide questions included. When I first read the introduction, it kind of justifies his attempt for this collection. This has more of his personal touch, glimpses of his little realities, and some snippets of his reflections to the social standing and current climate of the middle class. He also went back-to-the-basics; used very structured way of writing a short story in some of the pages. It's vibing very differently from his second collection <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17450460-fastfood-megamall-at-iba-pang-kuwento-sa-pagsasara-ng-ikalawang-milenyu?" rel="nofollow noopener">
<b>"Fastfood, Megamall at Iba Pang Kuwento sa Pagsasara ng Ikalawang Milenyum"</b>
</a> where he employed an experimental form and used a different language dynamic (I searched and read just now an english version of Fastfood, archived from his personal blog). I confessed to RT that this is my first encounter of him and his work. I asked, <i>"Yung pagbabalik po ba sa tradisyunal na porma ng maikling kwento ay isang regression, o maturity na rin ba yun in a way?"</i> He wasn't taken aback; he didn't even answered condescendingly. Maybe it helped that I introduced myself as a banker and a Corporate slave, with no background of Filipinolohiya / Philippine Studies course. He simply answered, <i>"Lahat ng pagbabalik ay patunay rin ng pag-usbong, ng maturity"</i>. It also made me realize that maybe, just maybe, I can go back to the old days of my high school, simply writing whatever I see outside my own circle and young world. <br /><br />Of all these story collections, what I liked the most is <b>"Tapat sa Uri"</b> as it details the collective realities of a middle class: from being a college student, its subsequent years of being detached from the old barkadahan and forging life separately as a young professional. May inom dito, inom doon, sometimes bardagulan and sometimes hanash of a collective rants of how society works. That story kind of stings to me. It's not hard to veer away from being a Corporate Slave, but it is so damn hard trying to have a hipster vibe and a self-sustaining lifestyle. I stick to the system of the old, the system that works for me. In short, I really cannot get out of this system, I only game around it. <br /><br />In the #BookTalakayan group chat, I disclosed to the rest of the friends & members that I might feel intimidated or have to do a rain-check of sorts, because I never met him, or haven't seen his personal hanash in facebook since I don't use ground zero much. But when I saw him, I saw myself plotting a personal plan: I have to start grinding this retirement career and focus less on the current. In the next couple of months, I must re-sbumit this essay collection I have kept for years (and passed multiple workshops but only attended one). He displays a demeanor of a middle class professional who created a personal repository of inspiration via the academe. As a previous dean for College of Communication and have had experiences with the UP Film Institute, his personal wealth of material to write never ends; a coming-in-and-out of experiences as stable as monthly rent and GSIS pension. Now he sits as a VP for Public Affairs, a well-deserved and very okay side-gig while grinding the writing. He also reminded me of a new-found-friend I met in Singapura, the same demeanor of a Nueva Ecijanon, with the same inflections of kuan and some manerisms of undressing professionalism while talking to us as a simple writer of life. Having these book discussions made me realize that sometimes we can game around the daily grind. Simply engage, listen, and have fun.
<br/><br/>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/7780308-maria-ella">View all my reviews</a>
Maria Ellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02146796288931176718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866025695206626725.post-63661343837518799882024-03-02T23:00:00.003+08:002024-03-04T02:59:26.129+08:00Epistolary Exposition: Introduction<p>Dear M—,</p><p>Kumusta? </p><p>Huling 1-on-1 moment natin ay yung kababalik ko lang sa Mumbai noong 2016, tumaba dahil sa stress at kaakibat na katotohanang lahat ng pambayad ko sa ibang bayan ay via credit card, kasi lahat ng 500 at 1,000 rupees na hawak ko ay naideklarang worthless ni Modi. Wala akong kapasidad i-withdraw ang sumunod nitong paper bill: ang 2,000 rupees. Pagod na pagod rin ako sa pagtuturo ng simpleng proseso pero mahirap na konsepto ng NAV Operations, at kahit kanino yatang hindi accountant ng bangko ay mahihirapan akong ipaliwanag ito. Ganun yata talaga, may mga bagay na mahirap ring ipaliwanag sa kakaunting saglit at bilang ng mga salita. Ganun yata talaga kapag tagapagtuos. Pitong taon na, M. Nasabi ko rin sa iyo na gusto ko nang tumanda sa pagsusulat at talikdan ang nabuong pagkatao sa natapos nating kurso. Nasabi ko sa iyo noon, na kapag manager na ako, saka ko ito ulit iisipin. </p><p>Ito na yun. </p><p>After a year of being a manager repackaged as an <i>Associate</i>, narito na naman ako at susubok na patayin ang unang pagkatao: ang pagiging CPA. Sakto, malapit na mag-expire ang lisensya at PRC ID ko, at hindi naman nag-practice ng audit sa loob ng sampung taon, at saktong nasa estado ako ng trabahong lahat ay kaya kong hamigin at panindigan. Yun lang, hindi na ako bingi at bulag kapag ako ay nababalya at inaasahan bilang dalawang tao in terms of work load. Baka ito na nga ang taon para gisingin muli ang kislap ng panulat. Ang ikalawang pagkatao na nagsusulat ng karanasan, at maisapubliko ang aking boses na may halong laya at kalkulado. Hiling ko ang mga sumusunod:</p><p>1. Maaari ba kitang gawing recipient nitong aking mga liham? Balak kong buuin at bunuin ang sampung liham sa loob ng lampas sampung taon ng pagba-boxing ng aking damdamin, ng aking hinaing, at mga silip ng ating pakikipag-usap sa sariling punto-de-bista? Tandaan, ang pangalan mo ma'y totoo, pero ang copyright ay sa akin nang buong-buo. </p><p>2. Hahalungkatin ang aking alaala mula sa ating nawawalang notebook, at gumawa ng mga kwentong napapanahon, kahit nilipas na ito ng mga taon. All-encompassing but retrospective application. Pero ano pa bang alam natin sa accounting practices kung pareho na tayong hindi praktisado? </p><p>3. Kung ang pagkatao mo ay biglang nanalamin sa ibang tao (sa anumang paraan ng pagkakabuo), nawa'y ibigay mo ang kalayaan sa aking kamay na maisulat ka bilang musa at bilang kontrabida. Kung mamarapatin, ibabaldado ko ang napakakisig mong alisto at tatapyas ng gilas sa iyong pagkatao. In short, your demeanor will be cut short. Who will be the main character? This is what I have to explore. This is why I ask for your concurrence in my long letter. </p><p>Ito na siguro ang introduction ng aking epistolary exposition. So, ano na? </p><p><br /></p><p><i>written in Sarah's after RT's Book Talakayan, 02 March 2024</i></p>Maria Ellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02146796288931176718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866025695206626725.post-17416473691131499832024-03-02T20:00:00.001+08:002024-03-04T03:12:09.195+08:00Gising Kahit Lasing<p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJauWzGFTwHHk8xfOWBTazoi3-NErU2tzvPqqSFkbyyFs5Igzz-aZESrtU6xHDW807YXeCm9So71FqyM4bZC12P8Pze3Ev2R2PqFsGmOpU_Yuw5GV6Wu807C7eVuLLkBNAKM2nywMJeK0aUn0aMcv1PvEuC9mW5qx5bQ2Op8ppLhLXKgrTNM_yUvmD00sL/s2246/tweet1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2246" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJauWzGFTwHHk8xfOWBTazoi3-NErU2tzvPqqSFkbyyFs5Igzz-aZESrtU6xHDW807YXeCm9So71FqyM4bZC12P8Pze3Ev2R2PqFsGmOpU_Yuw5GV6Wu807C7eVuLLkBNAKM2nywMJeK0aUn0aMcv1PvEuC9mW5qx5bQ2Op8ppLhLXKgrTNM_yUvmD00sL/w309-h640/tweet1.jpg" width="309" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmLMrOnN5pkBwdQLkzo8nQORbv__B5xTwJVq0qc4I2hypAY4usr8VBEShmj8SsQvm1fr__5dS1NQD-9L1Aww7hoO6HyYHBDn1eC0zvnaSUO0qDw55_QGhju2dYs12S41Xfz5cbV0ENDURKRHOwL0aOMfYM3vpiSd-MEDWHa3M-8RCm3aB22yADq_nc7SRm/s2246/tweet2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2246" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmLMrOnN5pkBwdQLkzo8nQORbv__B5xTwJVq0qc4I2hypAY4usr8VBEShmj8SsQvm1fr__5dS1NQD-9L1Aww7hoO6HyYHBDn1eC0zvnaSUO0qDw55_QGhju2dYs12S41Xfz5cbV0ENDURKRHOwL0aOMfYM3vpiSd-MEDWHa3M-8RCm3aB22yADq_nc7SRm/w309-h640/tweet2.jpg" width="309" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr5HuOA6pykKXCX3Ov009t27pslsW8N_4az5Gr98wR-Gk2YZnBxDS9luw_Ua-P07tU7EDmjFgB0vjXKy4WeDix4qmWMgpZru4mOeKNasoOIfN8jwDONEra8oikKpYD3lCSd8htC6-Fh9WaVNEoLpC28dqZDlKPuOG4yVvDeQ9di1KzyMAyGza-EDA_KNSZ/s2246/tweet3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2246" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr5HuOA6pykKXCX3Ov009t27pslsW8N_4az5Gr98wR-Gk2YZnBxDS9luw_Ua-P07tU7EDmjFgB0vjXKy4WeDix4qmWMgpZru4mOeKNasoOIfN8jwDONEra8oikKpYD3lCSd8htC6-Fh9WaVNEoLpC28dqZDlKPuOG4yVvDeQ9di1KzyMAyGza-EDA_KNSZ/w309-h640/tweet3.jpg" width="309" /></a></div><br /><i><br /></i><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i>written in Sarah's, 02 March 2023; hauled </i><i>from PRPB Trivial matters group chat, for posterity and record-keeping. </i></p>Maria Ellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02146796288931176718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866025695206626725.post-27305737140752014992024-02-21T13:44:00.006+08:002024-02-21T13:44:51.687+08:00Nagising ako tapos...<p><i>"So is it like... Love because of proximity? Because it is convenient?" </i></p><p>Dear Tope, </p><p>Minsan, naiisip ko rin ito.</p><p>Lalo na nung iniwan kita kasi hindi ka naman sumasagot noon. Baka nga ang tingin ko sa pag-ibig natin, convenience. </p><p>Pero nang iniwan kita, mas nakilala ko rin ang sarili ko. Hindi mo maibigay yung maliliit kong hiling, at tama lang na bigyan ng espasyo ang ating mga sarili para maghilom at maging buo, kahit papaano. Kahit sa sandali natin, matutunan nating tumanggap ng mga taong dadaan sa atin, makilala silang saglit, at maintindihan na hindi lahat ng uri ng pag-ibig ay nauuwi sa romansa. Isang malaking lesson yun na natutunan ko sa Singapura. Na minsan, sa pag-iisa, nakukuha ang sansaglit ng Singularity: lahat ng karanasan ng nakaraan, nararamdaman ng kasalukuyan, at baka-sakali ng kinabukasan. Akala ko kasi ang Singularity, sa kasal lang nararamdaman.</p><p>Ngayong ganito ulit tayo, magkasama, may mga araw na hindi mo maibigay ang maliliit kong hiling. Pero ngayon, mas kaya kong i-manage. Nakakatulong ang walang label, dok. Sobrang nakakatulong. Nakakapagbigay sya ng kahulugan na tayo ay malayang mamili: magpapatali ba tayo at magpapatalo sa lungkot? O maluwag na mas mapipili natin ang ating mga sarili sa paglaban sa araw-araw? </p><p>Wala na ito sa kung hindi ka pa annuled, or doktor ka at accountant ako, or magkaiba ang address natin at schedule natin, o dahil saturated na ako sa trabaho at gustong mag-abroad. </p><p>Hindi ko rin mapipilit kung napapako na ang pangako. Kung may panata ka sa akin at sa sarili mo, hindi naman yun sinasambit lang sa hangin, ginagawa yun. Minamano-mano. Binubuno. Habang ang mundo ay patuloy na umiikot. Ang gusto ko lang, kung tayo man sa dulo, ay maranasan natin pareho ang mapagpalayang pag-ibig.</p><p>Pero sa ngayon, kung kailangan kong maglayag bilang manlalakbay ng buhay, hayaan mo ako. Sa sansaglit na kalayaan hayaan mo muna akong makalayo. Nangako ka rin noon, na ikaw ang aking Minato (ang aking parola sa pagdaong). Handa kang maghintay sa aking magiging kwento. </p><p>Hindi ko maipapangako ang magarbong pakikipagsapalaran, pero asahan mong sa pagdating ko, ako ay muling buo. Muling buo ang loob na magkukuwento at magmamahal nang taos-puso.</p>Maria Ellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02146796288931176718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866025695206626725.post-13504572337664946392024-02-19T21:00:00.001+08:002024-03-04T02:59:44.296+08:00Dear M–<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dear M–, </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Passing thought talaga ang sulatan ka sa mga pagkakataong gusto kong ibaybay ang mga naiisip sa daan, o sa mga pagkakataong nakakapagnilay ako sa paglalakbay. Ganitong-ganito rin ang aking ginagawa sa ating shared notebook, na pumayag ka rin naman kasi: 1. Alam mong crush kita at masaya nga naman ang undivided attention, at 2. Nahihiya kang talikuran ang potential na bunga ng pagkakaibigan sa panulat. Scratch that, alam kong hindi mo lang alam paano ako tatanggihan kasi bibihirang pagkakataon na ang bigyan ka ng liham, lalo na ngayong tadtad na tayo ng memes sa social media. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Btw, belated happy birthday ulit. At oo, nawawala pa rin ang ating artifact na mga notebook. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nabanggit ko na nga pala sa iyo na hindi na sa Makating naging Taguig (na naniniwalang magiging Makati muli) ang aking permanent address. Nakaraang 2022, dito na ako bumalik sa Pasig. Andito ako sa Bagong Ilog, yung barangay na katabi ang Pineda. Katabi ko ang ospital kaya may kapag magkaroon man ng hika sa kaka-fire exit stairs (dahil sa lindol o sunog) eh may mabilis na Emergency Care access. Unless, may dalawang libo katao ang makiki-access. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyways, masasabi nilang maswerte itong concrete jungle ko. Mahal, pero isang grab lang papunta sa trabaho ko sa BGC. Isang session ng lakad papuntang Pineda wet market. Isang jeep papuntang SM Megamall. Ang mahirap lang nito, kapag pang-umaga ang work, nakamamatay ang commute. Ito talaga ang labyrinth ng bagtasan. Lahat ng manggagaling sa Tiendesitas o Antipolo papuntang BGC, sa Bagong Ilog dadaan. Kapag galing ka naman ng Pinagbuhatan at pupuntang Ortigas, sa Bagong Ilog na rin dadaan. Kapag namulat ako ng 7 AM sa tingkad ng sunrise showcase sa balcony ng maliit kong bahay, makikita ko ang C5 bridge na nagmistulang ilog ng mga mababagal na sasakyan at walang tumal na ingay ng busina. Yan na rin ang Vitamin D dosage ko sa araw-araw: ang pagtanaw sa daanan at trapik, kasabay ng pagdidilig at pakikipagdaldalan ko sa basil, thymes at mga Snake plant na biyaya ni Mama. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Tapos babalik-tulog ulit. Aba, ano pa bang magagawa kung tuwing 4PM naman ang simula ng work? Sayang skincare para lang magpuyat. I always need a nap. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Alam mo bang naging childhood address ko ang Pineda? Wala na akong maalalang mga ginawa ko noong kabataan ko, pero ang kwento ni Mama about Pineda ay yung nagkasya ako sa ilalim ng traysikel noong 3 years old. Nang ako raw ay naglalaro sa labas, at sumusunod kay Kuya na may mga kalaro nang hapon na yun, biglang may dumaan na traysikel, at imbis na ako'y mabangga, eh yumuko ako at nagkasya sa ilalim. Na ikinagulat ng traysikel drayber. Akala siguro's nakapatay ng bata. Pero paglampas nya, ngumiti pa ako sa kanya. Aba, ang amazing ay. Hindi ko naman maalala yun. Kahit yung mga kwentong palo sa pwet at sinturon blues ni Mama. Naalala raw yun ni kuya, pero hindi malinaw ang memorya niya. Hindi na rin nya maalala ang Pineda Nursery School kung saan siya nag-Kinder. Ang naaalala nya ay ang pagtawid namin sa Ilog Pasig mula Pineda papuntang Zero Block kung saan sasakay ng Jeep papuntang Pembo, patungo sa aming magiging family home noong dekada 90. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nahihiya akong magtanong-tanong kung meron pa bang bangka mula sa Pasig papuntang West Rembo (kung nasaan ang Zero Block). Nang minsang dumaan ang sinasakyan kong grab sa mahabang Mrr Street at Sta. Teresa de Avila Street, wala na akong makitang terminal ng bangka, o mga lumalangoy na bata sa ilog. Wala na ring namamangka. Dahil ba alas-tres ng hapon ako napadaan run? Katirikan ng araw, perfect time ng siesta, at wala masyadong commuter na midshift sa loob ng barangay Pineda. Baka kada umaga lang ang biyahe? Ito yung mga naiisip ko habang inaatake ng nostalgia sa nakaraang bungi-bungi na sa personal kong alaala. Siguro, napatay na nang tuluyan ang industriya dahil may Kalayaan bridge na patawid ng Uptown. Substitute tulay ng mga taong yamot na sa malawak na C5 bridge. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In fairness naman sa C5, ibang administrasyon kasi ang gumawa nito, panahong may pake pa sa mga naglalakad at walang pambili ng kotseng ipapang-trapik rin lang. Sa Kalayaan bridge, nakakairita ang kitid ng daan ng mga tao. Bawat hike dun ay may kalakip dapat na dasal na sana hindi madulas ang mga sasakyan at biglang lumiko sa nilalakaran mo. Ganyan ang urban planning ng isang engineer na walang pake. Siguro tingin sa tao (ng mga gumawa ng Kalayaan bridge) ay mga squammy ng Pasig at hindi deserve na magkaroon ng trabaho sa "relatively safest business district of the country". </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Isa na ako sa mga naglalakad papuntang opisina, lalo na kapag sobrang namamahalan sa grab. Wala pang 30 mins na upo sa tsikot na may aircon pero lalagas na ng halos 200. OA na nga ang pamasahe, kaya nagkukunyari din akong tindera o construction worker na tatawid sa Pasig Boulevard mula sa condo, at ilalakad ang C5 bridge. Minsan, partnered ng Gym playlist sa spotify, pero madalas, mga pipip ng sasakyan. Nakakatuwa ring may nakakasabay ako sa paglalakad, at nari-realize kong hangga't may construction worker ay may thriving na underground economy. Makakamura ng pares at mami sa mismong c5 bridge, at tuwing alas-kwatro eh nagbubukasan na ang parang pitstop ng mga truck driver at ng mga rider. Nakakawili ang kulay ng mga suot ng mga nagmo-motor: Madalas blue at green, pero may orange at may dilaw ring minsanan. May red na rin, tapos kamakailan eh may biglang violet na. Hindi naman sikat yung kulay ube sa Pasig-BGC area, kaya ang cool lang. Parang trying hard hipster sa pop culture. Pero sa huli, jejemon rin pala hehe.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ang nakakatuwa sa paglalakad sessions ko ay naitatawid ko ang 10,000 steps na magiging exercise quota ko for today. Mahilig ako magbasa, hindi ako mahilig mag-gym. Baka ibang Betos ang nasa isip mo na mahilig sa gym. Nasa Japan na yun sya, kahit paano raw ay okay naman siya dun. Alam rin niya at ng mga kapatid ko na naglalakad ako sa C5 bridge kapag papasok ng work. Wala naman silang alma, puru paalala lang ng "Ingat!" at minsanang "Dumaan ka kasi sa bangka dun sa Pineda!" Kaya lang, nang madulas ang bunso at naikwento sa mga magulang ko ang aking daily adventure, nasagot na lang nila na "Either mamatay ka sa pasahe ng grab, o mapatay ka't mabangga sa daan. Either suffer the fare or go to a country with an effective public transport." Ang burgis ng take, di ba? Dalawang elemento agad ng kaburgisan: ang maglagas ng sweldo sa grab car, o tumakas sa Labyrinth ng Bagtasan (at mag-abroad). Siguro, nakita nila ito kay Kuya na nasa Germany na, at kay Kiteh na nasa Japan na. Mga bansang may matinong bus at tren, at mahal ang bumili ng kotse kasi OA ang presyuhan para lang sa parking. Axis powers unite na rin siguro, kasi parehong pro-pedestrian ang mandato ng gobyerno nila. They move the public efficiently. Unlike sa Pinas, Presidente lang ang moving effectively. Helicopter-helicopter para lang sa Coldplay concert na nagtutulak ng environmental kineso. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sobrang balintunay talaga minsan ng buhay. Gusto ko na ring takasan, punta ng Singapura siguro. Makaranas man lang ng mabilisang byahe at mag-TWG tea kasi gusto ko lang rin mag-inarte. Tamang burgisan blues lang naman, bago bumalik sa mala-purgatoryong paglalakad sa Labyrinth ng Bagtasan sa araw-araw (o hapon-hapon, kasi midshift ako).</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So ikaw, kumusta?</span></p>Maria Ellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02146796288931176718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866025695206626725.post-8536179375489644012024-01-17T02:31:00.003+08:002024-01-17T02:32:20.181+08:00First Pinoy BL Experience<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/57281573-ang-lihim-sa-tore-ng-sinagtala" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img border="0" alt="Ang Lihim sa Tore ng Sinagtala" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1614642965l/57281573._SX98_.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/57281573-ang-lihim-sa-tore-ng-sinagtala">Ang Lihim sa Tore ng Sinagtala</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21239544.Steno_Padilla">Steno Padilla</a><br/>
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/6106464977">5 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />
<i>
<b>Munting Paunawa:</b>
</i> Hindi ako matatas magsulat ng mga <i>book review</i> sa wikang Filipino. Patawarin nawa ako ng mga mambabasa. Madalas ang aking sinusulat ay nasa wikang ingles, o <i>Taglish</i>. At kung mamarapatin, maaari akong mag-<i>code switch</i> sa bandang gitna o dulo. <br /><br />Una kong nakilala si Steno sa isang facebook live ng UP Likhaan kasama si Kwesi at si Patrice. Sila ay naglahad ng kanilang mga binabasa noong lockdown. Nanood ako ng online presentation kasi ako ay nagkaroon ng reader's block. Hirap akong magbasa ng mga nobela at koleksyon ng maiikling kwento dahil sa sobrang takot at pangambang dala ng Covid-19. Hindi nakakatulong ang kawalang-piyansa kung magkakaroon ba ng bakuna, at ang naging kalakaran na kakaunti lang ang nailaang araw ng pahinga kapag ikaw ang tinamaan ng pneumonia. Nakatulong sila na ipamulat sa akin na munting pahinga sa pagiging aligaga ang pagbabasa ng mga magagaan na nobelang pambata. At saka nabanggit ni Steno na ito ang ginawa nyang istilo sa libro niyang <b>Lihim sa Tore ng Sinagtala</b>. <br /><br />Kung sa BL rin lang naman, matagal na akong mulat (bilang ang kuya ko ay <i>bading</i> elementary pa lamang) sa LGBT at sinisikap maging updated sa mga usaping SOGIE. Tinuturing kong ako'y isang <i>ally</i> kahit hindi nila alam, haha! Ang una kong exposure sa BL bilang isang <i>art form</i> ay sa Japanese anime na Dokyuusei (Classmate) sa youtube noong 2016, at hindi ito katulad ng mga mahahalay na yaoi o yuuri o iba pang Rule 34 ng online manga. Ang anime ang unang nagpakita sa akin ng BL genre na tigib ng pagdanas ng samu't-saring nararamdaman, pagkilala at pagkilatis sa sarili, at pagpapakita ng dalisay na pag-ibig. Ganito rin ang <b>Sinagtala</b>, kaya deserve niya ang <b>Lampara Prize</b>. Naniwala si Steno na sa pamamagitan ng kanyang maiigsing mga chapter at mabilis na engagement ng mga karakter, mananatili sa pokus ng kwento ang mga kabataang mambabasa, at mauunawaan ang bawat sandali; makikisimpatya sa bawat tanong, at madadala sa bawat emosyon. Mataas ang naging <i>benchmark</i> na iginawad ni Steno sa akin bilang supporter ng Pinoy Lit — hindi na ako basta kikiligin sa mga likhang may iba't-ibang font color at wrong grammar na nasa Wattpad. Hindi na rin ako basta mai-impress sa bastang <i>fan-servicing</i> ng mga karakter, o madali ko na ring mahahalata ang mga <i>plot device</i> ng kwento. <br /><br />Nakakatawa na nakakatuwa bilang isang ally ang kanyang mga fan-servicing mechanisms para sa kanyang target market. Maaaring <i>awkward</i> ito sa hetero/cisgendered male readers kasi, malamang sa alamang, ito ang una nilang mapupuna bilang kahinaan ng aklat. Ilang halimbawa ang <b>Battle of Rebels: Tactical Angels — BORTA for short</b> at <b>JhusKho</b>, ang pinagsamang pangalan ng mga tauhan ng nobelang ito. <br /><br />Iikot ang kwento hindi sa mundo ng laro, kundi sa mundo buhay nina Jhustin at Makho. Inilahad ni Steno ang simpleng ganda ng school life at gawain ng mga kabataan, ang kanilang mga samahan, mga pakikipag-usap sa kapamilya, at ang kanilang tambayang Tore sa Sinagtala, isang main setting at malaking pag-imbita sa akin (bilang mambabasa) na tuklasin ang kanilang mga saloobin, mga tagong lihim at damdamin. <br /><br />Nakakatuwa rin ang tiwalang binigay ni Steno sa kanyang target market (ages 13-18? Itatanong ko ito kay Steno sa aming book discussion), na kayang dalhin ang bigat ng mga dulong kabanata, at mga <i>plot twist</i> na kaiba sa mga BL manga na na-encounter ko. Sa mundo ng social media, malaking saklaw at problema ng kabataan ngayon ang kahinaan ng focus at kababawan ng diwa dahil sa mga dagli at putul-putol na status updates, memes at misinformation ng ground zero (aka facebook). Naniniwala siguro siya (gaya ko), na kayang mamulat ng mga kabataan sa mga isyung napapanahon, at maging maalam sa kabuktutang ginagawa ng mga nakatatanda, at handa silang gawin ang lahat para ito ay maitama. <br /><br />Muli't-muli, <b>dasurb</b> talaga nito 'yung Lampara Prize, at nakakatuwa na may mga ganitong akdang Pinoy na handang ibigay ang gaan, ang bigat, at ang kakanyahan at kadalisayan ng buhay.
<br/><br/>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/7780308-maria-ella">View all my reviews</a>
Maria Ellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02146796288931176718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866025695206626725.post-47307666242960151532024-01-07T15:30:00.003+08:002024-01-17T02:31:36.818+08:00Feminism Hugely Digressed<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/40611111-pukiusap" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img border="0" alt="Pukiusap" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1529679248l/40611111._SX98_.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/40611111-pukiusap">Pukiusap</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4064853.Liv_Str_mquist">Liv Strömquist</a><br/>
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/2434266083">4 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />
<b>Pukiusap</b> is the Filipino translation of Liv Strömquist's Fruit of Knowledge. The first edition cover contains a woman in ice skates with a blood stain in her panties. That created a buzz in bookstores way back 2018. I only have the second print, showing the woman on the upper-right side of the cover (no more of that stain). Still, the font of Pukiusap filled the whole cover and should be easily seen, but for some reason, the bookstores have hidden those copies behind the cashier, or only releases them upon buyer's request. <br /><br />I applaud the Pride Press and the Anvil Publishing to invite Bebang as the translator because she has established the Filipina voice about the female reproductive organ and the culture around womanhood. She has forged her way through her collection of essays titled <b>It's a Mens world</b> that detailed her personal experiences of her younger years and of her coming of age. Perhaps because I know her from her own works (and through our interactions in the <b>Pinoy Reads Pinoy Books</b> bookclub), she has <i>assimilated</i> herself in Liv's art. And it was nice really! It feels like a friend is talking to you. I even imagine her tones in reading some of the comic strips. What separates her voice from Liv's is the <i>repetition style</i> that the latter intended in her panels. Liv's narrative bar has that one statement, and yet a character has a speech balloon <b>repeats that same statement</b>, and that irks me at times. Maybe she made it as an agency to male readers, or to those youngsters, or some netizens who has <i>slower reading comprehension skills</i>. <br /><br />I liked the art, very economical. Most of the panels are made in black and white, but Liv made some important points to be filled with color. It gave variety and somehow a palette-cleanser. Somewhere, some panels are really taxing to read maybe because it was filled with too much text (and APA citations) and some are panels with repetitive snapshot with the same positioning of speech balloons, a <i>deliberate copy pasta paneling</i> for me. <br /><br />I guess in the end, this feminist novel gave me more insights on how fucked up our culture, religion, and studies are because it was centered around men and authored by men. <br /><br />Sa ka(lala)k(i)han Ito na lang masasabi ko: <br /><b>
<blockquote>MGA PAKSHET KAYONG LAHAT!!!</blockquote>
</b>(Assunta Da Rossi, Jologs 2002)
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/7780308-maria-ella">View all my reviews</a>
Maria Ellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02146796288931176718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866025695206626725.post-83799389551909425962024-01-01T15:04:00.015+08:002024-01-17T02:27:26.183+08:002024 Reading Themes<p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitPCTuriAM-1KdqT5vqbmC9NrhLM7bdchVvJpHjN4JYtSKHWORWZiwv8iJAuF6uTQyxMI4pdlQtKqCthwNqyeFN0HF3hg68E8BKlKFQRtjvT20L53V0mTyATqU0q9ociVzzoBJFXcrSl-I2QBwc_IwIwCoy7w8OVWdy7bsvkVUkpOBL-FNUdPBL5ibPdMF/s1176/2024%20Reading%20challenge.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1176" data-original-width="645" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitPCTuriAM-1KdqT5vqbmC9NrhLM7bdchVvJpHjN4JYtSKHWORWZiwv8iJAuF6uTQyxMI4pdlQtKqCthwNqyeFN0HF3hg68E8BKlKFQRtjvT20L53V0mTyATqU0q9ociVzzoBJFXcrSl-I2QBwc_IwIwCoy7w8OVWdy7bsvkVUkpOBL-FNUdPBL5ibPdMF/s16000/2024%20Reading%20challenge.png" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">(Full text below in case of photo error)</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></i></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This year, keeping the count low but hopefully able to read these following genres or themes:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Doorstopper</b> - a book at least 500 pages. Hanya Yanagihara? Hahaha mygosh another NY literature</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Speculative fiction - one of my new favorite genres. Realized this after reading Emily Mandel's novels and I was just sucked in. No reading slump, no difficulty in focus.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Pop fiction</b> - maybe another Taylor Jenkins Reid? Or those in the booktok that are very much hyped, or booktwt. Like the wild ride of Dickolas Bigolas.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Satire</b> - this is one of my lesser favorites, but I am trying my best to ingest a Vonnegut-esque literature for a change, lol</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">No pressure but I will try my best at:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Post-Modern</b> work like House of Leaves by Danielewski. It has a cult following, pero natatakot aoo basahin sa gabi. Please, give me courage and strength.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Horror or Surreal works</b> of Stephen King and Chuck Palahniuk. HOMAYGAHD AM I SERIOUS WITH THIS THOUGH OMG I DUNNO I — fine, YOLO.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>ONLY ONE Self-help</b>/Leadership/Management-related book. Unwinding Anxiety is long overdue, lol</span></div></div><p><br /></p>Maria Ellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02146796288931176718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866025695206626725.post-15181721376925487362023-12-31T04:06:00.003+08:002023-12-31T04:06:50.186+08:00Happy Old Year, 2023!<div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfOkWBD6oluw47yu5QAUPm1KE8Ht59npTWvCauqoJ8oDPmI4KjlGhBvc0i7TQ6X-rJerYBUnPsX0pXBCyl2xxA36kNyyDXg8w3EwXeNndn-1GDEIpUIuiLvmelS9iIS5NGkQzJhI36nQcT0IXPLgv0ZceTGQ4aWmBURAFnw10oPVhR69cMoJ_-azuamtKi/s2448/-h5ga41.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfOkWBD6oluw47yu5QAUPm1KE8Ht59npTWvCauqoJ8oDPmI4KjlGhBvc0i7TQ6X-rJerYBUnPsX0pXBCyl2xxA36kNyyDXg8w3EwXeNndn-1GDEIpUIuiLvmelS9iIS5NGkQzJhI36nQcT0IXPLgv0ZceTGQ4aWmBURAFnw10oPVhR69cMoJ_-azuamtKi/w320-h320/-h5ga41.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This year, progressions are out and about. In my immediate family alone, us siblings have ventured into all sorts of adventures. Kuya progressed his career from PH to DE, Emman shifted his lights and sounds from the land (Okada) to the seas (Norwegian Cruise lines). Kiteh left the hipster career path of a Physicist-Gym instructor-content creator and married the love of her life. Jedi graduated as Cum Laude and now venturing into Corporate gig. And I (finally) became an Associate in #TheBank and uprooted from the family bungalow to my high-rise concrete jungle. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">With all these series of movements and life events, pauses are hard to find and to appreciate because of the ever-changing social climate: inflation, wars, and daily commute. But it is actually the little things that opened my discovery of “Ma” (間). This may mean a negative space if taken literally, but in Zen, this is the pause in between the motions. And there's beauty in this pause.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I still remember the moments in between these life events. And even they may seem bizarre to you, this hits the perfect Ma to me: </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The hugging and crying in Marina Bay Sands;</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Tiktok steps of the newlyweds;</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Happy sighs from the book discussions;</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The perfect sight of Mayon at 7AM;</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Pulag tales of the travelling sack of rice; and </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sanding the gypsum wall of my tiny home.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">2023 is also my year of creations, and I was grateful that I write more frequently than the last year. I was also able to read more than a dozen of books, and able to watch feel-good animes. I was able to learn to cook and pay the bills on my own, taking all the life-hacks of #Adulting. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As I flash my smile in one of my big creations this year (the background is the accent wall I painted last Summer), I wish you all the successes with the moments of pauses, and have the luxury to see and appreciate life's beauty. Let us enjoy the moments of closing this old year and embrace the new. We are too tired of tanking in struggles of the daily, perhaps we need to take a moment and just breathe. #HappyNewYear #Amwriting #CreativeNonfiction </span></div>Maria Ellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02146796288931176718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866025695206626725.post-32777292355516229532023-12-30T21:30:00.000+08:002024-01-17T02:21:01.091+08:00Read and Hated Book for 2023<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36481955-my-year-of-rest-and-relaxation" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img border="0" alt="My Year of Rest and Relaxation" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1513192462l/36481955._SX98_.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36481955-my-year-of-rest-and-relaxation">My Year of Rest and Relaxation</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3276202.Ottessa_Moshfegh">Ottessa Moshfegh</a><br/>
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/6059983754">1 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />
Being a white New Yoker with a passive income and having a huge inheritance and a very detached upbringing and gaining an alienating feeling from a vain mother and a dying father (of cancer) does not give you the privilege to be an ass. Scapegoating your will to live with a cocktail of sleeping pills and anti-anxiety medicine, while having a best friend getting tired of your hipster lifestyle does not even give you a pass to weaponize your sickness in how you live your life. <br /><br /><b>
<u>A Mental Health issue is not a badge, you daft.</u>
</b><br /><br />I believe that a Mental Health problem is a collective symptom, just like my first 2023 read has been themed upon. And the only way for us to address it is to make steps collectively, or even gain connection of oneself through our very human ways (as Laing mentioned, made through art). <br /><br />This White Anglo-Saxon Protestant is very antithesis of my own psyche. <b>My Year of Rest and Relaxation</b> was supposed to make a full circle trip of New York, since Laing's <b>The Lonely City</b> is my first read this year. And her stark constrast with my very Filipino physique dwelling in a dismal third world nation and continuously tanking inflation feels like a slap to my face, like <b>WALA KANG KARAPATANG MA-DEPRESS KASI MAHIRAP KA, WALA KANG EXTRANG KITA, AT HINDING-HINDI KA PAGMAMANAHAN NG MAGULANG MO.</b> Feels like an outright dismissal of my ugly crying sessions, or how I manage my anxieties and my languishing lifestyle. <br /><br />I do not recommend reading this book if you have not felt detached first. Or maybe if you are a WASP like this woman, maybe you can really relate. Heck, you might even try those downers and lull you to sleep for two months. <i>Basta huwag mo akong lapitan; ayoko sa lahat ang asal-hayop na kaburgisan</i>.
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Maria Ellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02146796288931176718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866025695206626725.post-1789367019002853992023-12-30T20:00:00.005+08:002024-01-17T02:18:11.868+08:004-Year Old Exchange Gift<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/43822283-love-poems" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img border="0" alt="Love Poems (Word Cloud Classics)" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1569152787l/43822283._SX98_.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/43822283-love-poems">Love Poems</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21621417.Editors_of_Canterbury_Classics">Editors of Canterbury Classics</a><br/>
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/6097680299">3 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />
I still remember the first time I had this and I was laughing out loud because of its cover in pink and it was a christmas gift from a lover as we celebrated the Christmas day together. <br /><br />Little did I know that it was a treasure trove of poetry from the old times. My most favorite piece here was Sonnet 43 by Elizabeth Barrett Browning: <br /><blockquote>
<i>How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.<br />I love thee to the depth and breath and height<br />My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight<br />For the ends of being and ideal grace.<br />I love thee to the level of every day's<br />Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.<br />I love thee freely, as men strive for right;<br />I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.<br />I love thee with the passion put to use<br />In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.<br />I love thee with a love I seemed to lose<br />With my lost saints. I love thee with the breadth,<br />Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, <br />I shall but love thee better after death.</i>
</blockquote>
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Maria Ellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02146796288931176718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866025695206626725.post-48677399400239451472023-12-25T17:00:00.004+08:002024-01-17T02:16:42.744+08:00Completing Mandel's Triad<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58601245-sea-of-tranquility" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img border="0" alt="Sea of Tranquility" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1626875003l/58601245._SX98_.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58601245-sea-of-tranquility">Sea of Tranquility</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2786093.Emily_St_John_Mandel">Emily St. John Mandel</a><br/>
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4636526239">5 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />
Ang ganda!!! <br /><br />I don't know how to fine-tune an essay or a book review about this, but if you have read some of her works — most specially Station Eleven and The Glass Hotel — she made a multiverse of all her compositions in this sci-fi novel. <br /><br />Parang interstellar na marvel multiverse but with the absence of military propaganda and political statements, and more of existential philosophies, rule of singularity, and quantum mechanics! <br /><br />And to think, I even read her short story, Mr. Thursday, that might be used as one of her references to continue writing about time travel and how to answer the question of our existence: if life itself is a multiple simulation, or a summation of multiple realities. <br /><br />Ang ganda!!! Nice Christmas read ehe merry christmas!
<br/><br/>
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Maria Ellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02146796288931176718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866025695206626725.post-57454064266664973052023-12-19T02:14:00.004+08:002024-01-17T02:15:38.803+08:00Thanks to Thursdays<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/50838523-mr-thursday" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img border="0" alt="Mr. Thursday" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1580594223l/50838523._SX98_.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/50838523-mr-thursday">Mr. Thursday</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2786093.Emily_St_John_Mandel">Emily St. John Mandel</a><br/>
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/6059931224">4 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />
What a treat. <br /><br />It was featured in Future Tense, an anthology of sorts and can be accessed via Slate.com<br /> If you are into a break of reading too many romance, or wattpad, or self-help, this is a good antidote and a palate cleanser. <br /><br />Last weekend, I was telling bookish friends that I am not yet a completist of Emily St. John Mandel, and I was planning to be one, because she writes easy and yet the subtleties move you (as a reader). And I told them that she can be categorized as a millenial writer like Sally Rooney and Jenkins Reid, the women writers who can be shelved separately as "born in the waning years of the old millenium". The time period in their works assures you that you are part of their generation, regardless of their genres. <br /><br />I was amazed that she keeps on writing and venturing to scifi/ specfic, rather than her old style of Canadian noir (which feels saturated since Noirs existed before we both were born, lol).
<br/><br/>
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Maria Ellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02146796288931176718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866025695206626725.post-83606775161968149302023-12-17T05:50:00.004+08:002023-12-28T05:51:30.207+08:00The Big C<p><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">It was
a night of</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">c(ult-like)
bonding of books, <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">c(onversations)
about life, and <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">c(ounting)
the hoardings we gathered in our bookish escapades. I finally appeared, after
months of<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">c(owering)
in my little <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">c(ave),
saving all the <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">c(urrencies)
and <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">c(oins)
I can gather, both online and offline. I <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">c(ounted)
the roster, and I was the only person representing the cunt of this population.
I wonder, <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">c(an)
I really down cans of beer and shots of liquor, not minding my mouth zipped by
the silence and the lonesome days of surviving and tanking the bills? Or maybe
I was lacking the <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">c(ourage)
of appearance; I used to have unhealthy banters and <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">c(ounter-attacks)
with one of the book club members.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I was
the only woman in this room and we are <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">c(ounting)
down 6 liters of Sex on the Beach. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">C(onversations)
traversed from the life updates, to the attendances of the book events, to who
were the ever present throughout 2023, or if the members and moderators of the
old days are still grinding the questions to the writers and navigating the
discussions and for somewhat reason, perhaps the magic of those drinks we are
nearly drowning of, a magic c was being asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Pre,
sa totoo lang, saan ba yang clitoris na yan? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I do
not even remember any mention of a porn material, or a smut read, or even a
notation of Vagina monologues or Pukiusap by one of our dear member-writers.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This
talk is filled with <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">c(unts)
now, I thought to myself. With a <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">c(onscious)
effort to hound at them and saying that this <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">c(litoris)
talk is getting out of hand, I stood up, leaving the bench of the roster just
because one <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">c(annot)
find the precious letter 'C'. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I went
to the restroom of the women and the men; I saw the men's section with a dozen
cubicles as compared with women's - only with four. People are asking,
"Why are the women taking so long in the restrooms? Looking in the
mirrors, <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">c(hecking)
their getups. Looking at their shorts if it is still intact. If their <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">c(ondoms)
are still there or not. All the while, men are just bustling: going in and out
just because they relieve all their stresses or whatever resources they have -
work, life, academic, or whatnot.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And
then I realized, I also looked for the big letter 'C'; that big <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">C(ash)
that I am indebted with. I am a laughing sixteen thousand amounts of <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">C(redit
card) debt every month, and yet in the big <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">C(orporate)
that I am working with, <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">c(annot)
sustain such.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This
year, I never felt so tanked in and even without a <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">c(ancer)
as a recorded ailment, lots of <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">c(ash)
have been flowed out of my accounts. I really need to save up, save more. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">C(orporate)
and c(ondo) swallowed me whole and I left myself with a little financial and
time freedom. Sometimes, the time off is awarded to oneself as a <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">CHARITY.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I
really am tired with all the adulting, and these sorts of conversations with
folks is what I needed – clitoris or otherwise.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Maria Ellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02146796288931176718noreply@blogger.com0Pasig Blvd, Pasig, Metro Manila, Philippines14.5631918 121.0673725-13.747042036178845 85.9111225 42.873425636178844 156.2236225tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866025695206626725.post-3283239419620266322023-12-17T02:13:00.003+08:002024-01-17T02:14:24.842+08:00Read Before Exchange Gift<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36040246-ampalaya-monologues" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img border="0" alt="Ampalaya Monologues" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1502730255l/36040246._SX98_.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36040246-ampalaya-monologues">Ampalaya Monologues</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17100743.Mark_Ghosn">Mark Ghosn</a><br/>
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/6053509366">3 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />
I read this book to judge the works and I am grateful that I read it way past the highs of spoken word era and hugot hanash. And maybe because I am older (and hopefully have more wisdom), it doesn't evoke strong feelings compared to my younger years.
<br/><br/>
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Maria Ellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02146796288931176718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866025695206626725.post-25521021652775860212023-11-28T21:08:00.008+08:002023-11-30T01:16:55.066+08:00Ma-edad<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I woke up at 1, felt the hungry pangs at 1:30, and ugly cried at 2 AM. This is me in the last few hours of my life at 37 years old. Before I cried, I made sure to cook myself a survival meal, grabbing the last 2 pieces of cheese dog and the last two eggs from my fridge. Told myself that before any breakdown, I need to have a build-up. After eating and cleaning up, I hovered to my little bedroom, and there it was. That sack of Jasmine rice, being part of my <i>sundo </i>from the tiresome trek. Took a good long look, before happy-crying again.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />I suddenly remembered an Instragram reel about the Japanese Kanji called <b><i>Ma</i></b>, where there is stillness between the sounds, or a moment of suspension in the middle of a motion. You can depict it in pauses before you speak, in understanding of poetry, or in my case, sitting in the right side of the black van, traversing SCTEX at 3AM while staring at a moonlit sky with a huge cumulus cloud that seems to be not moving, just staring back at me.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />At these little moments of travel, I feel like I was in a snippet of a Japanese anime film, when the main character is in transit, while the sunny sky and cottony white clouds are just there. Ever present. Omniscient.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">This year is about these moments. The </span><b style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Ma</i></b><span style="font-family: inherit;">. I saw life events unfold before my eyes. I saw my youngest brother finally graduating and starting the grind of the corporate. I saw my only sister living the hipster lifestyle and getting married before flying to Tokyo. I saw my eldest brother uprooting from his first and only IT firm in PH, and venturing life in DE. I saw my younger brother digging the lights and sounds from the solid ground called Okada to a moving boat of Norwegian Cruise lines. And I saw myself moving out of the family bungalow and moving in to this new high-rise enclave. In the middle of all these moving parts, the stillness is my mode of surviving: normalizing the daily life of adulting while seeing my life savings getting tanked in. In the online world, I saw two endings and a beginning. I saw two colleagues from graduate school died, for different medical cases and reasons, and one close friend from graduate school gave birth, days before her birthday. In a wake, I decided to see old classmates and co-officers, and ended up explaining my phase of why I decided to unfriend them all and just lie low in the ground zero called Facebook. With a coffin at the background of our conversations, I found myself in aghast of a life event recently disclosed by a colleague, to the point that I even guffawed at my school crush who is afraid to look at the face of his dead friend, while he is trying to </span>psychoanalyze<span style="font-family: inherit;"> me of my corporate woes. (He knows. I just don't tell it to his face that I was fond of him. Anyway, he is a far away memory — a note different from this Ma I was traversing.)</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />I was traversing my existential dread, two nights before my birthday. And after almost two years of getting cancelled and deferred of this trip, I was able to finally get out of this little world of toiling for my mortgage and just hike. That highest peak in Luzon. Pulag. Finally having that little time and financial freedom I have frequently craved.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />And somewhat, at the back of our heads of us all, there is also something moving — this big sack of rice at the back of the black SUV, traversing tollgates and expressway, perhaps to celebrate my milestone, meant to be eaten and shared with people who matter.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />The one driving is the matter.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><i>"San ka punta?"<br />"Mt Pulag. Isang taon nang delay so itutuloy ko na, finally."<br />"Ingat ka. Pagbaba mo, payat ka na."</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i>I wish.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">The black van I was riding took more than six hours of trip, as I was sleeping in and out of the zigzag motions and waking up with fuzzy feeling of being lost as I see a new pick up point. The last stop seems so far away. From Baguio city, it's another 3 hours bypassing the Agno river protected landscape and finally arriving at DENR office of Bokod, Benguet. The van ride was an ordeal of sorts: sitting in a third row, feeling the motions of the wheel, like riding a roller coaster and experiencing prolonged centrifugal force. That, plus the intermittent internet connection, another solace (or addiction) that this geriatric </span>millennial<span style="font-family: inherit;"> possesses.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />From our breakfast place, we went to see a doctor to check out our general health as a hiker. He put his almost-depreciated blood pressure counter, before issuing the medical certificate that I am not hypertensive or asthmatic, and fit to climb. He mentioned that I need to watch my breathing as I see his trodat stamping the Php150 piece of paper with his signature and dry seal fixed in. I almost told him not to worry much about me, but worry more on buying new medical gadgets for his profession. I walked out of the clinic a bit disappointed, as the patient-doctor engagement is shorter than my quality checks in my investment banking gig. I reminded myself to stop vaping minutes before a medical checkup, so that my veins will not contract and the stress I currently carry will be more transparent and sincere. Plus, to buy myself a BP and heart rate monitoring machine. After all, I decided to live independently (and with minimal cause of concern for the immediate family).<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This piece of paper went to the tour coordinator, and we proceeded inside the DENR office. We registered our names, listened to the reminders of the rangers, and hovered over to the souvenir section and across it, an altar of sorts. Thousands of 2x2 photo ID, expired licenses, and some print-out profile pictures of people who hiked Pulag in older years. I don't remember seeing this seven years ago. I don't even imagine that this is just a fraction of the people who hiked since the first time I got here. <b><i>Ma</i></b>: these friendly and excited smiles, threaded by staple wires and make-shift paper strings, inviting me to come join in the experience. Rats, I forgot to bring my own photo.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Final stop for this arduous moving is a homestay situated near the edge of Kabayan, Benguet. If I trek from this house to the jump-off point of the Ambangeg trail, it will be another 40-minute walk. Far from the maddening crowd of tents and noisy waterworks of their barangay hall, I slotted myself in a little sofa within the common area, while waiting for the other occupants of my would-be bedroom for the night, hoping that I can get the lower bunk for the space, or at least a spot where I can peacefully snore at the top. Hikers before us are moving in-and-out of the bedrooms and toward the washrooms, cleaning up their muddy pants, socks and trekking shoes, rushing to pack all their other things, as they are more than two hours overtime. <i>No clearing today</i>, someone says. A whispered warning, perhaps, that not all hikes are awarded with the sea of clouds by the Gods. Maybe there was one person trash talking the mountain as they trekked, as they left the homestay with long faces and a backdrop of a rainy afternoon.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />That rainy transition was a haze as I write this long prose of my sentiments; I don't exactly remember what happened. I took a shower. I thanked the Lord for the working heater. I dozed off like a log. And then I woke up with a cloudy night sky of Benguet.<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Early night. Either I read, or make a small talk, or just listen in with my hike mates, or chime in with little stories of my hike from the pre-pandemic years. "Pre-pandemic" sounds so long ago. Just like my birth year. Archaic. I was born in the waning years of the old </span>millennium<span style="font-family: inherit;">, where the first peaceful revolution erupted in the ASEAN, ousting the dictator who robbed us of opportunities and future leaders, and burdened us with ODAs in form of TRAIN Law. Goodness, is the </span>millennial<span style="font-family: inherit;"> age group traversing the same tropes of the Gen X now? Maybe this is why I do scheduled breakdowns and reminded myself that it is my life mission to break this generational cycle of trauma...? Is it really?</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So this </span>millennial<span style="font-family: inherit;"> called out solo joiners (like me), and did a scrabble game. Few rules to play by on this one round: (1) No scoring as when the letter tiles run out we end the game, (2) Two-letter words are doable, (3) No acronyms, no </span>colloquial<span style="font-family: inherit;">, no memes, and (4) No yeeting or throwing off tables. A tricky round, as three of us aren't as much verbose as writers of New Yorker, and two of them are happy with just putting letter N to complete the article AN across, and the proposition ON down. The most complicated word on the board was THRASH, and I even explained the nature of this english word. Told them it was not just about bad-mouthing, or cussing. It was whipping, it meant pain. I placed the tiles signifying violence. And some flashbacks of my younger years in #TheBank meant confronting bad managers who just lolls about, earning six-digit figures and flexing about golf and girls, a boasting personality that I loathed in my old household. Thrashing. Some people do needed thrashing. But with the energy I have to give just to inflict violence is not worth it. My retirement pay is on the line. It is better to be resigned, both to the feeling and the daily minutiae of the cruel capitalism. Does </span><b style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Ma</i></b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> exist in a capitalistic climate? Can we achieve </span>Zen<span style="font-family: inherit;"> in a seemingly selfish activity? That, I cannot answer. What I believe is this: this activity requires a system of check-and-balance, a metric of quality, and a clause of reciprocity. If that is </span>Zen<span style="font-family: inherit;"> to some, maybe there is </span><b style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Ma</i></b><span style="font-family: inherit;">. Perhaps it can be seen as a month-long production without errors, and without PnL impacts, and keeping our performance bonuses optimal. #TheBank is a fast-paced world where the expectations are asinine, but our compensation is somewhat saline.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For me, <b><i>Ma</i></b> is seeing beauty outside of this spectrum of profiteering. It is also outside the mode of grinding, or the life hacks of adulting. It is appreciating beauty in the never-ending flow of energy. A pregnant pause in a long monotony of routine.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i>Ma</i></b> is this hike. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So after dinner, I prayed for a peaceful sleep, and lesser rain for the night, for us to manage the dark trail in the wee hours after midnight kicks in. I settled on my top bunk and set aside my hiking bag, filled with worry on the nonstop rain, and a hope for a less grueling summit chase.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I remembered waking up at exactly midnight, and a note to self that I needed to change into my hiking apparel. Three layers of clothing — a dri-fit shirt, a waterproof jersey, and a fleece jacket. Then this long pair of stockings, a pair of black leggings, and another pair of socks to absorb the shock from my low-cut hiking shoes. My headlight filled with used AAAs about to die in four hours, a medical kit in terms of wounds, medicine and other first aid needs, and a liter of water — half the initial advise of rehydration. DENR estimated that the night-hike takes five hours of assault and four hours of backtrail descent, but I gave myself a total of 10 hours to do this task. With half liquid intake and a heavy jacket in tow, I had to take note that my stamina is not the same as my first climb seven years ago, so the steps should be slowly but surely. I am also not letting myself be rested for more than 15 minutes, as I get sleepy legs easier, now that I am way past the adult puberty phase. My lower back is there like a haunting machine, and my weight bears all the stress from living the concrete jungle (where dreams are made of). Adding up to this were my pre-menstrual pains in my lower belly.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the night trek were absent views of flora and fauna, and the tendency of the trekker was to focus more on the footsteps and the grip of the shoes as it stepped on the muddy earth. You got to be conscious of your light source, on your sense of balance, and your breathing patterns as it kept changing in the thinning air of the trail. I was part of the tail-end of the pack, while declaring myself as a medic for the team, I made sure that I have the access of the sweeper guide since I have the slower pace. From the jump-off point to Camp1, you can make it in 30 mins. I did it in an hour, with lots of 2-minute breaks. From Camp1 to Camp2 is a long 2.5 hours of hike on the mossy rainforest and thinner air, and I did it for 3.5 while my headlight is dwindling. From Camp3 to summit takes 1.5 hours of a 45degree gradual assault, traversing Pulag's lesser famous peaks. I did it for more than 2 hours. It was a long walk of ASMRs of heaving sighs and gasping breaths, of gulping little portions of water, wind hustles as strong as the sea waves, sounds of the poncho repelling the rainwater and the early morning dew, and rustles of the fleece jacket getting heavier as it captured more drizzles than what was initially designed to. The darkness triggered my survival mode. I tried my best to catch up with the others, felt anxious as I was feeling my heartbeat and breathing patterns. Icy cold wind froze my fingertips and feet felt the stings of the cold splashes from stepping on the mud mistaken as a stone path. The hike was not fun at night, and it exhausted in the same way with the auditor energy from the current production day onsite. Where was the beauty in doing this grueling rite of passage? Had I been <i>budol</i>-ed? But rather than thinking about disappointments, I waited for more light, pushing on to the highest peak with grit and with fear of hypothermia at the back of my head. At 7AM, I still wasn't at the summit, but finally there was light. There was no need for me to depend on the headlight that was declared dead an hour ago. I took a long look on the last stretch of the climb to the top, and of those colleagues who went before me, battling the cold and the fog, and the sad reality of another day of No Clearing. No sea of clouds. There is wonder in watching the hikers facing the challenge head-on, and it inspired me to push through the pursuit. <i><b>Ma</b></i> is that weak light of the morning sun as we are all walking within the fast-moving clouds drifting through the dwarf bamboo grassland.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />At the summit, I took my picture with the group and my own person in the DENR stone mark. After seven years, I conquered the highest peak in Luzon the second time around. My phone vibrated: it was him.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><i>"Msg me immediately. Need mag-book ng hotel? I need to go back by Tuesday kasi."</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />I saw this message and I was like — Was he even serious? — I do plan to stay in the City of Pines after the hike to rest my tired knees and manage the other trip home during my birthday. I did not reply. Instead, I just looked at the landscape tagged as Playground of the Gods. Were they playing me? Was I trash-talking during my assault and so they went on thrashing at my feelings of hope? Why did they grant me this beauty when all I faced at the onset was a path full of mud and a climate full of drizzling cold? </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Well. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />I started the descent more consciously. Another patch of ASMRs of heaving sighs, gasping for thin air, and gulping a little portion of water. This time around though, I see the beauty of the mossy rainforest, them being there as I back trailed the humble beginnings of my night trail hours earlier, and backtracked the story of the doctor who flew away without telling. Maybe he is trying his best to woo me and win me back. After all, he came to my tiny home a few times after I unblocked him to send a random cat meme from summer. After four hours, I finally touched down the jump-off point and I was ready to go back to the homestay to clean up the mud, to get myself a hot shower, and to pack up the rest of my things and go back to Baguio.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />At the city of Pines, the phone dinged from all his messages of hotel location, activities to do next, and asking if I preferred a room service instead. I replied no, as I deserved a dinner from a pretty place since my birthday arrives in few hours. I went straight to the hotel and upon there, I realized that I was never sure as to what name did he book the room with. Heck, just wing it. I texted back the confirmation and the room number, and upon him knocking, we went out to a bistro across the hotel, with a nice view of the city and grabbed some good lasagna.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />We caught up with each other's stories of charts, medicine launches, research reports, latest Pulag situation and plans to re-hike it with him, my dilapidated trekking shoes, my muddy trekking pants, and his retail therapy of checking in deals from Japan to window-shop some hiking gears and apparel. I also disclosed about fast-tracking my savings and apply for an EU visa to visit my brother, and Japanese visa to visit my sister. He wished for a time freedom, as he also wanted to see his mom and sisters in Japan, and finally able to shop for Gundam merch. In the middle of all these story telling, I zoned into his watch, seemingly new, counting the moments of our togetherness, right in the middle of the influx of families and couples taking their respective dinners and desserts.<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Happy birthday, bb.</span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />It wasn't even midnight and yet, this greeting made me teary-eyed. I appreciated this gesture of picking me up in this cold city and decided to stay with me overnight. At least for that night, I will feel less lonely and less alone, and not succumb to the downward spiral of negative emotions and ruminations of pain. After long weeks of total immersion to the banking profession, I felt seen. I was visible in his eyes. And he took notice.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />We were about to get to the hotel lobby when he immediately remembered grabbing something from his car. It was chilly and I was feeling more sleepy, I sheepishly went with him. Suddenly, he opened the trunk to grab a warmer pair of shoes while showcasing his most pragmatic present: a half cavan of an export-quality Jasmine rice. All the way from the Marikina central market. I shouted excitedly about this huge sack of a gift as I remembered my rice stash now down to less than ten cups, left in my tiny home.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><b style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Ma</i></b><span style="font-family: inherit;">. Such beauty to be able to receive an expensive treat. When I was younger, I would laugh at him and reject it, preferring more to a </span>bouquet<span style="font-family: inherit;"> of flowers since I can afford to buy my own food. But now that I am also a victim of hyperinflation and large debt-to-equity ratio, anything that can be eaten is good. Especially if that food is top quality. What a huge help to save more and push through the travel abroad for next year. I hugged him and told him my thanks, and I imagined this sack of rice is also like me, two days before.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><b><i>Ma</i></b> is that sack of rice in motion. It served as a witness of this little milestone. <b><i>Ma </i></b>is grabbing the opportunity of feeling happiness in unconventional ways, falling fast and hard and hurting bad, and yet going back to falling again. <b><i>Ma </i></b>is retracing the hurt and the wounds of the past, acknowledging toxic traits and traumas. <b><i>Ma </i></b>is creating a path for personal healing while figuring out the future. <b><i>Ma</i></b> is us just listening to each other, attuning to each other's thoughts and re-asking ourselves of our personal dreams.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><b><i>Ma </i></b>is him choosing to be an anchor of an evermoving <b><i>Me</i></b>. </span></div>Maria Ellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02146796288931176718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866025695206626725.post-40366467730922677122023-11-18T21:00:00.003+08:002024-01-17T02:13:35.818+08:00Reading Slump Root Cause: Very Americanized<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/54814676-crying-in-h-mart" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img border="0" alt="Crying in H Mart" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1601937850l/54814676._SX98_.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/54814676-crying-in-h-mart">Crying in H Mart</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18916582.Michelle_Zauner">Michelle Zauner</a><br/>
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/4060608595">3 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />
Got me reading for too long. I mean, it was too straight-forward, too <i>Americanized</i>, and I am working in an American bank, so reading it feels monotonous, to the point of being a chore.
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Maria Ellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02146796288931176718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866025695206626725.post-80811193245030307232023-08-08T17:00:00.008+08:002024-01-17T02:12:25.879+08:00The Tay-Tay of Literary World<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/40597810-daisy-jones-the-six" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img border="0" alt="Daisy Jones & The Six" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1580255154l/40597810._SX98_.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/40597810-daisy-jones-the-six">Daisy Jones & The Six</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6572605.Taylor_Jenkins_Reid">Taylor Jenkins Reid</a><br/>
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/5580297381">3 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />
<i>Antagal bago ko natapos!</i> I even attended a birthday party and talked about this book before I went on a slump. Reading a fiction in an oral history <i>with all the characters written</i> is a very tricky style, it dies the hype and the joy of just reading. It's different from plays, when the intent is speaking on a first-person POV. Oral histories shouldn't have even insertion of an author notes, it will somehow <i>be converted</i> as a dissertation. <br /><br />At least that's how I felt with the gimmicky writing, a dissertation trying hard to be an oral history. That's why it became boring at the mid-part. It gets repetitive. <br /><br />It's my first time reading Taylor Jenkins Reid, and I actually applaud her for fleshing out women characters in a setting filled with men. Rock-and-roll is about men and them dominating music in a rugged muddy and Americana style while taking drugs and alcohol and getting their high, before deciding to settle down. That's how the world was before— it was all about them. It also toned the character of Daisy being born out of <i>burgis pribilej</i>, being a prodigy with less effort because she wasn't thinking about rent or the money she will spend on what healthy food to eat. She has an access to a lot of things. And even so, she has to claw her way just to be recognized and seen. <br /><br />I am still a bias of Jennifer Egan and Sally Rooney being the GenX and Millenial female writers, but maybe this Taylor thrives in the GenZ demographic, especially with her songwriting savviness and able to translate her book with all other forms of media. She was able to put content in Spotify and Amazon prime by merely rehashing her slam poetry into Americana-esque songs with the vibes of <i>that Taylor's Folklore</i>, and reaped tons of royalties and rights with it. <br /><br />I am envious of the utility of her creations, and she is really a talented Zennial/GenZ writer. Looking forward to her other works, but lesser of the gimmick.
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Maria Ellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02146796288931176718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866025695206626725.post-37481754444421418332023-08-08T12:00:00.004+08:002024-01-17T02:10:09.890+08:00Because of Netflix<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13180708-white-noise" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px"><img border="0" alt="White Noise" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1387669518l/13180708._SX98_.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13180708-white-noise">White Noise</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/233.Don_DeLillo">Don DeLillo</a><br/>
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/5298523419">2 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />
I just got through with this <i>sarcism kineme</i> and I somehow regret reading this because American sarcasm is not my strongest suit. <br /><br />Also, I read this for the sake of appreciating Greta Gerwig's attempt to make this into a film. This book is know as a "treasure-trove-wonder" because this was a very difficult fiction to transcend (or translate?) into another media. Should I be watching Barbie first? Lols. <br /><br />I admire the readers who do get to enjoy this Vonnegut bootleg (and even that latter writer, I don't appreciate. I do apologize.)
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Maria Ellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02146796288931176718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866025695206626725.post-89702099957933353262023-07-11T12:28:00.003+08:002023-07-11T12:28:22.636+08:00Hormonal Woe<p> Dearest K—,</p><p>I cried last night. </p><p>I saw a video of a couple sitting on the beach with their director's chair and I messaged you actually requesting that we can do the same: just go to the beach and just sit using my director's chair that I bought for the guests. </p><p>I haven't sit on the chair that I bought leisurely. I tried that once to test its durability. After that I just kept them under the cabinet and just pull them out when needed.</p><p>And I realized, yung mga ganitong hiling o simpleng ligaya na tatanga sa dagat kapag gusto eh hindi ko na magawa. Hindi ko rin magawa kasama ka. Hindi ko magawa nang mag-isa. Ano ba ang humahadlang? Bakit parang pati yung kagustuhang pagpungko at pagtunganga sa dagat eh kailangan pang ihiling? Why do I have to beg for such a simple pleasure?</p><p>And I realized hindi pala tayo katulad ng dati. Ang propesyon natin ay hindi tulad ng sa iba, at ang mga desisyon natin ang lumamon sa sistemang mahirap makahanap ng oras para sa simpleng ligaya. At dahil ayaw na ayaw ko ang nagmamakaawa, nainis ako sa sarili at naluha, at tuluyan na lang naiyak. </p><p>Kailan ko kaya mararanasan ang simpleng hiling nang kasama ka? Mararanasan ko pa kaya? Siguro kay Lord ko na lang iaasa lahat ng bigat ng nararamdaman ko, kasama ng pagiging hormonal kasi magkakaron na ako.</p><p>Umiikot-ikot lang itong nararamdaman sa iyo. Galit, lungkot, saya, lungkot. </p><p><br /></p><p>Pero sa panahong lalong wala ka: lungkot, galit, lungkot, lungkot.</p>Maria Ellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02146796288931176718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866025695206626725.post-71783819231109416342023-06-11T05:41:00.004+08:002023-06-11T05:41:49.000+08:00Dear Therapist<p>(Jotting this; I was planning to create a long writing material of my random conversations with <i>the midnight therapist </i>as I share my rants and realizations with the daily grind in the corporate and having only few moments. I used to talk to him during lunch breaks, while walking home, and even before falling asleep.)</p><p>---</p><p><br /></p><p>Dear therapist, </p><p>Bahay pa lang itong inaayos ko, pero ramdam ko na yata ang depresyon ng nanay ko nang inaalagaan kaming mga anak nya. Parati syang pagod, but she has to keep going. Naalala ko na hindi sya kinakausap ng tatay namin dahil busy sa graduate school, at busy rin sa pambababae, at busy na laitin ang nanay ko na walang alam sa tech at gadgets.</p><p>I never felt that isolation before, until this series of come and go, movements sa condo. Kung paano yung sukat, paano pagpantay. "Paki pantay naman ang laminate!" Paano yung grace under pressure, at lahat yun, wala kang ka-share.</p><p>Ang hanap ko na lang sa buhay minsan ay yung may ka-share ako ng struggling and thriving moments, yung sa pagtatapos ng araw, kahit antok na antok ka, may tatapik sa iyo (in a lover's way) and will tell you, "bukas, laban ulit." Ito yung mga moments na iniiyakan ko madalas sa pagtulog, kaya siguro hindi rin maganda ang tulog ko recently. Gets ko yung "meron namang iba jan", "laban lang", pero iba talaga kapag galawang jowa te. Mas may hugot, mas may pag-ibig. </p><p>Charot ORAYT NALULUHA NA NAMAN AKONG EWAN HINDI KO NAMAN REGLA PERO HORMONAL AKONG EWAN</p><p>Feeling ko kapag si SG guy ang magsabi ng "goodjob" saken, maluluha na lang din ako, kasi naiconsider ko syang asawa before. Sobrang craving for a lover's touch ang nangyayari saken. But it will pass, sabi nga sa fleabag. So ayun.</p><p>Bayaran kita sa therapy mo hahahaha</p><p><i><br /></i></p><p><i>(Dear Ella, </i></p><p><i>First of all, pwede natin itong gawing podcast na ano?)</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p>Bayad na! hahahaha</p><p><br /></p>Maria Ellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02146796288931176718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866025695206626725.post-60910286898974163412023-06-09T07:38:00.002+08:002023-06-09T07:38:13.566+08:00Four Years<p>Happy four years, dok. </p><p>It has been four years since we first met. Ito yung mga panahong nanood tayo ng Aladdin, at nagvideoke sa Centerstage kahit isa't kalahating oras lang ang nai-enjoy.</p><p>Andami mong sinabi noon, mga pangakong nariyan ka lang. Magkukwento, makikinig. Pero lumipas ang apat na taon, nagkasakitan na tayo, at ngayon, parang convenient fuck lang ang lahat.</p><p>Sabi mo may nararamdaman ka pa sa akin. Poot kaya ang nararamdaman mo sa akin? Mas gusto mo kasing hindi magkwento kasi nasaktan na kita, takot kang masaktan ulit. </p><p>Pero ano ang aasahan ko sa one-way communication? Ni kwento mo nga ngayong araw eh wala akong alam.</p><p>Kumusta ako? Ito, nagpapaka-fleabag. </p><p>Remember the SG guy? We recently talked again. Last night. Gave me an advice to keep the drive. Naikwento ko kasi na pagod na ako, pero masigasig pa rin ako sa pag-aayos ng condo, kasi gusto ko by July 1, ready na lahat.</p><p>Sinasabi ko sa iyo ito kasi ito ang kulang na kulang sa iyo, ang makipag-usap. Hindi dahilan ang ka-busyhan mo sa pagdo-doktor dahil parang hindi mo nirespeto ang katulad mong may titulo at pinanghahawakang propesyon. Mas naiisip kong wala akong halaga sa iyo, lalo na at kapag tinatamaan ako ng kawalang-kumpyansa sa mga bagay.</p><p>May nararamdaman pa ba ako sa iyo? Meron man, pero pagkauhaw. Uhaw na uhaw sa presensiya mo. Sa hawak mo, sa boses mo, sa pagtitig mo.</p><p>Itutuloy ko pa ba itong pakikipaglandian sa iyo? Hindi ko rin alam, wala kasi akong napapala ngayong taon eh. Siguro sex. Sex lang? Siguro. Hindi ko alam. Siguro mga danas ng iyong pakikipagkita, pero mas marami ang danas ng iyong pagkawala. Hindi ko nga alam kung totoong busy ka eh, paano, wala kang sinasabi. Susubukan mo pa rin ba yung isang buwan na hindi ako kausapin? Eh para saan pa at nakipagkita ka sa akin?</p><p>Kailan ka lalabas sa kuweba mo, at kailan mo itatapat sa akin yang sakit na nararamdaman mo? Kung kelan mamamatay ka? Inuulit ko ha, hindi ko alam kung nasaan ka kung mamatay ka. Wala akong balita sa iyo, at wala akong kakilala na malapit mo sa buhay. Kaya kahit anong galit man yan na tungkol saken, itapat mo na. Tapos, ikaw na magtapos nito. Sinubukan kong tapusin, pero hinahanap ka ng katawan ko. </p><p>Mas mabuti siguro na ikaw na ang tumapos. At least alam ko na sa dulo ng lahat ng ito, may closure. Baka nga closure lang talaga ang hanap ko sa iyo, at hindi ang pagbabalik sa kalbaryo.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>I don't know if it's still right to say I love you but I do, </p><p>Ella.</p><p><br /></p>Maria Ellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02146796288931176718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866025695206626725.post-21413301624054180292023-05-30T15:59:00.002+08:002023-05-30T15:59:12.151+08:00Dream Journal on a Tiring Tuesday<p>Weird dream.</p><p>I was in a girl group of agents — like Charlie's angels — and selling our services to spy a husband and give two options : kill without a trace, or full restoration of relationship via marriage counselling. So many conversations in between, most of those I have forgotten. Nagkunyari kaming real estate agents when I found a potential client na iniistalk ang asawa sa building. So what I did was to look for evidences to corroborate na nanloloko talaga ang asawa, before we roll the spiel — that selling point. </p><p>So I went to a room acting as a maid like Maid in Manhattan and found a lipstick and a lingerie. And she was crying. When I suggested the services, she was conflicted. Told her we won't give her demands, and we can refer her to another agency who can give other "friendlier terms". </p><p>I wasn't able to tell what she wanted, but she was in tears when she finally decided the terms. However, when we gave her the form, another agent gave me a NDA document and in it—I found the doctor's family home. </p><p>Then I woke up with Timmie's cries to let him out of the bedroom, and I write this in haze before I go back to sleep. </p><p>Orayt, goodnight!</p>Maria Ellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02146796288931176718noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866025695206626725.post-7886892854515110432023-05-29T08:00:00.004+08:002024-03-04T03:00:13.436+08:00Dear M<p> Dear M—,</p><div><br /></div><div>Naalala mo pa noong college, patay na patay ako sa iyo? Nag-confess ako sa iyo Friday night, tapos nag-break na tayo Monday night, sa may catwalk habang naulan nang malakas at maghihintay ito tumila, kasama ng mga tsismosa nating kabarkada? Sa sobrang lungkot ko, naisip ko bumili ng notebook, at magpalitan tayo ng mga liham sa isa't-isa, ipapahiram ito bawat gabi, at itinatala ang mga ginawa nating pag-aaral sa maghapon? Hindi ko naisip that it would be my writing style; ang naisip ko noon, gusto kitang makilala, kasama ng pagkilala ko sa mga riles ng PNR bilang main transport natin kapag sabay tayong uuwi after class. Kapag may pagkakataon akong sumabay sa iyo pauwi south-bound, isusugal ko ang oras ng commute at ng mahabang pasensya ng paghihintay sa second to the last trip to San Pedro, kung saan standing sa tren at kakarag-karag, mala-Home Along da Riles circa 2004. </div><div><br /></div><div>Naalala lang kita nang magawi kami rito sa Albay at nakita ang mga riles na nababalot na ng carabao grass, o natatabunan ng aspalto sa National Road para sa sasakyan, at naisip kong sobrang bonak talaga ng mass transit sa Pinas. Hindi mo mae-enjoy ang magkakawatak at magkakalayong rancho at tourist spot ng Bicol region kung wala kang kotse. Malayong-malayo sa Japan kung saan bawat tourist spot eh may train station sa tabi. </div><div><br /></div><div>Naisip rin kita nang makilala ko si J—. Galing rin sya sa school natin, pero team-dorm sya, hindi team-riles. Puru siya aral, at never nakasakay ng PNR, kaya ibang-iba ang kwentong promdi niya sa mabangis na lungsod. Nasa bansa na rin sya ng may effective bus transit at hyperinflated car prices kasi maliit ang lupain ng mala-NY na ASEAN nation. 'Kako sa kanya, ninais ko rin sumulat ng kwentong paglalakbay at pagkakaugnay — sa pamamagitan ng paggamit ng tren. Naalala ko na sinubukan ko yun noong college. Sinubukan ko sa iyo noon. </div><div><br /></div><div>Parang tayong tren: mga riles ang nagdudugtong sa atin mula sa malalayo, riles din ang mahihiwalay sa atin kapag nasa gitna ito ng tawiran. It bridges the far distances to a close, and yet, we break away if we're too close. Gusto ko ring isulat ang kabalintunaan ng riles, katulad ng kalakhang maynila na napapalibutan ng balintunay: sa bawat barangay may solo-living sa mataas na condo na kapitbahay na class C at D na bahay na bato at lulan ang isang angkan. Parang tayo, na kahit anong pilit kong lumapit sa iyo noon, kapag hindi uukol, hindi bubukol. Ngayon tuloy, hirap kang igapang ang ipon mo sa mamahaling bilihin ng diaper at isasabay mo pa sa iyong hinuhulugang motor.</div><div><br /></div><div>But that's another matter of irony. Hindi babagay sa balak kong isulat. </div><div><br /></div><div>Na-enjoy ko ang Bicol, M. Kaya lang nalungkot ako kasi sa pag-enjoy ko, kailangan pa ng kaibigan kong humanap ng rent-a-car at puntahan ang mga lugar na may magandang view ng Mayon, at pwedeng picture-an pang-instagram. Kung hindi mo nalalaman, ang lakas ko maka-jeje sa social media. Gusto ko parati akong may picture sa travel ko, lalo na ngayong hindi ako masyado nakakapag-travel na. Kaya siguro hirap din sa pagsusulat, dahil hindi na masyado nakakapaglakbay. Adulting is so hard, I am faced with the challenges of purchasing furnitures and fixtures, that I sometimes losing contact with friends, and even losing sleep. Puru labas ang pera, pero para sa investment naman daw ang sabi nila. Parang sugal, para sa maalwal na pamumuhay. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sana ganun din ang ating gobyerno, marunong sumugal para sa maalwal na pamumuhay ng mga tao. Kahit man lang sa mga bus na on-time, o sa mga LRT at MRT na dumarating na every two minutes sana. Pinakamaganda, ibalik nila ang long-distance rail transit mula Tayuman hanggang Bicol. Hindi yung puru San Pedro. Iabot na nila hanggang dito sa Albay. Better yet, get it done until Sorsogon. Para wala na akong dahilan bakit hindi ako makatawid ng Leyte. Ang probinsya ng tatay kong aning-aning na at hindi man lang death-ready ngayong matindi na ang sakit niya. Hay, nalulungkot ako na ang Pilipinas ay katulad ng tatay ko: lakas mangutang ng pera, pero hindi man lang maglaan sa kinabukasan. Hipak pa ng bisyo. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sa pamamagitan ng kotseng hiram ay nakarating ako sa Green Hills ng Quitinday. Hindi ito shopping center oi, literal na berdeng burol na may kubo at matatanaw ang perfect cone kapag naiakyat mo ang lampas 100 steps assault. Eka nila, isang Congressman na raw ang bumili nito. Revoked ang ancestral domain. Wala man lang malasakit. Paano na kapag nagkaroon ng 100% ownership sa saligang batas? Hindi ako against sa ganung economic policy, pero kung hindi epektibo ang Tax Code nating circa 1977, paano natin masisingil ang mga panginoong maylupa, di ba? Hindi nga rin effective ang AMLA natin kasi andami paring naglalaba ng pera sa mga casino eh. Laba-pera habang nanonood ng Broadway. Ganun ang burgis way. Sometimes, free check-in for a patron. Oha, maging permanent resident ka lang ng sugalan para tuluy-tuloy ang money integrating. Hindi ko lang alam kung alam mo pa ang ibig kong sabihin; hindi ka na accountant, di ba? Nasa call center ka ng payables-receivables, kung saan mas nakaka-relate ka kung paano magsesettle ng mga credit card bills ng misis mo, kaka-hoard ng mga baby supplies sa Lazada kada buwan. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sa dami ng gusto kong isulat kapag ako ay naglalakbay, hindi ko na maipili ano ang uunahin ko. Katulad ng paggamit ko sa notebook natin, parang dumpster lang ng mga iniisip ko ang notes app dito sa phone. Mas maganda ang tech ngayon, all of these are stored in a cloud. Hindi katulad ng notebook natin na nawawala na nang makita ni mama ito at itinambak sa kung saan, tapos ayun, Ondoy happened. </div><div><br /></div><div>I just wanted to write about travel and connections and yet here we are: me trying again to connect to you via this epistolary exposition and you not knowing where I was and what I am doing. Kaya heto ako, nakahigang nagta-type habang tanaw ang mahiyaing Mayon. </div><div><br /></div><div>So. Kumusta? </div>Maria Ellahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02146796288931176718noreply@blogger.com0