As I spend my Sunday working on scripts, I have decided to give my iTunes a break and tuned in to NU 107. I still can't believe that the station is closing down. I haven't listened to NU in a long time, except for the occasional weekend visits to listen to Remote Control Weekend and Pirate Satellite on Saturday nights. But this pales in comparison to the time I was an avid listener. I woke up and slept to NU. I was educated by their shows, their chitchat woke me up and lolled me to sleep. It was typical teenage years which made up a third of my life. So basically, NU has been in me in substantial units; maybe it's not current, but it's in there, deep down. And now I am digging deep.
When I heard the news I just thought that the station had to concede for practical reasons. I guess they are no longer getting advertisers. Does that mean that the NU audience has been thinning all these years? Most likely. I grew up in a generation where half of the school's population were rock fans. Today, the most "angsty" genre comes from the emo kids, and even that it doesn't hold a candle to the kind of, say, anger Generation X were (by choice) carrying on their shoulders. Currently I listen to Jam 88.3 which will probably be the nearest thing to NU today, but Jam is not as rock as NU. Jam is current among those who love "indie" music. They play a bit of pop, but even that pop is not mainstream. But they don't play Korn, Stone Temple Pilots, Nirvana, those guys. If I want to listen to those guys, I'd go to NU.
Now, it is just dawning on me that I am going to have to resort to YouTube just to listen to them. This is more of the time of searching and no longer of accidental discovery. I started listening to NU the first time I heard The Breeders' "Cannonball" during that daily 9PM countdown; unfortunately, I no longer recall the name of the program. But anyway, it was "Cannonball", and I noticed they played better rock songs as compared to WLS, which was for a few years was playing Nirvana until Boyz II Men started to get into their playlist. And there was the Smashing Pumpkins, Soundgarden, STP, Pearl Jam... oh man.
I do think that NU's closing down signifies another thing. Maybe it is similar to the time when the feeling of 60s revolution and rebellion started to get lost in the glam of the 70s. I remember that scene from Almost Famous where the manager said something like music was dying because of disco. But you can't hate what's replacing that music no? I am listening to the current version of what is alternative, which might as well be the beginning of the new rock.
But is it, really? Are these bands that I love now --- Stars, Metric, BSS, Siguro Ros, etc. --- are they the new rock?
It feels like we are all facing the great unknown. I mentioned to a friend last night --- and even this I told my sister and another friend --- there is something with the times today. People are experiencing significant changes. People leaving their jobs, people just leaving, people getting married, people having babies. For some reason there is a more distinctive mark between those who are ending things in order to begin, and those who are just making new beginnings to continue something.
In any case, whatever the differences there are always the beginnings. It makes you hopeful, but I guess in order to move on you just have to let go.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Thursday, November 4, 2010
My 5 Best Tips to Smart Single Living
Aside from making sure you've saved enough for rent, here are the following best tips to smart single living.
1) Learn how to cook - it helps you save, you get to learn a skill, and it can be fun.
2) Be storage smart - so you can just dump things into their respective boxes, baskets, etc.
3) Unplug when you're out - it will prevent any possible fires and electrical problems that can ruin your appliances. And it DEFINITELY cuts down on the electricity bill.
4) Security, security, security - lock up, only give a spare key the person you trust most.
5) Just add hot water - stock up on canned food, noodles, and other food packets. Useful when you're not in the mood to eat, and when you're running low on funds.
1) Learn how to cook - it helps you save, you get to learn a skill, and it can be fun.
2) Be storage smart - so you can just dump things into their respective boxes, baskets, etc.
3) Unplug when you're out - it will prevent any possible fires and electrical problems that can ruin your appliances. And it DEFINITELY cuts down on the electricity bill.
4) Security, security, security - lock up, only give a spare key the person you trust most.
5) Just add hot water - stock up on canned food, noodles, and other food packets. Useful when you're not in the mood to eat, and when you're running low on funds.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Notes on Transitioning
It IS hard when you finally decide to make some changes in your life, no? I remember years ago, a friend told me about this thing our late Dean of College said in their class: if you do something right, everything will start falling into place. Well, it seems at first that things are falling into place, but of course, the universe is not going to be there all the time. There's the initial boost, and then it feels gone. You're on your own.
About two months ago, a few of my friends (including my sister) decided --- almost at the same time --- that they wanted to quit their jobs. The reason is simple: it's dead-end, they don't want to do it for the rest of their lives, they're unhappy. Incidentally, I was going through the same thing: I did not want to do the meat source of my income anymore. I want to do what I have been doing sporadically. And yes, I have been getting significant support. So do my friends, my sister.
But now, it seems that time is running out. We are still "in the process", and yes, funds are running low. It's like we are now on this verge of going back to what we were before. We're nearing this point of surrender. It feels that the time we spent trying to make these changes, risking a lot of things --- have gone to waste.
I like to think that life works in mysterious, wondrous ways. I mean, we got into this ordeal with good intentions. It's not a joke. It's not like we got lazy and we wanted to rebel. We're looking for something significant. Of course, spiritual texts will point out that if it's not too hard, then maybe it's not that worth it. If it easily gets to you, it will be easily taken away from you; work needs to come in, in different ways and form.
Right now I can see small changes. I hope my sister is experiencing this too. We're hanging on. Everything will change, and that's not because it is according to plan; they will because it's all part of the particles that make this universe possible.
About two months ago, a few of my friends (including my sister) decided --- almost at the same time --- that they wanted to quit their jobs. The reason is simple: it's dead-end, they don't want to do it for the rest of their lives, they're unhappy. Incidentally, I was going through the same thing: I did not want to do the meat source of my income anymore. I want to do what I have been doing sporadically. And yes, I have been getting significant support. So do my friends, my sister.
But now, it seems that time is running out. We are still "in the process", and yes, funds are running low. It's like we are now on this verge of going back to what we were before. We're nearing this point of surrender. It feels that the time we spent trying to make these changes, risking a lot of things --- have gone to waste.
I like to think that life works in mysterious, wondrous ways. I mean, we got into this ordeal with good intentions. It's not a joke. It's not like we got lazy and we wanted to rebel. We're looking for something significant. Of course, spiritual texts will point out that if it's not too hard, then maybe it's not that worth it. If it easily gets to you, it will be easily taken away from you; work needs to come in, in different ways and form.
Right now I can see small changes. I hope my sister is experiencing this too. We're hanging on. Everything will change, and that's not because it is according to plan; they will because it's all part of the particles that make this universe possible.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
When Eating Required Praying, and Praying was Answered with Loving
When Eating Required Praying, and Praying was Answered with Loving
On Eating
I wrote,
Will eat first, and then pray and love later.
A friend, a filmmaker, made this comment: aren't you supposed to pray first before eating?
See, I don't really pray before I eat although being educated in a Catholic school for about ten years required regular prayers on school days in addition to the regular prayer before meals. You pray when you get to school (as the church is focal point of the entire parish/academic complex), you pray after singing the national anthem and reciting the national pledge, you pray before the class starts (and I am talking about praying every class), you pray before and after recess, you pray the Angelus, you pray the Three O'Clock Prayer, you pray after the whole day class, you pray before leaving school. Ten years. Imagine. And don't forget the required mass attendance.
I guess I just prayed too much that living, whether as a good, bad, so-so, or un-Christian/Catholic, is almost a prayer.
This is not to say I am against praying. I pray though it is not part of the standard regimen. Sometimes before I meet friends at M Cafe I drop by the Greenbelt chapel to --- well, probably not pray, but maybe it is praying. I like going to the chapel, just to sit. Talk to someone in my head. Why not? The Greenbelt chapel has been a staple in my life as my aunt would usually bring me there on a Saturday after a movie and some treat, during the time the chapel was still surrounded by a pond and that the Greenbelt aviary was my favorite place to run and explore.
Praying and me --- we have a relationship, and it's not really complicated. Seriously.
The thing is, I ate a lot in the past year. I ate a lot, and I ate more than I could chew, I even ate the stuff I didn't like, I experimented with what I ate, and I even ate those that would somehow poison me.
Of course, I didn't mean those in a literal sense. But these translated into something literal: I gained weight. In less than a year, I gained ten pounds. This is not to say I am fat now, but I am fat based on my standards, my standard being for the first time in my life, I weigh more than 120 pounds. In 2007 I could be no more than 110 pounds.
Maybe it's age?
But of course I am not talking just about poundage and weightage. I gained a lot that I feel so heavy and unfit. But you know how gravity works; you're so heavy sometimes it makes you float.
On Eating and Praying
Early this year I attended a workshop called The Awakening Experience. It was a good workshop held by Lightworkers. I am a "lightworker"; I like to put those in quotation marks because I haven't been committed to being a lightworker, though being a lightworker is basically what you are. Let's say, I haven't been active in attending the gatherings. Lightworkers are an incredible bunch, and don't let this fool you but they're not really the goody-two-shoes nerdy types. They're regular people with a greater sense of purpose. They believe in God or god, they believe in the force, they believe in the Light. And no, our gatherings are far from those that require putting your hands up and do that "praise the Lord" thing. You can do it, but that's not what it is about. Faith is a personal thing, but it can be shared. Like happiness.
The thing is, maybe I am the kind who does not share faith. Because it's personal for me. But I can share! Because love is to share, and the greatest religion of all is love. Nothing more.
Anyway, in the Awakening Experience, one of the speakers (I can't remember which --- was it Lia?) mentioned about this snowflake experiment. I really can't remember the details, but basically the experiment was these researchers sent "love" to the snowflake. Through concentration. And then the snowflake became beautiful, or it didn't melt. Or something (haha).
I was actually reminded of the Noetics (thanks to a Dan Brown novel). It's a "science" about the power of thought. So basically, the premise is that you send specific thoughts on to something, and that something responds. So --- when you cook with love, the food will be delicious. If you love with love, and not with hate, the love will be --- I kid. But it's like that.
Which is why, even though I don't normally pray, before I eat (food or not), I look at it because I want to send it good vibes. Hence, the reason I have gained weight. The food has been yummy. Yammy.
On Praying and Loving
To be honest, I don't love my life if you look at it at a daily basis. Like now. I don't love it much. I wish I am living another life. I am home, working alone, and I feel pathetic. I want to go out, but I have to finish something. I want to do something else. Like all stories there are things that you have to do for the money. For several years, I have been trying to figure out how to get out of the rut and combine what you love with income generation. I love to write, and yes, I write for a living. But I am hating it now.
I guess I have to change loves then. Move on. Writing, it's not working. I have to break up with you. Or maybe, I'll find someone like you, but something else. Gets?
Hence, I am on my knees looking for a new love.
But writing is my first love. And I am having an affair with traveling.
I guess this is a compromise and a crossing-over that will work.
I wrote,
Will eat first, and then pray and love later.
A friend, a filmmaker, made this comment: aren't you supposed to pray first before eating?
See, I don't really pray before I eat although being educated in a Catholic school for about ten years required regular prayers on school days in addition to the regular prayer before meals. You pray when you get to school (as the church is focal point of the entire parish/academic complex), you pray after singing the national anthem and reciting the national pledge, you pray before the class starts (and I am talking about praying every class), you pray before and after recess, you pray the Angelus, you pray the Three O'Clock Prayer, you pray after the whole day class, you pray before leaving school. Ten years. Imagine. And don't forget the required mass attendance.
I guess I just prayed too much that living, whether as a good, bad, so-so, or un-Christian/Catholic, is almost a prayer.
This is not to say I am against praying. I pray though it is not part of the standard regimen. Sometimes before I meet friends at M Cafe I drop by the Greenbelt chapel to --- well, probably not pray, but maybe it is praying. I like going to the chapel, just to sit. Talk to someone in my head. Why not? The Greenbelt chapel has been a staple in my life as my aunt would usually bring me there on a Saturday after a movie and some treat, during the time the chapel was still surrounded by a pond and that the Greenbelt aviary was my favorite place to run and explore.
Praying and me --- we have a relationship, and it's not really complicated. Seriously.
The thing is, I ate a lot in the past year. I ate a lot, and I ate more than I could chew, I even ate the stuff I didn't like, I experimented with what I ate, and I even ate those that would somehow poison me.
Of course, I didn't mean those in a literal sense. But these translated into something literal: I gained weight. In less than a year, I gained ten pounds. This is not to say I am fat now, but I am fat based on my standards, my standard being for the first time in my life, I weigh more than 120 pounds. In 2007 I could be no more than 110 pounds.
Maybe it's age?
But of course I am not talking just about poundage and weightage. I gained a lot that I feel so heavy and unfit. But you know how gravity works; you're so heavy sometimes it makes you float.
On Eating and Praying
Early this year I attended a workshop called The Awakening Experience. It was a good workshop held by Lightworkers. I am a "lightworker"; I like to put those in quotation marks because I haven't been committed to being a lightworker, though being a lightworker is basically what you are. Let's say, I haven't been active in attending the gatherings. Lightworkers are an incredible bunch, and don't let this fool you but they're not really the goody-two-shoes nerdy types. They're regular people with a greater sense of purpose. They believe in God or god, they believe in the force, they believe in the Light. And no, our gatherings are far from those that require putting your hands up and do that "praise the Lord" thing. You can do it, but that's not what it is about. Faith is a personal thing, but it can be shared. Like happiness.
The thing is, maybe I am the kind who does not share faith. Because it's personal for me. But I can share! Because love is to share, and the greatest religion of all is love. Nothing more.
Anyway, in the Awakening Experience, one of the speakers (I can't remember which --- was it Lia?) mentioned about this snowflake experiment. I really can't remember the details, but basically the experiment was these researchers sent "love" to the snowflake. Through concentration. And then the snowflake became beautiful, or it didn't melt. Or something (haha).
I was actually reminded of the Noetics (thanks to a Dan Brown novel). It's a "science" about the power of thought. So basically, the premise is that you send specific thoughts on to something, and that something responds. So --- when you cook with love, the food will be delicious. If you love with love, and not with hate, the love will be --- I kid. But it's like that.
Which is why, even though I don't normally pray, before I eat (food or not), I look at it because I want to send it good vibes. Hence, the reason I have gained weight. The food has been yummy. Yammy.
On Praying and Loving
To be honest, I don't love my life if you look at it at a daily basis. Like now. I don't love it much. I wish I am living another life. I am home, working alone, and I feel pathetic. I want to go out, but I have to finish something. I want to do something else. Like all stories there are things that you have to do for the money. For several years, I have been trying to figure out how to get out of the rut and combine what you love with income generation. I love to write, and yes, I write for a living. But I am hating it now.
I guess I have to change loves then. Move on. Writing, it's not working. I have to break up with you. Or maybe, I'll find someone like you, but something else. Gets?
Hence, I am on my knees looking for a new love.
But writing is my first love. And I am having an affair with traveling.
I guess this is a compromise and a crossing-over that will work.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Plans
A couple of weeks ago, I had planned to attend the International Coastal Cleanup event in Anilao. I am not a certified diver, and I could just imagine the divers among us urbanites flocking south of the city, doing a good deed to the environment, and then get drunk later in the evening. It was something that I SHOULD attend although I would most likely end up doing most of the actual coastal cleaning as divers are usually, well, underwater.
However, a few days before the event, I was told that the family was quite planning to go to Tagaytay on Sunday (today); as we are to celebrate my grandmother's seventh death anniversary and my grandfather's "forty days" in a week or so, my aunts wanted to revive the tradition we sort of had when we lost my grandmother: attend mass at the Caleruega chapel and then spend some time at the Pink Sisters convent.
So see, I was faced with a dilemma: coastal cleanup weekend on the beach with urbanites (and as I am technically still "on the market" you throw something at the universe and have it conspire with you, if you know what I mean) or a Sunday driving with the family to Tagaytay for practically a whole day of praying? Very, very tough choice.
Although I did consider the option of spending the Saturday in Anilao, I thought it would be bogus; of course I would love to stay and party. And get drunk. Whatever. But that option got blurry in my head as I spent the entire Friday recovering from a hangover (as Thursday was a night of sangria, some lemony drink and a bottle of red), so yeah, when I woke up Saturday, it was too late to go to Anilao. I had no other choice but to drag myself to the airport, pick up my sister and her friend, and the drive up north to my parents'.
And so I did spend most of my Sunday in a pretty religious, Catholic realm. With tons of driving.
See, my family's not really religious; on the outside we probably look like heathens. Although my siblings and cousins were sent to Catholic schools, my family never really went to church. It was standard-issued, cafeteria Catholicism. But I knew my grandmother prayed, and an aunt liked going to church, and my mother prayed to the Virgin a lot. But I don't remember being forced to pray or go to mass. The men in our the family are not religious at all. I consider myself as more on a spiritual path than religious --- I mean, hell, I was interested in wicca, fascinated with Eastern religion, I subscribe to a regular Kabbalah mailer, and I like to believe that I have some supernatural ancestry (mwahahahaha). At the same time, I've always loved science; I like evidence and logic. But anyway, I am not going to launch into another religion vs science debates --- the POINT is, I am so lucky to have a family that has given me the liberty to choose how to express my faith.
But anyway, this interesting turn in my family's, say, tradition started with the death of my grandmother about seven years ago. For a few months we visited Caleruega and the Pink Sisters. And then afterwards it kinda waned; we went back to the "religion is personal" mode. We didn't do anything exotic, we just went to mass and embraced some praying tradition after the death of a family member. When my grandfather died recently, somehow the need to go back to Tagaytay was felt; other than praying for his soul, what else was there?
Like in my previous post I think it has something to do with feeling orphaned; my grandparents are no longer the head of our young clan. This is about family ties, it is about keeping everyone together in the midst of loss and the inevitable feeling of uncertainty. Sunday was not just about going to church and praying; it's time spent with each other in an environment that magnifies the being. As everyone's praying around me anyways, I placed my prayers as well: I found it surprising that half the time I was praying for my my family. Of course I had the usual litany of prayers (haha), but I really prayed for the people who mean a lot to me, my family and my friends. I realize that the need to pray for them is due to the fact that at the end of the day, their lives are not really in my hands. I do not have any control what will happen to them, and what their decisions are going to be. I just prayed for their happiness and well-being, and I did pray that I did not want to lose them although they're not really "mine".
The homily in this morning's mass in Caleruega emphasized the meaning of plans, and how a person may live each and every day. The priest highlighted the three ways: living your life according to the will of other; according to your own will; and according to your addictions. Evidently, none of them are the perfect means, but the priest pointed out that it is important to find the meaning in the things that happen to you, to the people around you, to the world. It is therefore important to manifest what you want to happen, but you need to see beyond what is manifested. It is inevitable for us to avoid living Number 1 as we have to live with people, Number 2 is too selfish, and Number 3 may be a disease.
In the days leading to this Sunday, let's say my Number 2 was to go to the coastal clean-up; but a Number 1 came up, and I thought of working around to still achieve Number 2. However, Number 3 happened (drunken Thursday and Hangover Friday --- my choice anyways), which led to, well --- conceding to Number 1. And so I found myself praying for most of Sunday.
It was something I didn't really plan, but I think it wasn't so bad. I surprisingly found my focus. I guess I found a sense of quiet today that I can't normally find in my apartment, even though I live in it alone.
However, a few days before the event, I was told that the family was quite planning to go to Tagaytay on Sunday (today); as we are to celebrate my grandmother's seventh death anniversary and my grandfather's "forty days" in a week or so, my aunts wanted to revive the tradition we sort of had when we lost my grandmother: attend mass at the Caleruega chapel and then spend some time at the Pink Sisters convent.
So see, I was faced with a dilemma: coastal cleanup weekend on the beach with urbanites (and as I am technically still "on the market" you throw something at the universe and have it conspire with you, if you know what I mean) or a Sunday driving with the family to Tagaytay for practically a whole day of praying? Very, very tough choice.
Although I did consider the option of spending the Saturday in Anilao, I thought it would be bogus; of course I would love to stay and party. And get drunk. Whatever. But that option got blurry in my head as I spent the entire Friday recovering from a hangover (as Thursday was a night of sangria, some lemony drink and a bottle of red), so yeah, when I woke up Saturday, it was too late to go to Anilao. I had no other choice but to drag myself to the airport, pick up my sister and her friend, and the drive up north to my parents'.
And so I did spend most of my Sunday in a pretty religious, Catholic realm. With tons of driving.
See, my family's not really religious; on the outside we probably look like heathens. Although my siblings and cousins were sent to Catholic schools, my family never really went to church. It was standard-issued, cafeteria Catholicism. But I knew my grandmother prayed, and an aunt liked going to church, and my mother prayed to the Virgin a lot. But I don't remember being forced to pray or go to mass. The men in our the family are not religious at all. I consider myself as more on a spiritual path than religious --- I mean, hell, I was interested in wicca, fascinated with Eastern religion, I subscribe to a regular Kabbalah mailer, and I like to believe that I have some supernatural ancestry (mwahahahaha). At the same time, I've always loved science; I like evidence and logic. But anyway, I am not going to launch into another religion vs science debates --- the POINT is, I am so lucky to have a family that has given me the liberty to choose how to express my faith.
But anyway, this interesting turn in my family's, say, tradition started with the death of my grandmother about seven years ago. For a few months we visited Caleruega and the Pink Sisters. And then afterwards it kinda waned; we went back to the "religion is personal" mode. We didn't do anything exotic, we just went to mass and embraced some praying tradition after the death of a family member. When my grandfather died recently, somehow the need to go back to Tagaytay was felt; other than praying for his soul, what else was there?
Like in my previous post I think it has something to do with feeling orphaned; my grandparents are no longer the head of our young clan. This is about family ties, it is about keeping everyone together in the midst of loss and the inevitable feeling of uncertainty. Sunday was not just about going to church and praying; it's time spent with each other in an environment that magnifies the being. As everyone's praying around me anyways, I placed my prayers as well: I found it surprising that half the time I was praying for my my family. Of course I had the usual litany of prayers (haha), but I really prayed for the people who mean a lot to me, my family and my friends. I realize that the need to pray for them is due to the fact that at the end of the day, their lives are not really in my hands. I do not have any control what will happen to them, and what their decisions are going to be. I just prayed for their happiness and well-being, and I did pray that I did not want to lose them although they're not really "mine".
The homily in this morning's mass in Caleruega emphasized the meaning of plans, and how a person may live each and every day. The priest highlighted the three ways: living your life according to the will of other; according to your own will; and according to your addictions. Evidently, none of them are the perfect means, but the priest pointed out that it is important to find the meaning in the things that happen to you, to the people around you, to the world. It is therefore important to manifest what you want to happen, but you need to see beyond what is manifested. It is inevitable for us to avoid living Number 1 as we have to live with people, Number 2 is too selfish, and Number 3 may be a disease.
In the days leading to this Sunday, let's say my Number 2 was to go to the coastal clean-up; but a Number 1 came up, and I thought of working around to still achieve Number 2. However, Number 3 happened (drunken Thursday and Hangover Friday --- my choice anyways), which led to, well --- conceding to Number 1. And so I found myself praying for most of Sunday.
It was something I didn't really plan, but I think it wasn't so bad. I surprisingly found my focus. I guess I found a sense of quiet today that I can't normally find in my apartment, even though I live in it alone.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Male Bonding
A few minutes ago, I smelled the freshly squeezed calamansi juice that my father was making for his bedtime tea. I looked up from where I was sitting and asked if there were any calamansi left. He told me that there were enough, and implied that if I wanted some I should get off my ass and make a cup for myself.
As I started to slice the fruit I casually asked if he had any small strainer ready; he said no. He said I should fish out the seeds using a teaspoon. I then continued slicing, and then he handed me a teaspoon, interrupting his own masterpiece. He then noted how I was slicing the calamansi; he mentioned something about how to properly do it, which was his way, of course.
I started squeezing and then scooping the seeds out. He handed me a small jar of honey; he told me to use it. As he started dipping an herbal teabag, in and out, bouncing up and down the elixir, he said that I should put in some teabags because it would make the concoction delicious. I went to the thermos for some hot water, and then he called out and said that he had some freshly-boiled water ready; as I am not very much familiar with my parents' kitchen I turned and looked like I was caught in a hazy maze. He pointed at one corner; apparently, he used the coffee pot to boil the water. I then poured some water, put the pot back, and started going through the cupboard for some teabag. He hissed that he already had something ready for me. Like a little girl I took the teabag from him, ripped it open, and started dipping, in and out, bouncing up and down.
As I was clearly finished with the ceremony --- which he was watching as he sipped his tea, standing up --- he told me how I should secure the teabag by wrapping its end around the mug holder.
Although my dad and I fight sometimes as he is a terrible (and sexist) backseat driver and like many men he always insists that he is always right, I found that supposed-annoying instance comforting and thought that I simply missed being a just a child, that I will always be somebody's daughter.
As I started to slice the fruit I casually asked if he had any small strainer ready; he said no. He said I should fish out the seeds using a teaspoon. I then continued slicing, and then he handed me a teaspoon, interrupting his own masterpiece. He then noted how I was slicing the calamansi; he mentioned something about how to properly do it, which was his way, of course.
I started squeezing and then scooping the seeds out. He handed me a small jar of honey; he told me to use it. As he started dipping an herbal teabag, in and out, bouncing up and down the elixir, he said that I should put in some teabags because it would make the concoction delicious. I went to the thermos for some hot water, and then he called out and said that he had some freshly-boiled water ready; as I am not very much familiar with my parents' kitchen I turned and looked like I was caught in a hazy maze. He pointed at one corner; apparently, he used the coffee pot to boil the water. I then poured some water, put the pot back, and started going through the cupboard for some teabag. He hissed that he already had something ready for me. Like a little girl I took the teabag from him, ripped it open, and started dipping, in and out, bouncing up and down.
As I was clearly finished with the ceremony --- which he was watching as he sipped his tea, standing up --- he told me how I should secure the teabag by wrapping its end around the mug holder.
Although my dad and I fight sometimes as he is a terrible (and sexist) backseat driver and like many men he always insists that he is always right, I found that supposed-annoying instance comforting and thought that I simply missed being a just a child, that I will always be somebody's daughter.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Independence
After my grandfather passed away about two weeks ago in which an almost week-long wake followed, I somehow found myself "stuck" at my parents' house. I guess the string of events would generally ease me into this state of quite refusing to go back to my apartment; likely reasons are as follows:
1) After the funeral on Friday I went to a reunion Saturday night, and then by Sunday it was already the pasiyam. I got lazy driving back to Manila when I had the chance, say, by Monday.
2) I was overwhelmed with the fact that I did not work for more than seven days, and those days were not spent on some exotic holiday but in grief and in the freezing funeral home. The state of overwhelm somehow led to, uh, a suspension of disbelief, as how a favorite phrase from college goes.
3) I feared my grandfather would show up in my apartment (whooo).
Anyways, after more than a week of disconnect I finally decided to go back to my humble abode. I have to admit, a significant reason I did not want to go back was that my apartment was a huge mess; I had not cleaned it for at least two weeks due to my absence. It was a good decision to give my parents' househelp additional income by contracting her to do a major clean-up. So right now, I am sitting in an apartment that smells of Pledge, Lysol, and *sniff*sniff* another Pledge product.
Being here, being now, I am then again in this niche of being "independent".
This thought somehow occurred to me: what is my issue with independence? I think I was merely in the double digits when I was already told that I was an independent kid. I was probably ten and I was already independent. I am trying to remember now how I got to be this thing, this state which supposedly-admirable women are supposed to characterize. I had a pretty strong personality as a kid, and I liked to learn on my own (with some constant nudging from my grandmother) --- independence. As early as grade school I was so curious about a lot of things that I learned stuff from my aunt's Mills and Boon collection and (gasp) Anais Nin's Delta of Venus --- independence. No, scratch that, that was not independence, that was going through other people's stuff and accidentally reading erotica.
Hmm.
Somehow I reached the point in which I sensed that being independent was not admirable at all, it was a liability. It made me feel quite isolated. Sure, I do like to do things on my own, that I can and have travelled alone (and I will, still), and at the moment I live alone. Because of these things, I surprisingly amaze people. Yes, I live alone (ooohh), yes I have done Southeast Asia mostly alone (ooohh), and yes I usually feel guilty every time I hear Destiny's Child's "Independent Women" (hah). But are these things being independent, really?
When I moved out I was expecting some form of freedom to the degree of a Sex and the City episode: lunching with the girls, having DVD marathons, throwing a dinner party, etc. Yes, this entire "living alone" thing has highlighted this thing called independence. I pay my bills, I pay the rent, I cook for myself, the works. I laugh on my own whilst watching TMZ, and I get lonely alone too (haha). Independence.
Spending all these days at my parents', playing with my nephew, annoying my sister and my mother, and having someone cook for me and wash my clothes made me think that at the end of the day, that was what I wanted: to be with someone, to be with family. I did think that if what I really wanted was company and family, then why the hell did I move out in the first place?!!
Tricky, huh.
As I drove away from my parents' house, and exited and entered the freeway, I thought of my grandfather; see, he and my grandmother generally raised me. I grew up in their house in Manila. I slept between them when I was a child. My grandmother made sure I did my homework, and my grandfather made sure I would laugh at his jokes and his attempts to entertain me. My grandmother passed away when I was 23, and recently, my grandfather was gone. When I moved out of their house my lolo was almost bedridden. For several months he was starting to fade, he lost his senses, he lost his sight. I could no longer talk to him, and every time I visited it would truly broke my heart to see him.
I think somehow I finally felt that the child in me, that kid who would become me, was now an orphan. And to be honest, those years are my favorite years so far.
I stayed at my parents' because it made me feel like I was somebody's daughter, somebody's sister, and somebody's aunt. I needed to make sense of my independence especially I am in this critical stage of transitioning. I moved out not because I wanted freedom; fortunately I've always had that. I moved out because I wanted to build a relationship with myself. This is not just an experiment; this is the life I am choosing to have, right now. Even though I do want to have my own family, and to be with company and such, at the moment I just want to be somebody to myself. And yes, to quote Bridget Fonda's character in Cameron Crowe's Singles: "Being alone... there is a certain dignity to it".
I think losing my grandfather --- and my grandmother --- has made me realize that I am an adult now, and that it is my time, it is going to be my era, it is now my turn. I am independent not because I moved out, or I have a strong personality, or I can do things alone. I am independent because I am embracing the process of fleshing out who I am from a long line of history, of roots, of relationships, of dependence.
1) After the funeral on Friday I went to a reunion Saturday night, and then by Sunday it was already the pasiyam. I got lazy driving back to Manila when I had the chance, say, by Monday.
2) I was overwhelmed with the fact that I did not work for more than seven days, and those days were not spent on some exotic holiday but in grief and in the freezing funeral home. The state of overwhelm somehow led to, uh, a suspension of disbelief, as how a favorite phrase from college goes.
3) I feared my grandfather would show up in my apartment (whooo).
Anyways, after more than a week of disconnect I finally decided to go back to my humble abode. I have to admit, a significant reason I did not want to go back was that my apartment was a huge mess; I had not cleaned it for at least two weeks due to my absence. It was a good decision to give my parents' househelp additional income by contracting her to do a major clean-up. So right now, I am sitting in an apartment that smells of Pledge, Lysol, and *sniff*sniff* another Pledge product.
Being here, being now, I am then again in this niche of being "independent".
This thought somehow occurred to me: what is my issue with independence? I think I was merely in the double digits when I was already told that I was an independent kid. I was probably ten and I was already independent. I am trying to remember now how I got to be this thing, this state which supposedly-admirable women are supposed to characterize. I had a pretty strong personality as a kid, and I liked to learn on my own (with some constant nudging from my grandmother) --- independence. As early as grade school I was so curious about a lot of things that I learned stuff from my aunt's Mills and Boon collection and (gasp) Anais Nin's Delta of Venus --- independence. No, scratch that, that was not independence, that was going through other people's stuff and accidentally reading erotica.
Hmm.
Somehow I reached the point in which I sensed that being independent was not admirable at all, it was a liability. It made me feel quite isolated. Sure, I do like to do things on my own, that I can and have travelled alone (and I will, still), and at the moment I live alone. Because of these things, I surprisingly amaze people. Yes, I live alone (ooohh), yes I have done Southeast Asia mostly alone (ooohh), and yes I usually feel guilty every time I hear Destiny's Child's "Independent Women" (hah). But are these things being independent, really?
When I moved out I was expecting some form of freedom to the degree of a Sex and the City episode: lunching with the girls, having DVD marathons, throwing a dinner party, etc. Yes, this entire "living alone" thing has highlighted this thing called independence. I pay my bills, I pay the rent, I cook for myself, the works. I laugh on my own whilst watching TMZ, and I get lonely alone too (haha). Independence.
Spending all these days at my parents', playing with my nephew, annoying my sister and my mother, and having someone cook for me and wash my clothes made me think that at the end of the day, that was what I wanted: to be with someone, to be with family. I did think that if what I really wanted was company and family, then why the hell did I move out in the first place?!!
Tricky, huh.
As I drove away from my parents' house, and exited and entered the freeway, I thought of my grandfather; see, he and my grandmother generally raised me. I grew up in their house in Manila. I slept between them when I was a child. My grandmother made sure I did my homework, and my grandfather made sure I would laugh at his jokes and his attempts to entertain me. My grandmother passed away when I was 23, and recently, my grandfather was gone. When I moved out of their house my lolo was almost bedridden. For several months he was starting to fade, he lost his senses, he lost his sight. I could no longer talk to him, and every time I visited it would truly broke my heart to see him.
I think somehow I finally felt that the child in me, that kid who would become me, was now an orphan. And to be honest, those years are my favorite years so far.
I stayed at my parents' because it made me feel like I was somebody's daughter, somebody's sister, and somebody's aunt. I needed to make sense of my independence especially I am in this critical stage of transitioning. I moved out not because I wanted freedom; fortunately I've always had that. I moved out because I wanted to build a relationship with myself. This is not just an experiment; this is the life I am choosing to have, right now. Even though I do want to have my own family, and to be with company and such, at the moment I just want to be somebody to myself. And yes, to quote Bridget Fonda's character in Cameron Crowe's Singles: "Being alone... there is a certain dignity to it".
I think losing my grandfather --- and my grandmother --- has made me realize that I am an adult now, and that it is my time, it is going to be my era, it is now my turn. I am independent not because I moved out, or I have a strong personality, or I can do things alone. I am independent because I am embracing the process of fleshing out who I am from a long line of history, of roots, of relationships, of dependence.
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