Good to Hear from You

I put on a new dress, in what turn out to be his favorite colors. I primp my newly cut hair, and spritz on my perfume. And I'm off for the weekend matinee. A Spring Awakening, in every sense.

The car drives down familiar roads, and we cross familiar streets--except this time, unfettered, just catching the last lazy hours before the Monday rush.

We're early for a cozy, comfortable, French dinner. And as always, I seem to have so much more on my plate, as he is left wanting more. But we are happy, and that is always enough.


In all my hurry earlier on in the day, I forget one minor detail. That contraption used for taking photographs, I think?

Well, my memory and these words will have to do for now. No, I'd like to think this will be enough.

Yes, that is love. And it's actually the title of a song from Sophie Milman's latest album, Take Love Easy.

I could've written about the recent female jazz albums I listened to over the summer. I could've made my tribute to Brad Mehldau, who not-so-recently celebrated his birthday. I could've blogged about so many other more 'interesting' things. So many could'ves. There's time in the world for that. Instead, I'll let my one track mind reign free for now, with this song of the moment.

You can't entirely accuse me of laziness, though. This isn't simply cut-and-paste, as I couldn't find the text anywhere online. I just transcribed it, listening to the song. Ah, it must be love, after all.

That is Love
Sophie Milman


Hold tight, you're fighting for your life
You bump around, fall to the ground
Inside a roller coaster ride, your world is turning upside down,
but that's love

Soaring high then tumbling down,
I tell you baby that's the way love is
Hold me tight then place your hand in mine
We'll make it safely to the ground

But that's love, that is love
The crazy little ups and downs, a merry going round and round
The roller coaster ride, that is love

Your life is turning on its side but rain or shine, you'll still be mine
That's how the game of life is played
You roll the dice and take a chance,
but that's love

Soaring high then tumbling down,
I tell you baby that's the way love is
Take a chance on me and you will find,
And we'll make it safely to the ground

But that's love, that is love
The crazy little ups and downs, a merry going round and round
The roller coaster ride, that is love

That is love

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Long before MTV's series on the party-planning exploits of the not-so-sweet sixteen, there was once a young adult book series called "The Year I Turned Sixteen"--where girls on the cusp of that saccharine age, narrate in the first-person their romantic experiences on the blessed year they blew out 16 candles on their cakes.

Now I can probably tell you my own version from 1999, before the dawn of the 21st century, but it really wouldn't be as interesting. And knowing now how it all played out 10 years down the road, well I'd like to say, some stories are worth the wait.

Four years ago was just supposed to be the start of a career, the date becoming a signpost of the passing time.
Then it took some four months for a decision to be made, and a chance to be taken.
And finally, four days after after the four months, well you know the rest.

There were the eight or so odd-hours for five days a week, for 30 months.
There was that group of five or four, that became just two.
There were the 25-minute walks at day's end, hundreds of train rides, a bus or two, some taxi cabs hailed, and now the long drive home.
There were the Friday nights, that turned into Saturdays, even Sunday mornings.
There was October, December 2007, the year that was 2008, January, September, then November rolled in.
Then came the whirlwind of 2009, January, February, all the way to March 7 up until July 11. And there is now.
Are four weeks actually about to pass?

To paraphrase from that song, "Speak Low", by Kurt Weill and Ogden Nash, could this be "pure gold" with "time as thief"? With the way the days have alternately zipped by or slowed down from moment to moment, I wonder if it could also be the other way around? How I've willingly spent this precious commodity, how I've found a substitute for time.

I've never considered myself a numbers person, but sometimes all my verbosity just won't cut it. I fear I am wrought with over-sentimentality and gaudiness, so I'll let the figures speak for themselves.

These serendipitous numerals get me all rife with excitement. Must be that (over)exposure at work, day in, day out.

And just because there's always a first time--yes, Silje Nergaard, I'm pretty darned sure this is mine.


Here's to adding number 31 on the list.



***For jody2b, on the occasion of July 11, 2009.

Here we go...



At the Indira Ghandi International Airport, New Delhi, India




Yes, it is the eighth of July, year 2009. Fancy that.

I think I'll deviate from the vague and poetic prose, and attempt to put into writing the events of the past so many weeks--in non-cryptic terms, I promise!

As chronological as my memory allows it to be, here are some first times, new experiences or maybe even just things I haven't done in a while. Just take your guesses on which is which.


1. Actually paid for an American Idol concert (puro mall shows lang dati), and saw, squealed and swooned over the oh-so-adorable David Archuleta. Oh sorry, am I forgetting Mr. Cook here? Patty sure didn't.

2. Got sent on my first company-sponsored training abroad and as a result...

3. ...Went on an Indian sojourn with Ina and Robbie, hopping from Mumbai, Delhi, Agra and back, in a span of 5 days.


( 30 for June 30 continues... )

(Almost exactly) Seven* months ago, I dined with only my vagarities for company.

This evening, I find myself standing once more in front of the same aluminum counters, in that fabled fastfood joint, unsure of what order to place.

Then out of nowhere, a familiar refrain plays, and Zac Efron beckons me to a waltz number (to the strains of a song that had practically been on repeat that afternoon).

One in a million chance, he says?

Never mind that I am caught without a partner--strangely and deceptively, the steps all seem so clear to me.

Does it really keep on getting better?

My vision is less blighted, travelling forward from those seven long months ago. Still, I can't wipe the foolish grin off my face. Place your order, or be damned. Blame it on my youth; blame it on that song.

Yes, I think I'll have this dance, and I'll take my extra large** fries with that.


* * *



*This obsession with serendipitous numbers, has become a motif in my life of late. Ah, it must be the effect of having to deal with figures everyday.

**Oh yes, the NEW Large. More is more. Bring it on.

So Anoop Desai is out of American Idol. I know, that is old news. But to those unacquainted with the Idol world, yes, that was about two weeks ago, and we have already recently bid farewell to the thrice eliminated Matt Giraud.

I never did get around to making my post-mortem, so allow me these 'few' paragraphs. This, by the way, is the show that gives me one more reason to blog even just once a year. I'm just completing my Idol quota for 2009.

Yet in a season where my emotional attachment has gone down more than just a few notches from the stratospheric heights it reached in the Season of the Davids--I start to question the relevance of writing at all. After about five years watching the show, three of them with fanatical intensity, Season 8 marks the beginnings of fraying threads in the fabric of my obsession. When, on the night of Anoop's elimination, David Archuleta's guesting became the highlight for me more than anything else, I knew something was amiss.

But what is it that makes one choose a contestant to root for? Is it really just the vocal prowess and quality? How much does charisma or the so-called 'personality' factor count? Is it even in how he or she plays the game (the song choices, the audience/judge interaction, the fashion sense)? These days, it seems, the commitment to an Idol is cemented beyond the confines of the show.

( What Anoop couldn't sing )

This week, we're down to just four, and as we get nearer that finish line, here's hoping the worthy, or should I say my personal favorites (okay, I now mean Kris) make it to the end. But in another twist to this season's (non)events, I won't even be around (at least not in town) for that finale, because of an out-of-the-country training. I won't be able to take my one day vacation leave, and sit through my three-and-a-half-hour or so tradition to eagerly await results with woodycakes. If that isn't a higher power forcing me down the path of weaning from Idol, I don't know what is.

Am I actually ready to let go? Not so easily, not totally. You cannot just cut the cord that simply. It would take a little more than one seemingly 'disappointing' season to do that. And you can bet I'll be back next year to at least give this franchise yet another chance.


* * *

Back in the real world, my sister, Patty, also said her own goodbyes and let go of a concluded chapter of her life. Two Sundays ago, I attended her graduation ceremonies at UP Diliman. It was such a nostalgic day for me, especially since we both came from the same college. Four years ago, fast forward to 2009, and I felt like I knew just what was coming next. Deja vu, it seemed.

When the guest speaker at the College of Mass Communication recognition rites gave his words of wisdom, there they were, the big -isms--patriotism, altruism, idealism. Oh I know the drill; that all comes with the turf of being a fresh graduate, the exhortations to live up to their identity as UP graduates, the seal of being Iskolar ng Bayan. Still, it made me reflect, at least pause a moment, and realize how quickly the four years had passed, how little had been done and how so much was to be desired, at least from a less self-centered, more noble point-of-view. And it saddened me to think that all I could so easily do was think. And looking forward to the next four years, I could easily fall into this comfortable trap, with hardly a change.

Over dinner with jody2b, I came once more to the realization that the sharing, the selflessness, the wave of change, need not be carried out in one's (present) career. Not all of us are 'blessed' enough to give back with our day jobs, or be unabashedly obsessed and sublimely passionate about work. I just have to know what to take on, to start to channel my energies on what really matters, and to decide what I can let go off. In this way, life becomes simpler, more focused.

And more than ever, I know that to a certain degree, I have to begin to let go of you. Just like American Idol, like graduation, as it is with life in general, I won't discard everything, for some things are for holding on to. Still, things and people for that matter, cannot always be as they are. Cliche upon cliche, but yes, they evolve. And hopefully, turn into something better. And life does go on.

I look forward to the new shape this will take, once the complex geometries are resolved. I believe I will have a greater appreciation for what I hold on to, when I finally learn to let go.


* * *


*For Patty, just consider this little 12 for 2009 effort of mine a tribute to your blogging highness. We can always watch the replay of the finale together, if you'd care to. Congratulations again. I'm so so so proud of you!

**For all obsessions, may they continue to inspire the extraordinary, but never incapacitate normal existence.

***For you, we'll catch up some other time.

I was originally tagged by Mai on Facebook, but since LJ snob woodycakes 'asked' me to, I find this edited re-post on a particularly apt date too amusing to pass up.

( Plus, blogging from Baguio, you learn something new everyday. )

And because this proud sister hasn't pimped it enough.

Dalawang tulog na lang, Patty's (and her partner Anna's) BC production thesis will soon find its way on the net on April 6.

"I Have a Theory" is a web-based teen series, following the drama and then some, of the theorizing heroine, Alex.

Visit the site, become a fan on Facebook.

My sister has religiously updated site content leading up to the day of the launch. So read the blog, browse the photo gallery, and watch the teasers to learn about the characters, Alex, Nic, Zac, Rina and Rob.

As woodycakes always says, "comments are love". So make yourself heard (on the site, on FB), spread the word and watch out for the first week's webisodes. Be on the lookout too for the cameos of anakngbuwan and caen_le_comte.

Patty has a theory that she's already 'over-marketed' this, and may not live up to the hype.

Nonsense, sister! I'm just helping push your bid for sponsors. You never know, this thing may have a longer shelf-life than you think. At least that's my theory.


* * *


*Patty, this is all for you :) In support of the 12 for 2009 campaign and to 'tarnish' this sacred space with memes...Haha!

...plus three weeks tripled and an endless measure of time that comes in threes.*

So it feels like I've walked around Singapore enough to span the said period.

One long year after my first trip to the city state may be too late to write--even in retrospect--about two separate yet intertwined experiences, simply by virtue of them having the same setting.

Back in March 2008, I hatched my first international trip on my own, wanting to visit my brother _lexizzle and as a birthday gift to myself. It was my first time to pay for my own airfare and accommodations--basically my first foray into 'grown-up' travel.

Of course, Singapore's reputation does precede itself, so you step into the place expecting that clinical precision, the unflinching discipline and yes, the cleanliness. True, it is a very orderly place, and you cannot question the efficiency of every single thing. If anything, their transport system alone makes me excited to commute and get on the next train. Still, the city pulls some surprises, and oh yes (*gasp*) the formerly law-abiding people of Singapore actually jaywalk!

Some people might ask why one would like to vacation in this country. If you enjoy long, alternately hot, possibly rainy walks during the day and that unmatched feeling of strolling about safely at nightfall; if you find relaxation in malling and cityscapes; if you want to be able to explore an "entire" country in a matter of days; then just maybe its charm will not be lost on you. At least, that's how it was and is for me.

There's the food. I relish sampling the local hawker flavors--from the nearby Kopitiam, to Newton's tasty delights, to Maxwell for the Chicken rice, to this Roti place in a land seemingly so far away. My favorites remain to be the Oyster Omelette and the Sugar Cane juice. And for me, well there's the music. CD shopping at HMV, and concerts at the Mosaic Music Festival, particularly the Lee Ritenour show PB and I watched, where Kurt Elling made a surprise appearance.

And there are the treks on foot. I don't think I could ever get the feel of a city if my feet did't hit the concrete pavements or the winding paths. There are the quiet solitary morning walks in Chinatown, and even quieter moments in reflective and artsy Ann Siang Hill, Club Street and Erskine Road.

The odd hours of night are there for more adventurous explorations of less populated places. With my Singa-boy brother, we toured Holland V, Dempsey Hill, and basically walked entire lengths of roads past midnight. The tourist urges are satisfied walking around Clarke Quay, Sentosa and of course, Orchard Road. In our pursuit for some night life on the shopping strip, we walked at an ungodly hour until we found the lone 24-hour establishment, it seemed--The Balcony near Heeren.

No trip would be complete without me falling into the trap of my strange sense of direction. En route to the Millward Brown office on Beach Road, I overshoot my stop, and end up in some far-off land (Singapore Stadium, I think). No worries for me as I hiked it back on foot, a longish distance yes, and found my way back.

Yes somehow, I find it liberating to walk around leisurely, even aimlessly, and with the purpose to really get lost in it all, without fearing the unknown. And as crazy as it sounds, maybe Singapore is the perfect place for such a foolish pasttime. It could be that all-too-safe feeling, the familiar Filipino faces--both strangers and friends, or even being mistaken for a local and spoken to in Chinese dialects. Whatever it is, I just feel I can get lost, find my way and walk another 25 years.


And so on the 26th year...

...I return to Singapore at just about the same time I went last year. This time, the impetus being a concert of the Brad Mehldau Trio at the same Mosaic Music Festival. Now I have watched the man perform solo, but never with this famed group. So yet again, I decide to up and go: to watch Brad, to visit my brother and to take a vacation as a gift to myself.

Little did I know, as I pondered my simple plan, that this 26th year would be quite the change from my (mostly) lone adventure last year. The concerts, the food trips, the endless walks all still there. But now, with family around, plus old, new and blossoming friendships keeping me in good company; What a difference a year makes indeed, and what a wonderful, dizzying, dazzling change it can be.

One year after, no longer did I limit myself to just CD shopping, lending myself a bit of clothes shopping at the treasure trove of the Bugis Street Market. Financially, I had to budget more than my usual five-dollars a meal or less. There was more frequent dining in upscale places, as I expanded my repertoire beyond the usual hawker fare. Lazy Sunday lunch at Harding Road's PS Cafe, drinks at Indochine in Clark Quay, a smorgasbord of a meal at Brussels Sprouts in Robertson Walk, the novelty and deliciousness of the cafeteria-style Ikea Food, sinful and lustful desserts at Laurent Bernard Chocolatier, and that wonderful last steak dinner at the tony Les Bouchons Rive Gauche.

Then there was not just one, but two concerts--the more-than-amazing double bill of Eliane Elias and Ivan Lins, and the virtuosity of jazz improvisation from the Brad Mehldau Trio. Eliane Elias and Mehldau happen to be two of my most favorite jazz artists that those two nights of musical prowess displayed, deserve separate entries themselves. Let me just say though that these played out quite differently from what I'd originally expected.

A returning tourist does have her favorites but also discovers new haunts, such as the expat territory Robertson Quay, with its colorful Alkaff Bridge (painted by Filipina, Pacita Abad), that reflects beautifully on the water by night. The Bugis area, with its street market that I could not get enough of, and where I pretty much set free the reigned in shopper. There's also Ikea, delivering homes styled in a little while.

And just as before, I walked on, in frantic search for the best price of the Eliane Elias Bossa Nova Stories CD, down Orchard, flitting from one train station to the next, rushing from hotel room to meeting places to Concert Halls. Walking as if the past 25 years were not enough.

But you see, even just after a year, maybe three and a half years, let alone 25 years, those things that I thought were the same, could very well have changed without my noticing. And walking the same roads, the same idyllic streets in Chinatown, but this time perhaps at the day's end, the path turns quite differently. I roam the streets with a renewed twinkle in my eye, seeing everything through a tinted glow, as Club street also transforms with brimming and buzzing energy, as shops, bars and restaurants start their business for the evening.

Singapore is no longer just the land of sterile rule, stern discipline, with no bubblegum allowed. To me it has strangely evolved into a city of musical discovery and gastronomic pleasure. More so, of the charmed--solitary or accompanied, but always seemingly endless-- walks; the heady, giddy memories; and a promise of what the future may hold.

Even so, old habits are hard to erase, and I find myself getting down several stops too early on my way to PB's place at Spottiswoode Park. Lost and confused once more, but-- I'd like to believe, a little more knowledgeable in the direction I am to take. Recession and crises notwithstanding, the "Singapore dream" is not lost, perhaps it's only just begun.

If in the course of this 26th year, I should find myself losing my way--never mind the roads I'll be walking then. I know can trace back my steps, anchor myself and say, We'll always have Singapore, won't we?


--March 31, 2009



* * *




*And there is apparently a character limit to a journal subject title. I realize this could have been two entries, but nah, it loses meaning that way.

**Thanks to my wonderful hosts, old and newfound friends, who were all such lovely, generous and enjoyable company -- Patty, Cean, Jen, Jeremy, Jules and Benson.

***Ashley, thanks for being a constant source of fun and amusement. :)
***Fellow vacationeers: Mom, Dad, ah just the three of us again, memories of 1983.

****To Starhubber PB, for the past two years--tour guide in one and wise counselor in the other. I got more than my fair share of the Hubber Bonus, for sure. Singapore just isn't the same without you.

*****And Jody, thanks for Singapore '09, we'll always have this same damned place.

+Pictures have so far been posted on Facebook. More to come on my Multiply.

++Edit: Pictures on Multiply are up. :)

Let me start and say that I'm writing this the third of March. If I say it's so, then just take my word that it is. :)

* * *


The past days of February and March have been strung together like a symphony, unfolding in all its contrasting movement. Quite literally, there were the chance encounters with music, and the music that led me to encounters by chance. It began some three weeks back, with a mundane errand to buy a memory card from Shangri-La. Alone and out of habit, I plug on the Zune and get lost in my own little randomly shuffled world of sound. A song of significance comes up here and there, always there to remind me and place me in a sentimental mood, proving that kind of fool I am.

The voices of Troy Bolton and Gabriella Montez launch into the HSM pop duet of time and love--"Right Here, Right Now". As if on cue, the escalators glide up and bring the cardboard standees of the two teen stars within my line of sight. Then comes Reymond Sajor's hauntingly beautiful vocals on "Kapag wala ka na", and I'd half expect to see him materialize before me. The craziest thing is he does. He really does, and I am not making this up. He'd just wrapped up some numbers in an NCCA Ani ng Sining mall show, and was having dinner with Cynthia at Pho Hoa. While it was too bad I missed his performance, it was really happy coincidence to see them both, then catch up on present preoccupations and opinions on the current American Idol season.

After the quick chat, I hopped on the next train to Trinoma in hopes to reach a movie with my dad and siblings. Instead, I reach the Ayala Malls tour for The CompanY's latest album "Group Hug". I've long enjoyed listening to their amazing harmonies, from the old copy of their first album ('Yon Na) here at home, to a more recent discovery of their Recycle Deluxe series. Seeing them live--in spite of the not-so-stellar acoustics (free show and I complain!)--was such a pleasant treat. And when they sang a medley of their original, mostly romantic hits, the audience visbly swooned. Oh, and I even joined the meet-and-greet for the hell of it. No pictures for me, just an autographed CD and small talk to express that I was and am thankful for the music. :)

* * *


Come March, the Philippine Jazz Festival goes into full swing--an initiative that started some four years ago. Somehow, I try to catch even just a free show in years past. It's too bad that I haven't been quite as up-to-speed with the local jazz scene, and the Fete de la Musique of late no longer seems to do much for me. So thanks to Tasha, I scored complimentary tickets to the main festival shows of pianist Hiromi and her band the Sonic Bloom, followed by the longtime group Spyro Gyra.

Two Sundays ago, I trooped to the Rockwell tent with my parents, for this evening of Jazz performances. Too bad I missed on the chance to watch the Gala night at Mandarin, a by-invitation event that Tasha also had invites for. I hadn't watched honest-to-goodness live jazz for some time, so even if I wasn't very familiar with the featured artists, I was eager to hear these two acts.

Overall, it was a night of free-flowing artistry and virtuosity, particularly supplied in heaps by the prodigious Hiromi. A shame that I'd never heard her brand of jazz piano before that night, what with her improvisational spins on Clair de Lune, Sukiyaki, and Gershwin tunes. Her blending and blurring of jazz, classical genres, along with electronic elements, proved her statement that she didn't want her work boxed into one particular label. She was also such a physical player, pounding away at the keys--even on two key boards at the same time. Yet she still possessed the flexibility to acquit herself gracefully, in more tender moments of the performance.

I admit, I enjoyed myself more during the first act. Spyro Gyra was of course excellent, but I guess I am more partial to piano jazz.

An added bonus was the outdoor stage performance of US-based Filipino chanteuse, Charmaine Clamor, who had interesting takes on "Dahil Sa'Yo" and a female-empowered re-working of "My Funny Valentine". I first heard her on NPR Music some years back, and it was good to see her (and hear her) in the flesh.

Never mind the unbecoming, scandalous ways of some concert-goers (who seemed to have issues lining up), I'll be looking forward to the next Jazz Fest. Oh, and I'm just counting down the days until I get to watch Brad Mehldau again!


* * *

Let it be said that thanks to my first attempt at visualization, willing into being, and overall The Secret-ing (Hello Patty!), destiny has been fulfilled.

Anoop Desai = Top 12, make that Top 13. And now, I declare, Anoop Desai = American Idol 2009. But of course, I've got to believe.

Here's to more visions coming to fruition, in Idol land or elsewhere.

:)

* * *


And it seems that by lovely happenstance, I once again confirm the conspiratorial power of words and music to bring to life what one can only dream of. The CompanY--oh, how they sing it so well and so right--Tell Me Tonight. Pardon the cryptic blah blah, because it's all still up in hazy fog to me until now. In the meantime, I'll enjoy the moment, take my time to let it all sink in. Believe me I will let you know, if, when and once and for all, I finally do know.

It may be a day and a few minutes late, but I think she'd still appreciate it.

To my sister--
the one who owns a paragon of a blog,
who keeps this blog alive with her fervent hope for more posts,
and who, in some way, always has a hand in inspiring, motivating me to write.

Here's an entry on a lucky Friday the 13th. (Belated) Happy Birthday Patty!


* * *


Oh, and I did a meme. The music player on shuffle Q&A. Plus, I use an LJ cut. Big whoop!

( Days that are over, indeed. )

LJ friends, time to give your playlists a spin too--woodycakes, _lexizzle, veganpunk_, jody2b, sunm00nandstars, _leche, koi_tattoo and anakngbuwan, I tag you!


* * *

In Idol-related nonsense, guess who wore very very similar outfits today? No joke, I thought up this blouse and scarf pairing, without viewing any spoilers. Anoop Desai makes it to the Top 36!

Back in the day, elementary years to be precise, I came across a dialogo in my 4th or 5th grade Spanish textbook. It featured a family headed for a vacation to Malaga, Spain. And so being eager to share the lessons I learned with my own family, I told the tale of this summer holiday. One of our visiting uncles from abroad listened with much interest to this childhood chatter, and in all amusement he dropped a piece of information that--to this day--my siblings and I do not fail to laugh about.

"Do you know what's in Malaga?"

Well, apparently, the place attracts tourists for its famous nudist beaches.

So what's a ten/eleven year-old to do but giggle at the thought of father, mother, brother, sister prancing about in their birthday suits? Ah yes, the 'innocent' children we were; slowly learning what people did in motels by taking an interest in Sunday Inquirer Magazine's Victoria Court press releases, and finding out how nakedness could exist publicly in the era after Genesis.

I admit, though there may be that degree of exhibitionism and voyeurism in all of us (okay, maybe I'm just speaking for myself), it takes a different kind of gut and gall to shed it all off.

Fast forward 15 years to the present, on the first day of the Chinese Lunar calendar, my naked moment of truth came to pass. And all thanks to a first-time trip to The Spa, courtesy of a gift check I won from our office christmas party. It was a well-spent half day leave, at the conveniently located Bel-Air branch (chosen after much online 'research'). Straight from a morning fieldwork briefing at Bangkal, I hied off to the place for an afternoon of pampering.

I took advantage of my 'naivete', asked all my questions and got my answers. Yeah, I just had to be sure the women would be separated from the men. Haha. I was going to get my GC's worth and make full use of the facilities, from the contrast therapy pools (a nice warm jacuzzi versus the icy waters of a smaller pool), to the overwhelming chest-tightening pressure of the steam room, and hey, even the simple shower.

It's funny, I told myself I'd bring a bikini or some sort of sheath, but on the day itself, frazzled with work concerns I simply forgot. So while I was fumbling about getting undressed in the locker room, I realized I'd have to strip down pretty soon in front of all these people--around eight of us in all.

There was no backing out now, and I liked to think I was no sissy-prissy. I took my time in the shower, and by the time I stepped out into the free-for-all wet room, women of various body types paraded about the place.

If you've never been naked around a bunch of strangers before, the truth is, no one really cares. No one gives a damn about you, since everyone is most probably too engrossed about how they're appearing to the rest. Same as when we are all clothed, the same applies as when all are undressed. I suppose when you're placed in a similar situation, there is indeed strength in numbers, and all reservations are cast aside. Anyway, I would find it utterly strange and rude if someone actually stared long and hard at you. And maybe it helped that without my glasses, I was basically blind. All I could see were soft-edged forms, rather than glaringly sharp details. I was thinking Roman public baths, anyone?

I'm no spa/massage aficionado, but with the few experiences I've had, I'd say it is all a very luxurious, romantic, liberating feeling. That afternoon, it felt good to wade and have the water on my bare skin. Overall, it was a pleasant experience if not for the soreness after my untouched, knotted muscles took a beating of sorts. It was only about two or three days later, that I felt the loosening effect on my previously tense and wound-up shoulders.

Ah yes, another delectable, indulgent non-necessity to add to the list. It's in frivolities and caprices like these, where discomfort and pleasure are an easy mix. Perhaps it's getting a ridiculously expensive haircut, gorging on a stomach-twisting gourmet dish, or grappling with the confusion of undefined feelings. You just know that it's not all in the taking, and something's got to give. But with every encounter, the pain is lessened. Haircuts become more frequent and just maybe you can remember someone without the pointless longing. Time passes and it becomes easier to shed your inhibitions and revel in whatever happiness the moment can offer. And you realize you can give more than you what you originally thought you could muster.


* * *


Last Sunday, I chanced upon a poem ("Meeting and Passing" by Robert Frost), as I was browsing in Fully Booked. The book is called Love Poetry Out Loud. Out of the many selections from the book, this one, along with something from Edna St. Vincent Millay caught my attention:

"As I went down the hill along the wall
There was a gate I had leaned at for the view
And had just turned from when I first saw you
As you came up the hill. We met. But all
We did that day was mingle great and small
Footprints in summer dust as if we drew
The figure of our being less than two
But more than one as yet. Your parasol
Pointed the decimal off with one deep thrust.
And all the time we talked you seemed to see
Something down there to smile at in the dust.
(Oh, it was without prejudice to me!)
Afterward I went past what you had passed
Before we met and you what I had passed."

There it is. The first encounter becomes just a part of the past, and things are never the same again.

Has a line been crossed where, dare I say, there's no turning back? I'd like to get to that point with all liberty and easy nakedness, where everything is stripped down to the core--not cloaked and hidden in mystery and unanswered questions. And finally reach the deliriously bare state of Malaga.


* * *


I'm always talking about things in the more far-removed than recent past, but if you want to see a few pictures and stories from my Sunday, check this out--Patty's blog, what or who else? I had a wonderful weekend, with lots of camwhore-able moments, from Pietro's and Paola's recital at the SEAMEO Innotech, to the nth round of jump shots at the UP-Ayala TechnoHub, to a smorgasmic dinner at Spiral, Sofitel. :)


* * *


*More obviously, the poem I posted here, thanks to Robert Frost. And then some...

Not that there should be a reason for doing such a thing, but I'm a dork that way.

Simply because my previous entry wouldn't appear on my Facebook profile/updates, I've decided to make another entry that would be recognized by the system. I think it has something to do with the other laptop (that I used last night) not having an updated version of Flash.

This is what I get for my laziness and lurker ways. Bihira kasi mag-update, so I'm milking this for what it's worth. Haha.

So there. The real entry (Now na, baby) is here, if you care. :)


* * *

I would have loved to send meaningful Christmas/New Year/Holiday messages to everyone. Instead, I will make do with some lines from Ivan Panin*. I'm a sucker for quotes and I found this in a book called Soul Happy, compiled by Kobi Yamada:

For every beauty there is an eye somewhere to see it.
For every truth there is an ear somewhere to hear it.
For every love there is a heart somewhere to receive it.

There are little pieces of Heaven for all of us to partake of, if we only allowed ourselves to become vessels for such blessings. May you find these moments, from the simplest of gestures to the grandest of schemes.

Once again, a very happy new year.


*Now who could this man be? Thanks to Wikipedia for the answer.