Dear Celeste

How are you now where you are?

How are the kids and Dennis. I can just see him beaming at you over your morning coffee. There is nobody for beaming like Dennis. You will tell me this, and I will laugh and laugh. I really miss that.

How is that little grove of trees in your backyard? Have you made a compost heap? I am told that is the thing to do when you are living in a house in Virginia. You get your cooking scraps, apple peels and egg shells and make your own mulch in your backyard so your grass grows green. I am sure you already know this.

Noel of FX told me he misses you, and I almost burst into tears right there. Choir is okay though. We're supposed to sing this Saturday, I think, but the mail hasn't come in on the lineup. I got a new chip for the Magic Mike. It's a bit of a cheat because there aren't that many songs on it. But the songs that are there are nice. Haven't been seeing much of anybody, because there hasn't been an occasion. Then again, I haven't really felt like seeing anyone. And also, I was sick.

Saturdays seem strangely empty. We are thinking about badminton, but just can't get up the gumption. What I'd like is to just sit and have coffee with you. You and your coffee and your ice cubes and your rich dessert that you will only eat half of. I would like to walk the stores, looking for pretty things that I will urge you to buy while we talk of nothing special until you have to rush off to mass, and for more than a fleeting moment, I will want to go with you.

I have not yet downloaded SKYPE. I have not called you, but it's not because I don't want to talk to you. It's mostly because I have so much to share, but there are no words. And what would be the use of that, tell me?

No workouts

No cookies.
No yoga.
No staying up late.
No junk food.

I haven't been working out because I'm taking it slow. That's what I tell myself anyway. But the truth is, I just can't seem to get up in the mornings. For some inexplicable reason, sleep seems the only thing to do that's absolutely worthwhile.
Last night I fell asleep to Brazil vs Ghana. And when I opened my eyes the next morning, T had won 300 dollars. Such a lot can happen when you're asleep.

In view of the fact that there's been no exercise, I've been eating with extreme care. The funny thing is I've apparently lost five pounds. Tomorrow, I will venture back to the yoga, but maybe not hot, maybe just power. Let's not tempt fate.

Line of the week

"H'wag ka nang magyoga. Magtalik nalang tayo."

Struck yet again

Ok, this isn't even funny anymore. After that horrible yoga class, I went to work the next day, sniffling and sneezing, and by nightfall...had developed a fever of 38.8, a comprehensive flu that kept me in bed for almost four days. M and T think it's hot yoga... and the proliferation of germs...and sweat opening you up and making you even more susceptible to illness. As much as I wish to dismiss the theory, I recall an instance in the car when I got the major chill sweats a full half an hour after the class. What the hell, I don't know. I just don't know.

With work being dismal and school starting for the kiddies, I can only be cheered by the following:

- My friend Leia's generous gift due to arrive the middle of this week!
- Carol Shields Collected Stories
- K and C's gameness to go back to school
- Hong Kong in two weeks

Learning the hard way

Never make the mistake of having a cup of coffee before you go for yoga practice.

Did an interview at Toast and proceeded from there to a yoga class, thinking what they hey, I was there anyway. And oh my goodness. As I dragged myself painfully through the asanas, breath seemed elusive. While the toxins may have flowed out of my body, the process was not rejuvenating as much as it was uncomfortable. I found myself thinking, this is what dying must be like.

Never again.

Snorkelling Scenes 2

  

9 Revelations from a Manila trip

- The city is best experienced from the convenience of a hotel residence.

- It offers the most satisfying "value for money" shopping, combined with the fact that there is no language barrier.

- No matter how much time you allot for seeing people, it is always never enough.

- You will never be able to accomplish eating at all the restaurants you have decided you want to eat. And even when you manage to dine at "quite a number", unexpectedly, the most tantalising instance in your memory will be the time you ate at Shakey's.

- You will invariably run into someone you don't want to run into.

- The cash you have withdrawn from the ATM will run out sooner, rather than later.

- Supremely worthwhile activities will include a massage (or two or three) and a haircut.

- No matter how old your kids are, if they are below 15, it is worthwhile to bring a yaya.

- Even those who make a date to see you because they really want to, will be late.

A NOTE TO HER SPOUSE'S EX

A piece of epistolary faction

I mean, really. Enough already. Resign yourself to your life and accept that there will always be a part of you that wonders and wants. It's only natural, and no one faults you for feeling that after having experienced a true connection, you want to play it out again. It is only natural to want to feed the vanity and nurture the possibility of what if. Of course it is. But rather than play these once-in-a-while desires, once in a while, why not practice restraint. For what good will it do in the end?

Desire need not always equal action.

Snorkelling Scenes

  

Home... Sick

The doctor at the clinic said, "This is very similar to your last visit."

The symptoms of a blossoming upper respiratory tract infection. Come to think of it, it feels all too dejavu. What's wierd is the things I used to be able to work through, I'm no longer quite as adept at taking it. Now I guess I'm tired, so little things like a sniffly nose and a scratchy throat weigh a little more heavily.

"Why are you always getting sick?" That's what T said.

The doctor said, not without a measure of judgement, "You have to live a healthy life to be healthy. Proper sleep. Exercise. A good diet." I felt her eyes slide me. I said, "What happens when your job doesn't allow you to live a healthy life?" She said, "I have no answers for you." In my mind I said, thanks, and tucked the meds she gave me into my bag.

So home I went to bed and to sleep. Even though I have 100 and two things to write and deadlines loom, things will have to take care of themselves. In the meantime, I need to start living a healthy life.

Without missing a beat

And we're back, as though we never left. K and C are enjoying science camp to the hilt, and no doubt, Melin is as well, for they are gainfully occupied and out of the house from 9-5 for a total of five days of what constitutes the "summer" break in Singapore. And me and T? Back at work, wondering, what now...what next?

Bohol deserves its own entry; though I will say those four days and three nights were lovely. Bohol is lovely. T texted me yesterday: Let's live in Bohol. What could we do? An English language school. A family style boutique resort? A tour company. So clean and so simple and time seems to pass more slowly. We asked how long it took from the airport to the resort, and we were told, half an hour. But it took twenty minutes. They said the pump boat ride to the marine sanctuary was twenty minutes, but it took closer to ten. And to the Chocolate Hills, it was supposed to be an hour, but it took forty minutes...so strange. I found myself dropping bill after bill into the rusty donation boxes of every tourist attraction we went to. How awful if it were all just to disappear. T said: How do you know it's going there? But then I caught him putting cash into the Tarsier donation box. Aah the inconsistency.

The driver of our resort car said Bohol is blessed. Alright, those are my words, but that's what he meant. He told us that it was a law (the actual word was patakaran) to have a religious saying on every commercial building. He said in Bohol, the weather is always good, and it never storms, and it never rains for more than an hour. ("But on this island, the earth sings!" was the music in my head). What got me right there was the sight of all the different sized houses with the placards: ATTORNEY AT LAW, ARCHITECT, and of course, the ubiquitous NOTARY PUBLIC. One placard of a homey, medium-sized bungalow rather frighteningly stated: MEDICAL and SURGICAL CLINIC.

There is a reason that we didn't get to see the dolphins.
We are going back.