Once on this island

Quite by chance, I found out that the La Salle SIA College of Arts was staging our old favourite
Broadway show Once On This Island (Ahrens & Flaherty 1991) which we had seen twice in New York, and twice in Manila. Naturally, I was eager for the opportunity to introduce K and C to the actual production, as opposed to just the music. Back in 2004, when we took them to Bali, we spent the ride from Nusa Dua to Ubud, singing them all the songs and narrating what we could of the book. And of course, once we got home, we let them hear the soundtrack. So for a wonderful $10 per ticket, we took in a Saturday matinee offering quite a professional little troupe with respectable vocal talent. The cast had two Pinoys in it - one playing Ton Ton Julien and the other playing Ezuli beautiful goddess of love. There were also quite a number of Caucasians in it, as well as Malaysians - all in all a nice mix and as I said, in terms of musicality and emotionality, quite strong. The kids enjoyed it immensely, even C who had said previously he didn't care to go. Well, they were both glad they did - though we had to forego Saturday catechism. Luckily, we made it to 6pm anticipated Palm Sunday mass. Kaylee confessed she was going to go for Drama Club next year, as a result.

It's funny that Phantom of the Opera is actually playing in Esplanade, and I'm still hemming and hawing about whether this is something I really want to take them to. Hold the two musicals side by side, and I'd still go for the Island...

What do you do when...

you're really upset with a person, and there's absolutely nothing you can say or do to her/him about it because of the situation. And by the way, when I say upset, I pretty much mean angry. Good old fashioned swear word anger. Yes, I am angry. Read something recently about positive ways to manage anger. I always thought that simply letting go and catharsis was the best thing. Apparently, release actually raises your stress levels. And that it's better to simply walk away. Walk away. Except what happens if you can't walk away? What do you do then?

Dear Celeste

I miss you fairly constantly, as you know. But most especially tonight. And I know that I wasn't the only one either.

Tonight, a number of the FX girls had a Holy Week reflection session with Sister Bubbles. And in that weird, unforeseen, greater-Force-at-work-way, it was exactly the sort of thing we all needed, at this point. Sister B spoke to us about finding our songs - and the way we sing - giving praise, as prayer, connecting both ourselves and the community to Him without words. We all had to go through that exercise of finding ( and singing) the song that expresses both who we are and why we sing. Type ko, type mo rin. For some reason (and am rather embarrassed about this) - emotion got the better part of me and I could barely get through Amy Grant's Arms of Love. AndI adore that song both as prayer and as song! I don't know why but all of a sudden I was suddenly overwhelmed by all the thoughts and memories Sister B was channelling - missing my sisters - M and L (By the way M, sabi ni Sister, You are extraodinary. You are a vessel!), missing you, unexpectedly missing R of Pinoy Lessons in Life and even my old friend from oh so long ago Fr. PP. Strange how things suddenly occur to you like background music - even though I was there - fixed in the moment - thinking of faith and family and feeling that greater spiritual connection. It was an inexplicable out-of-body experience, but it was such that even I, someone who doesn't usually relish the group dynamics and sharing nature of these sorts of exercises, found it somehow easy not just to open up but also to listen. But man, I made myself say that as much as I am aware of what song is doing for worship and praise and the community, I pretty much sing because of how it makes me feel - selfish as that might be.

What would you have sung to explain why you sing and who you are? What would D have sung for that matter? Just to let you know - there was a hodgepodge of songs sung: ABBA's Thank you for the music and the Carpenter's You and Hangad's Hangad and that song from Ice Castles - Looking Through The Eyes Of Love. Sister Bubbles sang Of All The Things. Exactly the sort of exercise I dig. (Another note to K of Lazy Sunday Afternoons - who should have been there - what would have been your song choice?).

Write me when you can, Celeste. A more comprehensive email will be forthcoming in a not so public forum. Need I say I miss you.

Reminder: Go to yoga this week

Check out a new way to watch a DVD

Put on something you haven't seen in at least five years. For us, it was Saturday Night Fever. Then switch on the subtitles for Director's notes. In this case, John Badham's scintillating musings on the making of this classic movie of the 70s. Plus, who doesn't love John Travolta as Tony Manero? Not to mention Yvonne Elliman's fervent If I Can't Have You playing in the opening dance scene. Gritty and real and smart and poignant and funny and wistful all at the same time. You can't get any better than Saturday Night Fever... it's a masterpiece.

Beach time over

A prayer for discipline and strength

We are in that quiet time that is in every sense of the word, "make or break". It is the time when the temptation to slow down and give in to good old fashioned sloth at its most powerful but it is also that time that demands huge quantities of discipline. It is in a way a different kind of stress - but no less urgent, no less pressing. I am reminded of the strong and stunning A, now tearing up the corporate ladder in New York city with the grace and the speed of a wild horse. I recall her drive and her inner presence - her ability to simply push herself and yes, I do envy it. Mine are usually the short bursts of inspiration - powerful but ultimately, temporary. It is the consistent and the constant drive that not only meets the best expectations but eventually surpasses them. Enough. It is time. In order that all may be achieved, once must focus and simply and matter-of-factly... do.

Flashback to Fort Canning Park Sunday Picnic

Weekend inventory

Pizza Friday night and Happy Feet in our room. Saturday morning soccer for C and T - who drove him there. K and I have breakfast and discuss plans for the day. We all have busy work - T on the household files, me with my magazines, K with maths homework and C with Kumon. Lunch of fried fish and picadillo. I drive K to a birthday party and yak yakety yak with people I have not seen in ages. I drive K to catechism at St. Igs where C is already there in his class. I pick up T for various errands and then we rush to 6pm mass. Bring the kids home then join friends at an Indian restaurant in the Esplanade for a birthday dinner, followed by scrumptious dessert at Chocolate Factory where I succesfully avoid chocolate. Home after midnight. Sunday bright and early for waffle breakfast and at 10am, Lao Shi arrives for two hour class. Then rush to dimsum lunch and 2pm Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - during which, to my embarrassment, I fall asleep. Out for coffee and a club sandwich split four ways at Mc Cafe. Then to the bookstore, then to the supermarket, then a drive to check out possible parks in
our future area in November. Then home to dinner of pork chops, mongo soup and steamed asparagus, brown rice and fruit and ice cream for dessert. Then one episode of
The Cosby Show.

Now a deep breath and another week of work will be upon us. Onward ho.

Esquire US April 2007 Swank Cover

At page 156, I hit on the perfect male read - or at least, what I think is the perfect male read - 6 pages by a rather talented writer named Kendall Hamlilton who as an experiment to see whether alcohol is really the great creative lubricant, agrees to accept a series of 6 essay topics from his editor - and to do quick takes on each for no more than an hour and a half, at increasing stages of inebriation - Johnny Walker to be precise.


This was smart, funny magazine writing that was also satisfyingly inventive while at the same time, offering even more for its worth than what it actually set out to achieve. Topic 1 is "Poor Jennifer Aniston? I don't think so. She's the problem. Agree or disagree." Topic 2 is "Starbucks is a metaphor for everting that is wrong with/great about America", Topic 3 is "Morning is the best time to have sex." Topic 4 is Boulder Colorado is the best place to live in America" (This is where Hamilton resides). Topic 5 is "USA today is the best newspaper in the world" and lastly a redux of the Jennifer Aniston topic - at Hamilton's most drunk. The feature also includes the author's post-mortem sober (not hung over) critique notes.

Good fun. And smart. And funny. The Jennifer Aniston topic strikes a personal bell with me as I've blogged about the inappropriateness of her going from Pitt to Vaughn - crazy crazy crazy.
Is this the best kind of magazine reading for men of today? Or is it just me?

Awww no more Friday Night Dates with the Wongs

The difference between then and now

Then - for about ten years, on and off - I lived and breathed women's magazines. My time was ruled by the fashion seasons and I was keenly attuned to the various trends in health and beauty and lifestyle first for women aged 21-35 then for women 25-40. And it was a pleasant life - were mini-skirts in or out? What was going to be the silhouette of spring? The search for a smarter, more accessible method of getting ahead, staying ahead, improving one's, revitalising one's health, losing five, ten, fifteen pounds and the various ways you can do it, powering one's love-aka-sex life, streamlining one's relationships, getting the man, getting over the man, accepting that a man is all well and good, but at the end of the day, your life is about you.

Now I am attempting to plumb alien depths, having learned that simply wading and treading the shallows of testosterone just isn't doing it. You have to go all the way to find those pearls, those gold nuggets, you have to sift through masculine sands and manly mud. So I now flip through pages in magazines that I had previously read only for fiction - GQ, Men's Health, Arena UK, Playboy with frequent forays into non-specific but seemingly male oriented titles - Wallpaper, The Robb Report, and to a certain extent Vanity Fair and now Monocle - which I am enjoying. I now read Vogue only for pleasure. Whereas a Saturday morning will find me diligently reading - not just flipping, mind you - the opinion pages of Esquire. What constitutes the desires of a man, what is his reason for being at this point in human history.

It is all extremely fascinating and occasionally even satisfying and pleasurable, having to try to empathise the mind, soul and body of a man. And yet, and yet, and yet - I am faced with a conclusion that even as deeply as I plunge myself into all of this alpha or non alpha maleness and as much as I credit my ability to empathise... it would all still be an approximation, wouldn't it, now? I mean, at the end of the day - yes, I am wise (but it's wisdom borne of pain. Yes I pay the price, but look how much I gain. If I have to I can do anything. I am strong. I am invincible - but ultimately, I am woman.

Back to the good stuff

Imagine one full 50 minute period where every single part of your body is energised - where your muscles are always flexed, tight at the core. Well, that was what my first yoga core class was like. It was completely a strength session and very addictive. So made it to yoga twice this week. What's more I actually got to see Dr. Theresa for my first accupuncture session in a month, since before Hanoi. She found me extremely blocked right down the meridien. Even the cups actually hurt - and a couple of the needles felt like electricity.

The result? Looking forward to a great night's sleep...

Obsessions, regrets and conversations with the young

I have always had that tendency to allow myself to be completely overtaken by work, even though I am aware of it and try not to give in to it, I find myself succumbing once again. It is not always a good thing though, especially when the work is only a small part of what I really want to do with my life. Is it procrastination? A delaying tactic? A way of fooling myself into believing that what I am doing right now is somehow worthwhile? Should I not just take it easy and cruise and try to fit in the thing that I feel I must do?

Interesting conversation with M at the office today. A young man of 23 at the very beginning of his life, he asked me, a practically 40-year-old woman, what I would do - given the option of starting fresh with a whole new set of years ahead of me. Say if I was 23 again, what would I do. And I said I would be a doctor. A gynecologist - but not just any gynecologist - one with a specialty in internal medicine. He was rather shocked. You wouldn't be writing. I argued - the mistake I made was that I thought that to write, I had to be a writer as an occupation. Not true at all. You can have an occupation, separate from the ability to write. I could have been a banker or a financial analyst or a doctor - and still write.

Coincidentally, yesterday, I spoke to B, also at the office. He is 27 - and already understands what it took me years to realise. So he's going for that finance career - and he will write on the side. Because he can. Then at lunch with M today, age 23 as well, and for the nth time, we talked about what she wanted to be doing. With M however, I sense that she is more sure about what she doesn't want to be doing than what she wants to be doing. Which is so much tougher.

As uncertain as they are, these young people are in enviable positions, I think. So much still ahead of them. So many things that they can yet achieve. Elphaba's refrain runs in my head - "Unlimited. My future is...unlimited."

Back to the practice

Finally, finally. It's been at the back of my mind for so long and the last time I did any was in early February. But today, circumstances fell into place and I was able to make it to the 5:30pm Hot Hour. While I definitely noted rustiness in certain poses, it really did feel wonderful - especially the bow and the tree and triangle. It was nice, too, that Catherine added in a few sun salutations for filip. Hopefully, this kicks off the habit once more.

Back from Bali

A nice little family reunion in Bali - just what the doctor ordered. For two whole days, it was nothing but sun, sand and sea - and save for the sunburn, we are all the better for it. And now we're back, ready to face a new school term, a new week, a new day. On the flight home, I couldn't decide what to watch, and finally settled on Stranger than Fiction. A small film, but one that had real moments of invention, not to mention, real engaging sequences - Dustin Hoffman as the lit crit and theory professor was hugely amusing. The exchange referring to "Little did he know" is really funny for writers, I thought. Tomorrow....life begins again.

Late nights and early mornings

That's what the last few days have been like, due to work. Fortunately, still able to keep all the other balls in my life up in the air. So C forgot his holiday homework - I actually managed to retrieve the worksheets. K had a number of medical appointments, and we managed to get it all done. Today was a colossal coordination act that required the work of all three of the adults in my household, myself, T and Melin. What with K going over to her friend's house in the East Coast, C having an eye appointment, hanging out at the office AND having a playdate visit as well. All that and managed to send out most of the pages this evening. The one thing I forgot? A piece I had to do for swingamahds - which I churned out just now while watching the rerun of American Idol. In between, I listed the Diana Ross songs that I would choose if I were in the contest. Still thinking that it's a toss-up between the slow ballad version (not the disco version) of On the Radio or Touch Me in the Morning. Wow ah. Kapal. As if. But still.

[Related aside to Lazy Sunday Afternoons...ikaw, Kiks, anong Diana Ross ang kakantahin mo, if ever?]

And tomorrow? Gotta get some cardio in to make up for the stress chips and pizza I had at work. Gotta show up at the office and be useful at least till noon. And gotta pack for the family trip to B. Am reminded of Desree's Gotta Be song. Another good one, no?

Listen as the day unfolds...challenge what the future holds...gotta keep your head up to the sky. Lovers they may cause you tears, go ahead release your fears. Stand up and be counted, don't be ashamed to try...

Weekend flicks

Music & Lyrics makes no pretenses about being anything more than what it is. Grant and Barrymore are so very charming, persuading you to overlook the thin conflict and the sloppy cropping - you hoo, we can see the microphone! The best part and what makes it absolutely worth watching? The parody of the 80's MTV with Hugh Grant coiffed all Duran Duran -- guarantees to keep anyone who came of age the 80s in stitches. Pop goes my heart! And then there was 300, a lush portrayal of the final battles of Sparta. Scenes were virtual storyboards and the battles were like ballet - admirably choreographed. Not to mention, it was great to see 300 alpha males in scanty clothing - cut to the six pack. Greek gods...very definitely.

Wierdness

Work is fun, but it's also wierd. In fact, I have to say, it's the wierdest place Ive ever worked. Even the things that are supposed to be sacred, aren't, well, not really. And the particular people who are supposed to do particular things, are doing completely different things. And time moves so excruciatingly slowly. I'm not used to it. It's wierd. Just plain wierd.

Old dog, new tricks

We have a new family activity - a weekly Mandarin class! Finally found a lovely laoshi to teach us conversational Mandarin, one who was willing to take all four of us in - aged 41, 39, 9, and 8 respectively! And it was no easy task to find someone willing to put herself/himself through that challenge. C especially is quite a handful being multiply sensitive to competition, easily distracted, grumpy and inclined to test authority. K is on the nerdy side, conscientious but stressed out when the class is too fast for her liking. The presence of the kids reins in T and my tendencies to compete with each other in classroom situations. The kids have better pronunciation than the adults and sometimes, better memories...but we're all kept on our proverbial toes.In short, we're a handful...hahahah. But it's a nice, positive project and one that will hopefully have us progressing nicely toward our chosen third language. The other amusing thing? We both got Chinese names. I am Ming Ling and T is Na Tan. On that note, wa an wo de pengyou!

Dearest Lola

I know it's early, but I've been thinking about you and wondering how you are. Are you baking up a storm. My mouth waters for puto and sans rival and chocolate cake. Are you tending to your garden? Are you and Lolo going for those early morning (4am walks) you used to try to get me to go on? If you visited me here, we would take you to the orchid gardens, and we would get up early and walk to the track, and we would go to the river and the reservoir and Chinatown. Or maybe we would buy plants so the planters at home can finally be filled properly and with the right stuff.

So many things going on, but it's not strange, is it, that I think of you frequently and wonder what you would think about all of it, and of K and C and T and the way things are here in Singapore. And what you might be able to arrange for L and M in terms of, well, you know what you want, right? I've always believed in your power and know that's truer now than it ever was.

Need I say I miss you so much? Give Lolo a kiss for me and tell him I miss him too - could have used his Lolo's medicine ointment on K's and C's bites, bumps and bruises. Advanced Happy Birthday dearest Lola...

Surprises in Singapore

Now I'm sure this happens in other countries as well. But it's nice to know that it happens in Singapore. Sometimes, you find not just one but a number of unexpected, richly insightful experiences taking place, clustered together like a bright, beautiful bouquet of wild spring flowers gathered from a most ordinary meadow.

Yesterday, a rather comely, intelligent young man from Nepal told me his life story and the fascinating twists and turns of how he came to be at the very spot he occupies today, sitting across a table as he handed me sheafs of paper to insert into some 350 magazines. Later that same day, an Indonesian manicurist who also cuts hair gave me his take on on the benefits of colonial history with lines like, "You are lucky to be colonised by the Americans or by the British. They do good for the people. Not like the Europeans." And in the early evening, an elderly cabbie lectured me on taking time to think about what I want, and think about what I need. "You must focus, " he said, "on yourself, at least some of the time." At the end of the day, I discovered many more good things about the people I work both with and for as we partied late into the night with champagne and fruitinis, as well as found out that I have come to a point that I can talk to anyone, anywhere about anything - a pretty useful thing in life.

It was a good day and for each and every one that happens, I am always, always grateful.