Black Saturday

With T and C off to soccer, thought I would get a chance to sleep in for a change. But no way. K woke me persistently at 7:30, begging to be read Anne of Green Gables. Which I did. We covered three chapters. Amazing how certain parts of that book can so easily bring on the tears. T is reading C Rosemary Sutcliff's Black Ships Before Troy - the story of the Iliad, and the not so little boy is enjoying it. Perhaps not so much as he enjoyed King Arthur. We only stopped when we got hungry for breakfast. Then we had to review for a two hour session of Chinese. But our plans for soccer practice and a run on the track were thwarted by black clouds on black Saturday. All we could do was go for a drive. Tomorrow, Easter mass at 8:15am.

It feels good to just hang at home and do nothing.

A Good Friday

Fasting and quiet time with the children - which was not as quiet as we might have liked. C is going through a testy, difficult stage. K's exemplary behaviour does not help. We saw the entire Jesus Christ Superstar from "What's the Buzz" all the way to end. C skipped the leper scene though K said she was ready for it, and she was. Kids had crab cakes that we didn't have for lunch. At the end of the day we ventured out to buy the Easter stuff and had a light, meatless dinner of fish porridge and century egg at Crystal Jade Kitchen.

Maundy Thursday

It felt strange to go to work today, when at home, it's holiday. And it was very very hot. Sitting at my desk, I actually felt drops of perspiration forming on the surface of my skin as I typed. So in that sense, it felt very much like the Maundy Thursdays of my youth in Manila. When I left the office, there was a breeze, to be sure, but the air was hot and dry like air from a hair dryer.

I managed to attend service solo. It was very festive - it really and truly felt bigger than Christmas. Which of course it is - the whole preparation for Easter. All the priests were out so much that I saw a couple I had never even seen before. But it was long. Too much singing, and as much I hate to say it, it wasn't great. But still. Am glad I went.

Special projects within the next two weeks

• Write Sister B a thank you email
  
• Write a letter updating CelesteS
• Finalise Manila trip dates
• Do the piece for CB
• Prepare a twisted project
• Shop for gifts for L & M, and also for C
  
• Choose the books for rummage sale
• Draft the budget
• Lessons on notetaking for K and C

Reminder: Eat more fruit and vegetables

Body and soul

How strange and how wonderful.

Today I had a session with a woman who very clearly has God in her life. Today, at the beginning of Holy Week, I went to her Body Temple. I learned to take time out for myself. I learned I must do more to live naturally – in what I take into my body. I learned a new facet in the meaning of the word commitment. She runs Body Temple. It is a wonderful, positive place. And as just about the very height of rightness, Body Temple is on Carpenter Street. If people care to stop and take the time, if they don’t hurry and don’t worry and don’t forget to smell the flowers, they will see that He is always there. All we have to do is open our eyes, breathe deeply and take Him in.

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."