All the sides of me as seen by K

 

Workouts resume... 

Magic Mike Sunday

K has learned Hardcore Poetry, although she doesn't sing it as well yet as her Waterloo. Coby digs his Lemon Tree. And the most hilarious thing is each of them trying their vocal hand at Limang Dipang Tao. I just couldn't stop laughing, but I had to hide it. You don't ever want them to be embarrassed, or all would be lost. Tanny goes for funny songs like Wannabe by Spice Girls. He also does a good Bluer than Blue. I try Chaka Khan's Through The Fire, but towards the end, it's more like I'm Chaka cannot. I also like songs that are the opposite of me: Janet Jackson's Let's Take Awhile and Freestyle's So Slow. Then of course, T does his Dido with Thank You ala Elton John, and I go for the pathos of Alicia Keys.

A slow Sunday is always a good Sunday, especially when there't time for a nap and a swim...

Forget Superman

Not that it wasn't nicely done. It was nicely done, but the story left a lot to be desired, I thought. Like a story. For one thing, you could see it coming a mile away.
And really, it gets tiresome the way Superman has selective hearing and he needed coordinates to find Lois Lane? Come on. Kevin Spacey was great though. Of course, that role is always great - remember Gene Hackman in it?

I guess at the end of the day, Superman has a pretty thin storyline - not to mention, rather flat characterisation. It just suffered in comparison to the Xmen series, which plotwise is just so inventive.

What I'm waiting for is Night At The Museum. Now that looks like a good story. And teaming Ben Stiller and Robin Williams. That's cool. Here's hoping the flick is as good as its trailer.

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.

Free at last!

Here I am, hanging by a thread after just eleven days sans Melin. I'm not ashamed to admit that I can't be a Supermom. At least, not the eighties kind that tries to "do it all," and without help. Not with the job I have. Thing is, I don't think I'd ever want to be. Maybe if I worked at a bookstore, selling books, maybe then I could do it. But even then, I wouldn't want to.

Finally, am on leave. Took the Floy Quintosians to the zoo, and enjoyed myself despite a number of interruptions from work. But first, I had to bring Kboomboom to the ear doctor to get her meds. We saw all the animals, and even got to feed the baboons! A nice three hour walk around the entire perimeter. The Zoo is lovely on a week day. And that lake is simply stunning. Now packing for Bohol.

Whoohoohoo...

A WEEK AGO TODAY

 

The FX Choir bids our favourite member goodbye. Sniff sniff, sob sob 

Day 9

Discover yet again... when I'm up against the wall, and my family wails for food, I can cook. And I'm not half bad, if I do say so myself. Sick of takeout and equally sick of going out, the husband and the children said, "Let's eat in, please..."

So I made what I have hastily christened Picnic Penne

Ingredients
garlic
onion
basil
1/2 pack of penne
1 can stewed tomatoes
1 can mushrooms
2 pieces of cooked ham, chopped into bits
1 can of anchovies
1 cup red wine
Lots of grated Parmegiano Regiano

1) Set the penne to boil in water with a pinch of rock salt
2) Saute minced garlic and chopped onion in olive oil. Add in ham and brown. Add in mushrooms, basil and anchovy (drained of oil). Let all of this sweat together.
3) Drain can of stewed tomatoes and chop them up
4) Before penne is done, take it off the flame and drain in colander. Penne will seem on the underdone side, but that's intentional.
5) Mix in the stewed tomatoes and about 2/3 cup red wine
6) Season sauce with salt and pepper.
7) When penne is fully drained, dump into the sauce pan and toss under light flame.
8) Serve in pasta bowls topped with grated cheese

This is a dryer kind of pasta than is conventional, which makes it nice for packing for lunch. There's a rich flavour to it thanks to the anchovy, tomatoes and red wine.
And it takes hardly any time at all. Just chop and mix as you go along and don't rush. Every stage benefits from time in the pan...

Sondheim's Wisdom

"Marry me a little.
Love me just enough.
Cry but not too often.
Play but not too rough.
Keep a tender distance, so we'll both be free.
That's the way it ought to be.

Marry me a little. Do it with a will.
Make a few demands I'm able to fulfill.
Want me first and foremost, not exclusively.
That's the way it ought to be.

You can be my best friend. I can be your right arm.
We'll go through a fight or two, no harm. No harm."
(Marry Me A Little - COMPANY

Then again, there's:

"Men are stupid. Men are vain.
Love's disgusting,love's insane. A humiliating business.
Oh how true..."
Every Day A Little Death from A LITTLE NIGHT MUSIC

...a couple of clowns!

  

works of art at the Esplanade, Singapore

  

And pray tell...

...what's so special about this project?!

Enough said.

Day 2

Yesterday making breakfast of toasted English muffins, butter, jam and cheese caused us to be late for badminton. The last training session before Celeste and her kids leave next week. Sad sad sad. The only way to keep from getting all sniffy and sobby is to just plain pretend she isn't leaving, which has, of course, its own difficulties.

Then we dropped K off at her party and took C to dimsum lunch, at first against his will, until he tasted the luscious soup-filled pork dumplings. A bit of window shopping, it's sale season in Singapore, and then back to fetch K then home. Nap was disrupted first by K then by a tantrum C-style. And lickety split it was time for choir mass. A wondrous moment in Kiko's Prayer Of St. Ignatius. What a difference a conductor makes is all I can say, plus Kiko is such a gifted one. He makes you want to please him. And then Celeste's valedictory prayer. What will we do without her...

Went to dinner at Pepper Lunch with kids, Celeste and Yayo. Realising Dennis' absence yet again and a gathering with the two families isn't going to be happening again anytime soon. Borders then home for a major temper tantrum from K who didn't want C to sleep in her room. Finally got them both peacefully in bed.

Day 2, we get up exactly at 9am, meaning we miss soccer. C'est la vie. Veto going out for breakfast and instead whip up some cheese quesadillas and make good use of four squishy bananas for a peanut butter banana roll-up dessert. Today it's another goodbye lunch and then a Zafra party. Once the kids are asleep, have to do three advertorials if I'm to stay ahead of the game. That and then get up before it's even light out for the kids...

Ten days to go without Melin.

Midlife Crisis

Five years ago, I had an epiphany about people who have gone through the Maria Montessori educational system and are now adults, which become a kind of personal life thesis. I believe that this educational philosophy, which prioritises the individual, the scientific method and learning for learning's sake, creates people with entreprenuerial zeal, unlimited creativity, and an almost renegade attitude toward formal authority.

I look at most of my former classmates and hardly anyone is working for a large company as an employee. There's a smattering of architects, doctors and lawyers, for sure. There are educators and there are entreprenuers, and lots and lots of artists - freelance writers, designers, directors, musicians, producers - what the media refers to as the creative class. They, or I should say, we, are happy to call our time our own. We are happy to make time in our lives to make money, but not have that be the end all or be all. I attribute my wandering eye, my restless, antsy feet and my penchant for scouring the classifieds to this background. Or maybe it's just an excuse for sheer boredom. The inability to focus and concentrate? Or is it...the conviction that there is something else out there better than this. The constant needling, nagging doubt that all that I am able to do is not necessarily what I am meant to do? And here we are again...

Non-sequitur: puttering in the evenings to the noise of the third season of Ally McBeal. It's also very clearly the season where it all went to the most inane pot imaginable.

Maybe I just need a vacation...

  

Stuff Of My Dreams

And when I say this, I'm referring to what my dreams have been about these past three days, as opposed to goals, ambitions or fantasies.

- I dreamt I was vacuuming my bed with one of those mini-dustbusters and I could make out millions of tiny little microscopic creatures running away from the vacuum nozzle.

- I dreamt of the joyous pain of zits being injected by good old Dr. Romero.

- I dreamt of not just one but a series of haunted houses.

T says houses in dreams are symbols for health. And the two other dreams are also health related, so he chalks everything up as my subconscious' overall concern for my health. Feel like he is not too far off the mark.

Tomorrow...yoga again. This evening, going for a run, if I can manage it.

Father & Son

  

Sunday On Our Own

Why does the weekend fly by so quickly, almost as though it has wings of its own?

The good news was we closed the nightmare project within an hair's length past its deadline, at a approximately 5:15pm Friday. The production manager and I hugged each other with relief. The bad news? There's another one right behind it with the same client scheduled for July. I flat out refuse to do it, because there's just no time to get it done right.

I ran off to pick up Tanny and see MI3 with Timi and the Floros. It was great. Fun to watch, great pacing, a wonderful villain and lots of eye candy, now that Cruise is a bit on the blah side - Jonathan Rhys Meier and Maggie Q. Despite having no badminton, it was jampacked Saturday - a lot of it had to do with catechism, choir practice and Monique Wilson's Aspects Of Love, which, while well-performed (Wilson still has her Saigon pipes), is a rather strange, curiously empty piece of theatre. Sitting and trying to dissect it with T, I came upon a wierd coincidence. Not that there's any way to prove it, but my feeling is that Andrew Lloyd Webber wanted to do a small intimate exploration of love and sexual mores ala Sondheim. The coincidence is that all the characters have counterparts in Sondheim's A Little Night Music. Now isn't that odd? Except that Sondheim's piece is a lovely, witty triumph that actually says something about human relationships. ALW's Aspects just went through the motions to no legitimate or substantial conclusion. At least we discovered Phin's Steaks on Liang Seah Street. Another brilliant discovery. Now at least we know of a place to eat after a theatrical performance - last call for the kitchen is at 4am!

Sunday morning, Tanny left for Hong Kong, and I took the kids to soccer. Ended up
chatting with batch mate Munding...mostly about those old college days. Celeste didn't make it; she just couldn't get up. Coby got tackled by a team mate and ended up with gash on his knee. It must have hurt because he actually cried. Coach Matt exclaimed in genuine shock, "Wait a minute!?! I've never seen you cry before!!??!!"
Then it was off to Great World to lunch with the Solivens and swim and play in the kiddie land of their serviced apartments. By the time it all started to slow down at 4, I knew I would be too bushed to keep my movie date with her the same night.

So it was just me and the kids and Melin's picadillo and fried fish. A TV-Brush teeth tantrum ensued and a major fight between me and my son transpired. Huge. My daughter just shrugged and went to bed. It took about a half an hour to sort out through tearful apologies and promises to be better.

May wind down with Frasier...and collapse into bed. Will try to catch yoga this week as last week was so pathetic. At least, it's just a four day week. And Cam is in town...

Cycling Break!

  

Weekend Highlights

  

Playing Tourist

Just when we'd started to think that we had fallen into a rut with our Singapore routine, T gets the brilliant notion to play tourist over the labour day weekend. We hied ourselves over to Faber Park to survey the city at sunset and ride the cable cars to Sentosa and back. The sky high, hilltop Altivo bar looks like a nice place for a tipple, but with the kids in tow, we thought, next time. There's also a rather lovely koi pond. I screwed up my courage and denied my fear of heights to show an example for Kaylee mostly. But it did not stop my hands from sweating nor my heart leaping up to my throat each time Coby stood or leaned to one side. It was nice to see the cruise ship taking off for Phuket, and to know that someone we knew was actually on it. More on the mayor of Valencia, Negros later. Lots of picture taking and lots of exclamations from the kids. After that, we drove to Holland Village for Cha cha cha Mexican food dinner and Haagen Daz.

Monday was even more ambitious. T pushed us all out the door to go to an island. Shame on us, none of us wanted to go really, but we ended up being glad he succeeded in dragging us against our will. We drove to the end of the island, specifically: Changi Village and caught a bumboat for 2$ a piece to the small olden day Pulau Ubin. Just a ten minute ride, across the straits. We landed on the island and immediately, Kaylee pointed out the old-style housees on stilts that she had learned about in Social Studies. We rented two tandem-style bikes, and with one kid each, cycled along the trails to the beach, discovering that both Kaylee and Coby have very powerful legs. The kids raved about the great fun they had and T looked completely satisfied. Coby even apologised to his father for making such a fuss. We ended up having Mickeedees on East Coast Park and then home for a swim. Kaylee and I skipped the swim and watched Little House On The Prairie instead.

A wonderful time was had by all. Pictures to come.

Mothers & Daughters & Friends

 

Just five more soccer Sundays to go... 

A Celeste-al Friendship

There are friendships and there are friendships.

But every now and then, and likely when one is least expecting it, something can sprout up and grow and thrive into something pretty darn near close to perfection. For me, this is even more rare, since throughout my life, my experience of female friendships has not been without disappointment. My expectations, I've been told, are too high and I am destined for dismay in that area. And then, there was Celeste. Someone who is so different from me, and yet, our individual chemistries seem so very perfectly in synch. Sense of humor, shared interests, deep-down-at-the-heart-felt beliefs, there is all that but there's more. There is the complete acceptance, mutual generosity, and just plain old fashioned care and ...well, liking...for the lack of a better word. It doesn't happen every day for me, is all I can say.

Which makes it all the more difficult so say goodbye. Why why why do we have to?

Easter Thoughts

How is it that the child who fought to hi-fi tantrum levels not to go to Easter Sunday mass this morning ("We already went last Friday!" he yelled, thrashing his legs upon the bed), raised his hand when Fr. Colin asked the children to tell him what Easter meant, and said: "The tomb is open."? Now is that profound or what?

At breakfast, the family conversation found its way to wondering why the symbol of Easter is an egg. Kaylee said, "Maybe because an egg is good luck." And Coby said: "Maybe it's because the stone that covered the tomb was shaped like an egg."

There was also a long rather vocal discussion about whether or not there could have been a bunny rabbit near the tomb that could have possibly witnessed Christ himself, standing and walking out of it.

And after a long day involving mass, Easter lunch of Pot Roast Lamb and Lasagne at the Encarnacions, an Easter egg hunt involving 50 egg treats and five children, and of course, good conversation among friends, we said our bedtime prayers. As I am ending the prayer, Coby pipes up, "Thank you for giving us new life, Jesus."

Thank you, indeed.

Good Golly Friday

The day started with the wailing of my son refusing to go to Church for Good Friday service. I felt for him, I really did, recalling my own childhood holy weeks where I felt exactly as he did, but was better brought up than he and wouldn't actually say it out loud. My daughter was a trouper, and ready with her paper and pens and bible books. The rain began in earnest right in the middle of the service as our choir sang. I'm told by locals, that in Singapore, it always rains on Good Friday. Always, always, always. In Manila, Good Friday is hot and dry, even when a breeze blows - it's hot. I must say I prefer the rain.

We took them for fish sandwiches at McDo, and I succeeded in my fasting. Then it was home. We read the Cruxificion story again from the children's rather well-written, well-researched Bible. The people behind DK Dorsing Kinderly books really know what they are doing. Then we did homework, and read, and managed to make the kids forget that they couldn't turn on the television, play game boy, Xbox or computer. For awhile anyway. At a certain point, Coby succumbed to tears of frustration.

"I don't like Good Friday. It's not a Good Friday. It's a Bad Friday."
"Yes, it's a quiet, sad day because it's it's the day Jesus died," I said.
"No! It's a bad day because we can't play anything!" He yelled and he dissolved in tears on his bed, poor thing. I let him cry and he eventually got it out of his system. A minute later, he started reading Tin Tin. When I was a kid we weren't even allowed to read non-religious books. I let him be.

Our only concession to video was Jesus Christ Superstar. And the kids were rivetted. T told me to skip the leper scene and the flagellation scenes...and all in all, I think it was a good experience for them. You have to a hand it to Andrew Lloyd Weber and Tim Rice. The music still sounds great. (Sing it: Christ, you know I love you. Did you see I waved. I believe that you are God, so tell me that I'm saved! Jesus I am on your side, touch me touch me Jesus! - sabay sayaw).

For dinner,we had baked cod with olive sauce, cold asparagus and capsicum with dijon dressing, and delicous quinoa. The kids had macaroni and cheese with their fish. A good meal was had by all. They went to sleep early and obediently.

Then, at around 10pm, T dragged me out to Ministry of Sound against my will so he could hear this techno DJ spin. Not very Good Friday thing to do, but he argued, it's already Black Saturday anyway. To be wide-eyed and sober in a crowd of tipsy clubbers is a bracing experience. It was interesting just to observe the hoipoloi. Nevertheless, we were home by 11:45, and didn't even have a buzz from our heavily diluted free drinks. And so endeth Good Friday.

Sleep and Sensibilities

I used to be the "fall-asleep-the-minute-head-touches-pillow" kind of person. It used to come so easy. As a matter of fact, I never even knew the concept of bad sleep till I met T at age 18. We would have these conversations where at some point he would complain, "Masama kasi tulog ko." And I would look at him quizzically, honestly not comprehending what he meant. How can sleep not be good? Like Woody Allen, remarking on the quality of orgasms, for me, sleep was pretty much spot on, right on the money. Sleep was a breeze upon my dusky cheek, and all that jazz. Now waking up, that was tough. And the other item I failed to understand up until recently is the concept of a bad pillow or the wrong pillow. What's that?

Hello 38 1/2. Now seemingly tiny things can wreck the quality of my sleep. In fact, to paraphrase the bard, these days, the quality of my sleep is strained - even with the yoga. What's going on here. I am now a picky pillow person. And when the kids sneak into our bed, I will painstakingly get up and walk them back to their beds, much to the shock of my fellow moms ("Wow, strict!"). All this I do in order to safeguard my sleep. I will now say "Masama ang tulog ko," something I never said until the last couple of years. And it could be the pillow, the temperature, the way T sleeps, what is planned for the next day or what happened today.

It is likely that good sleep, like good sex, is a function of the brain. It's about chemistry and it's about letting go and perhaps, perhaps, not thinking too much about it, all of which are defeated by this entire discussion...and on that note, zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Ain't it the greatest?

  

Huling Hirit

I vowed to myself: no more yoga blogs, but just one last thing. I did HOT 1 last Friday evening and somewhere in the middle, fell into a terrifying pool of fatigue. I thought I wouldn't make it. I thought I would pass out. What's happening. "Must be because I haven't done Hot in awhile." I thought to myself as I tried to follow Hanoi's instruction of taking in more "sips of oxygen." Sips! I needed a gallon of oxygen! And afterwards, I could barely be human for Rod and Celeste and Rod's sister at the movie we watched - THE INSIDE MAN by Spike Lee - and I even fell asleep for five minutes or so. Then today, I decide, let's try it again. This time it was HOT 1 with Catherine...and exactly the same thing happened. A frightening surge of exhaustion so overwhelming, I succumbed to child's pose, not just once but twice. Again, I dragged myself out of there and I looked at my watch and it was noon. The class started at 10:15am and I came out five minutes past noon. I'm like, wait a minute. I ask the desk: How long is Hot 1, and the answer is "90 minutes." Nyarks. The 30 minutes makes a huuuuuuuuuuuuuuge difference. Tomorrow, I go back to the safety of my 7AM hour long sessions. 90 minutes in a Hot room is apparently 30 minutes longer than I can take at at this stage of the game. No judgement.

To sum up the weekend

-rewatched Trainspotting after bringing Mom to the airport
-badminton training, and for the first time, T and I made it to 9 against C and Aman.
-rewarded ourselves with Turkish lunch
-attended catechists talk for preparing Kaylee for first confession which was unexpectedly valuable.
-choir practice as always spiritually rewarding
-finished Oppenheimer's Front Row Anna Wintour
-now can't wait to watch The Devil Wears Prada
-helped the kids with homework
-watched ICE AGE 2, and then ICE AGE 1 with them at home
-Crockpot beef stew dinner
Not a bad weekend, marred only by Kaylee's ear acting up again

As April begins, once more I face my resolute self. We shall see where this
month takes us.

Flash-forward

The other day I woke my son for school.

I leaned in and whispered, wake up baby, time for school. And he sleepily put both his arms around me and pulled me in close to him. He said nothing, but I almost felt him saying, "Not yet." The experience gave me a sudden flash-forward vision about how my son would be fifteen years from now, as a man...with a woman.

Oh my goodness.

Yogamad

I am a freak. I know it. I spent my day off doing what most people would consider to be altogether too much yoga. Hatha with Kumaran at 9:15am. A 75 minute Yin class with Catherine, which was almost hypnotic...and then, after a light lunch and some book hunting at Kino, back to do Hot Flow with Ross at 4:00. Total time: three hours and fifteen minutes. At a certain point in Hot Flow my body gave a little twinge of tama na...so I faked my chatarangas...and stayed longer in the downward facing dogs. I managed to do the wheel for the first time since I was 15...which was crazy exhilerating. But still no sign of the crow. Why I care is a mystery. But I do so want to do the crow. Uwak uwak uwak. T says I'm insane. Maybe.

Major personality change

Apparently, it happens more often than you think. Or maybe, it's just what you call a midlife crisis of a sort. What do you do when the the things you used to be able to do you find you just can't manage to do, anymore? And we're not talking here about physical feats like no longer being able to do a bridge stand or a split (both things I was able to do at age 15). I'm referring to certain kinds of conversations that have lost their allure to the extent that the effort to participate in them can no longer be mustered without disagreeable discomfort.

It appears I have morphed into some kind of introvert, no longer endowed with the ability to gracefully flit and flutter into connections that do not at once engage. It is rather frightening to discover this in one's self. And it is difficult not to wonder whether it is some kind of temporary madness or something that has lodged into the character, for good. How strange to suddenly encounter yourself on the proverbial street in your mind and have no absolutely no recognition of what you have become, so much so that you feel you need an extended introduction.

Midweek musings of a desultory nature...

My new nokia phone has many features, but my absolute favorite is the recorder. Because of this function, my morning alarm at 6am for my 7pm yoga is Coby saying, "Wake Up Mama, time for work!" And my ring tone is Kaylee singing ABBA's Mamma Mia lustily into my ear: "Yes, I've been broken-hearted, blue since the day we parted. Why Why, did I have to let you go. Mamma Mia, now I really know, why why, I should never let you go!"

M and D brought LOST, 2nd Season. Like junkfood crazed teenagers, T and I went for it way too fast, and now there's a sugar crash in the aftermath. And there's also more craving and the first season of Joey, as amusing as it is, just doesn't cut it. I think it's the hunger for a good story. As annoying as LOST can be, there's plot there that satisfies in that "and then what happened?" way. You can't help wanting to know what happened. Must remember that for fiction. The minute people stop caring about what's going to happen, you've LOST your reader.

Am rereading Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby. Wow, wow, wow. It's even better now than when I first read it. There are three dimensional pictures in his words. And he died a drunk, with just one or two other works. Tragic. It makes me want to weep.

Coby got sent home from school yesterday. They suspected he had HFM Disease. Apparently, all the parents of 1B got an email saying there was a case of HFM. I hit the roof and called the school. Told them it was highly premature of them to issue this email and that they were being very irresponsible, causing a panic among the parents. As it turns out, there was an actual confirmed case, other than Coby (who by the way was given a clean bill of health).

It's been raining. Hopefully, I make a dent in the work.

What I saw at the bookstore and other non-sequiturs

A new book entitled, "Japanese Women Don't Get Fat Or Old" - clearly riding on the "French Women Don't Get Fat" trend. Maybe I should write, "Filipino Women Don't Stop Smiling."

Had a conversation with a someone at FX recently, about how certain people, no, how a lot of people here are "matipid sa ngiti." I keep trying to come up with a satisfactory translation into English, and only hit on "thrifty with her smile." She relayed the experience we apparently both share...how she'll be humming at work and someone will inevitably say to her, "Wha, so happy, lah?" She and I both tend to answer, "No, not really."

Yin yoga is hugely hip opening. Did a hatha for an hour. Had a fifteen minute break. Then went on for a 75 minute yin. Yowch! I imagine it's good for the digestive and reproductive organs. Very slow and deep and intense on the tissues, but at the end of it all, I'm not really sure what I did for myself.

Crockpot stew is even better on the second day.

Kids are on term break. Wish I could be, too.

Rewatching an old SATC episode

and it occured to me to wonder why friendships on TV, even in the well-written, realistically portrayed ones, seem better than the real thing. Why is that? Aah... not this thread again. Am rereading Nora Ephron's Heartburn and finding myself bursting into gales of laughter. Feeling an itchy trigger finger in my right hand. Right. Write.

Who would have thought?

Under the circumstances, I should be more affected by the recent surprises thrown my way. The art director changed her mind and is no longer coming on board. I have a first-rate writer that I would hire in a snap, but apparently, it is not entirely up to me. The U2 concert has been postponed indefinitely. All these things should have added up to stress and disappointment and yet, I'm cool.

And zen...zings will juz have to zort zemzelves out, yez?

A good weekend was had by all, and in the end, that is what matters. Why good? Everything and nothing special. Just happy moments with K, C, and T. And yoga tomorrow...

Speak of the devil

Father O'Niel SJ is a wonderful preacher at St.Ignatius who, despite being almost medievally old-fashioned, often triggers in me fitting reflection for these contemporary times. He's ye olde Irish - in his nineties- and the cadences of his voice are ever so comforting. Due to his age, of course, he has his good days and the days when rambling man appears in his stead.

At yesterday's 6pm Ash Wednesday mass, he opened with his perennial reminder of the Devil, and the war that is taking place in the world for human souls. "Remember," he chided us, "The devil hates you, but God loves you." This is a favourite thread of his, and one that I particularly like. T hates it, and my Mom doesn't like it either. And I ask them, why? I guess people don't want to be reminded that evils exists, let alone the devil who salivates over our souls. For me though, it's like bracing cold water. It's refreshing and allows me to see this modern world with open eyed clarity. As we go through the motions of our lives, we have to be reminded to choose God, to plant our feet firmly on his side of the battlefield, and constantly try to undermine the other side by our day to day deeds. Fr. O'Neill on his good days is a paradoxical breath of fresh air.

And my favourite part was when he mixed the ashes and water vigourously, the reverberating clicks against the tin pan picked up by his microphone. He looked up at us and with a gleeful smile in his voice, said, "I like to use plenty of water, so the cross is very black!"

I remember now that I am marked by God with a very black cross on my forehead. And so lent begins...

Cut!

Never underestimate the wonderfully rejuvenating powers of a haircut. Got it all cut off yesterday with zero trepidation. I just walked into the salon with a determined stride and Eugene said, "Short?". I answered decisively, "Short - Cut it off."

We're at month's end, and a number of pages have yet to be closed still. The graphic designer is running on empty. The writer is resigning, switching industries. Right now, I have yet to lock in an art director to replace the one who left in January. A stressful situation to say the least, but I'm surprisingly zen. Must be all the yoga. Must be the hair cut. Sometimes, you just have to say cut it.

Cut the stress. Cut the bs. Cut the non-essentials. Snippety snip. It's a lot like deleting emails. And throwing out clutter. Very liberating. At the end of the day, you have to cut it...otherwise, what are you going to do?

Whoohoo! Just got a sms. Not only do I have an art director, I have three very good candidates for the writer...

Oh...and a joint bowling bday party for K and C 

10 Things In Two Months

1. THE PRACTICE. Yoga at Pure Yoga. I'm frequently the heaviest woman in practically every class I attend. Then again, this is Singapore. But no judgement. The teachers are exactly as zen and inspiring as they should be, not too much as to be annoying, and not so little as to be ineffectual. Hot makes my insteps ache. Hatha feels tremendously satisfying. Power is like lifting weights - in this case, my own. When I'm doing standing poses and I can't find my balance, I will fall out and involountarily, an apology will issue from my lips. Why, I don't know. "Don't apologise," two teachers have already told me. No judgement, they keep saying. And keep practicing. It will get better. For where the eyes lead, the body will follow, they say. T says my body feels different. It feels like flesh is redistributing. But I'm not losing weight. Maybe it's those breakfasts with Maya at Toast.

2. YOU TOO! Come and join us. Five couples off to Sydney to see Bono jam up a storm at the end of March. Lots of jostling to get tickets, but finally, things have settled into place. It feels. Monumental.

3. FIRST GRADE. Coby going through adjustment. No, it's more accurate to say that the teachers of ACS Primary 1B are adjusting. At the end of the day, they don't know what to make of him. This little boy who comes in to class late from recess, saying, "Sorry, I'm late." and then the following day, does exactly the same thing. He also likes to skip out of TAF Program, often giving his "buddy"..."the slip". It's not just that he came from Montessori. It's not just that he's not Singaporean. It's mainly that he's Coby. There will be many PT conferences this year, boy.

4. AFTERMATH. Kaylee seems to have inherited both my temper and my poor quantitative skills. It adds up to frustration during homework time. What to do. What to do. She dislikes being taught and yet she does not know. T is much better at the teaching. But then again, he is also much better at the math.

5. WORKING OUT. Have found the best attitude toward work. Calm detachment combined with no-nonsense get-it-done verve. And leave it at the office. At the end of the day, you have to remember your priorities.

6. CASHING IN. Who would have thought it could happen. Then again, it may not. So let's just keep mum about it until it does...and visualise. Because boy, it could be a great, great thing.

7. STRUMMING ALONG. T gave us guitar lessons for our anniversary so that we could "learn something new" together. But the strings hurt man. And I'm always tempted to say, "Can't I just sing it?" The teacher who is a tad on the smug side does not help. It may also be that I have not commited. To me it's still, no strings attached.

8. UNMATCHED. Seeing Matchpoint has made me realise, yet again, Woody Allen is an unmitigated genius. It's the next thing I'm buying on Amazon.

9. COMING AND GOING. Oh no...the time that the Solivens are leaving is drawing very very near. Lots of things will change. Realising I can easily live in my own little world.

10. WRITE ON. If not now, when? Notes to Nowhere has to morph from journal-ese into what it was meant to be. Now more than ever. It's got to be about story. Remember all of them...and let them flow.

Whatever happened to

...the blog. Did the pressure get to her? After all, there are a million more compelling blogs out there, cuter, smarter, funnier, thinner...What's a blog to do? Some blogs don't react well to competition. Some blogs just clam up in the face of eloquence. A blog can suffer angst about existence or be in need of therapy. She can suffer an inferiority complex aggravated by general blahness toward life and its nitty gritty. A blog may decide on her own to embark upon a self-improvement programme. Learn bells and whistles like other blogs. Or a blog can opt to remain unapologetic, defiant, persisting in her own quintessential right to be what she is.
Until the the urge comes once again, from deep within...after some sixty days. She says, okay, let's start over.

Narnia

Our very own Lucy in Narnia 

Let's just say it's like having your childhood come alive before your very eyes.

At a certain point...

...you have done just about all you can possibly do, and the only thing you should do is yourself a favour. Let it go. Relax. Move on to doing things for yourself. People have pointed out I'm too absorbed by my work -- funny, that this isn't even what I plan to do with my life! I must remind myself that there were other plans and now, there is the inclination and the opportunity to do them. It's time to sieze the moment, and make it happen.

Bye bye 2005, Hello 2006 

The last days of 2005

It was quiet at the office, but not slow. It was quite the opposite of snow, and with no trusty writer to delegate to, I found myself occupied by busy, thinking work almost every minute. Discovered that the MH team is quite a pleasure to work with. That run-in with DP, not fun, and SD was sympathetic but essentially powerless. I guess I understand why she did what she did. What bothers me (and might I say, this bothers me alot about people these days), is not what they do, it's the way they do it. Very few of them have a modicum of EQ, and even when you sense that they do, they just "can't be bothered" to make the effort. EQ and social skills are simply too much work. It's really rather dismal. And then you know who is being an unmitigated bitch, and they're such a grand divaesque gestures that I know she's baiting me. I'm telling myself, huwag mo nang patulan, para ke pa?

At home, the kids were bouncing off walls. I know they'll be happier when school starts and they have lots to do. Working as hard as I have been, it's easy to lose track of the holiday season, once Christmas itself came and went. Followed an impulse and gave myself what Laura Ingalls Wilder's mother called, "a lunatic fringe". I did an OK job, but still asked one of the art people to fix up.

Among the high points of the last days of 2005:

...reading the autobiography of Pelagia Soliven, a wonderful gift from the Solivens
...the 6pm Children's mass at St. Ignatius
...the scrumptious brunch at MELT in the Oriental
...baking Mrs. Esteban's gingerbread
...the deep tissue Balinese massage I got on Boxing Day
...discovering that I can swim 20 laps in the new pool first thing in the morning
...Seeing The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe not once, but twice
...Kaylee and Coby doing their thing
...Finding out that Ally's transplant engrafted
...Discovering that the canteen upstairs sells almond milk
...Settling the "what are we going to do" about the kids' bday party
...Greeting 2006 on the river

Looking forward to the rest of 2006...

Merry Christmas one and all! 

Tales of Kaylee and Coby

After one week of sleeping proudly in her own room, seven year old Kaylee has regressed somewhat and demands to sleep on a mattress on the floor of Coby's room, which is also where yaya sleeps. This has not really bothered us; at least, we save on airconditioning.

Since she started sleeping there, she's posted a sign on the door of her room.
The sign is in red crayon with yellow doodles on the margins, and it reads:
"Out of order"

You have to laugh.

The most wonderful time of the year 

How can you not get the holiday feeling with these two? 

That holiday feeling

There's nothing in Singapore's weather that gives you a sense of Christmas. Some people claim it's a few degrees cooler, but I think there's really not that much of a difference. The sun shines vibrantly in the afternoon and the glare is still, pretty much, tropical in feel. It's beach weather more than anything else. And yet, amazingly, I always feel that tingle of Christmas. Maybe it's singing in the choir for advent. Or the flurry of holiday gatherings that always takes place between December 5 and 23, before the Pinoys head to Manila for family reunions, endless parties, last minute mall shopping, traffic, and queso de bola. Why, already we've had a Christmas brunch and a pre-Noche-Buena Noche Buena that involved hot chocolate laced with Peppermint Schnapps--all taken in air conditioned comfort, of course.

But I have my own queso de bola...and even managed to wangle some Majestic ham. My little family of four has come to enjoy our Singapore Christmas celebrations immensely, I must say. Yes, it's true. The Christmas that Kaylee and Coby celebrate is vastly different from the zaniness of my childhood holiday celebrations. But it's no less joyful, no less meaningful.

In fact, I spoke to my sister about their impending celebrations back in Manila, and I was surprised not to feel the usual twinge of envy and longing. What's up with that? Of course, Manila is a blast and seeing my family, plus all the many cousins, aunts and uncles for the holiday season is always loads of fun. And yet, and yet, and yet...I find that I'm content, even pleased to simply hear about it second hand, happy to plan the times when I'll be calling in to say Merry Christmas to one and all as my sis's handphone is passed from ear to ear.

The truth of the matter is, I am happiest to be home for the holidays. Right here in my own living room with my husband and our children, enjoying the magic of our own Christmas tree and our old-fashioned parol. On the 24th, we will bake Christmas cookies, the same old-fashioned dark gingerbread recipe that we used to do at the Estebans' house so long ago. We will have a light lunch of sandwiches and maybe a soup. We will head out to survey the crowds on Orchard...then attend the 6pm Children's mass at St. Igs, which includes a Christmas pageant. Then home to Roast Turkey dinner and all the trimmings. We'll do a holiday flick at home...and after putting the kids to sleep, T and I may skip out to a wild Kylie-Madonna Christmas party, thrown by a friend and colleague, who lives, interestingly enough, in the transvestite district of Little India. We will wake on Christmas morning to garlic rice and tuyo breakfast, ham and cheese and milo, open gifts and just hang until our tummies grumble...then it's time for Christmas day brunch. What happens after that just depends: we'll go out to the park or for a swim maybe, and what I'd like to do is drop off our boxes to the Salvation Army as well. Then home to the family tradition of Turkey Barley soup.

I am toying with the idea of a Boxing Day merienda of cookies, cheese sticks and maybe some prociutto, melon and wine for friends that have, like we have, chosen to stay in Singapore. That, will play by ear...

38 Feels Great

And so another year begins.

It's a cliche to say time flies when you're having fun, but I persist in the notion. And today, I was given the welcome gift of a meaningful way to celebrate the day I was born, thanks to RSM and the Samsons. She arranged for a group of us to do a Christmas carolling session at the Children's cancer ward at NUH. As I had been toying with the idea of taking leave, it was the final push I needed.

I was up at the crack of dawn to attend the 7am mass...make my connections as it were. Then it was back home to enjoy comfort breakfast of champorado and tuyo with T and life-long friend Rofel Brion of the Ateneo. Kids are on break, so they weren't up, before we left for the hospital. Picked up Celeste then drove to NUH. Not too many kids, but there were enough. And we kicked off everything with a Christmas poem and a Christmas story, before singing Joy To The World, Jingle Bells (twice) and We Wish You A Merry Christmas. Margo, Gina, Rofel, Celeste, Ria and I were all in red. And we had a surprise appearance from Ally Samson and her parents Mikey and Lou, who have been discharged, thank goodness for the holidays.(Please see WHERE I CLICK for updates on Ally). After gift-giving, one more song and an impromptu "Fruit Salad" dance...we said our goodbyes.

Then it was off to Melt at the Oriental for buffet lunch--a sumptuous feast finished off by a Willy Wonka chocolate fountain fondu. Came home to find that my son and daughter made me gifts and cards, and we settled in for a reading of a chapter of CS Lewis's The Voyage of the Dawn Treader and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. They then left me to nap while they went for a swim with "Nino" Rofel. Now we go for family crab dinner.

I couldn't ask for a better birthday!

A New York Movie

Back in the days of betamax, I was in charge of renting the family's weekend entertainment. Without fail, Mommy would tell me, "Can you get me a 'New York' movie?" Even at age 14, I knew what that meant. It meant much more than just--getting a movie set in New York. First, it had to be something romantic, or at least, something with romance. Ideally, it would be a city tale, New York City most obviously, but you could have a "New York Movie" set in Boston, San Francisco or even Chicago. Of course, the quintessential New York movie was Woody Allen's Manhattan. That's what Mom meant. I remember renting Romantic Comedy with Dudley Moore and Mary Steenberen from Sonix in Dasma. The Goodbye Girl with Marsha Mason and Richard Dreyfuss also counted, as did Kramer vs. Kramer as well as The Competition (Again with Richard Dreyfuss and Amy Irving) and Crossing Delancy (again with Amy Irving). These days for that New York Movie feeling, we revisit episodes of SATC and sometimes Friends.

Well, tonight, the husband, the mother and I went for Prime--a New York movie on all fronts. And it was okay enough. A good premise and a thin plot held up by a great cast and slick cityscapes of good old NYC. Uma and Meryl made the most of very thin characters and a "I see it coming" dialogue. Still, there were a number of charming moments alongside some utterly cheesy lines. ie: "Having you offer that to me only shows me just how deep your love goes."

But as a once-upon-a-time New Yorker, I did think more than once that this flick was a little bit like chewing on bubble gum when you're in the mood for dark chocolate.

It's always nice

to find someone who takes real pleasure in the work that they do for a living. As I sat for three hours while my cheery faced dentist filled four cavities, I was charmed by her murmurings, seemingly to herself. When the mold for my lower molar came out completely intact, she gave out a little, "Yay." When she studied the design for the porcelain cast, she clapped her hands. And whittling and polishing the newly filled tooth had her humming along to the whirr whirr whirr. She didn't know I was eavesdropping on her, and maybe, she didn't even know she was doing it. But it pleased me that her work pleased her so much. We should all be so lucky to love what we do...

Onward ho

It's been two days of moving, and we're still not done. The husband is under the weather with a very nasty cold bringing on an equally nasty temper, the mother is in town, and the children are clamoring for their daily routine. I don't know where my clothes are and I still need to find out what the hell is in those boxes. Then there was a must-go family dental appointment that revealed the need for more work. And now I sneak out for a minute with Mom to an internet cafe. And as much as all that's going on right now is chaos, disorder and frustration, in an instant, I am thrown out of my own life and my own petty cares into the world of Ally Samson and her parents, dear friends Mikey and Lou.

With poignancy, passion and utter truth, Mikey gives us daily updates on Ally's transplant procedure, intended to finally stamp out her leukemia and expresses his own thought process as he struggles to make sense of these days. Ally-booboo turns two on December 4, and has proven herself powerful beyond her years in her ability to withstand experiences that are downright unthinkable. I can't get over Lou and Mikey and their complementary strengths as parents -- strength that calls to mind their name. As Ally likes to say, "Ay naku, naku, naku..." Read about her in the website that Lou built, under WHERE I CLICK. Get thrown out of your own life in an instant...

Fifth time to Rent

Karen Mok and a New York cast are doing a run of Rent at the Kallang Theatre here in Singapore, for two weeks. And last night, their second night, was a rather uneven performance, I'm sorry to say. But the reasons are...multifactorial. First, as a veteran "Renter" that's seen the show four times previously, last night's performance suffered in comparison. Pregnant with Kaylee in 1997, I saw Rent on Broadway--granted, with seats going at $85 a pop, we were high up on the balcony...but that cast was excellent. In Manila, in 1998, I saw the New Voice Company's production at the Music Museum--the ideal, intimate concert venue for this show. I remember being blown away by JM Rodriguez's Mark and Monique Wilson's Maureen, and Jamie Wilson's Benny. Not to mention the beauty of the production itself. When Angel sings "Kiss me, it's beginning to snow" ...actual snowflakes fall to the stage. In fact, that show was so mesmerising, I saw it twice. Then in 2002, we saw virtually the same cast do it at the Victoria Theatre--JM was still doing Mark, Calvin Millado was still Roger...and Rachel Alejandro was a sultry vixen Mimi and her sashaying was totally hot to say the least...matched note per note by her golden vocal.

I will say though that last night's New Yorker Maureen was the best I've seen...beating out Monique, especially in vocal quality. But overall the production was on the uneven side...low-key and somewhat low-energy. It's true that the players may have been affected by the half-empty Kallang Theatre which is massive and a monster to fill. Or maybe they were discombobulated by the faulty sound system which sometimes caused erratic voice disappearances. I don't know. As for the much publicised Karen Mok and her Mimi--she was just on the okay side of the spectrum. There were a couple of instances that she was straining, even shouting vocally. Her Mimi was pretty, but not really the smouldering vixen of sensuality. And her "Let's Go Out Tonight" was actually awkward to watch, I don't know why. Most offputting was her British accent popping out at inopportune times. Hello. Mimi's a New Yorker, and hispanic to boot. I know she's the Canto pop queen of Asia...but...but...but...she doesn't make a very good Mimi, is all.

Still, Larsen's material overcomes in the end. And as a veteran "Renter" I still found pleasure in the melodies. It's hard to really mess up a great thing, I think. Or at least, you have to try really hard.

I'll Cover You

In this day and age, it's hard to come by, let alone write, a truly romantic song about selfless, unconditional love. Yet Jonathan Larsen manages with finesse in his
"I'll Cover You", a duet by the drag queen Angel and the macho homo grad student TA Tom Collins. Both as Angel says, "provide a comfortable home for the Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome" --and they find each other and fall in love...just in time.

How wonderfully quirky, new age and authentic that this most romantic duet is performed in heartfelt harmony by a homosexual couple. And that's just one of the things I love about Rent. Sing it, baby.

Live in my house
I'll be your shelter
Just pay me back with one thousand kisses
Be my lover, and I'll cover you

Open your door
I'll be your tenant
Don't got much baggage to lay at your feet
But sweet kisses I've got to spare
I'll be there, and I'll cover you

You'll be my king, and I'll be your castle
Oh you'll be my queen, and I'll be your moat
I think they meant it, when they said you can't buy love
Now I know you can rent it, a new lease you are, my love
On life...be
Oh...lover, I'll cover you

I've longed to discover something as true as this is
Oh with a thousand sweet kisses
(I'll cover you)
With a thousand sweet kisses
(I'll cover you)
With a thousand sweet kisses,
(when you're cold and your lonely)
With a thousand sweet kisses,
(you've got one nickel only)

Oh lover, I'll cover you

The stuff of life

The movers come the day after tomorrow. The house looks like we're testing missiles. The trick is to sort through stuff and get rid of stuff and pack stuff, and still have enough stuff out so the kids can do their stuff--easier said than done. And of course, there's the whole time-consuming task of trying to decide, do I still need this? Will I still use this? And why on earth do I still have this, for goodness sake? And what about the stuff you accumulate, things that are meant to be mementos for specific occasions, with no other function than just that. Plastic thingumies and paper doodads. A menu card, a box of business cards from two jobs ago? I have done the impossible and just tossed it. Trickier are things like old magazines--special fiction issues of the New Yorker. Or those one-off copies given for an article written. Ordinarily, I would clip the article, file it in one of those books with the clear plastic pages, and toss the magazine. But even that task seems too daunting, not when the movers are coming in less than 48 hours. And we haven't even gotten to the clothes. This T-shirt looks horribly tired and ragged at the edges, but it's also so comfy, I can't bear to part with it. What then? I even have a little plastic bag of a few of my children's baby teeth, the ones I managed to keep. And what do you do with half-consumed bottles of moisturiser or hair conditioner in little bottles that we took from hotels...even though niether of us uses conditioner, ever. On the bright side, I did run into notes and old letters. Funny missives from friends, and photographs that never did get put in an album. These go back, higgledy-piggledy into a box I've labelled bits and pieces. Bits and pieces of my life. What is it with us, that we can't seem to organise? That our lives, the very matter that makes up our nitty-gritty... why is it, that it must be encountered in disheveled bits and pieces, odds and ends...and little doohickies we run into in the different corners of our everyday? And when will we learn to streamline and compartmentalise so as to have order? I see other people's houses and I wonder, where is all their stuff? Meanwhile, I run into newspaper clippings of job ads in my prayer book, and old credit card bills in my cookbook--and yet, I'm always looking for something I can't quite find. And there's always stuff enough to fill another box...

I'm taking a deep breath and closing my eyes and tossing a few of these doodads and doohickies...there's always more where that came from...

Ocean Park 

Disneyland -What a trip! 

Wak wak wak! 

My son, the graduate 

Something strange

We've been cleaning up, right? Setting old toys aside. Setting books aside that we no longer want. Clothes. Knick-knacks. It's operation streamline, and the goal is to just de-clutter.

Over the past week and a half, I put my ever reliable book, "What To Expect When Your Expecting" into the donation pile. After all, I will not need it anymore. I put it there three times on three separate days. The first time, I put it in the pile...but the following morning, I found it back on the shelf. So I put it back in the pile, thinking maybe I had Alzheimer's. Two days later, the book was again back on the shelf, so I put it back in the pile. Over the weekend, I had the pile of books put in a big box and we brought it over to the lady who sends things back home to poor communities. Then last night, I was looking for a book, and there it was, back on the shelf. Very very strange...

T says I should ask Melyn whether she's the one who keeps putting it back on the shelf, but I keep forgetting to ask her. Tomorrow I will.

A female tries...

I am truly back at Female, as they've given me a Female Tries assignment. Never boring, this column is almost always fun to do. Today was no exception. I went over to visit Soul Centre, and had a two hour session of Energy Emission Analysis and Colour Threapy, as conducted by Sally Forrest. The premise is that energy emissions, which are most focused and intense from your fingertips and toes, are able to clue a trained therapist into your physical health and emotional well-being. Once the problems and issues are identified via a photograph of those energy emissions, Sally then applies colour or light energy to the body at converter and acupuncture points. Light pushs the flow of energy through the body, re-energises and resets it, restoring balance and health. In fact, every finger and every toe corresponds both to an organ in the body and an emotion. At first, I was skeptical, because it all sounded way too new age-y to me. But I must say I was amazed by what she could tell, and also at what light therapy was able to achieve.

As Forrest explains: "Any emotion, which cannot for whatever reason be expressed verbally, is held in the body and later expressed as a symptom, illness or disturbance of the mind."

Light is a life force; we should all stay lit.

Express yourself! 

The Adobo Factor

No Adobo Factor 

After almost three years in this flat, that's more like a house than an apartment owing to its spacious two levels and its appealing hardwood floors, we are moving. The apartment is after all, a fluke. With old plumbing and none of the spanking, shiny bathroom fixtures upmarket renters in Singapore have a penchant for, we were able to rent it for a song. But sometime this year, it's due to be torn down. And it its place will arise one of those ubiquitous high-rise condominiums with which househunters are all too familiar. So we started a half-hearted hunt for our next home. We knew it need not be lavish nor spanking new. If we could find something with four bedrooms, even if the overall area were to be smaller, that would be fine.

But, among other things, we were of one mind about what we didn't want. We named it--the adobo factor. What we did not want was an apartment with a layout that would allow someone at the front door to clearly see exactly what you're having for dinner. In short, there has to be some sort of foyer or alcove, some sort of architectural pause that will prevent, say your UPS man from exclaiming upon entering, "Ay, adobo! Or "Fried chicken!" Or "Spaghetti!" Either that, or the dining area, if it's not a dining room (which it would rarely be), had to be sufficiently faraway from the front door so that though someone might be able to smell dinner, they ought not have a clear view of the dishes. You'd be surprised how many places we saw that seemed perfectly suitable, except for this idiosyncracy. "That was nice," we might concede to each other. "Kaso, adobo factor..." And we would move on.

Then all of a sudden, like a little bit of magic, there it was. Smaller, certainly, but four bedrooms. And no adobo factor. We move in two weeks...

An epiphany

I have a friend from college, L. She was always someone I felt drawn to, even while recognising how different we were from one another. As it turned out, we had much more in common beneath the surface. After we graduated, she and I went into the same field, had many mutual friends, and despite not being one-on-close, I felt we always had an easy affinity, something that we could easily call upon, whenever the moment or the circumstances arose in which we found ourselves together. As the years passed, we, of course, saw less and less of each other, so as to lose touch almost completely.

Anyway, about a year ago, I heard from a common friend that L. had had a baby. This was indeed news. The all of a sudden kind of news that simply boggles the mind, but only for an instant, as you instinctively know to take it in stride. Creative, intelligent and inspirationally energetic, L is definitely not your garden-variety Pinay, thank goodness for that. Why would she not have a baby, after all is said and done?

When I finally saw a photograph of her beautiful baby, I found myself getting choked up, inexplicably. In a strange, surreal moment, I remembered a story my mother told me when I was all of fourteen.

My Mom told me about one of her closest friends in school, a vibrant, amazing, creative woman named Ching. Apparently, after they all graduated from college, Ching made what was then the brave, difficult and unusual move of leaving the country to find fame and fortune in New York City. She did it shortly after graduation, and soon after, she wrote my Mom less and less, likely because her life was so very different and therefore, much harder to write about.

My Mom married and taught school. And some three years later, she and my Dad moved to New Haven, where my Dad went to get his PhD and where my Mom worked in the University bookstore. It was there that they had me. They lived a long train ride away from New York, but when, by some happenstance, my Mom had word from Ching, she made the trip with me in tow, to visit her old school chum in
the big city.

Ching lived in tiny two-room flat in the theatre district, and she worked and still went on auditions. My Mom recalled climbing up the dark, dingey stairs to Ching's apartment. When they got there, Ching looked at my Mom and said to her, "There's someone I want you to meet." My Mom did not know what to expect. This was the 1960s. Would it be a husband? A boyfriend?

Ching took her into the bedroom and there in an old wooden crib was a sleeping baby, maybe a year old. "This is Micah," she said. Mom told me she took one look at that baby and burst into tears. And the two friends, both of them cried.

My fourteen year old whipper-snapper self piped up, "I don't get it. Why did you cry?" And even as she explained, Mom got teary-eyed.

"Because she was my friend. We were kids together and played in the backfields of my Lola's house. And here we were, after so many years, and after I hadn't seen her for so long. She had come all this way, all by herself, and she had a baby. I had just had you--and had just gone though it all, giving birth away from family, in a strange place. And it turns out, she had done the same thing..."

I remember now how I smirked and shrugged and just didn't have a clue. All I could say was, "I don't get it." But then I saw a picture of L.'s little one, and all of a sudden, everything fell together. I got it.

And what do you know? L is in town and gave me a buzz. It's a good time to catch up and reconnect.

Sunday lovely sunday

sunday morning 

As children, my sisters and I enjoyed reading these illustrated Arch Books, simplified tellings of Bible stories. You may have read them, too.

I still remember that one of my favorites was the one on the Parable Of Talents. It tells the story of a master who has to go on a journey and leave his wealth in the care of three servants. The first gets eight talents, the second gets four and third gets two talents. The first and second invest succesfully, the third is scared and just hides it away. I remember, even as a child, feeling sorry for the third servant. Not being good at math or finances myself, I felt that it was rather harsh punishment to mete out to someone who was merely afraid, after all, of losing his Master's money. It took many years and a number of teachers to set me straight. But even after all that, I've felt a particular fondness for this parable, so much so that when I am called upon to do something that I know I'm likely able to do but am afraid to do, I compell myself to do it because I don't want to be that cowering servant who did not act, because he was afraid to.

Anyway, that parable also happened to be today's Sunday gospel. Apparently, according to Fr. O'Niell SJ at St. Ignatius, who on his good days (which thankfully are still quite frequent) is really such a wonderful homilist, this particular gospel is only read at mass every three years. In his sermon, he preached about making use of the gifts that we are given for His greater glory. He spoke not just of the intellectual, emotional and creative talents, but the gifts we recieve as members of the church--the sacraments. When are we actually spreading the faith to those who are lost and in need of it? When are we actively helping others find His grace, and the tremendous comfort and solace it brings?

It was an eloquent sermon, graceful in its brevity and far reaching in its depth. It made me feel thankful that I shepherded my family into going to the 10:15 mass even though it really was a mad rush through breakfast and there was a measure of whining and dragging of feet. But it was with lightness and gladness of heart that we all went about the rest of our Sunday--doing errands, strolling the river to brunch at Brewerkz, and just hanging out at home. So I nagged at them a little. Sue me. Nagging just happens to be one of my talents, one I'm not particularly fearful of putting to use. It was a good day.