squisito!

If the antipasti at Amalfi Cucina Italiana, a delicately rich and buttery duck liver with caramelized pears, is an indication of what each dish in the menu tastes like, then dining at this newly-opened Italian restaurant would be close to heaven.

Excuse my cheesiness, but there is no other way to describe the 8-course meal that Chef Miner del Mundo prepared for us. It was indeed heavenly, so much so that my deprived taste buds went berserk (in a positive way, of course) in between dishes. Each delectably refined dish that I tasted would have made me break into song, but luckily, the Spanish red wine that we were sipping was able to curb my tongue before I could embarrass myself.

How could I resist the perfectly seared and succulent scallops, encrusted with peppercorns and paired with pears and oranges? What about the Zuppa di Pomodoro (Tomato Soup) with salchicha slices (Italian sausage) that was both comforting and filling? In between the tomato soup and the roasted French duck with red wine and grape reduction, mango shooters (served in shot glasses) had to be gulped to cleanse our palates. The main course, the Manzo alla griglia con funghi or grilled tenderloin beef with mushroom dribbled with roasted tomato and potato puree made my mouth water.

Chef del Mundo must have been sent by the culinary gods to punish me because I felt like a glutton after he served the Risotto ala Milanese. In between mouthfuls, I said, “What? There’s more?” Of course there was! Who can forget the dessert, a sinfully delicious duo of Cioccolato Salami (Chocolate Salami) and Mocca Semifreddo. Squisito! (This means exquisite, by the way.)

The Amalfi experience was a gustatory delight. Yes, I know I sound trite, but it really was. The food was fantastic; the place tastefully done and almost Zen-like in its stark simplicity (black leather chairs, glass tables, muted lighting, off-white walls). The restaurant is spacious enough not to be poky, but not so huge that you need microphones to be heard. Price-wise, well, it’s a fine dining restaurant (whoopee, finally there’s one in Iloilo that’s not part of a hotel), so I think the new and old-moneyed clientele wouldn’t mind coming to Amalfi for an intimate dinner with friends and family.

I can’t wait for my next Amalfi experience. Maybe next time I’ll really break into song after my Italian dessert.

(Amalfi was named after a small town in the province of Salerno, in the region of Campania, Italy)

movie date gone awry

So much for Twilight. I forgot that I am no longer in NY. I am in fact in the backwaters of hell and the movie won't be in theatres till Wednesday. Till then, I'll be doing some serious thumb-twiddling.

movie date

Tomorrow, fans will troop to the theatres to watch the movie version of Meyer's Twilight. (And I will be one of those screaming fans wearing something really fanatical and tacky -- like a "Team Edward" shirt or a "Bella and Edward forever" pin. Ugh!).

Today, on the other hand, is the day that I have chosen to come out of my self-imposed hibernation. And what do you know, the moment I decided to "come out", I was bombarded with calls from people who either wanted to see me because they missed me or those who just wanted to make use of my uhm, many talents . Oh well, how can I escape my fate?

And, I don't want to make too much fuss about my long hiatus. I'm back now and that's all that matters!

at 4:03 am

If I tell you what happened to me last wednesday at exactly 4:03 am, you'd probably laugh, or call me stupid. Believe me, I won't take offense because I've called myself even worse names than that. Dumb, idiot, moron... wait they actually mean the same thing. But you get my point.

Nope, I didn't wake up at the butt crack of dawn and found myself in bed with a naked stranger (although, that would be kind of exciting and kinky especially if the stranger looked somewhat like Josh Hartnett). Nope, I did not splurge on a pair of Blahniks and developed a conscience at 4:03 am because: 1) I can't afford it; 2) I don't have a conscience; and 3) I can't afford to have a conscience. And no, I did not overdose on Tylenol PM, ended up in the ER at 4:03 am and found myself falling in love with the attending physician Grey's Anatomy style.

Last wednesday, at 4:03 am, I literally bolted out of bed because -- I realized that I missed my freaking flight! I knew something was off when I went to bed, but I thought it was just the thought of 20 hours or so of flying that was bothering me. How can this happen, you ask? Well, if you're me, at my current state (depressed, lonely, angry) this could actually happen. I don't want to go into the nitty gritty of this most stupid of mistakes, but bottomline is, I mixed up the dates and the check in time. In short, I was one day late. I didn't even have to go to the airport. Imagine going all the way to JFK only to realize that the plane I was supposed to be taking has already left the night before! That would have made it worse!

Go ahead, laugh. I actually find it funny now, but last wednesday at 4:03 am, it was not funny at all. I didn't cry, I actually howled -- in agony and deep frustration.

I've never missed a flight in my life. Never. This was a first. Hey, a smart girl like me is entitled to some act of idiocy once in a while, right? Gimme a break!

I don't know what it is about getting old that dries out one's creative juices. I remember when I was younger, when I could write at the drop of a hat, no effort, no hang ups, just pure passion unleashed from out of my typewriter's keys or ballpoint pen.

Angst was my middle name. It was a constant thing that kept me alive. It was what made me write effortlessly, passionately.

Writing made me so happy then, which was probably the reason why I wrote better prose when I was totally miserable. It's the exact opposite now. Now when I'm in utter misery, I can't seem to write a single word. And when I do attempt to write in such a state, the words come out forced, lifeless, bone-dry.

These past few weeks have gone so fast. And yet, I feel as if I'm seeing my life in slow motion. Right now, how I wish I was younger, so I could just whip out my pen and write until I drive this dark misery away.

i can live here!

I'm in Canada right now. And I think I've fallen in love with this country. I've spent the whole day in Toronto and had such a wonderful time. I'm visiting my college blockmate, friend, and once upon a time housemate Dahlia whom I haven't seen for more than 10 years!

Toronto is so laidback compared to New York. It's a thriving city but somehow the vibe is less stressful, less oppressing. People are not as obnoxious, not as harrassed and not as c-r-a-z-y. Dahlia lives in Mississauga, a few minutes by GO train to Toronto. She's living such a full and happy life with her husband Ron, and I'm so grateful to her for showing me around and for both of them for taking very good care of me. I'm so jealous of her life (and I rarely get jealous)... but if anyone deserves to have such a beautiful life (and wonderful husband) it's Dahlia.

I'm so tired. Had a full day (and also a very full stomach), so I'm calling it a night. I'll be writing more about this trip in the next few days, so expect me to blabber about Canada some more in my next few entries.

Wish I can stay longer. But I have to go back to the US soon. Then after that, we'll see...

an open letter to the manatee

To my long lost friend,

I was going over my previous blog posts just now (hey, if I don't read them, who will?) and I read a comment to one of my previous posts from someone who called himself "Dugong". Is this "Dugong" you? You know who you are. You're someone who used to be very close to me. But because of some, er, delicate circumstance (on your part, not mine), we've lost touched. I'm so sorry if that old blog post irked you, it was stupid of me not to have closed that comment window (I'm new at blogging so forgive me).

I hope all is well with you. If you read this, don't you think that you're doing this friendship of ours a disservice by not keeping in touch? Do you realize that we've known each other for 20 years? Yep, I counted, we met in 1987 right?And we've been friends ever since you wrote me that first letter. It's 2008 now, so I think it's time for the 20 years of friendship to thrive and continue -- what do you say to another 20 years?

Yann Martel, author of Life of Pi had this to say: "It is true that those we meet can change us, sometimes so profoundly that we are not the same afterwards, even unto our names." And you have changed me, have influenced and inspired me. I've always thought of you as my soul mate and I think that once upon a time I've told you that a soul mate is a person's greatest passion, one that he might not necessarily end up with but who will always become a part of his life.

Elizabeth Gilbert (Eat, pray, love) I think explained the idea of "soul mates" better. She said: "People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that's what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you'll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then leave. A soul mate's purpose is to shake you up, tear apart your ego a little bit, show you your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light can get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you have to transform your life, then introduce you to your spiritual master..." -- a mouthful, I know, coming from someone who traveled all the way to Italy, India, and Indonesia just to find herself.

Let me know what you think my dear friend.

And by the way, I really do miss you.

killing time in a crowded park

This is not a parody of Jose “Butch” Dalisay’s novel, Killing Time in a Warm Place. I just thought that as I am killing time here in the middle of Bryant Park, surrounded by people, a flock of fat birds, and possibly, a horde of harmless park rats hiding in the thick bushes, no other title will work quite as perfectly as the one above this paragraph. I know Professor Dalisay will not take offense as I dutifully sat in his classroom starry-eyed (bleary-eyed too from the late college night outs) and well-behaved during his lectures a million and a half years ago.

This is not my first time in this park. But it is my first time with a laptop. I figured that if I was going to kill time, I might as well do it in a manner that will make Prof. Dalisay proud. And how will I do that? Why, by writing of course! The other week, I was sitting here with a book in my hand, and if not for the homeless guy who was wearing two denim skirts (a micro-mini worn over a long acid-washed one – so 80s!), I would have finished the novel in a matter of hours. But the skirt-wearing homeless guy amused and distracted me and it went downhill from there. I ended up stashing the book inside my bag, resigned. With all the frenetic activity around me, finishing up the book would be close to impossible. So I sat back, sipped my warm coke, and spent the whole afternoon ogling 12 men wearing yellow hard hats while being serenaded by a group of would-be musicians tapping their bongo drums. The men were muscled, grimy, and sweaty – a visual paradox to the pristinely white, pretentious and chi-chi looking tent they were constructing for the Mercedes Benz Fashion Week.

New York is always bustling with activity, and for someone like me, it could both be inspiring and irritating. Inspiring because there’s so much material to write about here and irritating because I constantly crave for peace and quiet – a personality quirk, if you may. But I’m here now in the middle of the crowded park with my fully-charged laptop, so if I can’t get my peace and quiet, then I’ll just be inspired.

The truth is, inspiration can be found everywhere. There was no need to lug my laptop all the way here. I could’ve just stayed in my sister’s apartment across the Hudson River in my ratty pajamas and I could be writing about more interesting things than hobos in skirts. It’s just typical of me, orchestrating this whole writing-in-the-park thing, adding a bit of drama to the tedium. Nowadays, you don’t have to go anywhere, all you need is Wi-Fi, some junk food, a little bit of caffeine, and you’ll be transported in a different world and get lost in the rich labyrinth of information and ideas in the www.

Case in point, I was surprised to know that my two-part TNT review of Meyer’s Twilight saga was mentioned in a couple of web and fan sites here in the US and the UK. These sites quoted some paragraphs from my review and linked my column to their web pages. I was ecstatic of course, and marveled at how my little article got entangled in all these sites because when I typed “Twilight reviews” in Google, there were 13,700,000 results! As I said in my blog, being a writer can often be unrewarding, but rare moments like this make me grateful. It's just fulfilling not to be trivialized, to know that somewhere, someone out there is reading what you have written, spending precious minutes savoring the very words you have composed, and finding meaning in them -- and yes, enough meaning to quote you, appreciate you, and share you with the rest of the world. So, that’s inspiration enough for me.

And then, the other day, I discovered Switchfoot (I‘m the Nina Simone, Bic Runga type so the band is quite a leap for me, even if it is in fact, a Christian band) while I was searching for Anne of Green Gables in YouTube. Quite far-fetched really, if you think about it, to discover rock music while looking for the classics. Also, as I was searching for anything about Yann Martel, the author of my current favorite book and Man Booker Prize winner Life of Pi (an inspiring story about an Indian boy in a lifeboat with a Bengal tiger), I was consumed by the urge to write. And mind you, not just write a personal essay, or my column, or a blog entry, but something that would be published in paperback form. A shot in the dark probably, but hey, dreams are for free, and I’m not one to scrimp on freebies.

So I did a little bit of research, asking myself how a Filipino writer could possibly be read outside of the Philippines without selling his soul or any of his vital organs. And guess where my research led me, why, back to Prof. Butch Dalisay of course! (Come to think of it, this article has a lot to do with Dalisay than just the title as I earlier let on.) In his blog, Penman, he interviewed four Filipino novelists: Charlson Ong, Christina Pantoja - Hidalgo (who were my college professors in Fiction and Memoir writing respectively), Vicente Groyon, and Dean Francis Alfar (who was an org mate in UP Tinta back in the days when I used to write poetry – all that existentialist angst had to be channeled somewhere).

He asked the four novelists what the challenges are of Filipino novels in English and why we cannot seem to break into the big markets like the Indians. I think that Chalson Ong gave the most significant answer and I quote: “The novel is an industrial product and until we have a robust publishing industry it will be difficult for novelists. As with other fields, a Philippine novel will likely earn major local attention when it receives foreign recognition. Writers in English have an advantage in terms of foreign publication and we might be getting there. The Philippines has not been in the imagination of the world, but perhaps our time has come. Who knows?”

“The Philippines has not been in the imagination of the world…” I agree. Except for being the source of caregivers, domestic helpers, and nannies, the Philippines really has not captured the “imagination of the world”. We all know we have the best musicians (trivia: one of the band members of Switchfoot is pure Filipino), artists, teachers, and health professionals like nurses and doctors, but one Lea Salonga or one American hospital filled with competent Filipino nurses can’t erase the fact that more often than not, we just fade into the background. (Especially after our very poor showing in the Olympics – but that’s another story.) How sad and depressing to know that as intelligent and talented as we are, we are also hopeless pushovers. If you doubt what I’m saying, go read Ninotchka Rosca.

If I will be true to myself then, become as Pinoy as isaw and dinuguan and write about OFWs going home inside caskets and caregivers being bamboozled in the UK, will the world listen? Will the world empathize? Will the world understand our country better, applaud our hardworking women who’ve left their families to become kindred spirits with white people’s feather dusters? Or will my imaginary novel be relegated to the back shelves, or worse, remain in the dark and not see the light of printing day? Would I then be, as Sir Walter Scott had so aptly written, doomed to remain “unwept, unhonored, and unsung?” (Or is it unwept, unpublished, and unsung?)

Now this is what I mean about inspiration and the fact that it can come to you while you’re in your pajamas or while you’re killing time in a crowded Manhattan park under the auspices of the Great Wi-Fi. Ideas can grow in inspiration’s fertile bed, and then, as swiftly as they can grow -- they can also die along with your laptop’s batteries.

(The above article was also published at The News Today. Check out the Archives for past articles in my column Serendipity.)

delinquent

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Haven't been religiously writing. I haven't even written anything for my newspaper column too. I am just bumming around, contemplating about my life, and basically living in my pajamas for the past two weeks. Been reading a lot too. Voraciously. Like a thirsty camel guzzling gallons of water for the impending long desert journey.

I've got so many things lined up though for the next four weeks. I will definitely catch that Salvador Dali exhibit at the MoMA and I'm looking forward to the Van Gogh one in the 3rd week of September. Then I have to go to Soho since I haven't been there ever since I arrived here (and it's supposed to be one of my favorite NYC spots).

I'm also preparing for a one week trip / adventure. Might as well go to another country while I'm here in North America... And my sister has invited me to go to Philly, so that too would be part of another adventure. Definitely, I'll make up for the sluggishness of my existence these past few, unremarkable days.

Then I will be back to where I belong. I can't wait.

epictetus said...

"If you want to improve, be content to be thought of foolish and stupid."

Obviously, he is my kind of Greek philosopher; a man after my own beliefs. I have been called foolish and stupid in the past and I guess, even in the future, I will still be called these two despicable names, but I'm okay with that. I'd rather be called foolish and stupid than be stuck in a rut, never evolving, never growing, never changing, never improving.

I know I'll be doing a lot of things in the near future that will disappoint some people, but there are some things I just have to do in the name of self-preservation. My sanity is hanging by a thin thread and popping Paxil pills is not something I dream of doing in the next few years. So I've made a major decision, a decision that I know I can LIVE with; a decision that will still allow me to look at myself in the mirror each morning and be able to say, "Hello there, non-stranger. I still know you."

So, amen to Epictetus. I'm not in a race. This is no contest. To hell with some great expectations. Hello, happier LIFE!

i've been quoted! i've been quoted!

I am screaming like a Banshee here, but I can't help it -- I am so excited right now! My little (obsessive) book review of TWILIGHT published in the online version of The News Today (TNT) has been special-mentioned in a couple of web and fan sites. Can you believe that?

I don't know how this happened, but there must have been a glitch somewhere, some online blackhole must have sucked my review and vomited it right in front of some web writers while they were mulling over what to include in their web/blog posts for the day. And kazoom, they've included my name as the writer with a link back to my TNT article. Wow, how in the world did these people find my review? Do you know how many Twilight reviews are out there in the www right now? I tried typing "Twilight reviews" in Google and guess what, there are 13,700,000 results! So tell me how did these websites find my article? By some miracle I guess...

I've been feeling so out of it these past few days, and this little bit of sunshine has lifted my flagging spirits, put a smile on my sad face, and brought some humor back to my humorless sub-life. Being a writer can often be unrewarding, but rare moments like this make me grateful. It's just fulfilling not to be trivialized, to know that somewhere, someone out there is reading what you have written, spending precious minutes savoring the very words you have composed, and finding meaning in them -- and yes, enough meaning to quote you, appreciate you, and share you with the rest of the world.

Thank you to these websites for posting my Twilight review. You made my day, week, month -- hell -- year!

Twilight-movie.org - It's flattering to be included in this site's Breaking Dawn Reviews, News and Disappointment section along with reviews from Time Magazine, Teen Hollywood, Chicago Sun Tribune, Publisher's Weekly, and other websites.

Twilightnews.co.uk - which quoted the last paragraph of my review (part 2) and linked it to another major twilight fansite, BellaAndEdward.com, a top (#2) Twilight fansite which also has a link of my Part 2 review in TNT.

And lastly, TwilightSeriesTheories.com - for liking and quoting the last paragraph of my "Twilight Zone" part 1 review and for putting the link to my TNT article.

Wow, my obsession for the Twilight Saga has brought me a lot of good and a lot of happiness... the truth is, I loved the Twilight books (isn't it glaringly obvious?) and I guess that love translated to my writing the review.

So again, here are the links to my reviews, I'm sharing it with you:

Twilight Zone Part 1

Twilight Zone Part 2

Happy Reading!

old friends and my gypsy life

Old friends have been coming out of the woodwork recently and it's heartwarming (for lack of a better word) to know that somehow, in spite of my lunacy back then, I did make an impression on a lot of them. (Maybe the "lunacy" part was the one that made the difference... hmm...) I was able to reconnect with college friends and wow, they're all over the globe. I guess that's the norm now, to be away from the P.I. When you think about it, the world is so huge, yet with the worldwide web linking all of us, it really is so small.

Right now, I'm exhausted. I'm unpacking again and I'm wondering when this gypsy life will end. But I'm still lucky. To be able to move about, go to new places, and experience so much from all the traveling. I shouldn't complain and gripe about these things. I just have to be grateful that I'm constantly being given new things to experience and learn from. A few months from now, I don't know where I'll be again. But I know it'll be some place where I can grow and yes, live.

short-change

I looked at the Korean hairdresser with trepidation. He was short, reed thin, and had an uncanny resemblance to Dolphy during his Sampaguita days. He also had curly hair, the kind that he was obviously not born with, and I thought, “Should I trust this guy?” I mean, I could trust a gay hairdresser who looked like Dolphy with a bad perm any given day, but a guy hairdresser who looked like Dolphy with a bad perm? Nah. I’ve known a lot of gay men, my best friend being one of them, and I was positively sure that this Dolphy doppelganger was straight as an arrow. In my world, a straight hairdresser was a definite no-no.

I knew I should have bolted out of the hair salon before any permanent damage was done. But for some unexplainable reason, my butt stayed glued on the swiveling chair with the pedals tightly locked. I was suddenly and irrevocably at the mercy of Dolphy’s sharp shears. “Wa haircut you like?” Great, the guy could barely speak pidgin English. How am I supposed to tell him that if he makes even a teensy-weensy mistake with the length and the style, I will hunt him down and the rest of his clan in Korea?

I glared at Dolphy, giving him my serious, no-nonsense, I-mean-business face as I pointed to a 2005 magazine picture of Jessica Alba with short hair. I secretly prayed when Dolphy nodded in understanding; his scissors poised for that first, painful snip. As I sat there gripping the edge of the chair while Mr. Curly Tops lopped my locks, I knew that the worst was about to come.

I closed my eyes and tried to calm myself. The last time I went short was six years ago and I didn’t even go willingly. A gay hairdresser friend of mine probably spiked my drink and drugged me throughout the whole process because when I woke up, I had a bob cut and my hair had hues previously unseen on humans. From that time on, I’ve grown my hair long. I figured, I’d rather look ten years older with my long hair than look like Paris Hilton’s Chihuahua after a day of pampering in a Beverly Hills dog salon.

The plan to cut my hair short had been brewing for quite some time. I never had the courage to do it until now. I knew that this was the perfect time, this being a time of change; well, for me at least. Will I come out of here as the butt of all jokes? Will I be called “helmet-head” behind my back? Will small children point their chubby fingers at me and laugh, or worse, cry? Or will I step out into the streets, emancipated and free from the shackles of my old life and the long hair that was weighing me down?

And then, just as my thoughts began to formulate the fastest way to escape from the Korean fiend and the chopping of more precious hair -- I suddenly felt giddy, light, like a ton of baggage was lifted from my shoulders. As the dead ends fell to the floor like autumn leaves, I felt renewed -- alive! Then, with seemingly dramatic flair, Dolphy whipped the plastic cape off of my shoulders, and I could almost hear the drumrolls. The deed was done. There was no escape, no turning back. I slowly opened my eyes and stared at the new me. And I . . . beamed. Holy Moly! I looked ten years younger! Pleased by my reaction, Dolphy examined his handiwork. Although he looked a tad smug, he was probably more relieved that I would not be hunting his family after all.

My eyes twinkled as I objectively appraised my reflection in the mirror. I will never be a Jessica Alba look-alike (and I was never a fan of hers anyway, it was just her 2005 hair that I wanted to covet), but I was happy with myself. If I may say so, for a 30-something woman, I didn’t look bad, not bad at all. I realized that I had a graceful neck (ahem!), and my shoulders, newly-bare, glistened under the bright lights of the salon. All of a sudden, I couldn’t understand the reasons for my apprehensions, why I had been so scared at the thought of doing this. Then it dawned on me: sometimes we just have to get out of our comfort zones, try things out, take risks, venture into the unknown, or simply, in my case, get a haircut in order to discover what and who we really are.

I skipped out into the crowded street. My chin-length hair light as a feather, dancing with the summer breeze. A little girl holding her mother’s hands looked up at me and -- smiled! I grinned back, relieved. Ah, change was good.

random thoughts and words

Wish I was the author of this beautiful (and true) prose, but sadly, I am not. Can't help but share this with people who truly understand (and live!) its meaning...

"I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?"
-- Mary Oliver, The Summer Day

breaking dawn: my verdict

I'm done. I've never read a book this slow before. I wanted to savor Breaking Dawn, to feel, to enjoy, to understand the nuances and meaning of each paragraph, sentence, phrase, word. And so I did. As usual, Meyer tells a riveting a story. The pace picked up from the last book (Eclipse), the excitement gradually built, then peaked to a crescendo --making my palms and the soles of my feet all clammy and sweaty (this happens to me when I'm excited and nervous), then the denouement came, tying everything up in a neat and satisfying package.

Of course, I've known all along that this book is no Foucault's Pendulum. In other words, even an 8 year old would be able to follow the plot and not go, "duh?" In short, there's no intellectual mumbo-jumbo here, no profound Proust-like symbolism to the narrative. But, regardless of how intellectually accessible it is, I got hooked. I'm no hypocrite, so if I enjoy a book (in this case all 4 books), then to hell with my Literary Criticism teacher who mouthed post-structuralism, Jacques Derrida, and Roland Barthes, in between puffs of her Marlboro lights.

Call me shallow, but I'm a gushing "Bella and Edward 4ever" fan. But, because I'm such an opinionated bitch, I would just like to say that Meyer was a little bit predictable (or maybe I just read the previous books until they were dog-eared) in Breaking Dawn. I'm not going to ruin the surprise for some people especially those with zero imagination, so rest assured there will be no spoilers here.

Also I was extremely distracted by a lot of typographical errors (missing letters, etc.) and proofreading lapses. It was painful to have found a lot of mistakes in the previous books and I was expecting the editor/s to have done something in this last one -- but I guess they all fell in love with Edward and lost all of their faculties while editing.

Another distraction was the never-ending contractions. For example, "she'd've", etc. (I'll look for more examples when I'm not too sleepy, because I am positively catatonic right now -- it's 5 am!). It's okay to use this kind of colloquial contraction when one is talking informally to someone, but in writing? I mean, are the editors saving pages or something? Nobody knows how to write "she would've" anymore?

All in all though, I closed the book happy and contented, not wanting it to finish so soon. But all good things must come to an end -- and so should this review. (For now, at least.) Let me get some sleep and I'll babble more tomorrow. Goodnight, twilighters. It's the break of dawn and it's time for me to retire.

breaking dawn

Well, I'm still awake and it's almost 2 am. It's August 2! It is going to be the break of dawn in a few hours and I'll be damned if I don't get a copy of S. Meyer's Breaking Dawn. I think I better get some sleep just so I'll have the energy and the strength to elbow them kids.

3 more days twilighters

Come Saturday, I will be curled up in bed reading Breaking Dawn, the last of the Twilight books. Of course, before the "curling up in bed" scenario, I'll probably be elbowing my way into Barnes & Noble, possibly physically hurt 13 year olds in the process of getting my pre-ordered copy (you don't know how obsessed these kids are of Meyer's books so I expect bedlam!), and most surely end up with a few dead toenails (there will be stampede and pandemonium -- remember that I'll be in the midst of teenagers with hyperactive hormones who will run and claw there way just to have the book).

I'm expecting the very worst of course. But I'm ready. And at the end of the day, I shall hold the precious book in my hands. (This is where you'll hear my diabolical laughter.)

magnanimous angels

I am so happy today. Positively radiant. Beeming with joy. If you scroll down you'll read my entry "Perfectly Imperfect" where I yakked about my sorry state of literary limbo because I didn't have a laptop or a computer here. Well, magnanimous angels read that piece and sent me a new HP notebook yesterday. And I'm happily tip-tapping its keys right now.

Thank you to my Tito Ed and Tita Mae who gave me this wonderful gift. This is actually more than just a laptop, this is an antidote to my depression and madness. I never even asked for this but they've generously given it to me as a gift because, and I loosely quote "you have given life to your Lola Exal by continuing her legacy with your writings". Lola Exal, my late grandmother was a playwright, a poet, and the only Komedya writer (in the province of Antique, Philippines) of her time (well, until now actually). She has written at least four full-length Komedyas and I know that I pale in comparison to her great talent.

But armed with this 21st century weapon -- the notebook -- I will try my very best to make her proud of me. I'm actually excited and apprehensive right now. I'm excited because of this new gadget but apprehensive that it might zonk out on me. The last time I had a laptop was a year ago. The thing died an unnatural death after my daughter decided to give it a bath with orange juice. After that depressing incident, I made do with the family's desktop and somehow managed to survive the pain (of losing my freaking files). A word of advice though, never become too attached with machines, gadgets, and other mechanical or electronic gizmos. One wrong move, a freak accident, or the presence of dangerous 3 year olds and they will eventually break your heart (more than your ex-girlfriend or boyfriend ever did!)

So what's next in my agenda? I guess I'll be writing like crazy now -- and no more excuses!

star-struck

It's disgusting how embarrassingly pedestrian (i.e. predictably groupie-ish) I can get when a famous celeb walks on the same street where I'm walking while being hounded by the paparazzi (the celeb, not me). Yesterday, I was possessed by a star-struck demon and almost groveled on Alex Rodriguez's gigantic feet (encased in expensive, black leather shoes, no less) in Park Ave. in Manhattan. Eeww! I'm not even a Yankees fan, ergo, not an A-Rod fan. But one look at his towering height, massive shoulders, and green eyes and I was ready to take out the pom-poms and do some death-defying cartwheels.

I was aghast when I caught myself shamelessly asking him (okay, begging was more like it) if I could please have a photo with him. Ugh! Embarrassing! Was that me saying those words? The poor guy (yeah right, he's impoverished with his $250M paycheck as opposed to me being nearly broke, hah!) was trying to get away from the paparazzi and there I was trailing after him like a homeless puppy without a leash. He apologized to me by saying, "I'm so sorry, I can't stop right now" and looked at me with his penetrating eyes. Huh?! My brains turned to mush and I almost keeled over on the sidewalk. I looked at him with glassy eyes and sputtered incoherently. I swear I probably looked like I was mentally handicapped and I was quite positive that my brain was literally melting like an ice cream under the sun during a Yankees vs. Mets game. If my skimpy black shorts were a tad loose, they would have fallen off my waist right then and there at the corner of Park Ave. and 60th St. My worry now is, will I be TMZd?

dark night

It was a truly dark, disappointing, hot and humid night last night when I and two of my friends were not able to watch "Dark Knight" as planned because all the tickets to the time slots that we wanted (which were not in the wee hours of the morning) were sold out. Apparently, all the residents of the 5 boroughs of NYC had the same idea as the 3 of us and trooped to the movie house this weekend like lemmings armed with pre-paid, reserved tickets. Ugh! We ended up venting our dark frustrations on Mama Mia! and thankfully went out of the theatre a notch happier humming "S.O.S" and "Dancing Queen".

We'll give it one more try next Thursday. We're planning on hitting the streets of NY early to catch the first show just to get the frustration out of our system.

In the meantime, I'm bracing myself for major challenges this week. Batman is actually just my way of forgeting my woes. There's more to my life right now than watching brooding billionaires in black briefs (hmm... now that would make an interesting tongue twister, don't you think?).

perfectly imperfect

The thing about my present predicament that I deeply resent is the fact that I don't have my own pc or laptop 24/7. Ever since April, I've been moving from one sibling's house to the next and this has disrupted my literary life. I can't blog as often as I want to and I can't even write my column anymore. I'm thinking of getting a cheap laptop, something temporary, but even temporary laptops cost a lot of money (as if there's a disposable version I can just throw away after I've used it for an hour or so and which would cost me 99 cents). So right now, you could say I'm in a state of (literary) limbo.

I'm trying to write down all of my thoughts in a steno notebook, but without Google and a thesaurus by my side, it's so hard to write. Which makes me think, am I going dumb or am I just making excuses?

This week, I've been jotting down bits and pieces of my everyday life: my weekly commute, my crazy and impossibly long train rides, getting lost amidst dozens of people who seem to know where they're going (while I don't), my friend Mr. Loneliness who has an on-going hot and torrid affair with my other friend Desperation, my secret affinity (and on-and-off addiction) to what I call "Bolshevic roll-ups" which I'm not quite ready to reveal yet lest my clueless mother reads this blog or this column (if I do decide to have this published), my over the top obsession with Stephenie Meyer's Twilight saga which is not even intended to be read by people my age (gah, I feel as ancient as Edward, the book's undead hero), my libidinal relationship with canned sausage (er, that didn't come out right), and all the other inane and not so inane concerns that I have regarding my impending future. How can I blog or write about these now when I can't even sit in front of a computer for longer than 30 minutes?

These few months have both been hell and heaven for me. I'm like a sieve sorting out the bad from the good, the happy from the utterly miserable, the pitiful from the triumphant. My experiences have run the gamut from ecstatically sublime to down-in-the-pits-of-hell gloom. It is appalling to be this close to being Bipolar and I can't even self-medicate because, hey, this is America. You can't just go to the nearest pharmacy and buy a bottle of Paxil. The closest to peace that I can conveniently have right now is a capsule of Tylenol pm. Ugh!

But don't fret, people. I've been here before. I don't know for how long and how far (but only within the confines of North America) I can last and go, but I will try my best to push myself up until the moment when my brain together with my heart finds a solution to my predicament. In the meantime, I'll tip-tap away using my nephew's pc and blog and bitch like everything is perfectly imperfect.

Happy Birthday Babies!

To my two beautiful babies: you make my heart sing with happiness. Happy birthday to both of you! I know that someday you'll demand for two separate parties, but hey, you've got a smart Mom and I planned this well by giving birth to you a day apart, so really, you don't have much choice -- for now.

When you're older, I know you'll be embarrassed at my syrupy declarations of love, but what's a Mom like me to do? I think I'm the luckiest mother to ever walk this earth. To have given birth to two beautiful, smart kids -- I can't ask for more.

I love you my babies. You are my love and my life.

a tickle, an answered prayer

I've been receiving a lot of emails from people regarding the flood and typhoon that hit Panay Island in the Philippines. I better get the word out there and make this blog more than just a vehicle to rant, rave, and vent. I'm using this to appeal to all those who have generous hearts to please help the victims of this recent disaster.

Here's a look at the devastation which my friend, photographer Leo Solinap emailed to me: Typhoon Frank

Also, here's a part of an email from my aunt (who is an Assumption nun based in Thailand) that I also want to share especially to those who want to make a difference in people's lives:

"The Assumption sisters are going to facilitate donations to the victims of the Typhoon that devastated the lives and homes of people of the towns of Antique, Sibalom, Iloilo in the Philippines. Here in the United States, please make your tax-deductible check payable to the "Religious of the Assumption" and mail it to:

The Assumption Sisters
c/o Sr. Mary Ann Azanza
11 Old English Road
Worcester, MA 01609

If you feel the tickle to send something, be prompt and send it. That's God tickling you to be His answer to the pleading prayers of the victims. After all, we are the best vehicles for God's answer to prayers."

The sisters in the Philippines have also opened an account. Make your checks payable to: "Assumption Sisters Typhoon Aid". If you're in the Philippines, you can mail this to any Assumption campus (or in Iloilo: Assumption Iloilo, c/o Sr. Clare Cecilia, Gen. Luna St., Iloilo City, 5000).

I know how resilient we Filipinos are. We'll survive this tragedy. With YOUR help.

the "twilight" zone

I'm obsessed. I have become so consumed by Stephenie Meyer's "Twilight" saga ever since my 16 year old nephew shoved a copy of the book in my face a month ago after I complained that I was bored out of my skull from lack of any mental stimulation. Since then, I've bought "New Moon" and "Eclipse" and have actually memorized the juicy lines in all three books. Oh, I've also preordered "Breaking Dawn", the last installment to the "Twilight" saga (which will come out in August 2! yippee!) and this officially makes me what, the books' oldest fan? Ugh!

Okay, this obsession is scary because I'm no longer in the puberty stage and "Twilight" was basically written for teen (young-adult) readers. I think I'm having a midlife crisis or if it's too early for that, maybe it's quarter life crisis. But how can I resist when Edward Cullen is possibly the yummiest undead vampire in the history of yummy undead vampires? The ocher eyes that turn to black when he's angry and hungry (for Isabella "Bella" Swan, the love of his life); the bronze hair; the pale, translucent skin,; and did I mention that he can sing and play the piano beautifully as well? And like most vampires, he can also lift heavy objects with his super strength (he lifted a van off Bella), move faster than the speed of light, and decapitate evil vampires in one flick of his delicate (looking) but lethal hands (sigh!). Of course, being the ultimate romantic vampire hero -- he can also read minds. Hmm... wonder if he knows what I'm thinking right now -- definitely thoughts of the non-PG variety.

"Just because I'm resisting the wine doesn't mean I can't appreciate the bouquet," Edward says as he sniffs Bella's graceful (and very exposed) neck. Now this sends shivers down my spine. I think the reason why the "Twilight" trilogy has captured millions of readers is because of the TENSION between Bella and Edward from start to end. You don't know when Edward will snap and give in to his inhuman instincts and just rip Bella's throat to drink her blood, or if he just wants to give in to his human instincts (which have long been buried in the deepest recesses of his psyche [if he still has that] since 1918 -- the year his heart stopped beating and which makes him roughly 108 years old or the oldest 17 year old to still walk this earth) and make love to Bella. There is definitely a lot of suppressed passion in the book, and a lot of self-restraint for the tortured vampire. The important question is: which does he hunger more for? Her body or her blood? Of course, he falls in love and that makes it all the more complicated. Blood, sex, and gore all males (vampires or not) can deal with, but love? Now that's another story.

The tug and pull situation between the two characters is so palpable and so painful (to read) and I'm so hooked you can throw me in the middle of the ocean as shark bait. Because of the clamor of fans and the need to ruin people's imaginations (or maybe just mine in particular), "Twilight" will now be a movie (check the trailer on this page) and is now in its post-prod phase. It will be shown in theatres in December 12, 2008 and Edward will be played by Robert Pattinson (Cedric Diggory in the movie version of Rowling's Harry Potter). Bella on the other hand will be played by Kristen Stewart (that androgynous looking girl who played Jodie Foster's daughter in Panic Room -- but she's filled out from the looks of her).

I don't know if I'll like the movie. Will I like Pattinson as Edward and Stewart as Bella? Or will I be hugely disappointed? (Because my imagination went on hyperdrive after reading this book so Pattinson better be good -- really, really good as well as extremely inhumanly beautiful.) But I guess, regardless of how the movie will turn out, Hollywood can go to hell (like most vampires will except for the "vegetarian" Cullens that is -- by "vegetarian" I mean they've shunned human blood which will probably give their souls a shot at heaven). Movie or no movie, what's important to me is how I feel everytime I re-read the books (um, and believe me I've read it so many, many times to the point that I'm already embarrassed at this uber display of juvenile obsession) -- and that's with a smile on my face and a thud-thud in my heart each time I turn the pages (really, and I'm not trying to be cheesy here). And hell, no enterprising Hollywood producer can take that away from me.

blowing the candles

Well, today I turn a year older. And definitely wiser. Had a long commute yesterday from New Jersey to Long Island and in between trains (Light trail, Path, Subway, LIRR), I thought about my life and what I've done so far. Some things I'm definitely proud of, while others... well, let's just say I did my best but I guess my best... you know how the song goes.

But I'm so happy today. Of course, it must have been because my sweet husband greeted me the moment I woke up, my very first greeting of the day. And suddenly, there's a deluge of opportunities coming my way now, specifically today. Good things are happening on my birthday. One of my major wishes have been answered. God is indeed very, very good to me. Or maybe He's just sick and tired of my constant badgering...

Would have wanted to spend this day with my family, but I know in spite of the distance between us, we've never felt more together, or closer than we do now. The love that I feel for them, for my husband and children have grown bigger and more intense, if that's possible. I've been with my husband for 9 years and I love him more now than before -- again if that's possible. But I guess, it is, because that's how I feel right now. Nothing like distance to make one realize the value of a loved one. Nothing like separation to bring two people closer together. Ah, love, love, love. Birthdays are definitely more meaningful with lots of L-O-V-E.

Today, I'm going to blow out my candles (yeah, literally, thanks to my sister). Another year older. But wiser. And definitely happier.

hell and high water

I'm in a state of panic. I found out yesterday about the typhoon that hit my hometown, Iloilo City. I talked to my husband last night and cringed at the damage the floods inflicted on the place I call home. It's a first for us all, to experience this kind of disaster. The house where I spent most of my growing up years has been marred by flood waters. But it is as resilient as its owners, so from what I gathered from my husband, the damage was not as bad as I feared it would be.

I feel quite helpless here. I'm thinking of my kids, my husband and my family back home. I can imagine how disorienting things are for them right now, what with the cleaning up that they have to do and the other little things they have to deal with after that kind of disaster. I can imagine what the thousands of people in the province might be feeling right now, having lost their homes, their possessions, their loved ones. I guess, compared to them, we should count our blessings.

I don't know what's happening to our world. I've been thinking long and hard at how we just take things for granted. And now, this is the price we have to pay. Nature unleashing its wrath. It is scary to be living in this angry, vengeful world. I'm thinking, is it payback time?

I don't want to be negative and paranoid. I want to dwell instead on the infinite goodness of God. Cliche or no cliche, I know that the sun always comes out after a long, dark night.

jersey girl

Here I am again, packing. And then unpacking, and then packing again. When is this going to end? I've been unbelievably stressed these past days imagining (and hearing) that I have three hostile voices in my head arguing incessantly about this and about that.

Tomorrow I'm off to Jersey (again! I was just there two weeks ago) along with my two friends. I'm really tired of this. Every week, plans are changing and I just want to sulk in one corner and cry. I think my vacation is officially over. Real life sucks.

Mama Mia!

Watched Mama Mia! at the Fox Theatre in Atlanta last night. Predictably it was a fun show what with ABBA songs being sung with the exuberance of teenagers on hyperdrive. Hummed "Dancing Queen" and "The Winner Takes It All" on the way home much to the chagrin of my brother.

Wolfed down 2 blueberry pancakes, 2 sausages, 3 slices of bacon, and 2 sunny side ups after the show at the local IHOP (yeah, real classy). My arteries are all choked up but after being pumped up by cheesy ABBA songs, what's a gal to do but eat?

st. simons island

southern beauty

pristine me

on the bridge and off to the island

orange skies and the long road home

hell week

So many things are happening in my life right now. I'd compare it to being sent to Iraq or some other war torn country without any ammunition. Every single day since last Sunday, I've been bombarded with issues that demand solutions. Some plans fell midflight, hopes were dashed, tears were shed, and what I thought would work, clearly did not. I'm so distraught right now, but at the same time I'm taking this as a challenge -- and I never run away from challenges.

Challenges are nasty enemies that come and go in our lives. They're life's necessary evils. Some can leave you with battle scars, yet you can survive and even triumph over them; others can unmercilessly beat you up to a pulp, and you can very well end up like an injured dog yelping in agonizing pain. I don't know how it will end up for me this time. But I do know that I've never been fond of licking my wounds. Someone once said that I was a warrior in my past life. So I guess, with that to back me up, I can handle the "Iraq situation" with only my wits and my faith as my strongest weapons.

on loneliness

"When I get lonely these days, I think: So be lonely. Learn your way around loneliness. Make a map of it. Sit with it, for once in your life. Welcome to the human experience." - Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

Call me masochistic. But there was a time in my life when I was most happy in my misery, when I found solace in tragedy.

And so, here I am again, alone with Loneliness. I'm letting its cold fingers touch me. Yes, damn, I'll sit with it, even hold hands with it. Hell, I'll even sleep with it. Nietzsche said, "That which does not kill us makes us stronger." I know it will be futile to fight with it because how can one win with Loneliness?

So, like spurned lovers forced to be together, I'll live with it for now.

the Table 10 girls

There's nothing more dangerous than 5 girls (or should I say women?) sharing one table in a wedding attended by smug marrieds and single men. But we came, we looked great, and we had a roaring good time! To Simounette, I don't want to say "finally", but yes, FINALLY! You're hitched! It was great seeing all of you ka-batches and of course, remembering the good old Sigma Delta Phi days. To Paris in 2010! Cheers!

So who's at Table 10? Here we are...

the newly weds with the ka-biatches

the beaming bride, Marose, Marge, and me

the gorgeous line up

Me, Micki, and the bride's evil twin, Suzette

even the camera was drunk that night!

channeling SATC: the two Samanthas (?!) having a cosmopolitan

and the one who was a "no-show" -- we missed you Cynthia Q.

yippee! David Cook!

Yippee! David Cook! What else can I say? It's time for the MAN to win. Young, pleasant, wholesome Archuleta please exit to the backstage please -- for now. You'll have your time when you grow up little boy.

i love you my babies

I miss my kids. Zachary, my almost 9 year old son chatted with me this morning and he told me how much he misses me. "I'm lonely without you, Mom." These words coming from him pains me. To say that I miss my kids is an understatement. But there are some things that need to be done here. Everything about my life right now is for my children. I may blabber about my life as if I'm having such a great time here, but truth be told, I'm miserable. Very, very miserable. My kids make me happy. Without them, I feel so empty and incomplete. But I know that this will come to pass. Soon I'll have my precious children with me. I love you babies.

the wedding aftermath

After a grueling 24 hours of not sleeping a wink while inebriated with champagne (I lost count after my 5th glass) and wearing the last smudges of mascara from the wedding party the night before my super-delayed flight, I finally made it to Georgia.

I'm here now in a charming city called Lawrenceville in the county of Gwinnett, Ga. I've been in and out of Georgia in the past 10 years and each time I'm here, I feel so at peace and at home. My brother Noli, who's an anesthetist, have made Georgia his home for more than 12 years now. The charm of the south has apparently wooed him to stay this long. Who wouldn't be when the weather is as sunny as back home (in the PI where else?) with just the right dose of "cold" to counteract all that sun. (Unlike last Saturday when my curls almost froze from the wind and the rain while attending my sorority sister Monette's wedding in NJ.)

Let's backtrack a little. Last Friday I went to Monette's reception dinner an hour and a half late. I know it's a sin to be late in this part of the world, but when you're in Hoboken, parking is as hard to find as the Holy Grail. There I was, in my blue, clingy knit dress and heels driving aimlessly in the one-way streets of Hoboken without a clue where I was going. At 8:45 pm (the dinner was at 7:30) I was already sweating like a roasted pig and was thinking of not showing up anymore. But finally, after much cursing and hissing, I was able to find a sweet spot just 2 blocks from Wild Ginger, an Asian restaurant in Washington St. Of course, after a million apologies to Monette and her whole family, I felt so relieved to have made it in one piece (although at that time I had no inkling whether the car will be towed or fined -- but neither happened, so I guess I parked on the right spot).

The next day, I promised that I wouldn't be late for the wedding. And so, at 1 pm, I was already curling my hair to be able to make it to the 2:30 ceremony. After a stressful time with my wardrobe (there were no buttons, no snaps, just a flimsy sash to hold everything together -- it was like a scene in Survivor NJ where I had to make do with a minuscule safety pin to preserve my dignity and my sanity), I jumped in Mark's car (a friend of my sister's) and was at St. Ann's by 2:15 pm. A few minutes later, my sorority batchmates Marge and Marose arrived (with Marose complaining about her stilettos and the parking, what else?). We haven't seen each other for 10 years, so you could just imagine how happy we were -- stilettos, satin static, and safety pins notwithstanding.

Monette's wedding was a simple but intimate affair. It was so like Monette, very straightforward, no frou-frou, yet romantic in every way. The reception was beautiful, in spite of the uncooperative weather (it was freezing cold, and the rain and fog ruined the view of Manhattan which was, in the first place, the whole idea behind holding the reception at Chart House in Weehawken -- I think they should demand a discount!). The ka-bitches (it's actually ka-batches, but I think the former fits us all perfectly) and I had a blast with the food, the company, and the conversation. Micki Poe came all the way from Manila and Minnesota, Marge from Missouri, and Suzette from Manila (actually she would fly to and from another planet if need be because she can't possibly miss her twin sister's wedding!). We were expecting Cynthia to fly from LA but a telenovela-like scenario made her miss her 11 am flight to NY. More of the wedding, Batch '90, and the Table 10 girls when I get some pictures from the ka-bitches. Calling Marge, Suzette, Micki -- email me the photos ASAP!

The night ended with us passing around Cosmopolitans at the Sheraton (Marge was insistent to have those SITC drinks because we were after all in NY although technically we were still in NJ overlooking New York City), promising to see each other in Paris when our batch turns 20 years. Oh my goodness, has it been that long? It feels just like yesterday when I danced while singing Boy George's The War Song on the steps of Palma Hall in Diliman (in make up and costume!). Now, most of us are married, with kids, mortgages (them not me), and ex-husbands (them not me).

Time flies so fast. And now, I'm here. In Georgia. But dreaming of the UP Sigma Delta Phi tambayan, the late night bonding (ok, drinking) sessions with sisters, the camaraderie on the steps of Palma, the gimmicks, the parties, the lifetime pledge of love and support, and the years of sisterhood that started almost 20 years ago on that tea party in La Vista. I wish we were complete last Friday (all 15, er, 16 of us -- no controversies please!), maybe in Paris, we will be. But hey, for those who made it -- it was great to see you ka-batches!

while I was sleeping

I woke up today after a relatively good night's sleep in spite of the wind howling outside which I could hear above the racket made by the ancient heater beside my bed. Yesterday was a fun day for me (mass at Weehawken, lunch at Shanghai Joe in Queens -- the dumpling / siopao with soup inside its gooey dough was fantastico, book shopping, etc.) -- it was after all, my day, Mother's Day. And so, with yesterday's activities that sapped my 30-something body with all of its strength, it's best that I stay at home today. And I don't think I want to step outside really, what with the wind and the rain and the fact that I'm just a hundred pounds, give and take. With my weight plus my small, feeble umbrella, I might end up somewhere in the middle of the Hudson River if I'm lucky or on top of the Empire State Building if I'm luckier (because, I could just take the elevator down and go shopping in 34th St. -- no sweat).

After my morning coffee (a prerequisite to my day, or else my friend Ms. Migraine would come a-visiting if I don't chug the brew early on), I checked my emails and my messenger. Apparently, while I was sleeping like a baby, my real baby, Zaki, was patiently waiting for me to log in so he could chat with me. We chatted for a few minutes and said our goodbyes. My son was of course ecstatic after I told him that I was able to get his Ben 10 game.

While checking my emails, I read the news and felt so down. What is happening to the earth? First Myanmar, with thousands dead, and then China's earthquake, and the tornado in the south (in Georgia, including Missouri and Oklahoma). I'm thinking, the catastrophes might all be related. Mother nature unleashing her fury because of man's apathy, neglect, and abuse.

I feel for all the families that might have been separated, for all those who've lost something and more importantly someone, for the tragedy brought about by nature's wrath -- I deeply empathize.

While I was sleeping, somebody in China, in Myanmar, or in Oklahoma was grieving. What can I do here? What can we do? Today, I'm saying a special prayer for the victims of these unfortunate disasters. And a special prayer also goes for the safety of my own family back home. Today, we should all count our blessings and be grateful. God is good. And He is in our midst.

big, bad, and beautiful

Here I am again in my 'Ode to NY' posts. Spent the whole day by my lonesome walking the streets of NY (as usual) while ruminating over the week that went so unbelievably fast. Last wednesday, met Gladioly (we worked together in SM a few years back) at Otto, one of Mario Batali's restos in NY. We had bellinis and pizza while catching up with the new (present predicament, plans for the future, etc.) and the old (our grand and gruelling days in SM). I went to her midtown apartment afterwards and it was as classy and as pretty as dear Glad. So happy for her that she has somehow found her little niche in this big, bad, and beautiful city.

I was also desperately seeking for Ben 10. Zaki made me promise to buy him the game and I had to sweep all of Times Square (shame on you Toys 'R' Us for not having it) and 34th St. for it. Well, congratulations to me, I was able to find the last one at Game Stop. Zaki will be very happy indeed. As for my little girl, I had to get a Dora bag for her since she's been repeatedly asking me to "buy me a big bag, mommy." She's 3 and she definitely knows what she wants.

I wish I could post photos of my jaunts here. But I left my trusty old cam back home. I guess I'll just have to keep all these in memory. I still have a lot of things planned out till I zoom off to the South next week: watch Conan (but I couldn't get tickets!), go to Soho, meet up with sorority sisters, go to Central Park, eat at Serendipity 3 on 60th St. (it is after all named after this blog or is it the other way around?), attend Monette's wedding (my sorority sis from UP is tying the knot finally!), have Margaritas at Black Bear, and hear mass at St. Pats (not necessarily in this order as alcohol and church don't really go well together-- do I have to go to confession for this?). Hopefully, I could do all these things without keeling over.

Oh well, till next post.

start spreading the news...

You know how the rest of the song goes. I've been walking the streets of NY today and felt those oh-familiar feelings of glee once again. There's just something about this city that makes me happy. I had to meet my sister at 5th Ave. (not to shop -- as if), but to say goodbye to some Pinoy friends who were staying at The Peninsula and who were going back home to the P.I. tomorrow. I got queasy when I learned that they were paying $700 a room (um, they got 4 rooms, stayed for 20 or so days, so I did the math and almost fainted). After that I just felt depressed but instantly recovered after my sister suggested dinner. We went to grab some Japanese food on 49th St. and after the gyoza and the gigantic bowl of steaming noodles, I completely forgot about the room rate (ugh!).

Today was definitely a good day. I went to mass and made my 3 wishes at St. Lawrence in Weehawken, had lunch at Mitsuwa (yes, today is Japanese food day) in Edgewater, NJ., watched Iron Man, and crossed the tunnel to New York where I met my sister. I enjoyed the day immensely. The only thing (or should I say, "people") missing are my kids and of course, hubby dearest. But hey, I had my 3 wishes... and so, we'll see what's gonna happen next.