hara

there is feeling, this fluttering feeling in my hara.
i've written about it before.
like a trapped butterfly or a bird.
i feel so uneasy.
and anxious.

it's so uncomfortable.
i want to run.
or escape it somehow.
eat it.
drink it.
gamble it.
something, anything not to feel it.

i don't feel it all the time.

chicken lollipop

picture this.

paul anka's concert dvd playing loudly. "papa" playing now. (kanina, si anne murray o!)
my mother dancing around the kitchen, preparing and marinating all the food we will eat in the next two days.

me, wearing wool socks, pajama bottoms, three shirts, and a wool beanie (ang lamig dito, eh.),
laughing and making tsismis and kwento-kwento with my mom.

baking cookies...
a filipinized version of the debunked urban legend nieman marcus recipe.
by filipinized, meaning i don't really measure, going from memory, freestyle.
i change the ingredients up depending on what makes sense at the time, what we have on hand.

i used cashews this year instead of walnuts and pecans, an homage to Prado.
used mostly whole wheat flour din.

i made these cookies at Prado a couple of weeks ago, assisted by Hugo and Natya, ang mga pamangkin ni Reimon.
nary a walnut nor pecan could be found.
so we used cashews.
ang sarap!

four dozen so far.
i give cookies and make cd's for my loved ones during christmas.
it's how i make peace with all the commercialized madness this time of year.
i still do *love* to give gifts to people.
i just spread them out over the year.
and give them, as Spirit moves me.

tonight at midnight we will eat:
pancit molo
hot pan de sal
chicken lollipop
honeybaked ham
and
cookies!

tomorrow will be a ridiculous feast pala.
:)

my dad is napping on the couch, tired from playing tennis this morning.

i'm still working out this year's cd playlist.
3/4 done yata.

masaya.

blockbuster'd

feeling better.
dancing.
walking.
breathing.

full moon tonight.
gorgeous.
the sky is dark and clear.
the air is dry and sharp.
i am mesmerized by the moon.

been renting movies at the nearby blockbuster.
$4.29 a movie.
grabe!
you do get to keep them for 5 days, so i guess that's good.
pero, ang mahal talaga!

there's a movie rental place in Madapdap called 'friendster'.
mostly pirated titles.
Nathanel and i rented 'beautiful boxer' two days before i left for the states.
subtitles super jacked up.
atsaka 15 pesos lang.
we never ended up finishing it because the disc kept stopping.

i remember those 'beautiful boxer' postcards that we used to use as scratch paper at the Center after the premiere.
was so funny for me to see that image again, especially in the Philippines.

talked with some relatives from chicago today on the phone.
some of them i haven't talked with for years.
two titas, one tito, three cousins.

kuya Ferdie might be going to Baguio in February.
will meet up with him there.

spoke Taglish with them. was fun (and funny) because they were so impressed.

prison dream

had a dream last night that i was in prison.
it was a minimum security prison in the philippines.
(does that exist?)

i wasn't scared.
just bewildered.
everyone was confused.
even the guards.

i woke up just when i realized that martial law had been declared again.

psoas

have this anxiety.
haven't felt this in 6 months.
not that i haven't felt anxious in the Philippines.
this is a different kind.

vague.
deep.

parang yung sariling dwende ko, ang ginhawa ko ay sa bilangguan.
and she's scared.
and she's confused because she doesn't know why she's so scared.

i can feel my psoas, so sore.
last night, i had to go outside and look at the moon.
and talk to her.
because if i stayed inside, i would start climbing the walls.
and it's so cold here.

then, i borrowed my sister's car and went for a drive.
looking, looking for something familiar.
something to hold onto.

i drove 20 miles.
trying to find some comfort outside of myself.
wala eh.

is it something about being in vegas?
siguro.
i've often said, i'd have nothing to do with las vegas if my family didn't live here.
it's the land of delusion kasi.

i've become so sensitive to energies.
i don't know if i can stay until after new year.
i want to see my family though.
and spend time with them.

naku.

ano ba ito?
will have to find some way to work with this anxiety.
must be time to work with this, too.

sige.

to love and learn

contemplating my single-ness lately. i'm really feeling it here kasi.
strange, 'no?
i'm so curious about it. and, oooh. it hurts, too.
i didn't really give it too much thought in the philippines.
perhaps, i was so busy with my work, traveling, meeting new friends.
here, though, and particular at this time, it's on my mind.
the holidays are so loaded kasi. Vassi used to say that.
we put such pressure on ourselves.
holiday cards, parties, the 'perfect' gifts, decorating, mistletoe...
materialism gone amuck.
been going around with my mother, shopping.
i see all these couples walking around, hand in hand.

old ones.
young ones.
pregnant ones.

they are shopping.
and getting coffee.
and fussing over their babies.

and i feel this pang in my chest.
my heart yata.
it lasts for a moment.
then passes.
i say "ouch" to myself, exhale, rub my chest, and my mind starts whirring.

i think about the conventional notions of romantic love that are pumped into the airwaves, the water.
how alluring it is to fall for it, be caught up in it.
been there.
how delicious the feeling can be at first.

then, it wears thin for me, after awhile, if there is no spiritually grounded foundation, no commitment to a deepening and transcendence of the mundane and ordinary, no mutual understanding to be of service to the world...
it's a tall order, i know.

conventional romantic love doesn't have what it takes to weather the inevitable storms either. it's too concerned with feeling good all the time and avoiding pain.
how powerful it is to sit in the muck together. and say to each other, "wow. this is shitty. how'd we get here again? come, love, let's help each other out of this. let's not stay here."

romantic love is so sentient soul, as Reimon would say.
i laugh because i can (and do) get caught up in pop songs and movies.
and it's not that i don't appreciate romance, because i do.
being in authentic relationship, for me, means more.

it could also be that i've been filling a lot of my time lately watching this pinoy na pinoy soap opera with my family.
sa piling mo.
gold standard, as far as teleserye go.
chock full of those themes that are so appealing (familiar?) to pinoys.

love.
sacrifice.
overcoming adversity.
endurance.
martyrdom.
pride.
underdog-ness.
rags to riches.
family.
machismo.
violence.
motherhood.
reconciliation.

i remember how when i was younger how upset i was when movies didn't have 'happy' endings, where everyone followed their arc, and everyone got everything that they wanted and deserved in the end. in my late teens/early 20's, i remember feeling somewhat disillusioned and sometimes adverse to independent films i watched where everything ended "messy" and it wasn't sunny and lovey at the end.

also, watched this movie, prime, the other day.
launched me into a whole nuther thinking process.
i remember a conversation Reimon and i had on karmic relationships.

how people come and go in our lives.
and they bring teachings and learnings.
some stay in our lives for a very long time.
some a few seconds, minutes, hours, days, months.

it's the letting go that is hardest for me.
and figuring out how to reframe.
and accept the timing.
and remembering the gift, amidst the grief.
am pondering all of this.
and trying to make the definitions personal.
and useful.

another edge to work.
must be time to look at this.
and sit with this.

sige.

barrio

getting over my jet lag.
still somewhat on philippines time.
Reimon calls twice a day.
thanks, vonage.
gmail chatting with Troy at 2am.
chikka texting.

suitcases have vomited all over my room.
haphapzard packing.
again.

laughing because i packed mostly dirty clothes.
haven't had time to do my wash.
feels like college.

last week at the clinic was a whirlwind blur.
so much to prepare.

my mother pimped out my room here while i was gone.
white sheets.
feather pillows.
goose down comforter.
plushy white towels.
kinda afraid to be dirty, it's so white.

amused at the contrast.
my pink 'permahard' uratex foam mattress in Madapdap.
how i purposely bought brown sheets so i wouldn't notice dirt as much.
i used to sleep with just a malong pala.

the water in Madapdap would turn these white sheets orange from the rust.

then i think how lucky i am that i can thrive in both environments.
that i even have the opportunity to know both worlds.
and really enjoy them.
and love them.

it's cold here.
and i have a humidifier running all the time.
i refill it with my pink tabo.

getting over a hacking cough that i brought with me.
another release of grief yata.

did some laundry the other day.
used the 'high efficiency, front loader' washing machine in my parent's house.
first time i've used a washing machine in six months.
hung some of it to dry on the long railings framing the spiral staircase here.
parang sampay.
as i hung it all up, i thought to myself, my parents are not going to like this.
kasi, daming kalat eh.
they like everything orderly kasi.
they never said anything to me about it.

my youngest sister, Sam, came home home from work, and laughed.
"you know, Ate, this ain't the barrio."

we laughed.
sabi ko, "you can take the girl out of the Philippines, but you can't take the Philippines out of the girl."

have showed my parents pictures of the clinic in Madapdap.
they didn't faint.
i'll take it.

made kwento-kwento about my roadtrip with Reimon.
told my father how i kept thinking of him during that trip.
he told me that one of his favorite things to eat was tupig.

i discovered it in vigan.
i remember riding the calesa, and asking the driver what they were cooking at the side of the road.

sarap yan mam.
tikman mo.

sige.

i bought five, at 5 pesos each.
gave one to the driver.
ate two for merienda. ang sarap!
gave two to Reimon later.

i look forward to eating piping hot, bagong lutong tupig with my father.
my family is talking about maybe spending christmas in the philippines next year.
there is healing happening.
ganda.

cosmic ontology

what a privilege to witness my own evolution.
it's like an upward spiral.

not that long ago, i used to get so frustrated that i'd find myself struggling with the "same ol' shit."
used to get so impatient and violent with myself.
would chastise and let the petty and small me drive the bus.

there you go AGAIN.
you'll NEVER learn.
you're so STUPID.
you deserve THIS.
you'll NEVER get it right.
it's YOUR fault.

small me rarely gets to drive anymore.
she can voice her opinion.
then, i scoop her up and she sits on my lap.
and i pat her hair, give her kisses, and sing to her.
i hold her as she squirms and tries to wriggle away.
eventually, she yields, rests her hot and weary head on my chest, and she melts into my heart.
there's room for her there.

nowadays, when i find myself at a familiar tight spot, i recognize it for what it is.
ah, i must be at another turn in that spiral.
sige.
been here.
kaya ko ito. i can do this.
i know because i've done it before.

the last two years' gradient has prepared me.
i appreciate the wideness of that path, the gradual ascent.
i noticed it, of course, and it just felt easier with company.

nearing the pinnacle, the turns are tighter and tighter.
they come faster and faster.
the mountain steeper.
the path more narrow.
less stable.
and less marked.
it's built for one, after all.

i realize, it's the witness that i miss.
i can endure the pain.
i even do it willingly.
just want someone to know.
just want someone to care.
and to care enough to know.

they don't have to fix it.
(they can't anyway.)
maybe they can just meet me at a rest stop, in between the tight turns.
offer our mutual shoulders.
and we can just sit and love each other.
and cry and laugh together at our frailty and strength.
and touch each other, a reminder of our physical bodies.
the ultimate reminder of the privilege of being human.
that to feel the entire emotional range and gamut is an exquisitely precious, precious gift.
then, when it's time to go, we embrace.
and we go, bid each other farewell, in a good way.
knowing that we will not pass this way again.
and, the connection between us is strengthened with our commitment to the Path.

then, i'll cry, because i always do.
more from gratitude than anything else.
grateful for the connection.
grateful for the moment.
grateful for the witness.
grateful for the understanding.
grateful that i continue to meet more and more who meet me at those rest stops.
grateful that, when there are no others, i am learning to meet myself at those rest stops.

i am learning to fly.

roused from sleep

who is pulling my energy?

heartstrings tugged.

woke me from sleep.

who is thinking of me?
and speaking my name?
who is speaking to me?
expecting me to answer?

it is someone in the Philippines.

feeling restless.
and weary.
and lucky.
and loved.

could chalk this up to jet lag, i suppose.
but, it's not.

fast dreams.
Prado children.
Nathanel and his guitar.
Justin flying.
or is it me?

settle, settle, Muki.
soothe.
all is okay.

my chest is sore.
i feel so restless.
wheezy.

celestial gardener, is that you?

she wants me to dance.
okay, okay.
i'll dance.

birit

whirlwind of a weekend.
on Bonifacio day, Nathanel came from Baguio.
Indo-genius Festival to Madapdap.
Snake bones from Sagada.
Seed necklace from Baguio.

i hear my friend Joy’s voice imitating a precocious child,
“There is no seed in a perfect love.”

this dark, smooth, round seed, in this necklace, is me.
she is being held by a knotted net of beads and stones.
i am being held.
close.
and supported.
with room to breathe.
she is beautiful, just like me.
created by an artist, just like me.

brought out the Philippines map, and Nathanel and i traced with our fingers, hearts, and words the last two months of our journeys. we miss our friend Troy.

that night, friday night tiangge in Madapdap.
jogger’s haven park.
apparently this happens every friday.
had no idea!
pirated cd’s galore.
closet favorites purchased.
the whole barangay out.
eating, shopping.
boiled corn on the cob. 8 pesos.
puto bumbong. 10 pesos.
buko juice. 5 pesos.
lechon paksiw, kare-kare, two rice, big 7up. 102 pesos.
mangga, isang kilo lang po. 60 pesos.
goto, mami, balut, calamares…

the next morning, Nathanel and i are off to Prado. Lubao.
Reimon’s family compound.
and biodynamic farm.

Reimon has invited me to come every weekend.
for respite from the clinic, he says.
when i arrive, he always greets me with a big hug, and a “Welcome home.”
from Madapdap, there is a jeep to San Fernando.
it leaves when it is full. 35 pesos.
get off at the San Fernando intersection.
take another bus to Prado Siongco. 35 pesos.
this one playing the jams. “That’s me in the corner, that’s me in the spotlight…”
i sing. and smile. because i am so damn happy.
the Philippines is so beautiful.
Nathanel and i look out the window, wind blowing our hair.
sugar cane waving in the wind.
young corn coming up.
glints of sunlight reflected off the rivers.
the bus goes so fast, i can’t see the trash.

biodynamic farmer’s market every weekend at Prado.
yakon, lettuce, oranges, passionfruit, and whatever comes from Baguio that morning.

tsokolate eh in the morning.
with pinipig.
Mommy’s special roasted cacao.
and fried suman.

Manang is such a good cook.
cheese omelette made with duck eggs. such a delicate pale yellow.
brown rice.
crispy tocino.
suka with sili.
basil tea.
biscocho.

there are weekend activities for the local children at Prado.
music.
arts and crafts.

this month, advent.
candle lighting in the chapel.

the chapel is one of my favorite places in Prado.
Reimon designed it. it was built from love, and i can really feel it eh.
i go there alone and sit and sing and sing.
i sing the songs that i learned at my Center in Oakland.
and the three opera songs that i know from beginning voice class in college.

Nathanel and i teach the kids an Igorot chant.
he plays the flute.
i play the drum.
we chant and dance in a circle.
he also teaches them arnis.
i teach some of the high school girls the foundations of sitting meditation.

later that evening, we all head out to the duman festival, in nearby santa rita.
santa rita was one of the few communities that was spared from major lahar devastation when mt. Pinatubo erupted in 1991. surrounding communities were buried, some 30 feet in volcanic mud.

duman is the young green rice.
arti-sta. rita does a performance.
my friend Rowell, also the Prado music teacher, is in the show.
ang ganda.
one of the best parts is the song about mt. pinatubo.
brilliant costumes.
the entire musical was in Kapampangan.
such a beautiful expression of provincial pride.

Father Ed, Pampanga’s governor, was there, and he performed as well.
maganda ang boces niya!

following morning, get up early and walk the farm.
grab a banana from the kitchen and some water and set out to find Reimon.
he walks the farm every morning.
i time it so that i finish the banana by the time i get to the pigs’ home.
i throw the peel into their yard, and am delighted when i walk by later that it’s gone.

find Reimon by the rice field.
i pick basil leaves and chew them while we sit and chat.
never ceases to amuse us to watch the birds on the electric line that runs straight through the property in a straight line through Prado and neighboring conventional farms.
the birds only sit on the wires that are directly above Prado.
they begin where the rice field begins.
they end where the rice field ends.
nakakatuwa.
they all sit, with their backs to the sun.
Reimon says they must like sunning their butts.
i laugh.
i bring my camera and take pictures of the birds on the wire.
and a knot on a tree that looks like an eye.
and some water on a leaf.

Nathanel joins us after a bit.
and we tell him the story of the birds.
i don’t tell them that these same birds pooped on me last weekend.
twice.

Nathanel and i go up to wash up and pack.
Joy arrives and brings her friend, Simi.
hugs, hugs, and more hugs.
i love when new folks come to Prado, because i love giving them the tour.
afterwards, sit down to congee breakfast, sunday staple.

then we pile into the family van and head out to subic.
our friends Liana and Rodney have invited us to eat lunch at their house, on the edge of the rainforest.
love going to their place.

aviary.
bunnies.
doggies.
kitties.
and a trampoline!

drank some beer and ate some Doritos.
nice combo, right?
then decided to jump on the trampoline.
Nathanel, Joy, Simi, and Rowell were already jumping, jumping.

fun, fun.
lunch was Prado salad (biodynamic greens and hibiscus flowers!), veggie lumpia, spinach pancit, grilled prawns and fish, broccoli, cauliflower, and rice.
yum!
Rowell brought Santa Rita goodies for dessert. his hometown is famous for delicious sans rival, candies, and sweets!

then off to El Kabayo Falls to swim!
Nathanel, Joy, Simi, Rowell, and i set off walking, passing a deserted playground on the way.
we all drop our bags and run towards the big slide.
one by one we go down four, five times.

Kuya Eugene, Reimon’s driver sees us walking and picks us up in the van and brings us to the falls.
the road to the falls is muddy due to the recent rains.
we slip and slide.
i sing softly to myself as we walk.
the trees form a long canopy covering the road.
Nathanel says to make sure we “Tabi tabi po.”
i do this silently, then quietly.

we get to the falls.
the jump is at least 25 feet down.
yahoooooey!
scared as all get out.
thrilling.
must have done jumped down 6 or 7 times.
it starts to get dark.
so we get out and dry off and get dressed.

walk back down to main road.
Simi loses her tsinelas in the mud.

we call winstar taxi and they pick us up to take us to the victory liner bus station in olongopo.
again with the jams.
everyone is singing at the top of their lungs.
even the Manong driving.
maybe him most of all kasi it’s his cd!

we all fall out of the fx, laughing and punchy, high from our synergy.
we eat at dumplings and dim sum.
or is it dim sum and dumplings.
basta.
really terrible food.
that’s what i get for trying to order shark’s fin dumplings (homage to Laurel) at a fast food joint.
best part though was sitting outside at a table and chatting and singing again.
Christmas carols. (gulp.)
bon jovi. (double gulp.)
“i’ll be there for you. these five words i swear to you. when you breathe, i wanna be the air for you…”

after, we part ways.
Nathanel to his tito’s house in olongopo.
Joy and Simi to manila.
Rowell and me back to Prado.
board the bus.
we’re so tired.
texting with Reimon.
he is trying to keep me awake, i think, so that we don’t miss our stop.
he is headed to manila already, as he has an early flight to bohol the next morning.
Rowell is already dozing.
kawawa kasi, he has to get up and leave at 3am that morning to pick up instruments at his house and then go to manila for rehearsal and another performance that evening.
me, i get up at 6am.
visit the chapel and sing a goodbye song.
visit the pigs. (i’m sorry, i still eat you. i’m trying to stop. kind of. here's another banana peel.)
say goodbye to birds on the wire. (thanks for missing me this weekend!)
drink basil tea.
and let a kalabaw milk pastilla dissolve on my tongue.

wait outside on the dusty road to get on a bus towards san Fernando.
then a jeep to angeles.
then another jeep.
then another jeep to angeles university hospital to meet with an orthopedic doctor for the clinic.
ang daming bitbit ko, including my drum.
waited two hours to talk with the medical secretary to find out that the doctor was pulled into surgery.

lunch at a turo-turo.
fruit salad sundae at mister frosty.

then another jeep towards mabalacat.
then a trike from mawaque to madapdap.
home sweet clinic.

i unlock the door. the key sticks, as usual.
i make a reasonable amount of noise so that the ipis know to scatter before i come in.
mental note to use the WD 40 i got from Justin on that lock.

i smile, remembering Nathanel’s text from that morning,
“Yesterday was 1 of the funnest days of my life.”

shift

somethings shifted.
things are not as hard.
well, things are still just as hard, but i'm different.
can it really be that easy?

can a shift happen just like that?

ease.
hello, ease.
so nice to meet you.
come sit beside me.
stay awhile.
i want to get to know you.

i've been feeling so overwhelmed.
so overwhelmed that i've been missing the abundant joy and the blessings that is my life.

it's been available the whole time.

now, i can see it.
and feel it.
and live it.
i am given, have been given, and i already have everything i need to move through even the most difficult situations and challenges.

amazing, really.
it's been available to me the whole time.
it's just a small shift, and a whole new world has opened up to me...

again.

tagged

got tagged by Leny
http://kathang-pinay.blogspot.com

Food Tour
a culinary journal by Claude Tayag
with illustrations and recipes

pg.161, 6th sentence:

"Garnish with basil and chilies and serve hot."

am reading this amazing book.
found it by accident.
or did it find me?

actually had the opportunity to meet the author (and break bread, er, rice with), Claude, on my recent road trip. turns out he is a good friend of Reimon's. and we met up with him and other foodies at Casa Remedios in Laoag, Ilocos Norte.

moonlight dinner.
seaside.

i was at national bookstore at sm clark the other day, looking for another book titled Philippine Ancestral Homes by Martin Tinio and Gilda Cordero-Fernando, and met this one instead.

delicious read.
literally.
and hilarious, too.

flipped through it and was reading excerpts in the bookstore and laughing out loud. throw your head back kind of laugh out loud. basically, it is a collection of essays and "food musings" about Claude's food trips throughout the Philippines and beyond, complete with tips on where to go, how to go, what to order, and even phone numbers and addresses of places. my kind of book!

i see another food, er, road trip in my future.

also met Mary Ann, wife of Claude, who grew up in Mabalacat, which, incidentally, is right down the road from Madapdap.

connections abound.

upsurge

from astro.com:

A noticeable upsurge ***
Valid during several days: Under this very positive influence you will, at least to a certain extent, be able to change your spots. You could confide in a well-meaning person, being able to reveal things that you would otherwise keep to yourself. This influence will also bring you into contact with such a person, or help you to discover someone within your wider circle of friends. Any kind of therapy or treatment will now be particularly beneficial. This is also a good time to begin a new therapy or course of study or further education on the subject. A change of place can have a positive effect as well, and you can be certain that any holiday will now be especially rejuvenating.
This influence is linked to a process of healing or self-healing caused by questioning the meaning of individual and collective suffering. Things which you usually find psychologically or physically embarrassing or painful will now lose some of their gravity. Hidden feelings of being ashamed or inadequate will seem less oppressive, which will help you to accept and see them in a more objective light. You are now more tolerant of your own sensitivities and more prepared than usual to make compromises. If you somehow feel rather sorry for yourself or are prone to self-pity then you may now be better able to let go of such feelings. You can gain new perspectives on things which you usually tend to see in a negative light.


activity period from 17 November 2007 to 26 November 2007.

phew.

Erica and Mary Oliver

got my first mail here at the clinic.
one word.
THRILLING.

what is it about getting real mail?
email is great, don’t get me wrong.

but there is something about getting a real live letter.
that’s just it.
it’s alive.
i can touch it.
feel it.
smell it.
know that the sender also touched this envelope, this paper.
the pen scratched out
these letters
to make words
to make sentences.
to send to me.

it’s visceral.
it’s comforting to know that it touched my friend,
all the way from the other side of the earth.

the mailman came on a motorcycle.
he called out, “Tao po!” at the gate.
“Pasok po,” i answered.
“Villanueva?”
“Opo.” My eyes popping out of my head. One letter! One padded envelope!
“Tatlong beces na pumunta ako dito o.”
“Pasensiya na po. May dalawa? Naku. Maraming salamat po.”

a man passing by (maybe he is my neighbor?) saw the wide smile on my face.
he said something to the mailman about how happy i looked. i think he helped him find the clinic.

masaya talaga.

courtesy of erica, am listening to canon, ani difranco’s latest.
read her letter three, okay, maybe four times.
she included two poems.

When I Am Among the Trees
Mary Oliver

Especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks, and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.
Around me, the trees stir in their leaves and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,
“and you too have come into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.


Messenger
Mary Oliver

The work is loving the world.
Here the sunfowers, there the hummingbird—
equal seekers of sweetness.

Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,

Which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy,
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.



i wrote her back right away.
i enclosed a leaf from a kamias tree in san vicente, in the backyard of a family of furniture makers.
will find the post office tomorrow.
i might beat this letter back to the states.
maybe she’ll get it the same day that we meet for one of our breakfast dates.
i hope so.

slight adjustment

just got back from a 10 day road trip with my friend, Reimon.
was so necessary.
was going to implode.
or worse yet, explode.
or even worse yet, murder.

needed a place and space to move through and transform all of these feelings and frustrations and pains and anger and fears and worries and anxieties that were overwhelming me.

the reality of living in madapdap roughed me up a bit.
needed a safe place to regroup, reground, reset.

we drove all the way to pagudpud, ilocos norte.
i’d never been north of sagada before.
masaya.
from pampanga,
we drove
to banaue (hello Jabbers!)
to bontoc (museum, awesome cordillera music)
to sagada (Lianna, Rodney, Madison, Segrid, Cez, Brian, and River; yogurt house!)
to baguio (vocas, dancing to drums and gongs, kidlat and kawayan; raisin bread!)
to san fernando, la union (greg, agnes; tuna belly!)
to vigan (linens, cobblestone streets, bahay na bato; empanadas and coke!)
to paoay (marcos encased in wax--weird.)
to burgos (lighthouse, alien windmills; bagnet!)
to pagudpud (swim, swim at sunset. delicious ocean.)
then back down again.

reimon is an architect and he was teaching a three week course on architecture to waldorf high school students. amazing creatures, these students. beautiful voices. they sang and sang. compared the sound of different spaces-caves, churches, cliffs, cars, outside, inside, into the wind, windmills... at the very top of the lighthouse, with the sun and the wind and the music, i could have wept for days, it was so transcendentally beautiful.

i’ll remember this trip always.

windows down,
hair blowing all ways,
singing carol king and james ingram at the top of our lungs.
sometimes opera blaring.
sampling all sorts of local delicacies.
first time to eat kamias, straight off the tree.
first time i pulled out my camera in the Philippines.

remembered how to smile.
how to laugh.
how to breathe.
found ease again.
found music.
and connection.

found perspective.
found more clarity.
and moving towards forgiveness.
and soothing my ruffled ego.

on the way down, we saw a motorcycle wreck.
we pulled over to help.
i helped save a man’s life.
funny, how that training kicks in automatically.

airway.
breathing.
pulse.

Reimon, translate for me.

cuts.
wounds.
broken hand. maybe arm.
but, alive.

afterward, i climbed back into the truck, shaking a little.
i remember this feeling, too.
after an ambulance would come to the er.
or a patient’s heart stopped or she stopped breathing in the icu.

it’s the coming down from the adrenaline.
i get so physically tired and my mind shuts down.
it’s like a protective mechanism.
no more trauma please.
it’s when i feel like crumpling into a heap
and sobbing for no reason other than realizing
how strong and fragile we creatures are.

how it all can change so very fast.
and it does move so fast.

i curled into a ball and snuggled into my malong and half listened to Reimon talk about the near car wrecks he has been in, in the same area where we were.
i couldn’t say anything, so i just reached up and gently squeezed his shoulder.

then, he said, “you saved that man’s life.”
right away i said, “no. i didn’t do anything.”

i’m shaking my head and laughing at myself now.

hello?

uh, yes, you did.

WHY do i do that?

maybe it has something to do with not wanting to be mayabang.
or maybe it’s that i don’t want to differentiate myself from everyone else.
(i’m not special or different! i’m just like everyone else, damn it!)
or maybe it’s that i don’t want to fully bear the responsibility of being a healer.

when he regained consciousness,
i looked into that man’s eyes.
he looked into mine.
there was understanding there.
we were talking with no words.
i kept my hand on his shoulder, reassuring him with my touch.

i saw the blood from his wounds, from his mouth.
did he bite his tongue?
who knows how long he was unconscious?
i repositioned him so he could breathe again.
it all moves so fast.
all it took was a slight adjustment.
but, what a significant one.

pasko

mom: bakit? ayaw mo magpasko dito?

me: no, mom, it’s not that. of course not. ano ba?

mom: dapat, magpasko ka dito, sabi ng daddy mo.

me: mom, if you are giving me a ticket there, i’d rather come for cami’s wedding.

mom: matagal pa yun. bakit? ayaw mo magpasko dito? we’re so worried about you. sino ang kasama dyan? saan ka magstay?

me: i’m here in pampanga. mag-isa lang ako. mom, if you are wondering how i am, all you have to ask me. i’ll tell you.

mom: ayaw mo bang magpasko dito?


this is the abridged version.

mercifully, our phone conversation was cut short because, well, i don’t know why really. her phone card ran out yata. i was going to bed. she was just starting her day.

of course i want to go back to the states.
this past week, i’ve been feeling:

miserable.
lonely.
alone.
unsure
unloved.
broke.
broken.
impatient.
scared.
isolative.
isolating.
alienated.
alien.
angry.
hateful.
spiteful.
violent.
petty.
small.
scared.
scared.
scarred.
and
scared.

am i an idiot for turning down a plane ticket back?

at first, i ended up saying no to her right away. then, she kept asking and asking. ultimately, i said, “i’ll just let you know, okay?”

then the phone went silent. call dropped.

so, here i am. sitting with it.

it feels too early to go back.
i’m afraid that if i go back now, i won’t come back here.
i’m afraid that if i go back now, i’ll be setting my journey back significantly.

and, there’s this part of me that aches to go back.
not necessarily because i miss the states.
of course, i miss my peeps there.
it’s just that i miss familiarity.
familiarity connotes safety, however flawed.

i miss feeling safe.
when was the last time i felt that?

ever since i started on my spiritual path, my ego has been a little nervous.
makes sense naman. she is running for her life.

the following morning, i realized that i said “no” automatically. i hadn’t even considered the question. (just how often do i do this?!?) maybe because it came from my mother. and often, i hear demands, instead of questions. so, i mute my ears. and close my heart. it bothered me that she didn’t call back after the call dropped.

i texted my dad.

me: duds, can you or mom call me here? i want to talk about Christmas.

duds: hello Karen, mom will call you today. love, Dad.


five minutes later…


duds: i want you to come home. i miss you so much.

naku. it always catches me off guard when he expresses his feelings with me. kasi, it’s so rare,eh. i can count the number of times on my two hands. and lately, it’s been thru unexpected texts.

then, i realized, i wanted to see him. to hug him. to heal together, in person. touching. to talk with him. to try to talk with him. it's about relationship, being in relationship. also learning how to be close and how to be far and how to be close when far.

me: i know duds. i miss you, too. i think i can go there for Christmas, and then i need to come back here. how does that sound?

duds: ok. what’s left for you to do in the PI? Please send email today.

me: it’s night here, duds. i’ll email bukas. there is still so much for me to learn here AND my heart aches to be away from you. there is purpose to this pain.

out

i want out.
good thing i know that this is just a feeling.
and i am not my feelings.
but, shit.
this is hard.

i don’t even know what to say.
or how to say it.

trying to find my rhythm here.
it’s hard to find, for all the fear.

certainly feeling fear.
and loneliness.
this annhilation space.
i know this place.
it is a place where courage is born.

what did pema say again?

pg.9 when things fall apart
“only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible be found in us.”

finished the warrior book this morning.
potent stuff.
the section on the frontier (aka the Unknown) spoke to me particularly this morning.
pg. 231 the craft of the warrior

“crossing the border into the unknown is always a test of the warrior’s training and skill. confusion and fear usually accompany the warrior and common man alike in crossing the frontier, but how people act after that is key. the ordinary person is likely to be frozen with fear, to be blinded by confusion, and to retreat. the warrior has a momentous skill in that he knows what to do when he does not know what to do. as in the rest of his life, the warrior responds strategically to the situation. his strategy includes the following elements:

1. recognizing that the feelings of confusion and panic mean that he has crossed the frontier. the warriors does not indulge in the feelings but moves beyond them.

2. shifting to higher levels of awarness of self and surroundings. he gathers information about the new situation instead of relying on old data from the known.

3. relying on internal rather than external reference points. he realizes that familiar external landmarks do not exist in the unknown.

4. not-doing of habitual responses. he understands new circumstances call for flexibility and choice.

knowing what to do when you don’t know what to do allows you to journey into the unknown, use expanded perception to enhance your relationship with the universe, and return to the known claiming knowledge as power.

the warrior’s particular path often determines where he crosses into the unknown. Castaneda spoke of the warrior finding and following his path with heart, which means taking a direction that gives meaning and purpose to one’s life. a person is, of course, free to select any path, and all paths ultimately lead to the same end anyway—death. so, it is really a question of how one wants to live…”

so, this annihilation space is not new for me.
dare i say, it’s becoming more familiar.
i recognize it for what it is.
a portal.
an opportunity to shed another layer.
an opportunity to practice discernment.
and compassion.
and goodness, patience.

and patience.

and, hell, some more patience.

darling self, the answers are coming.
you are actually creating them.
co-creating them with the Universe.
you are living them.
remember to smile.
and enjoy the view.
love, love, love yourself.
there is no other way to do this sustainably.

forgive your missteps.
forgive your arrogance.
forgive your fear.
and forgive it in others.

did all my laundry by hand yesterday.
it smells like sunshine and a little like dust.

ate hot pan de sal this morning from the bakery ten steps away from the clinic.

next step to set up the kitchen.
faucet leaks.
roof leaks.
ipis.

off to dau.
(yoga, i’m coming…promise.)

clash of the titans

will this get easier?
is that the point?

peta

romulus d’great. saw it yesterday with oggie. naku. nakatuwa. laughing, laughing. it was good to laugh. the English subtitles hardly did the translation justice. how do you translate an inflection? or the raise of an eyebrow? or the pointing with your lips? or a head toss? or swish of hips? or a deep inhaler pump? or the peppering of everyday, conversational, “street” tagalog? idiomatic expressions, if you want to get technical. my first play here in the Philippines. certainly not my last.

i understand the immediacy of the theater. or at least i am beginning to. can see why it connects people. can see how it can speak to the masses. why it should even. how it could really play a central role in the Philippine revolution. the relationship between stage people and audience is palpable. can see why as an actor, the stage is more real. how film can be plastic. literally and figuratively. krystal and i will eventually do our two woman show. looking forward to that. my latent thespian will finally get a chance to claim her place.

vajra hell

the last few weeks, i have been synthesizing a lot of learnings, amidst grief and explosions.

the weeklong seminar with niconar perlas at st. scho’s helped. freedom. kalayaan. at the end of the day, this is what it is about. it has to be. otherwise my work does not come from sustainable place. it won’t come from an authentic place.

and if we are not aware of this responsibility, then we are planting the seeds of violence. and if we are aware of this and not taking steps toward owning that responsibility, then we are lost indeed.

vajra hell.

and if we are aware of this responsibility, moving towards embodying it with every action, with every intention, loving ourselves through the highs and lows, through the triumphs and the failures, especially the failures, well then, kapatid kita.

the seminar, the grief, the processing, the witnessing, the holding patterns, the laughter, the bonding, the reading, the emails, the frustration, the coping, the eating, the reflecting, the singing, the listening, the hearing, the worry, the release, the brooding, they have led me here to this point.

and this is a good place to be. i really am a weaver.

my most creative moments are in the early morning.
it has always been like that.
in cultivating a creative life, i’ll take care to remember this.

kalayaan

i have a free relationship with innerdance.
i have a free relationship with spiritual science.
i have a free relationship with fearless meditation.

that is the difference.
it was not always that way.
it's been a journey, a lakaran, a process.

a holding tight, tight.
and a willing release.

not a careless casting off ha.
a thoughtful release.
a reverent release.
one that is close enough so that, when appropriate, the teachings can be called upon.
and, one that is far enough to allow for proper perspective.

kapwa.
i see the other in myself.
i see myself in the other.

i see the challenges that Kalipimu is struggling with. takes one to know one. it is a good mirror. it wasn’t that long ago that i was in that same boat. or at least a very similar one. to apparently stumble upon such a profound practice. to allow it inside. to embody it. to allow it to transform you. shedding off masks that no longer serve. it's like you don't know where it ends and you begin. it's easy to get lost in the gratitude and the speed and the form. and the politics. and the personalities. and the politics of personalities. it is easy to hold disdain for the group process.

eternally grateful to my Center. relationship!!! my warriorship training continues to help guide me. this fearless life i lead did not happen by accident. and despite my deep, deep love and appreciation for my Center, i intuitively, i knew i had to leave it. honestly, it was like i needed to know that i could. that i would allow myself. that i would love myself that much. that i would love my Center that much.

in a way, i think i was getting too comfortable. could rest on my laurels even. i could have stayed. and could have continued doing amazing, amazing work. noble work. could have been lulled into believing that i had found paradise. to the untrained eye, everything would appear smooth, perfect.

and there would be this part of me that would wonder...
are you here because you want to be here?
are you here because you are scared to venture out?
are you using your spiritual practice as another way to distract?

i remember there was an internal negotiation.

karen:
you could stay. noble work is being done, right? it will be so hard for everyone if you go. just stay. your Community needs you. your Teacher needs you. the Center is at a critical point. stay. stay. stay. you know how this goes. it's safe here.

Muki:
yes, you could stay. and then what? what are you avoiding, dearest? there is something for us in the philippines. there is no shortage of noble work to be done. the pain you will feel in leaving is the suffering that leads to freedom. the pain you will feel and cause in staying out of fear is the suffering that leads to more suffering. you know what to do. you even know that you can do it well. this is a good teaching for you. this is a good teaching for the Community. think, dearest, when you return, it will indeed be from a powerful place. you will return of your own volition. it will be because you freely chose it. this is how revolutions are sustained. it is a burn that starts slow, low. little by little. tend this fire carefully and patiently, so that it can burn bright and true and long. master this art of firetending.

Inang Bayan has called me here to learn this, too. upon taking my leave, she encouraged me to do it responsibly.

she asked,
“can you even leave? Muki, can you leave this Home? this place where your formal spiritual training has incarnated? where you have a Sangha that can hold you? where you have a Teacher who will never leave you? where you have a strong and sound container for Practice? where you are already seen as a leader, a healer? can you leave as your Community approaches a milestone point in her evolution?”

i remember thinking,
“Ina, i don’t know if i can leave, though every fiber in my body says it is time to try. i know that warriorship is my path. the Mitra said that there are many ways down the mountain. that the whole point is NOT to reach the top and stay there. after reaching the pinnacle, a bodhisattva comes back down to point the way. i only know one way. and, if i am to become a Teacher, too, it would serve to know what other paths exist. so, yes, Ina, i can leave. it is time for me to do so.”

she said,
“can you leave well? can you honor yourself, the Dharma, your Teacher, your Sangha by leading by example? can you be honest about your process? transparent, even? can you privilege being in relationship above all else? can you hand over your responsibilities in a good way? can you find the courage within you to say the things that need to be said and hold things that need to be held? can you tolerate the pain of separating from these precious Beings? can you tolerate the pain others feel as you leave? can you learn to trust the wisdom teachings offered to you by your Community with humility, with grace?”

i answered,
“Ina, i am determined to leave well. it is painful, yes. this is an important teaching; otherwise, my spirituality will be my new prison. Mitra has always said to self liberate, even from the antidote.”

self liberate, even from the antidote.
i feel like i've finally arrived in the Philippines.


***
note:
Muki is my nickname at my Center.
it is short for Muktayani, which means "vehicle of freedom" in sanskrit.
this dharma name was given to me by my Teacher when i formally took up the Student Path.

Vitality

from astro.com:

Valid during many months: This influence stimulates your physical vitality, giving you the chance to work hard and accomplish much. Your health is good during this time, and you are able to approach everything you do with vigor and self-confidence. And this carries over to the psychological level as well, as an ability to assert yourself toward others and stand up for your views in any controversy. New opportunities to be personally effective often open up under this influence. For example, in your job you might get a chance to take on an important responsibility, which will lead later to a promotion or increased salary. This is a good time to demonstrate that you can work on your own and do it well. But you can also work with groups now, because your energies complement the group's energies.

activity period from 17 October 2007 until end of March 2008.

Madapdap, here i come!

glorietta 2

a bomb went off in makati yesterday. it happened at the mall near shangri-la. it happened while i was at my friend, rowell's, voice recital at UST. while i was feeling swoozy and wooed, temporarily transported to the world of spurned lovers and longing, a bomb ripped through three floors, killing nine, wounding more than a hundred.

oblivious of this, and still high from the concert afterwards, another friend, reimon, and his family dropped me off in quiapo.

i wanted to go to the bead store. i had gone there once before with ged.

for those that don't know, quiapo is a bit of a madhouse. it's a mass of outdoor stands that sell everything from herbs, to fish, to pirated dvds, porn, santo ninos, anting-anting, flowers, fruits, vegetables, underwear, plates, pots, pans, tabos, jewelry, baskets, bags, dishtowels, tsinelas... basically, anything that you may need and more of what you don't, you can find at quiapo.

it is teaming with people and vendors and palm readers. and pickpockets. and beggers. and life. in addition to the stands, there are stores selling electronics, plumbing, eyeglasses, cellphones, umbrellas...

the air is thick with smoke and smog. there are vendors selling all sorts of candles outside of quiapo church. each color means something. some are the shape of people. people buy color combos depending on what they are praying for. the people shaped ones, i think, are used in determining what parts of a person's body is ailing. or is it that when you burn them, the illness is, in effect, burned off, helping a person to heal?

anyway, there are dozens of candle vendors, burning candles that give off thick black smoke. the streets are jammed busy with jeeps and cars billowing out black diesel exhaust. depending on where you are, you are lucky if you can smell the sweet sampaguita wreath "necklaces." or sometimes it is the sharp tang of bangus marinated in vinegar and garlic. or the thick oily smell of frying calamares and fish balls. and sweat. and melting wax. and diesel fumes. horns honking. motorcycles rumbling. catholic mass blaring from the speakers outside the church. the cd stalls blaring the latest pop songs. the dvd stalls blaring the latest movies.

bodies bumping up against each other.
(is my wallet still there?)
often, my senses feel assaulted.

trash litters the sidewalks and gutters. half crushed plastic cups with a few strings of buko stubbornly hanging on, candy wrappers, cigarette butts, banana peels, discarded bamboo skewers still slick from oil and flavored suka, plastic bags of every color...

i had no idea where the bead store was. i wandered the streets for a bit. nothing looked familiar. my backpack was a frontpack, as it always is in quiapo or on the mrt or lrt. street after crooked street lined with stalls. i thought, if i get lost, i just need to find my way back to the church. kids playing in the street. women chatting. men staring. tricycles, pedicabs, taxis, cars, weaving in out pedestrian traffic. no street signs. they wouldn't help anyway.

after twenty minutes of wandering off in the wrong direction, i found my way back to the church and started over. don't ask me how, but amidst all the chaos, i ended up finding the bead store. milagro!

bought some beads and things. am determined to learn how to bead. it's the main livelihood project for the mothers in madapdap. must be a billion beads in this place. all kinds. pearls. wood. glass. crystal. agates. rocks. silver. brass. plastic. all shapes, sizes, colors. and then there's the different clasps. and wires. and fasteners. and crimps. and chains. and i don't know even all the names of the things that i saw. i was laughing because i was buying this stuff and i don't even know how it all fits together, yet. ah well, that's how my life is here. jump in the middle, find a beginning, a new middle, and then an end. will assemble all the parts, make do, and weave it all together. that feels familiar, too.

while i was perusing all of this, my friend alan, texted. hadn't seen him in four months. he's been so busy with film school.
while deciding between this shade pink or that shade brown, we agreed to meet up for dinner. this is all done by text. at a minimum, it's at least six back and forths.

after negotiating, we decided to meet at greens in quezon city. we considered cubao. we considered makati.

after figuring out the underground passageways and figuring which jeep to take back to quezon city, wondering how long it will take me to get to greens at 5pm on a friday, i settled into my seat.

then alan texted, "good thing we didn't go to makati. there was a bombing at glorietta. 7 dead, 80 injured."

i felt sick.
my throat was already dry.

i felt scared.
i looked around.
mind racing.

naku. bombing. it's so close. i could have been there today. wait, wasn't reimon and his family going there after they dropped me off? god, i hope not. what about gayia? and rofel? i was just there not two weeks ago, eating thai food with nathanel and troy. shit, i was just at quiapo. if there were a bombing there...naku. mass casualties.

i looked around at my fellow passengers. did anyone know what had happened? everyone looked, well, tired. it was 5pm on a friday. paranoia started sinking in. i have to get out of manila. the province is looking better and better. who is on this jeep with me? i sized everyone up. looked at their packages. what's in that bag? what about that box? are you a bomber? are you going to hurt me? don't want to be out in public. it's not safe. maybe i should cancel dinner with alan. naku. it's not safe. i'm not safe.

stop.
please.
please stop.

this is not useful.
getting lost or being swept away in this line of paranoid inquiry will not help anyone, anything...
it is the suffering that leads to more suffering.

exhale.

i went to dinner. alan and i caught each other up on our lives. we talked briefly about the bombing. around it actually. i texted my friend reimon. he texted back that he and his family are fine.

still moving through these feelings about what has happened.

there's talk that the bomb was made of C4 explosive, whose access is limited only to the philippine military here. there is talk that the bomb was planted by the government because of all the scrutiny that malacanang has been under this week regarding bribes and corruption in congress.

who knows?
i don't.

this bombing feels awfully close though.
closer than usual.
closer than i'm used to.
so, this is what that feels like.

Cez

been doing a lot of reading on warriorship lately. ironically, picked up a this book, "The Craft of the Warrior," by Robert L. Spencer, here in the Philippines, though it was published in Berkeley, CA. good stuff. familiar. getting that feeling again that affirming, confirming feeling again.
yes, dearest, everything in our your life has led you here.
right here to this point.
yep, everything. all of it. everything. all of it. everything. all of it.

feeling particularly restless this morning. emotional. undisciplined. like a trapped butterfly or hummingbird is in my chest. fluttering wings. attempts to break out. meeting resistance. temporarily stunned by the impact of hitting the wall everytime. getting up again. and, with each successive failed attempt, fluttering becomes less robust. tired.

am i the wall?
the butterfly?
the hummingbird?
the space in between?
the fatigue?
the getting up again?
the vessel?
the relationship between all of them?
yes.
everything.
all of it.

ugh. feel like sobbing.
and making a scene.
want everyone around me to know how this fluttering is difficult for me.
not only that, want them to suffer with me.

what is the teaching here?
what is it my body is trying to tell me?

have many emails to answer. many people i love are reaching out. want to connect, and i'm afraid to write them when i'm feeling this way. don't need to subject them to this. it's not that i have an image to protect. i just can't share this fluttering, in this moment, in a useful way. don't need to make my scene, their scene. that would be the suffering that leads to more suffering, and i will not participate in that. not anymore.

also, have a grant to write.
also, have a recital to attend.
also, have to get out of this duster.

skyped a few of the heavies this morning. the usual ones i turn to for comfort, solace.
not home.
not answering.
can't talk.

teachings here, too.
trying to use them to distract myself from this fluttering uneasiness.
dis-ease.

it was in the middle of a five minute conversation with my sister, Kath, that i realized that i was trying to distract myself from feeling these difficult feelings. trying to guise it in an innocent reaching out to my peeps.

that's when Cez, texted, out of the blue, "how've you been?"

stunned.
it was at that exact moment that i realized what i was doing.
those two events coincided.
syncronicity astounds.

texted back to her, "hello dear one. funny you should ask... caught me in a moment of self-doubt and trepidation. this will pass...trying to enjoy it even and find the teaching in it. how are you? where are you? singapore? love you and appreciate your reaching out."

notice: still trying to distract myself by asking about her.
she didn't take the bait, though.

she answered, "haha! felt something was up with you! good to be in moments of the abyss. there are angels around you dear friend. breathe gently."

and so, here.
the fluttering abated.
just a slight soreness for its absence.
(do i miss it?)
and an ache in my liver that is also dissolving.
then a tightness in my stomach.
go, go, friends.
until next time.
breathing gently, i feel these aches and pains melt away.
and i really do appreciate the fingerprints they leave on my consciousness.

thank you Cez.

transition is the norm.

"life is so precious. we can't waste a moment. whatever you are doing
right now, may it be in service of truly living your purpose. may it
be done with love, kindness, fierce compassion, honesty, and
integrity. may all our actions always come from this place."

i said that after my doggy, Rosie, died in 2006.

been moving through a lot of grief lately.
i marvel at how rich my life is.

had to say goodbye to some dear friends the other day.
justin went back to new york.
nathanel went to the visayas.
troy is off to spain and morocco.
joy to rizal province soon.
me off to pampanga maybe next week.

it was so painful because the connections are so very deep.

i've done this before.
when i moved to the Philippines, saying goodbye to my New Dharma Community was so very painful. and so very sweet.
i know this sweet painful place.

i think about my impromptu breakfast dates with my friend, Erica, right before i left. how we would talk about this grown-up kind of pain. this grown up kind of love over omelettes or arizmendi's. how short our time was together this time round. and so enriching.

i think about my friend, Vas, who was the first.
actually, a flood of images come to my brain.
they are all people.
all relationships.

this is what matters.
connections.
relationships.

how many dying people have i cared for in my life?
many.

when they are laying in their beds, dying, they aren't talking about their cars.
or their houses.
or their jewelry.
or their money.

they are talking about people they loved
people they love.
people they've wronged.
family.
kids.
lovers.
the regrets that they talk about are about the things left unsaid.
or the paths not taken.

how i used to hate working night shift in the icu.
sleep deprivation and depression proved not a good combo.

i appreciate those times now.
it is such an honor to be with people when they are at their most vulnerable.
to be let in, even if it is difficult or not wanted.
will never do shift work ever again, though, nights or otherwise.

how i used to hate being a nurse.
had so many beefs with my profession.
the back-biting. the passive aggression. the horizontal violence.

i appreciate that i am a nurse now.
i help people heal themselves.
am embracing my profession where she's at and will continue to help her move in the direction of wholeness.

if i hadn't gone through that experience, perhaps i wouldn't appreciate
how precious life is.
how precious relationships are.
how important it is to love and be loved.
how important it is to be impeccable.
how nothing lasts.
so enjoy it.
all of it.
don't waste time and energy picking and choosing.
all of it.

constant transition.
consistent transition.

i think it was my friend joseph that once wrote about enjoying the liminal spaces in his life.
tamang tama 'yun.

transition is the norm.
transition is the norm.
transition is the norm.

ipis, revisited

saw an ipis outside of troy's room the other day.
didn't stomp on it.

just regarded it.
and walked on by.

whew.

if it were in his room, how would i react differently?

ipis

why do i hate cockroaches so much? specifically, ipis. the cockroaches here are pretty big. the size of hmmm, what? the size of your thumb. or the size of one of my eyeglass lenses. or the size of two quail eggs, end to end. and they are fast, too. whenever i see one, i kill it. automatically.

when i see one, it's like an alarm goes off in my head. a panic. i'm amused as i type this now, the absurdity of it. but in the moment, it's like i really go a bit crazy. berserker fashion. my knee-jerk response is to kill. and kill like my life depended on it. where does this response come from? did it come from me? is there something about ipis that reflects parts of myself that i abhor? is this evolutionary? is it inherited? from who? is it bugs, in general? what?

i associate ipis with being dirty. or disease carrying. googled them and yes, indeed they are potential vectors for disease. they also are a contributing cause for asthma in children who live in urban areas. but, this urge to obliterate them goes deeper, i think.

there is something in me that detests them. i'm afraid of them, too. is that it?

i moved most of my things to the clinic earlier this week. i didn't move in all the way because the water hasn't been connected yet. i walked into the kitchen area, and there were ten ipis on the wall. i froze. never met a whole gang of them before. and then, they were on the wall, not on the floor. and then i thought, "naku. there's not even any food in this kitchen yet..." and then i thought, "shit, i'm supposed to leave all my stuff here."

the way most people get rid of ipis here in the philippines is to spray chemical pesticides. after three stores, i found some and bought a can and sprayed. i don't like using chemicals. and it made me nervous that the directions on the can said something like spray and then run. don't inhale the fumes. wash your hands with soap, etc. etc.

so, i sprayed the gang of ten. they scattered and then turned over on their backs, dying. i think i read somewhere that pesticide is neurotoxin. it was terrible watching them die. they looked like they were in pain. a couple i just squashed because they were taking so long to die. this whole affair was disturbing for me, and in the same disturbing vein, the smell of the stuff is actually faintly pleasant. there's a lot there.

and then, as the ten scattered, i could hear the fifty that were hiding in cracks and crevices start running for their lives. i could hear them on the roof. then there was a wave of them that came down from the roof into the kitchen. i sprayed and sprayed. it was getting more and more personal.

so, i killed a ton of ipis. i feel badly about it. it's launched me into this thinking process about arrogance and chemicals. i wonder how we can co-exist in this clinic. this clinic is a healing center of sorts. my primary clients are children. children with cerebral palsy, a neuromuscular condition. they have cerebral palsy because of their exposure to toxic waste left by the american military.

how have i contributed to the violence in the world by using this spray? how much damage can be unlearned by my moving through this process? how much more if i share it with you?

sleep, interrupted

i’ve been feeling ill the last three days. fever, chills, diarrhea. also, on my moon…this doesn’t help things. or maybe it does. double cleansing. triple cleansing if you count the diarrhea. (note: i do.)

what is illness?

surely, it is more than a pathogen invading, setting up house. homeostasis? i think it’s even more than the body trying to regain her optimal status quo. there’s also context to consider, right? i’m learning, there is always context to consider.

the last time i had a fever and felt ill, it was before our pilgrimage to Mt. Banahaw. had fitful sleep, fever, chills. and one night, i had the same dream over and over again. and i tossed and turned all night.

i remember feeling worried that i would not be well enough to go. i had missed this trip last year because i was having surgery to repair my Achilles tendon. (another sort of pilgrimage, for sure.) i so wanted to go and simultaneously decided that if Spirit decides this is my time to go, i’d be well enough to go.

my fever broke the night before we left. and it broke my heart wider and wider open. i was so scared. the analytical nurse in me thought, “what is this? what is happening to me?” as i logically ran down the pathophysiology of every major cardiopulmonary disorder that i could think of, including major signs and symptoms, risk factors, treatments, etc.

another part of me, the panicking part, was screaming, hysterical. “SCREAM! DO SOMETHING!!! YOU CAN’T JUST LIE THERE!! WE ARE GOING TO DIE!!! GET HELP! GO TO THE HOSPITAL!!! WE ARE GOING TO DIE!!!”

another part of me, the larger Me, was like, “stay present, dearest. wowee, this hurts, doesn’t it? there’s a reason for this pain. i’m here. i won’t leave you. i feel it, too. you are not alone.”

so, i stayed present. and i cried. masakit eh. it was like invisible hands were trying to widen a space in my chest, clear it out of what was no longer needed. fingers were probing and poking an already sore heart, touching the wounds that are already there, even making new ones. i didn’t get the sense that this was done out of malice. it was more purposeful. it was for me, for my healing. for my growth. i realize now, some months later, these hands were removing colonial vines that had wrapped my heart and choked my heartspace. thank you, my celestial Gardener.

i don’t know how long this lasted. maybe 10 minutes. but, who knows? i can’t even remember if Ged was with me that night. as fast as it came, it stopped. she left. she took my fever with her. i wiped my tears, exhaled. with trembling hands, i sipped some water. gave silent thanks to the Gardener. tears of relief wet the corners of my eyes. i let them be. i had survived it. and i felt a coolness now. and a stillness. and i slept.

the following morning, i packed for Mt. Banahaw, and feeling dizzy, weak, and unsure, i made my first pilgrimage there.

on texting

am noticing how i can jump to conclusions so easily. how important tone is and visual cues. how much i rely on reading body language, energy.

have been conducting a lot of business via texting. sometimes, it’s hard for me because my biases and neuroses can (and often do) color the way i read something. there’s a lot for me to look at there. (leaning in, Mitra!)

is so and so mad? annoyed? how mad? how annoyed? for what? because of that one thing? that one that one time? or that other thing that other time?

ugh. round and and round, an exercise in futility.
‘til i say, wait.

stop.

be still.

exhale.

where is this coming from?

read the text again.

what does it actually say?

what did i think it said?

what do i think it says now?

what does it actually say?

am also noticing my process. this is an old, old hurty. and she is healing. from the inside out. takes time. and willingness. and patience. and humility. and time.

then, there’s the whole texting etiquette to master. when to reply. when not to reply. when to ignore. once in a while, i get random texts. last night’s, “lyk u daw kamote? na dahon?” (ignore.)

Jim sent me a package of documents from the states. i had him send it to the TOS office, since i’ve been between addresses. the dhl delivery guy and i exchanged umpteen texts regarding directions and delivery instructions because i wasn’t going to be there. after he delivered the package to the office, he texted back, introducing himself. “ako po si noli. pwede tayo maging friends?” (ignore. though, have to admit was intrigued.)

then there’s also texting language.
chocol8 = chocolate
cge = sige
tau = tayo
gud am = good morning

those are easy ones. tagalog text language. naku. palagi, nalilito ako. sometimes, even when i show native tagalog speakers some of these texts, they can’t even decipher them. then, i don’t feel so bad.

Vas

"tell me something i don't know about you," sabi niya.

outside: super tahimik ako. my mind goes blank.

inside: darling friend, what about me don't you know?

that was hours ago, and i still have nothing...

on jeeps

some are old. some have little holes the size of mongo beans in the floor. can watch the asphalt as we speed along. the sun shines through them, too. some have fancy "pleather" upolstored headliners and cushy seats. it seems that lots of marikina ones have these crazy stereo systems that blast, even at 7am. we are jammed inside. the passengers. kids. old. young. couples. families. touching. sometimes, one butt cheek on. one off.

power ballads. OPM. evanescence, the other day..."bring me to life." the music so loud it vibrates the fillings in my molars, eardrums feel like they are getting stabbed by hot pins. chest pounds with the base. ace of base, in fact this morning..."don't turn around..." (like you could!)

can't even yell "para po!" to stop. have to pull the string that lights up the light. then the driver jerks the jeep to the right. bodies flying. collect my thoughts. collect my bags. stumble out. the jeep starts moving away, as my foot alights. yay. another ride survived. i smile, grateful. bodies always close by. this helps soothe my crave for touch, i think.

when it rains, the driver askes the passengers to help unfurl the plastic to cover the open windows. it flaps in the wind. and paminsan, sprays of raindrops find their way inside. the plastic also traps the smell of exhaust inside the jeep, so i am grateful for the flapping and the occasional spray. never ceases to appall me to blow my nose at the end of the day. the tissue shows black.

the noise gets to me. music is fine, as long as i can sing along most of the time. but often there is this canned laughter and the annoying radio personalities telling crass jokes. it would be fine if they weren't so LOUD. actually, no, they are pretty annoying. it's this laugh track that they play that gets me. like a munchkin on acid, after sucking down some helium.

perfecting the art of the jeepney slouch-it's a way of positioning myself so i can see out the windows to see where we are going. the windows are small. and low. the jeep is packed. the music is loud. we go very fast. landmarks whiz by. street signs unreadable. it's an adventure everytime.

and it's fun.
even when it isn't.

Kapwa

so, i'm reading this book, "Kapwa: The Self in the Other," written by Katrin de Guia.

so affirming.
thanks Universe.
have not met Katrin...yet.
looking forward to that day.

underlining like crazy. (shocking, i know)
reminds me of when i read Leny's "Coming Full Circle."
how to describe this feeling?
it's like a knowing...affirmed. confirmed. re-membered.
no separation.

from pg. 176
"one metaphor often used to describe the Filipino is the onion: so many layers of cultural influences, one over the other. what the metaphor does not tell is that the center of the onion hides the bulb's propensity for growth. those who peel the onion, as the metaphor wants us to do, hardly ever reach the innermost core becaue the peeler cannot take all the crying it entails."

bearing discomfort. cultivating the propensity, the capacity to bear discomfort. this is warriorship. willingness to shed the mask. be. not act. show my soft parts. the parts i don't normally show. vulnerablity. tears. emotion. if i feel it, i say it. or text it, as the case may be. i have no time to waste. every precious moment counts. every word counts. every effort to connect counts. Mitra said, as i took my leave, " whatever stands between you and your Awakening, lean into it." that means actually sometimes (often actually) seeking discomfort out. of course appropriately, and not indulging in martyrdom. it's good to be alive. it's good to be living. jyesss.

from pg. 209
"the thing about a calling is that it has a lot to do with discovering one's purpose in life, finding that exceptional task that matches one's talents and then mustering the courage to pursue it. however, callings do not usually grow by the roadside like pretty flowers, ready to be picked. the price for this kind of knowing, often painful, is the cost of transformation. the stumbling stones in life have possibly more to do with our mission. things that jolt us from the straight road of habit and spin us unto an entirely new directions where the mind screams, "No!" but deep down inside this new direction feels right! mastering the pain and the confusion that accompany change provides us with a new strength that makes us feel that we can do anything. and suddenly we have a new sense of direction. we know why we are here and where we are going."

my mind has often screamed out, "No!" not as much as she used to, though. allowing myself to be led further and further down the rabbit hole. developing a new sense of direction. figuring out why i am here. finding where i am going. it's a process.

i live in marikina presently.
on kapwa street, in fact.
lot 21.
block 9.

at the end of my block is dragon street.
the dragon is my Teacher's totem animal.
will take a picture of that corner signpost.
it is a reminder of how i am loved.
how i am held.
how i love.
how i hold.

good stuff.

ang Mitra ko

"the work of true integration is messy business: things often
don't work out as planned, as expected, as hoped for. all we
can do is take the information we receive and fold it into our
learning journey. indeed, it is the fact that we here at the Center
are afforded this opportunity to mis-step, discover that we are
redeemable...that we are still loved, that empowers us not towards
accomplishment and acheivement driven by externally-given
instructions & values, but towards the profound transformation of
self-acceptance, self-responsibility and finally, incontravertible,
unwavering, enduring self-love."

-Rev. angel Kyodo williams


my Teacher is the shit.

Uncomfortable questions

from astro.com for saturday:

Valid during several weeks: At this time you may try to come to a rational understanding of painful episodes in your life. You may ask critical and uncomfortable questions. Were all the rejections and dismissals and the scars they left behind really necessary? Is there such a thing as meaningless suffering? By asking these questions you try to come to terms with both your own and others' pain and suffering. We all have to deal with them, because life will confront us with such problems again and again. And even if old psychological wounds cannot be healed by asking probing questions or by analysing them, it is natural and necessary that your intellect refuses to accept this. These are questions that you can only ask yourself, as others may find them unsettling and hurtful.

innerdance

have been dancing. feels so good to be in my body. to have a body. to allow her to move as she likes. as she wants. was it fe that said, "remember that it is the dance that connects us." connects us. us to each other. ang mga babaylan. connects us to the land. to Spirit.

ginhawa, come. stay. welcome.

went to a book launch earlier this week at PETA. fun, fun. dance. music. healing. there were a lot of musicians there. drums and gongs. and guitars. sang and laughed. and laughed. the circle of people kept expanding. there's always room with a circle. expands and contracts as appropriate. make it wider. there's room. one glance 'round and can feel the instant connection. can huddle in closer when needed, too. contract, when it is time. all in good time.

will meet Pi this weekend.
everything will change...again.

okay.
/|\

outlets

there has been so much happening. can hardly keep up. nothing new here. spent most of the morning calling (skypeing, actually) my favorite peeps in the states.

bittersweet there. mostly sweet.

and…
i'm reminded how much i miss them.
how much i miss seeing them.
sitting with them.
laughing with them.
eating with them.
talking with them.
hugging them.
kissing them.
holding them.
being held by them.

i'm sitting at cafe xocolat. free wifi, yummy hot chocolate. it's been my hangout spot lately.
funny, reminds of Bittersweet in Oakland.
i don’t even remember the street or the neighborhood.
Rock something. Rockwell? Rockwood? Rock something.

anyway, when i was climbing into the jeep this morning, i thought, i could just pack up and go back to the states. i really could. it would be easy. buy the ticket with a credit card. pack up and bid farewell to the Philippines.

a few seconds later...
i realize that no, no sweet self.
not yet.
there is more for you to do here.
it's just getting interesting.

um.
it's been interesting.
wait, by interesting, do you mean…
crazy?
unsettling?
disturbing?
fast?
noisy?
erratic?
challenging?
unexpected?
heartbreaking?

yes.

and joyful.
and ecstatic.
and adventurous.
and fun.
and funny.
and rich.
and edgy.
and stretchy.

and, well, everything that i need…
to Awaken.

i've found myself in all sorts of situations.
the fake it 'til you make it kind.
no stranger to this.
ebb and flow.
very Pinoy.
taking cues from my environment.

will be moving to Pampanga soon.
i’ll be a director of a clinic.
it’s more than a clinic, actually.

it’s another Center.

physical therapy for the children who have cerebral palsy from the toxic waste left by the American military that poisoned the soil, the land, the water.
the disabled will walk!

livelihood projects for their parents. will be learning to bead and make jewelry along with the mothers. while their kids get stretched and pulled and strengthened, we will be beading. lariats, bracelets, necklaces, bag charms. beads, beads.
the disempowered will empower themselves towards sustainability!

health education lectures to the community. on breastfeeding. on natural medicine. on home remedies. on hygiene. on nutrition.
the community will heal!

cataract screenings for the community as well. will help them get connected with an opthalmic surgeon who can provide this surgery for the cost of the medications. 3000 pesos, rather than 30,000 pesos.
the blind will see!

i’ll be doing all of this.
it’s a lot.
no wonder i’m freaking out.

the renovations for the clinic are underway. a lot of my energies have been invested there. meeting with the carpenter. drawing out plans. listing down materials. costing them out. buying them. hustling for money.

feels familiar.
making something out of nothing.

the other day, i woke up realizing that i need to decide where the electrical outlets go. i’ve never had to decide where electrical outlets have to go before.
i’ve always just worked with what was there.
or let someone else make the decision.
wouldn’t someone else be better qualified to make such decisions?
i'm "just a nurse."

nope.
it’s me.
feels weird.
and, it is part of my evolution, my revolution, my path.

i am creating my life.
sometimes i don’t get to decide where the outlets go.
i know that i can work with whatever is there.
sometimes, i do get to decide.
and that, for me, is scarier.

what if fuck up?
gasp.

then, i fuck up.
and i have to work with what’s there.
(remember? you know how to do that…)
then, i learn…for the next time.
because, there will be a next time.

this is just the beginning.
practice.
Practice.

Neneng

Tita Hannah asked me this morning, "Neng, if you weren't a nurse, what would you be?" Sabi ko, "i'd be an artist, Tita." Sabi niya, "why aren't you doing art,then?"

good question.

sexy fruit

have been eating a lot of fruit lately. sexy fruit actually. like mangosteen. there's something about the color of the inside "shell." this shockingly bright magenta. it mesmorizes me, and i'm grateful to see it everytime. my eyes are immediately drawn in deep. such a contrast to the dull dusty purple outside. i don't mind that it stains my hands sometimes. often.

i love the soft crunch sound that i feel when i crack the mangosteen open. it just takes a slight twist of the wrist and it's like a whole world is yielded to me.

amidst all of that pink-magenta, the round sections of bright white are nestled, a perfect fit. my favorites are the little sections with no seeds. i pop them into my mouth, let my tongue feel their smoothness, and delight at the sweet and earthy tang of their juice.

guayobano is another one. bought one three days ago. it's been ripening on the counter. hard, dull green transformed to a soft and accomodating greenish charcoal. insides are also white, though creamy white.

i pull of sections of it very easily off the skin. milky colored juice runs down the inside of my forearm. tangy sweetness again, though this time with a brightness that tastes faintly of green apples.

i love the bright black shiny seeds encapsulated in that fibrous flesh. they are so pretty and smooth. i line them up like lovers.

christ year

turned 33 the other day. so far, so good. feeling more settled, in a way. meaning to say...well, i don't know really what i'm meaning to say. but i am feeling more comfortable with uncertainty. self doubt demons are taking a nap. (cue: lullaby music here!)

in the last two weeks, i must have met something like 15 remarkable people. strange and then again not really.
people on their paths. parallel and different. good to look up and see others doing their work. grateful for the times that our paths intersect, criss, cross, then criss again.

have been at a crossroads around what to do next in terms of livelihood and service. it's starting to come into sharper and sharper focus.

well, parts are anyway.
more on this later...

been reading

been reading. in the middle/beginning of something like 5 books. hmm, perhaps this contributes to my feeling scattered?

from my friend cez nunez-uhing's article, “seeds" from the philippine positive news newsletter...

"from mere thought the true human being is capable of realizing and creating. perhaps this is now how we are able to claim our divine nature when we humans choose our higher selves.

when we choose to slip past our identities in our life-roles, i think our journeys become both an interesting and painful one. we work with a thought, a fleeting feeling. and it becomes a secret for awhile that requires an understanding of time. we become gardeners of impulses. we allow a fruit to ripen, waiting, until it falls off a tree.

the challenge is to observe, to listen, and give space so that the unspoken questions behind a dream may unravel into answers. visions are in a way similar to children. they must be allowed to live out their own courses and our job is to nurture, to tend, and maybe at times, to prune."

from karen armstrong’s introduction to The Great Transformation: the beginning of our religious traditions:

"perhaps every generation believes that it has reached a turning point of history, but our problems seem particularly intractable and our future increasingly uncertain. many of our difficulties mask a deeper spiritual crisis. during the twentieth century, we saw the eruption of violence on an unprecedented scale. sadly, our ability to harm and mutilate one another has kept pace with our extraordinary economic and scientific progress. we seem to lack the wisdom to hold our aggression in check and keep it within safe and appropriate bounds. the explosion of he first atomic bombs over Hiroshima and Nagasaki laid bare the nihilistic self-destruction at the heart of the brilliant achievements of our modern culture. we risk environmental catastrophe because we no longer see the earth as holy but regard it simply as a 'resource.' unless there is some kind of spiritual revolution that can keep abreast of our technological genius, it is unlikely that we will save our planet. a purely rational education will not suffice…"

randolf david wrote in the introduction to Kapwa: the self in the other by katrin de guia:

"successive crises in the Filipino nation’s life have led many thoughtful analysts to suspect that the country’s main problem could be the dysfunctionality of the entire institutional system. this system, largely borrowed and imposed from without, has failed to spring roots in the soul of the people. instead of drawing strength from the local milieu, it arrogantly asserts its superiority by a system of sanctions and ideological rationalizations.

in the name of modern nationhood, it has suppressed native sensibility it continues to denigrate traditional folkways and wisdom in the name of global cosmopolitanism. what it could not colonize, however, has survived in the margins as a fugitive sensibility.

this “subaltern” Filipino worldview has taken refuge in the mystical practices of millenarian cults and faith healers, and in the ironic imagination of a few exemplary culture-bearing local artists. But, it remains elusive as a shadow.

it is the subject of katrin de guia’s book. the history of its successive escapes is written in the footnotes of many attempts to capture it by the normalizing methods of positivist social analysis. typical of the later are the various studies on values that stand on the tacit assumption that existing Filipino culture is an obstacle to economic and social progress and therefore needs to be modified if not altogether erased.

de Guia’s book proceeds the contrary view that far from being pernicious, the indigenous worldview of the Filipino is life-enhancing. it connects people to one another; it is their first and last line of defense against meaninglessness and disintegration. it is the fount of their self-esteem and moral certainty."

choice

whoa. am fascinated at how scared i am of choice. i'm here again. i wish i could cradle myself. what is it about being totally responsible for my own life that scares and thrills and haunts me?

i think that mine is a good life.
i know that mine is a good life.
am grateful for the choices that i have. that i make.

an ancient fear, one that doesn't belong to me, seizes and squeezes my core.
please. stop doing that. it hurts.
i know you exist. i can't breathe when you tug so hard. i can't rest.

who are you?

why are you here?
what do you have to tell me?
what do you want to tell me?
i don't want to hate you.
i don't hate you.

this won't last, i know.

i remember some things.

there is no wrong answer.
when i fall, i get up again.
breathe, my love.
you can do this.
you're doing this.
you are loved.
you are love.

i have momentary amnesia of these same things.
then, i re-member again.
okay.
exhale.
okay.

i just remembered another thing.
i feel this way before my life changes.
again.
and again.
and again.
and...

wait.
yes.
i re-member this feeling.
it's the speed that scares me.
it's not even the direction.
it's the speed.
Universe, i know better than to question too much.
and there must be a reason for going so fast...
and, i realize that i don't really know what fast or slow means anymore.
or even comfort or discomfort.

just familiar and unfamiliar.
so often, i am in these unfamiliar places trying to cope with familiar techniques.
hmmm.
is that it, then?

so, now what?

got back from Sagada the other day. amazing. Banaue. Batad. hiked and hiked. and hiked. these places are magical methinks. went spelunking in Sagada. waded in waist high underground rivers. marveled at underground waterfalls. saw bats and slipped and slid on their guano. saw amazing rock formations. and hanging coffins positioned precariously high on limestone walls. (tabi, tabi po.)

and sadly, lots of graffiti. what is it with us hu-mons? must we literally and figuratively piss on everything? what propels us to deface even the most sacred places? it's almost like we need an outside reminder that we exist, that we count. we exist! we count! quit scrawling on everything!

i'm back in metro manila, and i feel restless. Tagalog on Site Summer 2007 officially ended the other day. most of the participants have flown back to the states. for the first time since june 9th, i haven't got a schedule. phew. and holy shit. so, now what?

history

my head is spinning...again.
attended a lecture given by dr. ricardo jose.
he is a history professor at UP Dilliman and a damn good one.
he is a storyteller.

i am redefining my relationship with history.
i used to hate it. what did it have to do with me? a bunch of old white guys wearing wigs and waging wars.
i distinctly remembered stopping paying attention to history in 5th grade, where i learned that "ferdinand magellen was eaten by cannibals in the Philippines."

not a peep about the Philippines in my whole school "career," and THIS was the first mention?!?!

being the only brown girl in my class, i remember sinking lower and lower in my seat, face hot with shame and embarrassment.

from dr. jose's lecture i learned that the vine of colonization took its strongest foothold in the Philippines between 1945-1946. it was the last year of the Philippine Commonwealth. the country was in shambles after WWII, and americans would finally grant Philippine independence.

any advances made before the war towards sustainability, a national identity, infrastructure, stability, inner agency were completely destroyed.

great timing for independence, di ba?
the country was split between completely trusting the US (give them anything they want, MacArthur came back didn't he?) and completely mistrusting the US (get them out, they lied and basically we traded one colonizer for the next)

seems like this is the time when the Pinoy penchant for imported goods began.
children learned that they could get chocolates from american GI's by greeting them with an emphatic, "Hi Joe!"
in the provinces, GI's, tired of their army rations of SPAM, traded for fresh chicken, pork. Pinoys gladly traded their fresh eggs for the army ration powdered eggs, as powdered eggs were viewed as so modern, so american. just add water!

i think about the balikbayan boxes that my family in the US send here. they are full of chocolates and SPAM. i think of how those canned goods are proudly displayed in locked glass cabinets in my relatives' homes, perverse indicators of status. i think about how my lola will only eat "american corned beef." (isn't it from argentina?) and how a tito of mine has placed a bottle of Lee Kum Kee oyster sauce as decoration on the only shelf in his living room.

i think about parity rights and trade agreements during that period of time in history. of course, they favored the US. these agreements allowed the rape of Inang Bayan. rampant logging and mining... industrialization poisoned the Pasig.

american products were tauted as superior, and so many Pinoys preferred Colgate and Dove over locally made toothpaste and soap. goodness, isn't this literal and figurative whitewashing? brainwashing?

how many boxes have i seen my mother pack that contain Colgate and Dove soap nestled amongst the cans of SPAM, chocolates, old clothes, and toys? how do we unwittingly contribute to reinforcing the colonized mindset in sending these things?

ugh. my stomach feels tight.

my mother was born in 1946. perhaps the vine had cradled her in my lola's womb.