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.