Graduation 2007, new puppy and Roger Federer

Just a quick recap of things that have been going on.

Last Friday, I finally received a diploma for my four-year (plus one summer) stay at UP Baguio. After a year of being in a vacuum, I feel like the graduation was my final nudge into seriously pursuing my career in marine biology. For the past year, I have been (no other word for it) dawdling. I have taken a job teaching English to Korean children and while there is no lack for kids' winning precociousness, I find that it is a career that will not sustain me. I plan to finish out my contract and then it's the highway for me - the Northern Luzon Expressway, that is. I intend to send in my application to the Marine Science Institute this week. Wish me luck.

The major reason I have not been writing is because of the newest addition to our family, a black labrador mix named Rako. It took a while for us to name him. On the days when we were still waiting for him, my mother took to calling him Blabri (as in black labr(i)ador). I suggested Leonidas, since 300 was still fresh on my mind. My dad didn't like the idea of naming our dog after a warrior king. He said labradors had pleasant dispositions, not at all like the ruthless Spartan leader. Then we thought Shadow, pronounced "Shedow." To make it funnier, we added the tag the aso prounounced "the esow." Shadow the Aso. Shedow the Esow. It didn't stick. Then after a long day of plucking names out of thin air, my father suggested Barako. My mom loves strong coffee. She brews it, and drinks it as it is. No fussiness with how much sugar or cream she wants in her drink. We shortened the name, ending up with Rako. There have been contentions as to how we are to spell the name: Rako or Racco? Apart from being named after a steaming cup of Benguet coffee, he also bears the name of an Italian chef my mother watches on BBC Food.

The other night, while watching a match between Richard Gasquet and Ivan Ljubicic (Gasquet won, yey!), I decided to christen our puppy with a second name: Rako Federer. I told Lem that I was trying to get my dog to like tennis, and he promptly reminded me that I was trying to get a dog to like tennis. I'm not sure what his point was.

Say hello to Rako Federer Follosco.

And speaking of Federer, there was an article on the ATP website about the Swiss being on the cover of Men's Vogue (ohmigod!). There was the unexpected surprise of a link to the online version of the magazine. Wonder of wonders, the full article is open to the public. No membership hoopla, which I vastly appreciated. You can read it here. The icing on the cake is Annie Leibovitz's glamorous photos of Roger and his girlfriend Mirka. In the article, Roger describes how crazy in love he is with Mirka and I felt slightly disappointed. Apart from that, you can also read about how he looks forward to matches with Rafael Nadal, his friendship with Tiger Woods and his home in Dubai. This evening he faces Rafael Nadal for the Monte Carlo Masters crown. (8:00pm, Philippine time, Star Sports)

(Jessica Zafra mentions Roger Federer being in the December 2006 issue of Vogue. I'm still hunting for that one.)

More later.

Worthy events

Odd things.

This digital art exhibit opened in SM last Saturday. Huge black boxes were put up in the Atrium so that several noted artists could show their most recent pieces of digital photographs. The area was roped off to the public. Inside were artsy rich folk, clad in black and slowly sipping red wine from tulip glasses. They looked extremely pleased with themselves, feeling as if they were living their own version of the New York art scene. They were trying very hard to remain oblivious to everyone on the other side of the ropes. Women with poofy hair speared bland zero-calorie greens from styrofoam plates. Men who were pretending not to be gay were trying to make interesting conversation with the women obsessed with their weight. Hey, look, we're edgy...behind a flimsy blue rope. We were so close, I could have dipped my finger into their expensive wine. Their efforts to ignore the common folk were remarkable. They would not be distracted.

I seriously contemplated dropping fishballs on their coiffed heads from the second floor. Sauce and all. Maika stopped me, pointing out that I shouldn't spend my money on fishballs just so I could pelt rich people with them. It would have been fun.

On my way home last Sunday, I decided to buy garlic from one of the old lady vendors parked under the Km. 0 arc next to Tiong San Harrison. All of a sudden, the old ladies grabbed their baskets, rose as one unit and scuttled away from a gorilla in combat boots. The leather clad goon, who had vaulted over a flower bed, was from the city watch. They were on one of their raids. “Let’s go pick on old ladies who sell vegetables! Let’s confiscate their only source of income and laugh about it while shining our boots!”

I, normally jaded and unfeeling, was shocked for a minute. My fingers were already around two five-peso coins to pay for my garlic. There was a small explosion of surprise in my chest as I looked at the scene unfolding around me. It happened very quickly. The manang was getting ready to bag my purchase one moment then vanished in a cloud of dust the next. I was rooted to the ground for a full minute before I realized I had to leave. Fucken cops. I wanted my damn garlic.

As I was walking away, I noticed one lady hadn’t been as quick as her companions. She was locked in a tug-of-war with one of the goonies. He had the muscle but she had determination. They struggled in a deadlock for a while, then some seemingly random thing happened. The copper adjusted his grip slightly to gain more ground. Manang saw it as an opportunity to make her move. Somehow still clutching her basket, she grabs a tomato, aims aaand…throws! The tomato hits the cop squarely on the right shoulder, with juice and seeds spraying wildly across his outraged features. “Naglastog nga baket daytoy! (Insolent woman!)” he roars, taking several menacing steps forward. The manang, still dangerously within arms’ length (that humanoid had a very long reach), shouts back her own profane retort. With a last grunt of a challenge, she turns purposefully and disappears into the crowd. And somewhere, a cosmic scoreboard lights up for the underdogs.

Then yesterday, when Maika, Lei and I were in Kamiseta at SM Baguio, all the lights went out. (Maika wants everyone to know she was very brave when it happened. She didn't scream like a girl.) The saleslady rushed to the doors and shut everyone inside. It was just like in the movies: "Bar all those doors. Nobody goes in or out." I also chose that moment to yell, “Quick! Grab something.” I was joking, of course. –ish.

Michael Moorcock, Mensa, fish, and other cool geeky things

I found a 19-peso copy of Elric of Melnibone by Michael Moorcock in a box of really old books in Diplomat at Center Mall. I was just about to give up the search when I noticed its attractive silver binding at the bottom of the pile.

I love Elric. What can be cooler than a doomed albino sorcerer prince who destroys his entire nation, making him the last surviving member of his race? Nothing. What can be more awesome than a sword called Stormbringer that literally shivers with excitement at the idea of fresh blood and slowly sucks out the soul of its bearer? Again, the answer is zilch. Fantasy Masterworks did a collection of all the Elric stories and I was lucky enough to borrow it from my veteran fanatasy buddy Shanti. (He hasn't updated in a while, but you should go check out his poetry here.) I became such a fan that I named my Gunbound character Melnibone. Most of the people in the game thought it was a funky girl's name and kept nick-naming me Mel.

I can relate to Elric's loneliness. Born different, he was perceived by his own people as something to despise. He is the ultimate antihero, brooding and cynical. Elric is a perpetual wanderer who never truly finds happiness. My situation isn't as grim as that, but that unshakeable sense of always being along I can definitely understand.

After Center Mall, I visited my dentist for the monthly tightening of my braces. (What can be geekier than braces?) I spend a lot of time watching my dentist's two fish swim around in their tiny bowl in the waiting area. Both are silvery: one with orange splotches and the other with black and orange markings. I can never really tell what colors they are because their bowl is always dark and murky. The water is so thick with muck that you can see a ring of scum forming near the top of the bowl. The poor things are suffocating having exhausted all the oxygen in their cramped watery abode. I can see their mouths opening and closing noiselessly just beneath the surface, sucking in oxygen from the air (ironically). Apart from their heinous living conditions, their lives are a mystery to me. They hardly resemble the merry Tank Gang in Finding Nemo. They are deprived the macabre delight of watching a dentist jab around inside the mouth of a terrified patient. Instead, they are made to absorb all the stress coming off the somber waiting room population. I wonder how they keep themselves occupied.

On a side note, Lem saw a National Geographic show about sexual deviants in the animal kingdom. Apparently, when a clown fish mom dies, the son changes sex and takes her place. He becomes the father's new mate. The deep-voice commentator guy said it best: I bet Nemo didn't know that. Ew.

I later met up with Maika who had unearthed a Mensa puzzle book in the Center Mall book fair. We spent the rest of the afternoon wracking our brains and laughing our heads off trying to cover up for our obvious lack in intellect. Here are some of the ones we enjoyed. I'll post the answers eventually, but I'll let you guys stew on them first:
1. There was a man without eyes. He saw plums on a tree. He took no plums and left no plums. How did he do it?
2. There was a man in tights lying unconscious on a field. He was lying next to a rock. (Hint: The rock made him unconscious without touching him.)
3. Where do the biggest potatoes grow?
4. Where did Noah strike the last nail in the ark?
5. Where are all men equally good-looking?
6. Why are two little animals alone in a little boat in the middle of the ocean?
7. Would you rather a tiger attack you or a lion?
8. Would you rather have an old ten dollar bill or a new one?
9. One day while playing hide-and-seek, Jane suddenly told the other kids that she didn't want to play anymore. She said that she was now easier to find than everyone else. One of the kids spoke up and said, "But with John, we all have the same chance of being found." What happened to Jane and why would John still have to look for her the same way he would look for everyone else?
10. What two items doesn't a boy have when he is a baby, but has when he is 10. (Hint: They are body parts and even girls have them.)

Here's something cool. Jean-Dominique Bauby was a famous French journalist who, after suffering a massive stroke, found himself almost completely paralyzed. Despite his inability to move nearly every part of his body, he still managed to write the best-selling novel The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. He wrote it all by blinking his left eye. Here I am physically capable in every way and still unable to write anything worth remembering. Ah, but am I mentally capable?

Top of the food chain

My friend Maika complains that I'm such a carnivore. When we go out to eat and I innocently declare that I want steak, she gives me The Look. Maika belongs on the other end of the gastronomic spectrum: she's a vegetarian. This is something I don't understand. Or possibly, refuse to understand. How can you eat just veggies when you can enjoy the succulent savory goodness of a nice slice of beef? I enjoy ensaladang amapalaya as much as the next veggie-eater, but gimme a break, who can refuse spare ribs and zesty ranch dressing? Or a cheesy/juicy burger? Or chicken schnitzel piled imperiously on a plate of spaghetti bolognese? Or bacon fried to a heavenly crisp? Or pinikpikan with bagnet? Or dinakadakan, mixed with the crunchy surprise of liempo? I'm driving myself crazy, so I stop with the examples here.

My friends try to appeal to my animal-loving side: "Just think - that (lovely) T-bone steak was once a cow lolling in the lap of prairie luxury." And I, greasy mouth and all, reply "You want a bite, don't you? Admit it." They recoil at the carefully selected piece (just the right amount of fat and meat) I generously offer them: "They killed a cow so you could have a steak." My eyes widen slightly, but I am unfazed. I eat the piece they refuse: more for me. In my mind, I say a silent thank you to the cow who fattened itself up on the grassy knolls for my wickedly delicious steak.

I must admit, though, that there are some companies whose meat-processing methods leave a lot to be desired. Burger King has seen the light and has changed its ways. When I read the article, I thought, These pigs get one last hurrah before they go. But I'm not really sure if it's better that they don't know they're heading for the chopping block. They have no clue of their coming fate. What happens if they aren't amply warned?

I would never eat dog meat, though. I liken it to eating a talking beast of Narnia.

Immortality - take it, it's yours!

Update (28 March 2007): Revenge didn't happen, folks. There must be some weird ripple in the multiverse because Roger seems to be playing like shit. So I suppose Cañas winning at Indian Wells was no fluke. The guy has balls. But ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod. Roger looked really dejected after the match. I don't blame him. Back to back losses -that's gotta hurt. Good grief, I hurt. My let's-go-numb mechanism has flipped on.

Elsewhere in the tennis world, Serena Williams beat Maria Sharapova 6-1 6-1. Go Serena! Maria seems too perfect: she's articulate, talented, tall and leggy, and has millions of dollars in endorsements. It's good to see her go down once in a while. At least the rest of womanhood isn't so far behind. Haha.

**********

Sufferin' succotash. I woke up at 2am this morning to watch Roger beat the living daylights out of poor Nicolas Almagro in the third round of the Sony Ericsson Open in Miami. When I got to work this morning, I was smashed. I thought I would have a good night's sleep this evening, but apparently, I was wrong. Roger is scheduled to play Cañas later tonight. Woo-hoo! Revenge - I can already taste it. It tastes a bit like chicharon bulaklak. Utterly satisfying.

Zen for breakfast

6AM You wake up. Your internal clock works like a charm. You look up and see sunlight filtering through the glass into your semi-dark room. Your eyes are still adjusting to daylight and your body refuses to get up. Under the sheets, it is warm and safe. You don't want to leave. You pull the blankets up tighter under your chin and turn, finding an even more comfy position. You think, "15 minutes more." It is blessedly easy to doze off again.

6:15AM Reality is more palpable. You need to get up for work. For months now, you have been wondering if you can still keep up the charade that is your job. You have been thinking of resigning. You fear that your 8-5 desk job has made you bereft of all creativity and depth.

6:30AM You are still in bed, and beginning to hate yourself for it. You should have gotten up at 6. In your head, there is a battle: Is this the day I finally leave my job? What will I do with all my free time? I can't take this job anymore, it's time to move on. Where will I get the money to pay for the electricity? You bury your face in your pillow and mull over these nagging thoughts.

6:45AM Shit. Now, you really have to get up. You drag your heavy body out of bed. It feels like you've aged ten years since you woke up. You heat water for your bath and put together the stuff you'll bring to work. Your thought battle is nearing its end. A resolution is in sight. You think of the day ahead, wondering if it will pass painlessly. You imagine what you will do to make the hours more bearable.

7:10AM You are nearly ready. You can hear cars and jeepneys zooming by your house. The rest of the world has woken up with you, ready to take on the day. You look in the mirror and take a deep calming breath. Your mind is preparing itself, because it knows that preparation is the key to anything. You spray on some perfume, because you want to smell good even if you're miserable. This job is killing you.

7:20AM But you have to be realistic. You walk out the door and stand in the street, noticing a clump of students a little way down also waiting for a ride. You feel a slight pang in your chest, wishing you were still in school. You shake it off. You hail the first jeep that passes and it is not full. You are beginning to accept how you will spend the day. You seat yourself close to the door and look ahead.

7:50AM The moment of clarity. You walk into the office. The long jeepney ride has cleared your head. Or was it the fresh air? You have decided to remain hopeful about your job. The slump in your shoulders is beginning to vanish. The work day ahead no longer feels insurmountable. You remember that you will eventually find a way out of this monotony, but for now, you will have to suck it up. You go to your table. You see the work you left unfinished the day before. You sigh. It is not resignation. It is simply the realization that all this is temporary: you are relieved.

For the rest of the day, you pour yourself into work. You do not worry about the future or that fact that this job may be sucking your soul out. You know that your soul does not belong to this boring eight-to-five. It is alright. You have freed your mind of the unpleasant thoughts plaguing you earlier. In fact, your mind has become cleared of any worries and distractions. You exist only in the present. You focus on the tasks before you, and actually perform excellently. You have achieved inner peace.

The Princess and the Many-Roomed Castle

Author's note: This poem was originally posted on baguio-below.blogdrive.com on June 3, 2005. When I wrote this, my mind's eye was seeing with a clarity I wish I still had now. I hope you guys enjoy this one.

Once upon a time, there was a princess
Who lived in a castle with many rooms.
She wore a swishy periwinkle dress
And a ringlet of flowers round her raven tresses.

She visited all the rooms in the castle
Where she met knights and maidens,
fools and shameless knaves
Who made her giggle in childish delight.

The princess especially liked the rooms
That baffled her,
Her eyes shining in wonderment
At their smokey enchantments and wiles.

On a windy day, the princess found a room
Bathed in the darkish blue of constant night.
There she met a prince--
A dark prince, but a splendid one.

Oh, how he shone.
And oh, how she loved him.
She spent all her days in that room,
Enamored and enraptured
By this well-intentioned wicked prince.

And then her prince had to leave on a quest.
With soft words, he gently pushed her
Out the heavy door
Which was shut hard behind her.

The princess discovered Loneliness,
Who beckoned to her
And bid her bury herself in his cloak.
She did, and she slept.

When she woke, she found
The rooms she used to know
Were now locked to her.
The glass knobs, dusty and cobwebb-y
Would not turn in her small hands.

Then Time passed.
And by then she had found the keys to her rooms.
Dusk did not seem so dark
And Dawn came more swiftly to save her

Long after, her prince returned
And the princess rejoiced.
But now she is careful
To not get mired with this rogue,
This prince whom she adores.

She opens all her doors now
And is revisiting all the old rooms.
She plays with the ladies
And banters with the knights.

The fools once more hear her tinkling laugh,
As she wonders again at things like rain
And remembers to look up.
The princess still visits Loneliness,
But only because he is such an engaging companion.

But her prince remains.
He is ever secretive, and sometimes foreboding.
But it is this darkness that draws her in.
And she will love him
Until even the castle is no more.