After seven days

Nadal metaphors

Metaphor 1. The first time I went home to Baguio after having (not really) moved to Manila, I found that a very important person in my life had decided to move on without me. Instead of letting things lie and going on my way, I responded like Rafael Nadal. I felt like I was two sets down, and serving to stay in the match. In true Nadal-like fashion, I started hanging on for dear life. I doggedly chased down shots, went for winners and played every rally like it was my last. I just wouldn't go away. A rousing energy permeated me and I refused to back down. That was until yesterday. Nadal usually goes on to win the match in five gripping sets, but I have decided to hang up my racket. I realized I'm not meant to win this match.

Metaphor 2. (This one actually has something to do with tennis.) Do you remember the battle at Helm's Deep? Think movie here, not book. When the forces of Saruman found the culvert running under the Deeping wall, they decided to enter this weak spot by blowing it up. An orc, running from God-knows-how-far, held a torch to ignite the explosives. Aragorn spotted him and started yelling "LEGOLAS, TAKE HIM DOWN!!!" in Elvish. Legolas turned and with hawk-eye precision, shot arrow after arrow into the orc's muscular neck. But the orc, imbued with a terrible sense of purpose, would not die. Riddled with arrows, he shoved the torch right into the drain and KA-BLAM! For the first time in Middle Earth history, Helm's Deep was breached. Rafael Nadal is like that orc. Everyone in the ATP is Legolas. And Roger Federer is Aragorn. This scenario applies more to Wimbledon than any other grand slam, though.

Bookstores and priorities

In Manila, it's hard not to feel small in the urban landscape. Tall buildings, winding alleys, long unfamiliar streets. What one needs in this daunting city is a good sense of direction. And I thank genetics for leaving me with a decent internal compass. My parents know their way around.

I find that whenever I feel myself getting lost, I think of the last bookstore I saw and work with that. Like if I have trouble finding my way around Greenbelt, I walk to Powerbooks and gather my bearings from there. Bookstores are also a kind of sanctuary. When I want to escape the heat and a host of zombies shoving me in a direction I have no intention of moving in, I walk into a bookstore. Outside, there is an unshakable feeling of being alone and unwelcome. But when I pass the threshold into a blessed room filled with books, it's like being home.

Last Sunday, I was taken to the Fully Booked at Global City in Fort Bonifacio. On the wall, it said "When I get a little money I buy books; and if any is left, I buy food and clothes." They didn't put who said it, but those are exactly my sentiments about how my money should be spent. Case in point: Because my Geekiness couldn't handle everyone knowing something I wouldn't know for a while, I spent an ungodly amount of money to buy Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. My dad left me some cash for either a bag or a new pair of shoes. The rigors of school life prompts one to own big bags: I needed a backpack to accommodate all the new readings and bottles of water. I also needed an extra pair of shoes because I've been doing a lot of walking here. But things change. Ominously, they do so during release dates. *cough, cough.*

On July 21, 2007, I casually strode into Powerbooks to casually survey the new Harry Potter books being put out for display (and purchase, of course). I circled the table about three times before daring to pick one up. As I did so, I became painfully aware of the smell of new books and how right the thick yellow-orange book felt in my hand. I was awash with feelings of nostalgia and this irrepressible tugging I get when I want a particular book. I was in a daze. I dropped the book and ran. I had to retreat. The desire to buy it was too overwhelming.

I walked around a department store and began a frenzied poll. I texted everyone whom I thought would think logically for me. Book or shoes? Book or bag? To which everyone replied, BOOK! My resolve was cracking. And my one beacon of light, my only true hope of objectivity - my own mother - said: You buy the book nalang. And so it was that I came to own Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

Wow. That story took longer than I'd intended.

Random events

This morning, I went out unto the roof behind the house to leave some of my delicates out to dry. I was just about to go in when I realized some of our neighbors below were watching me. Most of them were men, and they were sniggering. I was half-asleep so it didn't dawn on me until I'd climbed through the window that they might be checking out my mismatch array of lingerie. (Haha. It rhymed. Couldn't resist. I don't own lingerie. I own underwear.) I peered secretly out the window, trying to make out what they were saying. Nicole was laughing her head off, telling me to quit spying on the people who were mooning my underwear. What a wonderful way to start my day: I had people staring at my delicates.

This afternoon, I finally managed to get a school ID. But not after a little boy got his. He was from UP-IS and was getting his ID for the first time. He was ahead of me in line and was being accompanied by his rather cool dad. He got his picture taken, no problem. Then the ID guy asked him to write his name on the digital pad thing for signatures. He did, and by the loopy way his hand was moving, I could tell he was writing in cursive. He did this a couple of times, but the side of his hand kept landing heavily on the pad. It wouldn't show properly on the screen. Finally his dad gently said, "Kahit huwag nang dikit-dikit." When you're in the first grade (like, I assume, he is), it's a matter of pride to be able to write your name in cursive. I knew that had to hurt. So he tried again. His dad, with a small smile on his face, informs him that he spelled his name wrong. The little boy looked up and gave the rest of us a sheepish smile. Everyone in the short line was chuckling by then, but I think he knew we weren't laughing at him. They were reassuring laughs. Then he wrote again, aware that he was holding up the line. He did well that time, and when the ID came out, I saw that he'd managed to write his name legibly in clear script. Conquering cursive would be for another time when a bunch of jaded college students weren't looking over his shoulder. His T-shirt said: This is what a destabilizer looks like. I hope I run into that kid again.

Thank yous

Even if my Internet bill is making me generate enough acid to burn ulcers all over my digestive tract, I feel it is necessary to say thank you to everyone who keeps coming back to my semi-dormant blog and leaves a little bit for me to chew on. Lately, I haven't been the best comment-returner, but I am reading your comments and your posts. They're what I look forward to all week. Your feeds are salvation.

Not really forgetting the rest of you, I'd like to mention these three in particular:

utakgago.com - Because of a weird lapse in good judgment, Kevin included in me in his list for Top Ten Emerging Influential Blogs. Joking aside, that seriously made my day. Thanks, man.

fruityoaty.com - Massa P. always finds a way to mention my mediocre blog in her brilliant maze-like posts. I feel the love has to be returned.

paolomendoza.com - As far as I've observed, Paolo is my most loyal commenter. I'm lucky too, because his blog is destined to conquer the blogosphere. Waw. Rubbing elbows with greatness.

Ciao all. Be back again next week.

There can only be one

The thing about blogging is it's addicitive. More, more. I want some more!

I was too emotional to write about it then but Roger Federer beat Rafael Nadal 7-6 4-6 7-6 2-6 6-2 in the Wimbledon 2007 final to join Bjorn Borg in the Five-Wimbledons-in-a-Row Club. Federer has been accused of not being able to hack it in five-set matches. But in glorious and convincing fashion, he showed us all he wasn't going to take shit from anyone on grass. Five sets of utter nail-biting, hair-grabbing excitement. Bliss.

In the fifth set, Federer had to face break points in two consecutive service games. He saved them, and went on to break Nadal. Grace under pressure. Calm in the face of near-defeat. It was a stunning display of resilience and genius from both players. Epic.

Writing shorts

I have all this free time, and I haven't been blogging. Forgive me. It costs money to go online in this here Metro. Having been unemployed since May 28 (exactly), I have taken on a Scrooge mentality. But in one glaring moment of enlightenment, I have decided to write weekly. It remains to be seen, but I will try my darndest to contribute to this tangled Web we weave.

Blogs are to be thanked for broadening horizons. Mine are becoming increasingly familiar and I'm sick of them.

I clicked on Misteryosa.com and came upon a most stimulating post on a new writing adventure. Shari takes note of all the important stuff, and more goodies and details can be found on the Philippine Genre Stories blog. The Digest of Philippine Genre Stories advocates for literacy among Filipinos and seeks to highlight a little-explored style of expression among local writers.

I'm glad for the information and grateful for the little nudge. I have 9 hours of class every week, leaving me with 159 hours of free time. My past transgressions have come back to haunt me, I have begun questioning my existence (where for about two minutes, I decided I wanted to become such an exceptional human being that when I died, the world would be a sadder place. Haa. Sure.), I wonder if being back in school is truly what I want, I'm engaged in a war with the creative bits of my brain (which seem to be trying to claw out of a very dark place), and sunderings are occurring here and there. I've been accused of overthinking.

I don't know if I'm still capable of writing a short story. Creative writing has recently been absent from my life. The last time I wracked my brain for story ideas was with a wolf. Most of my story ideas are squeezed out of my brain by hungry direwolves. The hunger is there. It is patiently forming into something palpable: I WANT TO WRITE. Ngrwar. It will probably be a while before I come up with something worth showing, but it's good to know that there's a place I could pester to get published. The important thing is, there will be notebooks again. And there will be direction.

I love short stories. I'm not sure if it's just something I agree with from somewhere or I came up with it myself, but I've always thought that the real worth of an author is most apparent in the short stories they write. They have only a couple of pages to convince you that the shit they're selling is the good kind, and the ending has to be pitch perfect. The whole point of a short story is to leave the reader stupefied. It has to evoke feelings that cannot be shaken in a mere number of hours. A good short story will take you out of place and out of time that when you look up from the last word, you are a little disoriented (Where are you?). A good short story will leave a gaping hole in your chest because of how it ended and that it is over. A good short story will be the last thing you think about before going to sleep.

Let's all write to make the world a better place.

Heat + references to friends' homes + dreams

I have been trying not to complain about the heat in Manila. I'm thinking, It's Manila. What do you expect? The operative word is "trying." It's hard not to complain when the heat saps all of my energy and keeps me from doing anything productive. Surely, this heat is beyond normal.

In the Inquirer today, Conrado deQuiros writes that global warming "is not an environmental issue, (but a) survival issue."

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Here is a product of a long MRT ride. I put together obscure references to my friends' homes:

My friend Zye lives in Carmona, Makati. There was this beer commercial (San Miguel, I think) where a guy takes his friends out for drinks and realizes that he forgot his wallet at home. He tells his friends he has to go and get it. As he leaves, one of his guests inquires after him:

Friend 1: Saan ba nakatira si (let's call him...) Eugene?
Friend 2: Sa Carmona.
Friend 1: Ah...sa Makati.
Friend 2: Hinde! Sa Carmona, Cavite!
Everyone in the beerhouse (in shocked tones): sa CAVITE?!!

My other Baguio friends live in Marikina, Metro Manila. The other evening, Nicole took me to Riverbanks Mall where we were to buy the ingredients for that night's dinner of fake crab and pechay. We finished our business at the supermarket and decided to look around for a bit. Apparently, Nicole had a surprise for me. At the very end of that stretch of mall is a shoe store that houses the World's Largest Shoes.
(Photo taken from the blog Welcome to my World by navigate53. Included in the post Explore Philippines: Marikina City.)
Incidentally, I am still homeless. My father didn't enjoy the idea of me living in a windowless room. I am currently shuttling back and forth between my lolo's house in Makati and Marikina. I'm living out of a suitcase. Very rockstar, but also very inconvenient. If you guys might point me in the direction of a cheap room for rent near Diliman, it would be most appreciated.

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Last night, I dreamed that I revealed all of Maika's secrets through a text message. Apparently, I was exhausted and didn't know what I was texting. It was almost as if I was drunk. In my dream, I woke up (yeah, I woke up in the dream) with a bad feeling. I looked in my Sent Items and found I had texted all of Maika's deepest, darkest (Eh?) secrets to a certain Chloe. (I think the name Chloe stuck because last night, before I left Marikina for Makati, the people there were watching Match Point. Emily Mortimer's character's name was Chloe.) Maika, do you know anyone named Chloe? If not, we're good. Besides, in the dream, you forgive me. I give you a peace offering - a book called Myths Retold.


Read more: While searching for an article about the World's Largest Shoes, I found this site which includes some World Records the Philippines has acquired. Check out the Largest Loot in History. Thievery in high places. Very amusing.

Quickie

Hey everyone. A quick one. In the MRT, I noticed a tall man slouching and I realized there are some people who are so tall, they're not sure what to do with all that height. Reminds me of a high school friend who grew up too quickly, she also compensated for her newfound height by hunching over. I wish they'd share. I'm so short that when I sit next to someone on the MRT, my shoulder fits snugly under their sweaty armpits. Gross.

Help! This sem, I'll be going to Internet shops to get my blog fix. I'm not sure how to keep up with all the new entries. Do you guys know if there's an online feed aggregator/reader I could use while using a computer in a shop?

Roger dropped of Halle. He says it's to reduce risk of injury. If you ask me, he's depressed about losing the French (Read more). Howard Fendrich says Roger needs to wallow. I agree. It's part of the healing process, says Billy Crystal in the Analyze This movies.

More soon. Lots to write about. Lunch with Emil. Bye!

P.S. Loved your jeepney comments. Isn't it great how one bad experience makes us all band together? :) Thanks for taking the time to comment. I promise, I'll be returning the favor soon.

And the events today are...

I updated my top ten emerging influential blogs of 2007 list (that was a mouthful). Be sure to check that out. If you haven’t seen the rest of the list, munch on that too. Blog hopping is a worthy hobby because: (a) you read all sorts of interesting things about all sorts of kooky characters; (b) if you are suffering from malaise and stuck in a slump, other people’s blogs get your creative juices flowing again; and (c) it’s great to laugh. Thank god for blogs.

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The other day on my way home, the jeepney I was riding on nearly fell on its side. PUJ drivers find a certain pleasure in cooking up clever ways to beat the traffic. My driver wanted to break a couple of Physics laws and squeezed our ride into an almost non-existent sliver of road. He didn’t notice that the rotonda (with the big Christmas tree at the foot of Session Road) we were just passing was breaking a couple of Physics laws itself. It came out of nowhere. He drove right over one of its corners, and the jeep tilted precariously to the left. I was sitting on the right side, so I was the one who got thrown around. The two other girls opposite me just got a front-row seat to witness my temporary departure from gravity. I don’t get embarrassed by that sort of thing, but I was incensed when I saw the plastic bag carrying my santol was ripped. One of them could have fallen out, for chrissake. My bag also found its way violently to the floor, but was returned by one of my audience. It was an interactive show.

My heart was beating out of my chest, but I didn’t show any outward sign of being rattled. Those two other girls were lucky, because they could laugh and talk about it afterwards. They even had a little role play going about who could make the best walang reaction face. She was sitting across from them. I had to prematurely shrug the whole ordeal off and comfort myself by hugging my santol a little tighter. The driver, on the other hand, looked mortified and kept knocking on his rearview mirror, probably wishing it was wood. His colleagues were sniggering in their own front seats. They’re harsh. And we were still stuck in traffic.

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I saw Ocean’s 13 yesterday and I have to admit, sequels sure are getting better. It was a good decision to bring them back to Vegas for this one. The humor was sharp, not like Ocean’s 12, where they were trying too hard. There was wit and cleverness, and the slapstick wasn’t too shabby either. Lately, it seems complicated plots are rubbing me the right way. Like the two other Ocean’s flicks, this one had the trademark planning and scheming…and canoodling (yeah, there was canoodling c/o a Cyrano-ed Matt Damon). I’m not sure if this one beats out the first, but it certainly leaves the second one in the dust.

I’m taking it slow today. It’s time to enjoy the ease of Baguio life while I can. Tomorrow, it’s off to the sweltering heat of Manila.

Lei and our other nursing friends are taking the Board exam today. They need our mojo. Channel, people!

Top Ten Emerging Influential Bloggers of 2007

Update, June 10, 2007 - I know I said I didn't have any time to finish the list, but now I do. These are the blogs occupying the remaining four spots on my list.

7. Fruity Oaty – I like the random-ness of it all. In Finding Forrester when William Forrester edits Jamal Wallace’s journals, he writes “Where are you taking me?” That’s exactly how one feels with Massa P.’s posts, and what a grand way to get lost.

8. Nick (Untold Pinoy Stories) – I don’t know where Nick the Author gets his very provocative stuff, but his blog is better than E! True Hollywood Stories. Talk about cracks in the parchment. Throw away your television, because this is the 4-1-1. And it’s written with such panache, I could cry.

9. Kikong Kalikot (Pinoy at ang kanyang musika) – The writer of this blog advocates for World and Earth music and tips readers to check out cool music events. If it’s a blog about music, then it’s okay in my book. Then I kept reading. I have an inkling that he might think music is the answer to depression. *That* makes the blog even more worthwhile.

10. Kubiyat (Baguio Below) – Ah, what the hell. It’s just like voting for the Pirate King with the eight other pirate lords. Savvy?

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Janette Toral came up with a great writing project to generate a list of the Top Ten Emerging Influential Bloggers of 2007. This is my contribution to the effort. I would have liked to complete a top ten, but time has not been on my side. The blogosphere is boundless, and I've barely scratched the surface. The blogs I include here are some of my favorites and fit the bill.

1. Lei (Cheese to go with my whine*) – When I hang out with Lei, I get to indulge the kid in me. Her blog is a lasting testament to all things only our inner child would admit to liking.

2. Paolo Mendoza (The Philosophical Bastard) – I can’t stay away from a blog whose author kills Peter Pan, laments the impotence of the most important piece in chess and obsesses about immortality.

3. JJ Junio (Unsent) – This is where I get my politics fix. It’s not something I normally talk about, but he makes the whole thing rather enjoyable.

4. Utakgago – I only started reading his blog, but get the impression that he *writes.* Who does that anymore? On one post, he ended with a post-script: “Nyeta, minamadali ako ng tatay at ate kong maligo. Sorry kung bitin or may mga errors. Promise i-rerecheck ko to!" That pretty much got me sold. I like people who edit their work.

5. Alternati (Sarcasm Aside) (Unfortunately, I have to take Sarcasm Aside out of the list since it started before August 2006. It's still a great read, though, so mosey on along over there and enjoy!) I found her blog a couple of weeks ago, and was strangely drawn to a blogger who might harbor ill-feelings towards Roger. I kept reading to find out that she’s from Baguio and a big TV buff. Anyone from Baguio and likes tennis is a friend of mine.

6. Eloiski – Naaliw ako sa post niya tungkol sa mga bagay na kina-aadikan niya. At dahil iiyakan pa niya ang anime, bentang-benta nako sa blog niya. Tapos malaman-laman ko pang takot siyang makahawak ng butterfly dahil ito ay nakakabulag. Totoo 'yon.

7. Poli (Gagopolis) – I share his addiction to The French Open and extremely enjoyed the post where he recounts stuffing a tabloid down his underpants.