Saturday, July 09, 2005
I feel nauseous.
Which is really a bad way to end an otherwise beautiful and fruitful day. But this must be my body telling me to slow down. (Slow down?
My body replies. I don't recognize such timid vocabulary.
) To wit: I had a wonderful massage the other day, courtesy of a suki
masseuse named Rudyard -- whose Kipling namesake whom we all remember from our childhood reading The Jungle Book
made the whole encounter wonderfully literary. I thought: this is a good start to the weekend. And so it was. I woke up very early today, at half past five in the morning, when the sun was just beginning to peek right through the rain clouds from the night before. Have you ever seen a Saturday morning bathed in dew and the promise of drizzle? It is perfectly relaxing; I was convinced no other mornings could be more beautiful than this. And so it was.
There was the languid waking up. There was the cold invigorating shower. There was meditation, and then a bit of morning prayer. There was John Barry's theme for Out of Africa
playing on CD. There was freshly-brewed coffee. And by the time nine o'clock came, I was off into the bright but chilly day, to meet my English major, who is studying Philippine literary history with me. In a seaside cafe, we had a good round of discussion -- a review actually -- of the literature of the pre-colonial period down to the post-EDSA period, and I was surprised to find myself becoming quite articulate -- and without notes!
-- on the subtle, varied details of everything Philippine literary history, taking note of the astounding scholarship and biases of Lumbera, Abad, Manuel, Fernandez, Bernad, and the rest. Then there was lunch of chicken inato
from Jo's. Then there was the brief nap. Then there was the Japanese film Nobody Knows
, which I loved for its exquisite handling of pain and abandonment. Then there was work on the fiction anthology Kit and I are collaborating on, and I marveled over the amazing fiction being churned out by the younger generation of Philippine writers. (Naya, I absolutely love "Letter From Marikina"!) And now it's night, and the Saturday dusk seems to be quieter than usual, and I am about to have dinner. And I feel like vomiting.
 This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
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