The Spy in the Sandwich

Sunday, February 22, 2009

4:02 PM | The Days Are Different. And They're Fast.

I still remember a time in my life when my every day can be described by the most predictable routine: there was work, there was home, there were those lovely in-betweens with Mark, and there were those days (mostly weekends) when there were movies at Ever or Park Theater, or coffee and newspapers on Sunday afternoons in Don Atilano or CocoAmigos, or a drive to Tanjay or Bais for budbud and tsokolate, or breakfast with Margie and Bing at Tropini, or a night-out with Charlotte and Angelie at El Camino or Hayahay, or karaoke with certified mic crazies we knew. If somebody had been tailing me, the assignment would have been a breeze. It was, let's put it this way, a settled life. Completely domestic, but in a good sense. Solid. And in many ways, I miss the certainty of those days. They had their own pure simplicity that transcended the mundane.

I can no longer say the same about my days since. For one thing, they're too fast. And too many things are happening, leaving me both breathless and ecstatic.

I'm barely home -- my pad has become a mere holding place where I spend the hours beyond waking on catching up with just enough sleep. I've been traveling a lot -- and the foreseeable future tells me there will be more of that. I work hard more, but I party even harder. And except for the every day constancy of work and gym, there are no absolute similarities between one day and another, my schedule having become a thing of beautiful delicate balance. There's a manic edge to how I move things about, and for the most part -- and this is contrary to my normal obsessive compulsive ways -- I let the things that I must do "flow" without too much planning (but without sacrificing an ounce of responsibility), assured that the universe always has a way of making things beautiful.

And everything leads me to an old realization: when you're having too much fun, life takes on this gigantic swirl, and there are so many things you want to write about in this blog, but you're still out making more memories.

How do I begin to chronicle my life these days? What does one say about the heat and excitement of Taboan 2009, the first Philippine International Writers Festival, which only ended a week or so ago? What does one say about meeting and reunioning with many of the biggest names in Philippine literature? What does one say about watching ZsaZsa Zaturnnah ze Muzikal for the first time? Breakfast with Coke and Chino Bolipata? Drinking cappuccino with Gibbs Cadiz? Singing karaoke with Bituin Escalante, J. Neil Garcia, Ronald Baytan, and Wendell Capili in Morato? Having beer with Rock Drilon and Ginny Mata in Mag:net Katipunan? Exchanging shop talk with Thai literary superstar Prabda Yoon? Meeting Cynthia Alexander? Finally seeing the real man behind Manila Gay Guy?

Planning the Dumaguete National Writers Workshop for May? Preparing the stage for upcoming concerts, such as with the Philippine Madrigal Singers? Delegating tasks for one art exhibit after another? Planning, and seeing come to fruition, an unexpectedly (or relatively) successful three-day Drama Festival featuring Bobby Villasis' Demigod, Nick Joaquin's Tatarin, and Chris Martinez's Last Order sa Penguin? Planning a performance of Cebuano poetry for Kisaw 2009, the First Dumaguete Arts Week? Editing three books at the same time before a March deadline? Writing three stories for three anthologies? Writing a film script? Developing local advocacy for HIV/AIDS, with Wanggo Gallaga? Helping out the Friends of the Banica in their renewed campaign for a heightened sense of local environmentalism after the devastating flood of three weeks ago?

Coming to terms with beautiful, old ghosts?

And giddily falling in love?

I've been busy, see. And I'll be blogging about these things soon, when things are slower and time allows for the best possible recollection of all immediate past. My now-Bali-based painter/friend Razceljan Salvarita keeps reminding me of my mantra from late last year: "The days to come will be beautiful." I still believe that. My days reflect that. (That's the kind of beauty I know and love and cherish, dear Donita, my lovely troll. A full life. Where people appreciate you for what you've done, and not what you look like -- because otherwise, we wallow only in the shallow. Like you do. But as Migs would constantly say, "World peace!")

Bow.

Labels: friends, life, love