Thursday, June 03, 2004
I am so frequently bored these days that in the middle of writing an email, for example, at the crest of rush-hour Internet cafe traffic, I find myself waking with a start, realizing that I have somehow nodded away to sleep. It can't be narcolepsy, although that might explain a lot of things.
Then again, I am bored with most things lately. Action movies, for example. I don't remember much of Vin Diesel in
XXX because I snoozed through the chase scenes and the explosions, which is to say I missed the bulk of the cinematic monstrosity. I have become too numb to appreciate the otherwise vicarious testosterone thrill of such and such. Increasingly, I now want the searing interior tapestries of quiet drama and comedy. Rambunctious comedy is okay, as long as they show a hint of a brain. Jim Carrey in Bruce Almighty, for example. Or the antics of Monty Python. Small dramas, too, are more intense than the brawny promises of action heroes. Charlotte Rampling in
Swimming Pool, for instance. Or Diane Lane in
Under the Tuscan Sun.
But after that movie or this, I still return to the old boredom, and forced to confront a day that may be busy, yes, but forever lacks the "bite" that would make all things worthwhile, and banish away a stir-crazy life.
A man
needs his excitement.
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
I am so frequently bored these days that in the middle of writing an email, for example, at the crest of rush-hour Internet cafe traffic, I find myself waking with a start, realizing that I have somehow nodded away to sleep. It can't be narcolepsy, although that might explain a lot of things.
Then again, I am bored with most things lately. Action movies, for example. I don't remember much of Vin Diesel in
XXX because I snoozed through the chase scenes and the explosions, which is to say I missed the bulk of the cinematic monstrosity. I have become too numb to appreciate the otherwise vicarious testosterone thrill of such and such. Increasingly, I now want the searing interior tapestries of quiet drama and comedy. Rambunctious comedy is okay, as long as they show a hint of a brain. Jim Carrey in Bruce Almighty, for example. Or the antics of Monty Python. Small dramas, too, are more intense than the brawny promises of action heroes. Charlotte Rampling in
Swimming Pool, for instance. Or Diane Lane in
Under the Tuscan Sun.
But after that movie or this, I still return to the old boredom, and forced to confront a day that may be busy, yes, but forever lacks the "bite" that would make all things worthwhile, and banish away a stir-crazy life.
A man
needs his excitement.
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
I am so frequently bored these days that in the middle of writing an email, for example, at the crest of rush-hour Internet cafe traffic, I find myself waking with a start, realizing that I have somehow nodded away to sleep. It can't be narcolepsy, although that might explain a lot of things.
Then again, I am bored with most things lately. Action movies, for example. I don't remember much of Vin Diesel in
XXX because I snoozed through the chase scenes and the explosions, which is to say I missed the bulk of the cinematic monstrosity. I have become too numb to appreciate the otherwise vicarious testosterone thrill of such and such. Increasingly, I now want the searing interior tapestries of quiet drama and comedy. Rambunctious comedy is okay, as long as they show a hint of a brain. Jim Carrey in Bruce Almighty, for example. Or the antics of Monty Python. Small dramas, too, are more intense than the brawny promises of action heroes. Charlotte Rampling in
Swimming Pool, for instance. Or Diane Lane in
Under the Tuscan Sun.
But after that movie or this, I still return to the old boredom, and forced to confront a day that may be busy, yes, but forever lacks the "bite" that would make all things worthwhile, and banish away a stir-crazy life.
A man
needs his excitement.
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
Monday, May 31, 2004
8:51 PM |
After the Wedding
The dank smell of an apartment gone to grimy neglect assaulted me when I turned the key to let myself in after a weekend of being away. It was the first indication I was indeed home, back to my own reality.
Here we go again, I tell myself. Back from a blissful, although very brief, Cebu break. The wedding was wonderful, and Beth was a lovely bride. More wonderful though was my time spent alone in the middle of a very big city. I was nothing else but a dot in the surge of humanity and taxi cabs, and it felt good to be anonymous for once. It felt like freedom.
More about my Cebu trip later. I still have an apartment to clean, you know, and laundry to wash, and reality to haul in, in the guise of breaking schedule in my appointment book for the next few days...
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
8:51 PM |
After the Wedding
The dank smell of an apartment gone to grimy neglect assaulted me when I turned the key to let myself in after a weekend of being away. It was the first indication I was indeed home, back to my own reality.
Here we go again, I tell myself. Back from a blissful, although very brief, Cebu break. The wedding was wonderful, and Beth was a lovely bride. More wonderful though was my time spent alone in the middle of a very big city. I was nothing else but a dot in the surge of humanity and taxi cabs, and it felt good to be anonymous for once. It felt like freedom.
More about my Cebu trip later. I still have an apartment to clean, you know, and laundry to wash, and reality to haul in, in the guise of breaking schedule in my appointment book for the next few days...
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
8:51 PM |
After the Wedding
The dank smell of an apartment gone to grimy neglect assaulted me when I turned the key to let myself in after a weekend of being away. It was the first indication I was indeed home, back to my own reality.
Here we go again, I tell myself. Back from a blissful, although very brief, Cebu break. The wedding was wonderful, and Beth was a lovely bride. More wonderful though was my time spent alone in the middle of a very big city. I was nothing else but a dot in the surge of humanity and taxi cabs, and it felt good to be anonymous for once. It felt like freedom.
More about my Cebu trip later. I still have an apartment to clean, you know, and laundry to wash, and reality to haul in, in the guise of breaking schedule in my appointment book for the next few days...
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
Wednesday, May 26, 2004
2:54 PM |
How Not to Live
After three days of living
just right and enjoying the whole concept of a "reformed lifestyle," I stumbled just a bit -- but out of choice
naman, because there was no other way to deal with the whole thing. The drill: I went to bed late (partly because it was the debut of the new season of
Six Feet Under), woke up very late, and didn't take any meal (which turned out to be a double-serving of fried burger patty drenched in mushroom sauce --
very healthy) until way past 2 p.m. -- and all because I
had to finish checking the final papers and exams, and calculating the grades of my Philippine Literature and Advanced Composition classes this summer. I'm nearly done with the whole thing, and my exhausted body is glad at the prospect. Really glad.
Sometimes I wonder how I manage to breathe with the type of schedule I have. It is a killer. It is not a good way to live. Which is why, next month, I'm keeping things simple.
Hear that, life? Simple.(Ian is busy keeping his fingers crossed.)
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
2:54 PM |
How Not to Live
After three days of living
just right and enjoying the whole concept of a "reformed lifestyle," I stumbled just a bit -- but out of choice
naman, because there was no other way to deal with the whole thing. The drill: I went to bed late (partly because it was the debut of the new season of
Six Feet Under), woke up very late, and didn't take any meal (which turned out to be a double-serving of fried burger patty drenched in mushroom sauce --
very healthy) until way past 2 p.m. -- and all because I
had to finish checking the final papers and exams, and calculating the grades of my Philippine Literature and Advanced Composition classes this summer. I'm nearly done with the whole thing, and my exhausted body is glad at the prospect. Really glad.
Sometimes I wonder how I manage to breathe with the type of schedule I have. It is a killer. It is not a good way to live. Which is why, next month, I'm keeping things simple.
Hear that, life? Simple.(Ian is busy keeping his fingers crossed.)
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
2:54 PM |
How Not to Live
After three days of living
just right and enjoying the whole concept of a "reformed lifestyle," I stumbled just a bit -- but out of choice
naman, because there was no other way to deal with the whole thing. The drill: I went to bed late (partly because it was the debut of the new season of
Six Feet Under), woke up very late, and didn't take any meal (which turned out to be a double-serving of fried burger patty drenched in mushroom sauce --
very healthy) until way past 2 p.m. -- and all because I
had to finish checking the final papers and exams, and calculating the grades of my Philippine Literature and Advanced Composition classes this summer. I'm nearly done with the whole thing, and my exhausted body is glad at the prospect. Really glad.
Sometimes I wonder how I manage to breathe with the type of schedule I have. It is a killer. It is not a good way to live. Which is why, next month, I'm keeping things simple.
Hear that, life? Simple.(Ian is busy keeping his fingers crossed.)
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
Tuesday, May 25, 2004
9:24 AM |
Pictures From the 2004 Workshop
I've uploaded
some photos from the recently concluded Dumaguete Writers Workshop. I took them in the last week of the workshop, after the Bohol leg, so I missed out on some fellows (Faye Ilogon and Romel Oribe, who attended the first week only, and Monica Macansantos, who -- during my free time -- was always with her father in Montemar).
I'm not so sure anymore if I'll still have the energy to be with next year's fellows. Four years of being the local tour guide, I think, is enough.
Oh well.
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
9:24 AM |
Pictures From the 2004 Workshop
I've uploaded
some photos from the recently concluded Dumaguete Writers Workshop. I took them in the last week of the workshop, after the Bohol leg, so I missed out on some fellows (Faye Ilogon and Romel Oribe, who attended the first week only, and Monica Macansantos, who -- during my free time -- was always with her father in Montemar).
I'm not so sure anymore if I'll still have the energy to be with next year's fellows. Four years of being the local tour guide, I think, is enough.
Oh well.
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
9:24 AM |
Pictures From the 2004 Workshop
I've uploaded
some photos from the recently concluded Dumaguete Writers Workshop. I took them in the last week of the workshop, after the Bohol leg, so I missed out on some fellows (Faye Ilogon and Romel Oribe, who attended the first week only, and Monica Macansantos, who -- during my free time -- was always with her father in Montemar).
I'm not so sure anymore if I'll still have the energy to be with next year's fellows. Four years of being the local tour guide, I think, is enough.
Oh well.
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
You learn to say "no" to live a life. You learn to have other people make their own mistakes to create something for themselves, without them always having to come running up to you for help and do their "thing" for them. You learn to love, and despise. You learn to love most of all. You learn to stand back, and you learn how to surrender. You learn to read into why people do the things they do. You learn to wake up at 6 o'clock in the morning and eat five small meals a day. You learn, again, not to eat from 6:30 onwards, not even a grape, or a
piyaya. You learn to appreciate the hunger pangs, and channel energy elsewhere. You learn to forgive yourself. You learn to tackle the clutter of your life by not thinking too much about schedules and such, but by doing things a little at a time -- the David Approach to Goliath,
kumbaga. You learn to question why you do the things you do, say the things you say, act the way you act. You learn to look at yourself in the third person, and become amused by the human being that you are, full of courage, cowardice, small strengths, and frailty -- a hopeful creature capable of much drama. Most of all, you learn to say "no."
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
You learn to say "no" to live a life. You learn to have other people make their own mistakes to create something for themselves, without them always having to come running up to you for help and do their "thing" for them. You learn to love, and despise. You learn to love most of all. You learn to stand back, and you learn how to surrender. You learn to read into why people do the things they do. You learn to wake up at 6 o'clock in the morning and eat five small meals a day. You learn, again, not to eat from 6:30 onwards, not even a grape, or a
piyaya. You learn to appreciate the hunger pangs, and channel energy elsewhere. You learn to forgive yourself. You learn to tackle the clutter of your life by not thinking too much about schedules and such, but by doing things a little at a time -- the David Approach to Goliath,
kumbaga. You learn to question why you do the things you do, say the things you say, act the way you act. You learn to look at yourself in the third person, and become amused by the human being that you are, full of courage, cowardice, small strengths, and frailty -- a hopeful creature capable of much drama. Most of all, you learn to say "no."
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
You learn to say "no" to live a life. You learn to have other people make their own mistakes to create something for themselves, without them always having to come running up to you for help and do their "thing" for them. You learn to love, and despise. You learn to love most of all. You learn to stand back, and you learn how to surrender. You learn to read into why people do the things they do. You learn to wake up at 6 o'clock in the morning and eat five small meals a day. You learn, again, not to eat from 6:30 onwards, not even a grape, or a
piyaya. You learn to appreciate the hunger pangs, and channel energy elsewhere. You learn to forgive yourself. You learn to tackle the clutter of your life by not thinking too much about schedules and such, but by doing things a little at a time -- the David Approach to Goliath,
kumbaga. You learn to question why you do the things you do, say the things you say, act the way you act. You learn to look at yourself in the third person, and become amused by the human being that you are, full of courage, cowardice, small strengths, and frailty -- a hopeful creature capable of much drama. Most of all, you learn to say "no."
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
Sunday, May 23, 2004
She, in her old age, now counts her "I love you's" out like a miser's spare change, and you wonder somehow how love can be like that, always under a scowl, afraid to bloom to trembling truth.
He was the one who kept heads spinning in his ambiguities. Even after he has explained himself, there it still was -- mystery wrapped up as a beautiful boy. Of course you fell for his quiet smiles, the way the light turns soft brown in his eyes, and the way his words roll out, when he speaks, with such sweet, precise enunciation. Maybe you even love the way his hair, kept trim (and always under a cap), shies up, close to forehead, to a curl. You keep your ground, though, with practice. You know this can't lead anywhere.
She tells you she has never seen heaven like this, in intoxication, and away from home. She is beautiful and sixteen. "You are an angel," you tell her. When she smiles, you find yourself longing for a sister.
He is inconstant, but is always bliss and pure joy. His body is home. Of course you hate him for your falling deep into his eyes, and knowing that while you pretend you are strong, you can easily get lost without the comfort of his becoming familiar, like life.
She stumps you with intimate moments.
She knows, doesn't she? is your eternal question, a refrain that soon gets lost in both your bubbles of laughter and sad joys. You hold her hand, and silently you wish her well, and then you wish her love as well.
He has become a stranger, a spiteful man without context for his sudden black moods. You wonder how that can be, how a beautiful summer can suddenly turn upside-down for somebody you once knew as friend and ally. You realize, seeing the blankness in his cigarette eyes, that nobody really knows anybody.
You write somewhere, in a piece of blue paper: "Every man is an island. There are waters of separation between us, our lapping waves the only means with which we touch each other -- inconstant, and frequently breeding sadness. We are all connected by our disconnections."
Paradox is a kind of life.
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
She, in her old age, now counts her "I love you's" out like a miser's spare change, and you wonder somehow how love can be like that, always under a scowl, afraid to bloom to trembling truth.
He was the one who kept heads spinning in his ambiguities. Even after he has explained himself, there it still was -- mystery wrapped up as a beautiful boy. Of course you fell for his quiet smiles, the way the light turns soft brown in his eyes, and the way his words roll out, when he speaks, with such sweet, precise enunciation. Maybe you even love the way his hair, kept trim (and always under a cap), shies up, close to forehead, to a curl. You keep your ground, though, with practice. You know this can't lead anywhere.
She tells you she has never seen heaven like this, in intoxication, and away from home. She is beautiful and sixteen. "You are an angel," you tell her. When she smiles, you find yourself longing for a sister.
He is inconstant, but is always bliss and pure joy. His body is home. Of course you hate him for your falling deep into his eyes, and knowing that while you pretend you are strong, you can easily get lost without the comfort of his becoming familiar, like life.
She stumps you with intimate moments.
She knows, doesn't she? is your eternal question, a refrain that soon gets lost in both your bubbles of laughter and sad joys. You hold her hand, and silently you wish her well, and then you wish her love as well.
He has become a stranger, a spiteful man without context for his sudden black moods. You wonder how that can be, how a beautiful summer can suddenly turn upside-down for somebody you once knew as friend and ally. You realize, seeing the blankness in his cigarette eyes, that nobody really knows anybody.
You write somewhere, in a piece of blue paper: "Every man is an island. There are waters of separation between us, our lapping waves the only means with which we touch each other -- inconstant, and frequently breeding sadness. We are all connected by our disconnections."
Paradox is a kind of life.
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
She, in her old age, now counts her "I love you's" out like a miser's spare change, and you wonder somehow how love can be like that, always under a scowl, afraid to bloom to trembling truth.
He was the one who kept heads spinning in his ambiguities. Even after he has explained himself, there it still was -- mystery wrapped up as a beautiful boy. Of course you fell for his quiet smiles, the way the light turns soft brown in his eyes, and the way his words roll out, when he speaks, with such sweet, precise enunciation. Maybe you even love the way his hair, kept trim (and always under a cap), shies up, close to forehead, to a curl. You keep your ground, though, with practice. You know this can't lead anywhere.
She tells you she has never seen heaven like this, in intoxication, and away from home. She is beautiful and sixteen. "You are an angel," you tell her. When she smiles, you find yourself longing for a sister.
He is inconstant, but is always bliss and pure joy. His body is home. Of course you hate him for your falling deep into his eyes, and knowing that while you pretend you are strong, you can easily get lost without the comfort of his becoming familiar, like life.
She stumps you with intimate moments.
She knows, doesn't she? is your eternal question, a refrain that soon gets lost in both your bubbles of laughter and sad joys. You hold her hand, and silently you wish her well, and then you wish her love as well.
He has become a stranger, a spiteful man without context for his sudden black moods. You wonder how that can be, how a beautiful summer can suddenly turn upside-down for somebody you once knew as friend and ally. You realize, seeing the blankness in his cigarette eyes, that nobody really knows anybody.
You write somewhere, in a piece of blue paper: "Every man is an island. There are waters of separation between us, our lapping waves the only means with which we touch each other -- inconstant, and frequently breeding sadness. We are all connected by our disconnections."
Paradox is a kind of life.
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
I'm still here. Life resumes Monday, the way it usually does -- always the hard awakening after a weekend of whirlwind bliss and gentle debauchery. Who knew May could be so full, so empty, so sad, so glorious...
all at the same time, contradiction being summer's true name, and so life-changing in small ways, the way how tarot cards, for example, tell you how to breathe in and exhale? Thanks, Sundialgirl, for the fortunes. I feel my bones itching to move. Like you said over beer and little heartbreaks, we all choose our own fate. I
am choosing mine.
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
I'm still here. Life resumes Monday, the way it usually does -- always the hard awakening after a weekend of whirlwind bliss and gentle debauchery. Who knew May could be so full, so empty, so sad, so glorious...
all at the same time, contradiction being summer's true name, and so life-changing in small ways, the way how tarot cards, for example, tell you how to breathe in and exhale? Thanks, Sundialgirl, for the fortunes. I feel my bones itching to move. Like you said over beer and little heartbreaks, we all choose our own fate. I
am choosing mine.
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
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