Monday, September 20, 2004

scaredy dogs

From my sister, who does research at UCSF. She's swabbing dog's gums to locate possible genetic markers for aggression and panic attacks in dogs:

Hello Folks!

I need your help. I'm the project manager for a canine behavioral genetics study at UCSF. We're searching for folks who have dogs that would like to contribute their dogs' DNA.

There are 2 reasons for the project:

 #1 - Collecting a large pool of dog DNA so we may develop genetic marker panels. The information from the panels will help us learn more about the canine genome.

 #2 - Looking for dogs with panic attacks, anxiety-related, and/or aggressive behaviors and their family members (i.e. siblings, parents, distand relations). From the general info of the canine genome, we would like to look for genes that contribute to anxiety and/or aggressive behaviors. Later, we hope that these same genes will be the similar to the same genes that contribute to human panic attacks and anxiety behavior.

 Also, I'd appreciate it if you can forward this email to other dog owners who may be interested in participating.

 If you have any questions or comments, feel free to email me (K9BehavioralGenetics@lppi.ucsf.edu).

 Thanks.

 Maria

Sunday, September 19, 2004

Karma delayed

D txtd (as in phone texted) me just before 8 asking me about the rain. I checked the window, could see that the pavement was wet but nothing falling from the sky. Sale looked like a Go. The second I txtd D back, woosh, woosh, pour. I thought it was December. Had to send another txt saying I had lied.

Went online to check the Doppler radar. Heavy rain as far south as San Jose. Hmmm...do I want to spend my Sunday staring at the sky and wondering about the rain. We decide to call it off. Called the rest of the crew before they headed out the door. Most of them I think were barely out of bed. I called my sister, "it's cancelled." why? "look out your window." daaaang!

We had started calling our garage sales the karmic garage sales. Active participation in the cycle of karma, developing the intent and the ability to let stagnant things in our life go to release the energy and give back to the world. Making a buck is nice, but having room in my closet is better.

Instead of karma delayed, perhaps it's really a karmic return for the past sales. Alot of us had gone to kali seminar on Wednesday and still recovering. Kali seminar was awesome! Several guros/guras, in the backyard under the moonlight with a few lights. Getting dumped into sparring matches not knowing what weapon and with whom. Plus, I was moving quite well that evening. Staff, open hand, knife, stick. Oh when the Kali is good, it's poetic! Anyway, I didn't mind the chance of sleeping in as the cold rain pelted the roof and I stayed under the warm covers.

I napped a bit longer and cleaned up a bit. My sister went hiking on the ridge. Later in the afternoon, I went with the fiance to fill a bridal registry at REI and some errand shopping. And I'm sure everyone else managed to make use of a now wide open day. September has been crazy, so it was nice to just take the leisurely pace.

Found out in a couple of weeks there will be a HUGE fair at the elementary school across from our garagesale location. There will be tons of foot traffic then. That's a nice karmic return indeed.

Take our junk please!

Sunday September 19
9a-2p
1112 Chestnut St, Alameda

Yes, indeed, having one of our 3-4 garage sales for this year. It's been so crazy that I've been flipping Saturday for Sunday when it truly is Sunday. oh well.

A friend of mine is like, how can you have so many garage sales? And we said, cuz it takes a while before we're ready to let go. It's like peeling layers and there's more stuff in each one. Plus, it's an excuse to chill out on my friend's porch for a day.

The focus of this one will be clothes that we're selling for a buck a bag. You got it all the clothes you can stuff into a bag all for a buck. It should be a hit with the balikbayan packing Filipinos.

Thursday, September 16, 2004

craps

We ended up breaking even for the weekend. I don't have the stomach for gambling. Sure I'll go cruising on motorcycles through the Philippines, and try scuba diving, and sailing. But when I see my stack of chips dwindling, my stomach gets queasy.

But we had a budget. $200. We had been prepping by playing our casino computer game, learning the rules of craps, baccarat, pai gow poker. The night we arrived, we headed for Green Valley casino which is a neighborhood casino so the locals don't have to go all the way to the strip and deal with the tourists. My uncle and aunt gamble there on a regular basis and got us free passes to the buffet there.

The buffet was actually quite good. Food was tasty, but not the generically salty and sweet of most buffets, which a good range of vegetable dishes as well. Thumbs up! Plus, you can't beat free. We watched this older guy, pile up 2 plates of seafood: mussels, clams, crabs, shrimp, then wash it down with a light salad. He was a pro.

Gambling for me is about feeling the vibe and picking the right table at the right price. I tried the craps table and rode my 10 bucks on the pass line as I watched the more experienced players bet with ease on the various spots. I enjoyed watching each shooter's "technique." Those that shook the dice. Others that wanted specific numbers on top before giving them a light tap before tossing. Another that stacked them before sending them down. Each trying to create consistent outcomes in a game of chance. I wasn't much of a shooter. In the end down $70.

As the shooters around the table dried up, we moved onto mini-baccarat. It's an easy enough game. Guess whether the Player or the Banker gets closest to 9. It's like tracking the toss of a coin. The hard part about it is that you need a few people playing so you can guess at possible patterns. I ended up breaking a bit above even when we finally went home.

The next night we ended up there again. Played a few hands of Blackjack, with a dealer who asked us to sit down, was hitting double downs and splits before the house quickly took its money back. I should have quit when I was ahead. Tried craps again. Then waited patiently for a Pai Gow Poker chair to open up. Seats are hard to come by because you can milk this game for hours. When a chair opened up, the dealer told us that they were closing the table, no new players. Dejected we walked to the other Pai Gow Poker table which had been full for hours. One of the managers saw us and brought us to the original table, told the manager there that I was his "cousin" and it was ok. I have alot of cousins, but we certainly wouldn't have been confused for being relations.

Two hands: 5 card and 2 card hands depending on their outcome to the dealer's hand can "push" your bet to the next round. Apparently, I did something wrong on the first hand and got scolded by the dealer. In this game, it's fine for you to show your cards to everyone else because all the cards are dealt. The nature of the bonus also makes other players encourage your win streak because they stand a chance of winning when you win. I was losing fast, getting nothing, when the dealer switch happened and managed to build it back up to break even.

Our last night after the wedding, at the Venetian, we didn't have time to gamble. But I kept thinking all night, wondering what it was like to walk up to a roulette table and put it all on red, then walk away either way. At first I thought maybe not, roulette is like giving your money away, horrible odds. But a detour to the bathroom brought us back to the casino floor, I figure it must be a sign. The fiance emptied his wallet of the $80, which the dealer exchanged for $5 chips. I put the stack on the red diamond. I was feeling nervous already, I don't like losing money, I can't imagine what that guy who liquidated all his assets to ride it on red, must have felt.

The dealer waves her hand across the table signalling no more bets. The white balls starts to bounce along the black and red pockets. Bounce, bounce, tumble, bounce....red 32! SWEET!!! Double our money! Of course after immediately winning, a greedy thought of letting it ride went into my head. And that's the trap of gambling, thinking the good times will last just a little longer. I manage to push that thought out of my head telling myself to "stick to the plan: ride it on red and walk away." I ask the dealer to exchange the chips. The other trap of casinos is that in order to exchange the chips you have to walk clear across the casino pass the temptation of various tables and slot machines to get it back into cash, then find a way out of the casino before it leaves your wallet again. Mission accomplished.

Maybe next time, we might actually come out ahead.

Tuesday, September 14, 2004

back from Vega$

Got back from Vegas last night. My body is wrecked from the 10 hours of driving, late nights, and sleeping on beds not my own. But, we had a good time, so it's a good tired.

Saturday we spent driving around Vegas with my mom. Visited my cousin's new baby. I've got over 30 cousins, so there's always a cousin's new baby. They live in the area known as North Las Vegas which is the old side of town with added new developments. The streets look like you're driving through parts of Los Angeles: various ethnic restaurants, Mexican bakeries, mom and pop shops, graffiti. This, however, is considered the "bad neighborhood" with lower property values and more crime, unlike the newer "nicer" neighborhoods with the generic strip malls or corporate franchised stores that are cookie cutters of each other. I feel more at home in the old neighborhoods. There are people walking around and interacting. There are interesting shops. I don't think I've ever seen these many people in the "nicer" neighborhoods. Yet statistically there is more crime. I wonder about how we lose a sense of "diversity" as we move to the 'burbs. Does "nicer" always mean less economic diversity and accessibility?

My mother has been trying to get her brother to move to a better neighborhood, where property values increase more, with less crime, but he doesn't want to move. Moving is hard and for an immigrant who managed to buy his first home on a janitor's salary, there's a lot of sentimental value in his home. Though Filipinos are a migrating people, there's something about "home" and "homestead" that we hold onto and cling to.

If you're looking for the Filipino restaurants, they're here. West on Charleston off the I-15. There's a Goldilocks, Epoy's restaurant, and a Tipanan, as well as LBC. Didn't get a chance to try any of them yet. The buffets basically serve the general American palette with some Chinese food on the side. The tastebuds wouldn't mind some bagoong and bansilog (bangus, fried rice, and egg) once in a while.

My cousin has a big baby boy and a rambunctious 2 year old who is showing off all her books and toys. She doesn't get too many visitors. Doesn't see dad too often because he's a bartender who works nights 16 hrs straight sometimes. But the tips are good. It's as if everyone here is on swing shift, except maybe those in retail. Her dad is sleeping in the 2nd bedroom.

Gamble at night, shop during the day. Las Vegas finds a way to take your money somehow. My parents were there a week with my grandmother. After a while, my mom wondered what else there was to do in Vegas after you've done most everything else. One can only shop and gamble so much unless you're an addict.

We say goodbye. Tell the 2-year old to be a good "Ate" to her baby brother (which sounds like buh-buh-buh coming from her mouth). There'll be a Christening some time in November.

Next stop is the indoor swap meet. We passed by one on the way to my cousin's house, but this other one my mom heard was even bigger and better. We finally found it after realizing that street numbers don't really go in sequential or logical order around here. It's a buck to enter this warehouse packed with rows of stalls named after various casino hotels: Grand, Hilton, Luxor. Oh, Veronica, I found out where everyone is buying their shawls and outfits for their night out on the Strip.

In the back is a large space full of replicated European stone statues and fountains. There are several "fake" florists specializing in faux flora. A couple of knife booths with cane knives and other weaponry. Jewelry booths with gold by the inch. My mother and I find a booth with various vases and decor. There are some interesting vases that my mother is eyeing for the house. The smaller vases are about $40. I watch my mother pick various designs, ask the price of each. Slowly calculate the total sum.

For these 4, how much? He calculates $200. There is no price tag on the vases, just a letter corresponding to a price sheet we are not allowed to look at. She tells him it's too much, $150. He says she's taking all his profit and the vases are handmade in Italy, which I doubt since you can see the lines of the wallpapered design. He says $180 is his best price. She says that's still too much as we start leaning out the booth, mingling at it's entrance to show we are still interested but don't mind walking away. She tells him that she'll tell all her friends to come here. He says he can go to $170. She says, no way, $160. He asks about the kind of payment. Cash, she replies, and he starts wrapping the vases. He tells her not to tell them the price she got. He can't give them away like that to everyone. She agrees and hands him the cash.

Walking the swap meet you can see the decor of most Las Vegas homes: faux European designs, fake plants and light up water scenes that look like the water is moving. It feels like the markets and tsanggi (small markets) in the Philippines, like Divasoria in Davao. Small cramped, sales people trying to lure you this way and that, an indoor maze where cash is king and the final price is never the final price. The products reflect the glitz and glamour and illusion of Vegas: shiny shoes, fake purses and lots and lots of kitch.

We buy a couple more things then head home. Oddly enough, the swap meet felt more "real" than just about any other place I've visited in Vegas thus far.

National Call in Day

Today is the call in day to Save Betamax which seems silly at first, but in reality it's the decision about Betamax that made it a legal technology in terms of visual media copying that has allowed us to have CDs, DVDs, iPods, TiVo, etc.

The media industry becomes more fearful with each new technology. They argue that the availability of this technology violates their copyright rights. The Betamax VCR decision disagreed with this notion. Read the site for yourself.

Saturday, September 11, 2004

happy birthday!

Happy Birthday, Leny!

Happy Birthday, Eileen!

Thursday, September 09, 2004

I'm not sure why we're friends

Had lunch with R the other day. I knew R in college, we had the same Tagalog class. When we were in the Philippines at the same time, he came up to the province and hitched a ride with my family to Baguio. He went to Binaue rice terraces travelling by himself, my family thought he was crazy.

Every few years I get an email from R, asking what's up and talking about where he is now. I respond graciously. I enjoy hearing from old friends. But we don't really hang out. The emails peter out and we go on with our lives until the next email.

I like R, he's a good guy. We sit waiting for dim sum carts, talking about our respective SOs and the various life adventures we've been on the last couple of years. He's getting married this weekend. We'll be in attendance. I was surprised that he wanted to invite me to his wedding, but I rarely refuse a wedding invite. It's a big moment and it's an honor to be there for them.

What's interesting is that me and R were not hang out buddies or even study buddies in college. I think at the time he was just a guy I knew from class. But 10 years later, here we are talking about moving into the marriage stage of our lives.

We are not the kind of friends that have to see each other every day or get upset if it's been a while. No apologies necessary. I'm not sure how we got here, but I do know that we're friends I think because we open the door when the other person knocks, no questions asked. When we get in touch after a long while there is no guilt about "not keeping in touch better" or resentfulness for not keeping up with each other's lives, it's simply "hey, good to see/hear from you," "how are you doing?" "what have you been up to?" That for us, is enough.

Sure there are other friendships that we both probably have where we keep in touch more often or hang out and those relationships satisfy other relationship needs and those kind of friendships are necessary as well. But our friendship is about as simple as a friendship gets.

Wednesday, September 08, 2004

I just had to post this

If you like to workout to 80s hits and if you like the Governator, oh hell, if you need a good laugh, go here. If you don't have iTunes, check it out here instead.

To which my coworker commented, "at least we know he can count, unless of course he's reading it."

Tuesday, September 07, 2004

U. (don't) C. Filipino profs

Though I can name a dozen or so tenure tracked Filipino professors through the Cal State system, I can barely count to five when looking at the U.C. system, and that includes the ones in science degrees. UCLA had a tenured professor and she left for Cal State, to a school and system that supported her.

However, Thursday, the students, community and alumni will be welcoming Professor Catherine Ceniza Choy to the campus.

Lipman Room
8th Floor Barrows Hall, UC Berkeley, CA
Thursday, September 9, 5:00pm to 7:00pm

It's a tough road to tenure no matter where you are. And particularly for Filipino professors, especially in humanities and social science fields, you've got departments and academic senates demanding a stack of published papers and books, grad students looking for mentors, people to chair their panels, and undergrads hoping you'll teach 2-3 classes of relevant Filipino related courses and maybe stop by a few events and speak. It's a difficult balance, plus looking for a few mentors yourself who will help you in getting past the tenure board.

Since undergrad, I've gotten crash courses on the workings of the university ladder. There have been several Filipino tenure track profs at Cal, many have been derailed for one reason or another. Offers made then revoked. Claims of little research to bulk their resumes. Campus decisions made during the student lulls of summer. Students returning in the Fall to find one less teacher with little explanation and departments quietly sweeping matters under the rug.

In the past many candidates were hired without yet completing their PhDs, which would often be a sticking point in regards to tenure, since at the time there weren't that many Filipinos going into higher academia, but since then there's been a surge of Filipinos getting their PhDs in various fields throughout the U.S. It bodes well for research regarding Filipinos.

But I have hope for Professor Choy, and will be there Thursday to say hello and wish her well. She already held an Associate Professorship at the University of Minnesota and did her PhD at UCLA. Let's hope California treats her well.

Monday, September 06, 2004

violins and beethoven

Enrique and Prosy were visiting A&H too. We spent he hot afternoon getting to know them again. I had worked with Enrique years ago with a civil rights group, but last night I realized how little I knew about them. When I knew them, I was one of those new "youths" coming into the activist scene. In the hours that we spent there chatting and cooking, I learned more about the two the them than I had know in the years I had worked with them. The only time the TV was turned on was to watch the pamanhikan video. Something to be said about simply sitting and talking.

In my early 20s I had spent a lot of time doing community work and various campaigns and activism. I learned much and met a lot of interesting people who often had a great deal of passion. As of late, I have felt like I've fallen away from that and have been trying to find a balance, make choices in terms of the kind of activism and advocacy I would like to pursue. But listening to Enrique and Prosy, I got a better sense of how activism could be more than what I had known in my 20s of political campaigns and protests, though they did that too.

Prosy told me her recipe for leche flan that her aunt had passed to her. I was honored to receive such a family recipe. She knew this too and entrusted me with flipping the flan out of the pan and onto the plate. Flipping flan is a BIG deal! It can be a big mess or you can crack the flan and mar its smooth complexion. I missed the center of the plate, but at least it made it onto the plate in one piece with room to spare. I had often thought that making flan was difficult and complicated, but she broke it down quite easily and it didn't seem as daunting as I had imagined. She cooked nilaga for dinner and talked of how she likened it to painting and wanted to add things that brought certain colors: corn, greens, potatos as if she was painting a landscape.

After dinner waiting for the flan to cool, Prosy gave us bargaining tips. She didn't realize her daughter had been watching her bargaining technique until her daughter travelled to China and was dubbed the "bargaining queen" by her travel group. (She scored a pair of jeans for $2). As she tells of us of her triumphs: the fridge for nearly half off, her car, their bed, she reveals and analyzes how she does it. When she asks for a price, people tell her, "You can't have that price." to which she replies, "Yes, I can. This is the price I want." You have to have the attitude that this is the price you not only want, but that you deserve that price. The funny part is that in the end, they give her the price she wants. We're told that January is a good time to get the big ticket items too.

The SO and Prosy compare stress related ailments tied to their jobs. She quit and went into retirement. It just wasn't worth it. I hope that we can plan it some day so the SO doesn't have to work any more jobs that make his right eye twitch.

Later I find out that Prosy is taking a short story class and how she doesn't feel that she is a writer. We discuss with H about our product oriented identities, that we must have a product to consider ourselves something. For me, I came to understand that being a writer, is the same as being a woman or a Filipina, who is to say that you are not, when you assert that you are? Prosy talked of how her stories were coming out in Tagalog and H mentioned how reading poetry often helped her longer writing.

Enrique talked about how he had to upgrade his cultural references for his new classes. The new crop of college kids were born in 1986. He can't refer to actors, movies, and things that happened before then. They just don't get it. This is the generation that never experienced the Cold War and MTV stopped playing real videos.

At the end of the night, I delightfully discover that Enrique has been taking violin lessons for the past 5-6 years. We manage to coax him to play something. It takes a few notes for me to recognize Beethoven's "Ode to Joy." Next he plays "Bayan Ko." You could tell this was a song he felt in his heart, the way his fingers found the proper tones, how his bow hand was long, fluid and sure, with moments where he could close his eyes and feel the song he played. So different from the "Ode to Joy" that was awkward and a bit stuttered. He tells us that he wanted to play "Ode to Joy" because all the kids played it and that well, he wanted to say that he could play Beethoven. He could care less about playing any of the other classics.

As usual, we never really plan to stay and visit people for that long, but then it just seems to extend on and on (especially when they ask to stay for dinner), well past dinner. I can never get myself to say no, say we have to be going because there are other pressing matters, but I can't because a part of me knows that what could be so pressing in our lives to forgo spending quality time with people we have not seen in a while. There will always be laundry and chores, but how often is there "Bayan Ko" on violin and flan?

Sunday, September 05, 2004

godmothers and teachers

We used to call my high school English teacher, "Godmother," as in kiss my ring and do me a favor I cannot refuse. It started out as a joke Sophomore year. It stuck. She ended up being a guiding force for me as a teenager, a relationship that would carry even to now as she entered my family's home a week ago, 12 years after being her student.

A friend of mine was talking to me about awarding and promoting blackbelts to the youth she worked with. She said this is not just something the teacher gives to the student, but it is a lifetime bond and committment. This made me start to think a lot about the teachers I have had in my life: my parents, my school teachers, my coaches, my friends, my mentors, my godparents. Although I may be out of touch with them, what they taught me has stayed throughout my life. These lessons are carried through my life reinforcing the bond.

We visited A&H, a pair we have asked to be our ninongs/primary sponsors in our wedding. It's the first time H has ever been a ninang for a wedding, so she's quite excited. We were there to show them the video and for the modern pamanhikan ritual, the nuts and bolts planning of the affair. H tells us, "ooh, now you get to call us ninang and ninong and we have new sets of kumares/kumpares." (The other sponsors we choose instantly become related to each other in a close kinship.) We teased A about how we would now kneel and kiss his ring when greeting him.

I have been blessed and lucky over my life to have come across my teachers. People who didn't just give me lessons on a blackboard, but also set their lives as examples for living. They go beyond the "thing" they taught. Because the "thing" they taught was really simply life and that "thing" was always just a vehicle or metaphor for it.

Ever since I was a kid, I wanted to be a teacher. I remember that once we were to write on paper leaves what we wanted to be when we grew up. I wrote that I wanted to be a teacher. I remember watching teachers pick up my leaf and pass it around, getting a few giggles that one of the students wanted to be like them. At the time, I wondered what was so unusual about wanting to be a teacher. My grandmother had been a school teacher. So maybe it's why I've noticed the teachers in my life.

The two high school teachers at the party were indeed the ones who kickstarted my "writing" career, I suppose. I had written a group of poems, mostly for myself as a way to release. I had showed them the stack. They said I should submit them to the new literary publication at school. I told them that I wasn't really a writer, the poems weren't for public consumption and they weren't that good really. I tossed them into the trash. Despite my extracurricular activities in school, I could be ridiculously shy. Little did I know, they took them out of the trash and put them in the submissions stack. They published a few of them.

Looking back at the mentors in my life, they often knew when I wasn't applying myself as well as I should, or could see through the "front" that there was really something wrong that day, and they would always push/smack me around in a way so I could see the potential they saw in me. It's as if they knew there was something beyond what I would admit to myself. "You are a writer whether you admit to it or not." "You are better than you think you are." They have allowed me to become the person I am today and the person I hope to be in the future.

So here we are. The fiance and I are picking our primary sponsors and asking them if they would like to be a part of the celebration in a year. It hasn't been very hard to pick really. We just had to stop and look around. They were all around us, standing right here. We didn't have to look far. They are truly god's blessing. These are our elders. It's the least we can do in honoring them on one of the biggest days of our lives.

Before Eileen left the party, she tells me, "your Tuhan gives such a look! You're very lucky, you have a very good teacher." Of course, Tuhan overhears and tells her, "No, she's lucky, because you are a very good teacher."

They're both right. They both are. And I couldn't have been luckier.

worth the drive

An hour and half just to Vallejo (we had to stop by Valerio's to offer some egg pie and buko pie), then getting lost through Sonoma from Hwy 37 to 112 to 116 to Petaluma to the 101, but well worth the trip through cow pastures to visit this guy:



Who was a bit grumpy I suppose from all the excitement of people visiting that day, but such an adorable grumpy. Lola Leny of course triggered that Filipino cooking gene that cannot possible calculate food proportions with attending people. Fortunately, as the last ones in and the last ones out, we made away with a few of those scones.

We managed to meet and greet many of the guests on their way out. Lucky enough to say hello again to Peter and Grace, who were also a part of Leny's dissertation way back when. We have the shared experience of being known as the "people in the book" by ethnic studies classes at SF State who continue to read about our experiences of "becoming Filipino." Now, we're a decade older, Grace with a lovely 6 year old daughter who raced to create a row of rocks in the picnic table slats. Always nice to see them agian and see where our lives have gone.

Brought the tape of the Pamanhikan to share. Stayed almost til midnight eating 2nd, 3rd, 4th servings of the leftovers. Strawberries and cream! How can you say no? Enjoyed hanging out with Leny and Cal. It's hard to find much extra time anymore, but when you have it, got to use it well with people you enjoy.

Thursday, September 02, 2004

the call, a calling

I
have been
asked to step

forward.
Come forth
to the ring

dazzle
the crowd
with spins, kicks

leaps
spectacular. But
alas, my technique

is
not such
found in Hollywood

blockbusters.
Yet, step
to the mat

I
will. Feel
the air breeze

past
the difference
between hit and

miss
the width
of my hair.

To
be seen
yet not be

felt.
And when
the time is

now.
I shall
step forth close

to
your ear
in the slightest

of
breaths
to say only

this
under Stephanie's
well nourished moon.

Wednesday, September 01, 2004

bloggedy blog

Thanks, Eileen and Jean for writing about the Pamanhikan. Sending various relatives out of town relatives to go read your write-ups. Thanks also to Rona and Henry for attending, and to Barbara and Leny for sending well wishes.

It meant a lot to us to share the day in person and in spirit with the people that have meant so much to us over the years. And in 400 more days, we hope you can share another special date with us again.

Rate Your Professor

I found some rave ratings for Sunny at this site.

Tuesday, August 31, 2004

an end of a series

Budget cuts have killed programming at the Chinese Cultural Center located on the 3rd floor of the Holiday Inn in SF where Kearny Street held joint readings for years. Last Thursday's reading for "Going Home to a Landscape" was the last one.

The reading was quite a reunion for a lot of folks. Several people who had gone through the MFA program at SF State with Catie Cariaga were there. I found out that Virginia Cerenio and I share a family name from the same town in Pangasinan and come from a line of hilots. Apparently, we're a family of writers as well.

The reading was delayed as we anticipated Marianne Villanueva's arrival from Bangkok that very evening. She practically came straight from the plane and had to reimmerse herself into the Bay Area and sitting in the driver's seat of a car, shaking off a bit of that traveler's amnesia. She cut her vacation short to make this reading.

Virginia broke her solitude up way past Napa to come for the reading as well. A reading with KSW I guess falls under "a damn good reason" to drive 3 hours to.

Catie drove in from the east bay and though we work on the same campus and I run into her, I totally forgot we probably should have carpooled. Dawn Mabalon was madly racing from SF State looking fine in her black pinstripe suit.

We started the reading after Marianne came in wheeling her mini-shopping cart of "Going Home to a Landscape" books.

Packed house! After intros, Virginia reads a few pieces from the book, including one about her father as he slowly lost his desire to eat in his last days.

Tsismis quickly spreads as Marianne announces my engagement to the crowd prior to my read. And I'm thinking, "Didn't she just get off the plane?" Catie read a few new pieces from E Pluribus Karaoke, interpersing lines with some soulful singing that caused the audienced to clap in beat. Dawn read a piece that didn't make "Going Home" about all the types of Filipino men, who in the end are all trying to work their "game," but how she loves them nonetheless. A piece from her bitter-20s she says.

The night closed with a few questions from the audience and chit-chat through the crowd. I forgot to ask Manong Oscar Peneranda about his "misdemeanors" in St. Louis. We had to be out of there by 9. Kearny Street will continue its readings elsewhere, perhaps at the new International Hotel next door that is nearing completion.

Before leaving, I made sure to introduce my fiance to Catie. I had run into Catie on campus a few weeks prior and mentioned the engagement. To which she immediately went into "auntie" mode and asked, "who is he? have I met him before? what's he like?" etc. So, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to make introductions or reintroductions as it were.

The Holiday Inn Chinese Cultural Center held its niche in a often overheated room across from Portsmouth Square, not the most ideal place, but a place nonetheless. It was a space. Sad to see it go.

concentric circles

Tuhan closed the Pamanhikan by talking about concentric circles, the different identies and communities, family, friends, and with the acceptance of the dowry the communities that Rhett and I each brought to the table are now joined into one community, one family. Eileen and Tuhan brought Rhett's and my hand together acknowledging this new bond.

I looked around the room at everyone present. There was my family (cousins, uncles, aunts and such), my friends, others of the Kali clan, Rhett's friends, his siblings, old high school teachers, parts of who I'd consider my poetic family. They were all here to witness and to be a part of this union.

We couldn't have felt more blessed.

The circles of our lives were coming together as everyone mingled around the dining table ladened with food and the rest of the house. I realized it was one of the few times that people from all the different parts of our lives were in one place. For the first time I felt the layers of my life touching upon one another. I remember talking with my high school English teacher and looking into her eyes knowing, yes, she could see me for all the people I have come to be.

Many stopped at the wall of family photos my mother had created. Frames with pictures of me and my siblings over the years. Each of these circles knew of a certain side of me: the writer, the kali gura, the friend, the sister, the ate, the niece, the daughter. Some had knew of me from several different circles. But today, they were getting a chance to fill in the holes, find a bit more about these other people I am and to find more about what would be my future.

For all those times in my life where I felt like I didn't fit or that my life seemed incongruous, it all seemed to make sense now. Often it seems as though the people who knew you as a child, would never be able to see yourself now. But in that moment, I felt like an open book where people could see me as a child, a teenager, a young woman, a writer, a daughter, a gura, a friend, an ate, and now soon to be wife. For all the years I had been afraid to allow people to see different sides of me as if acknowledging these different aspects of my life would invalidate the other, there was in reality nothing to fear. I could pass from one moment a cold deadly stare wielding a knife to playing and skipping with the three-year-olds to obediently filling my mother's long list of grocery items through Chinatown.

If anything, instead of fear, I found love. I found love in each circle to its edge through and within every layer to the very core where two people now stood. In that way, for the first time, I felt whole.

Gabi ng mga Kasintahan

another gift we received....


Gabi ng mga Kasintahan (Night of the Lovers)

A balmy amethyst breeze
Whispers to flickering shadows
Of silhouetted palms
Like the brush of soft wings
Murmuring intimately,
Echoing the caress
Of rustling bamboo,
Longing for the sweet breath
Of sampaguita garlands
Entwined.

And Malakas and Maganda
Alone
Beneath a temple of stars
In their secret tropical Eden
Blessed by angels.

-Elizabeth Pelaez Norris

Sunday, August 29, 2004

the gift of advice

The gift from Tuhan, DSR, & family:

Gift One
Instructions: Read card, open gift
"Two candles" that unite into one burning desire...Rhett, you lucky dog

Gift Two
Instructions: Read 2nd card, open gift
Michelle, "two pair of boxing gloves," one to protect your honor prior to marriage.
Rhett, one pair for you to fight for desire. You lucky dog

Gift Three
Instructions: Read 3rd card, open gift
Michelle, fr you a pair of "rose colored glasses". Please take our advice... after marriage its best to see your lives through "rose colored glass."
Rhett, believe me... don't try anything before marriage. Otherwise, you will be wearing "rose colored glasses" to hide the signs of spousal abuse. You dirty Dog!!!

Gift Four
Instructions: Open last gift before reading card
Rhett, Michelle: As a hapily married couple we recognized early that the secret to a happy marriage, was making sure that someone must deign to wear the "collar and leash" if order, and tranquility, are to be maintained. Unfortunately, in your case we are not sure who the true dog is...

With love...

---
After which, Tuhan highly suggested to Rhett that it's way better to wear the collar if he knew what was good for him and mentioned to me that I should make sure to give him a long leash.

words to live by

Kenneth P. Guerney, editor of the online poetry journal, tmpoetry.com, closed his email newsletter with...

Live a good poem...
May your receive many hugs and blessings...


Sounds good to me!

whew!

I don't know if I should wipe the sweat off my forehead over the dramatics or dry up my tears at how touching the Pamanhikan celebration was. But, I'll let the folks who attended, speak before I say anything. Right now, I'm just going to enjoy the moment.

I'll say one thing. Eileen Tabios was quite superb as the SO's representative. Tuhan, representing my family, was "on", and few can match the wits and keep their composure, grace, and eloquence as Eileen did in front of such a presence.

My favorite lines of the evening:

(after a metal belt of bells was presented)
Tuhan: Did you know that the souls of our people are in the sounds of those bells?
Eileen: Well, then, let me do some more ringing.

Thursday, August 26, 2004

the gravitational pull of 10 moons

A lecture on lightning, yin-yang, and you as the conduit almost brought me to tears tonight. Something about touching the heavens and the moons on the tips of my great grandfather's fingers. I met him when I was 5, my first trip home. His body was frail, leathered skin hung loosely on bones. He could not walk without assistance but he would crawl like the inchworms on the guyebano trees. His spirit ever driving him forward. He whispered his raspy voice in people's ears. Anak ni Rebing. they screamed in his ear Tingnan niyo, heto as they pulled my mother to his side. He was not the man she left 20 years ago, she was no longer the dalaga. I do not know if they recognized each other.

He is now a parceled story to me. A generous man who talked to spirits, walked on fire, and swung sticks. When he slept they said he used to reach towards heaven. The children thought it was funny. No matter how hard they tried to pull his arm down to his side, it would some how spring back up, the gravitational pull of 10 moons.

I could have asked for his stick 8 years ago, but refused. I did not feel worthy or ready for such power. When I returned 4 years later, his stick was lost and he all but forgotten in the memory of his aging sons.

Tonight I reached for him as my hand stretched higher into the darkness of the night. Tonight I might have touched the heavens and found him there.

Wednesday, August 25, 2004

Pinoy Poetics opening the door to poetry appreciation

I work in a world of programmers and technical writers. Texts and manuals are reread and re-edited to make sure the reader does not stray from the intended path of click here, enter password there. Programmers write lines of logical paths, flow charts, loops, and repetitions. There is input, there is output. If we've done our jobs well, the output is predictable. The words we write must mean exactly what they mean not allowing our readers freedom of interpretation.

I was having coffee with one of my clients and I mentioned that I was looking to organize a couple of launches for Pinoy Poetics. So I brought my copy of Pinoy Poetics for him to peruse. He stops by the cubicle later and confesses that though he's done a lot of technical writing, he's never really been able to get poetry. He reads it and he get nothing out of it. Though if someone else reads it, he might get something. There was a bit of lament in his voice as if he really wanted to be able to see what other people are seeing, like staring at those scrambled posters and waiting for the 3D image to emerge.

We got into a discussion about how we are first presented poetry in school often doesn't quite foster its appreciation. When poetry is more about reading comprehension and counting meter and syllables, it becomes a task especially when your teacher shoots down your interpretation of a poem. For him, poetry reading was a struggle, a fight, a battle. You have to "get" it and if you don't "get" it then you're dumb or if you don't think that the classic canon of writers are fabulous then there's something wrong with you. As a writer, this is disheartening to hear.

I guess I was lucky. My first introduction to poetry was writing haikus in first grade about trees and flowers. My high school English teacher was herself a writer and poet and I began to see poetry as something more than a school assignment but really as an expression of life. There was no "stigma" to reading poetry or even creating it.

And yet, the man can appreciate a fine glass of wine. To some extent, appreciating poetry is like appreciating wine. Part of it is being able to open up your senses to allow yourself the experience. I admited that I didn't think my senses were tuned to appreciate wine as much as I'd like to. Then again, a dozen people will come out with a dozen opinions of the same wine.

Even as a poetry reader there are just some poems I don't "get" even from writer's I love. Or I might reread something I didn't "get" 2 years ago, but suddenly has greater meaning for me. And in reality, the best part of poetry for me is that there is nothing to "get." There is no predictable output. As the reader you are free to interpret and wander the page as much as you want.

I'm lending him the book for a while. He said though he's not a poetry reader, he'd like to read more and plans to. That's good to hear. The population of people who read poetry as increased by at least one today.

Hero

Been waiting for this movie for 2 years and thanks to Quentin Tarantino, it's here in US theaters in it's uncut form starting Friday.

From SFgate:

And so "Hero" has taken on a deeper personal meaning for Li -- not merely because of its artistic sweep or its representation of Chinese history and cultural character. For Li, "Hero" is a film about the highest level of martial arts, the level that comes only with a deeper wisdom about human nature. "We say that martial arts has three levels," he adds. "The first level is about skill -- about turning your body into a weapon, or making a weapon a part of your body. The second is about turning your heart into a weapon -- your courage, your skill, your stance, so that, even without fighting, your opponent will feel defeated. But the third level is about having no weapons at all. The third level is about love."

"I have wanted to make this film for a long time," says Li. "It is a film that uses violence to talk about the importance of nonviolence. If I beat you up, you may say you will change, but in your heart you will not change. You will tell your son, 'Kill him,' your grandson, 'Kill him.' But if I let you beat me up, if I show you my love, only then can I change you. Only then can I make you forget your anger and your hate.


Tuesday, August 24, 2004

Pamanhikan

I sense the SO's growing worry about this weekend's Pamanhikan. He worries that the dowry isn't "enough." He worries that Tuhan (who represents my family) will shoot it down. He worries that he is not "rich" enough to buy certain items. He worries that he placed our representatives in a predicament. He worries, worries, worries.

I just laugh because he's being silly. Because even though I don't know what's on the dowry list, I do know and remember one thing....IT'S RIGGED!!!! It's ALL rigged! I know because we wrote out the script, which basically goes, they present the gifts, there's some bantering, and in the end we say yes. Now the drama and the theater and the eloquence of words spoken, we don't know. BUT, I do know that in the end, MY representative will accept the dowry, guaranteed, even if I have to kick him under the table to remind him that he's supposed to say yes.

Remember that word, "yes"? I said Yes to the laughter of the birds or something or other. We have it on videotape just so the SO remembers. It's not the kind of question that you get to erase your answer on. Plus I figure, the more I say yes the easier it will be to say "I do".

Now, back in the day, you might get shot down. But this is not the time of getting shot down, this is a done deal. Hell, we're under contract with the reception venue and they've asked for a deposit. We are already in motion and there is no stopping this momentum.

We already had the private question and the private answer. This weekend is the public celebration and ritual of this agreed union. It's about bringing together family and friends and communities. It's about the romance and the tradition. It's about having a whole lot of fabulous Filipino food.

It's about the new community and new family we are creating and having all of those people say, "Yes" too. And trust me, we only invited the people who would say yes.

Going Home This Thurs

Kearny Street Workshop Reading

THURS, AUG 26: Going Home to a Landscape

A poetry reading featuring Virginia Cerenio, Marianne Villanueva, Dawn Mabalon, Catalina Cariaga, and Michelle Bautista
Chinese Culture Center, 750 Kearny (3rd Fl. Holiday Inn building) between Clay and Washington sts, SF
7 - 9PM; $5

Monday, August 23, 2004

boom or bust

I'm a big fan of Carol Lloyd's column "Surreal Estate" in the SF Chronicle. I'm fascinated by the ties between home, land, earth, and economics.

I think about these things each time I go to Las Vegas, since this town is the latest housing boom. People walking away with double their house price in 2 years time, something that takes most areas 15-20 years to do. I myself took the gamble 2 years ago and put down some money on a plot of land just to see what this was all about.

Each time we drive through Vegas there is yet another tract housing neighborhood going up with names like Aberdeen, and Summerlin, and Springs Valley. And people are coming with their cash in droves to buy into this boom. Many from the higher priced coasts (SF, LA, San Diego). Aloha Air has a direct flight to Vegas since many Hawaiians decided to retire there as well. But I wonder about the people who live in Vegas, the ones who work in the casinos like my uncle and cousins. Tourism is the one big industry there thus far. No big tech, no science. UNLV has courses in health care and hotel management.

Gamblers only tell you about their big wins, they rarely tell you about their losses. Like most booms, there is an underside to them, the bust. Everyone tries to get rich, but not everyone does. My family has been fortunate that they were able to get jobs: nursing homes, janitors, help desks at casinos, elevator operator, retail. They were fortunate too that they got their houses when the average Las Vegas resident who earns on average $40,000 per year could still afford them.

The neighborhood newsletter lists a dozen different babysitting services. Las Vegas never sleeps, neither do its workers, someone has to watch the kids. My cousins tell me of a 16 and over club on Wednesday nights. The schools are brand new, they can't build them fast enough. But there isn't a whole lot else out here. My other cousin says that dating is the pasttime for teenagers: hookin' up, breakin' up. Not much else to do.

In many ways, Las Vegas is starting to be like Hawaii in that its housing prices are outpacing the average income. There are more and more signs saying "discount for Nevada residents." Californians with their imperviousness to high prices have pushed the market here.

My parents knew of my uncle's neighbor who worked two jobs in SF, left to buy a house in Las Vegas, but was forced to sell that house and move back when he couldn't find a job to pay his mortgage. Like the 49ers in the gold rush that brought people to California, these prospecters bet it all thinking you can't lose.

The housing "boom" is mostly for the new houses. Older neighborhoods take 10-15 years to double in price. Those neighborhoods didn't build in flash flood protection like the newer ones. Their streets become raging rivers in a matter of minutes.

Other than gambling (every neighborhood has its own casino, so locals don't have to go to the Strip with the tourists), the other pasttime here is shopping. Every mall it seems is really an outlet. Every Target is a Target Greatland. Even the Sears is massive. If the 24/7 neon dazzle of gambling doesn't get you, perhaps the neon sale signs at Walmart will. The same stores, the same malls, the same houses, the same streets that go on forever. It's as if the people have mirrored the vastness and repetition of the desert.

Vegas sells itself on our dreams. Dreams of getting rich quick, hitting the jackpot, owning our own homes with lawns and large rooms. A few get lucky and find an oasis, the rest of us get sand.

Friday, August 20, 2004

the desert

I am a confirmed ocean/water person. Anything that has to do with being in, on or near the water I'm there! The desert is a new thing for me.

The drive to Vegas takes us east of Bartow through the Mojave desert. The light AC shields us from the dry heat outside the car. There is sage and more sage. There are trees whose leaves are sharp needles. There are dustclouds to the left of us, silent lightning to the right, thunderclouds that touch the ground. There are no birds, no animals. Little shade.

I imagine the US/Mexican border. I've read many articles and stories about those who cross the border and how stricter enforcement of the border forces these people to the desert away from the major cities, away from the water. I wonder how anyone even survives such a trek, three to four days of walking in 100 degree heat. Water that dries on the tongue. Many die each year walking these deserts. There are whole towns in Mexico where any male over 13 have left to take this journey.

The radio bleats out the Emergency Broadcast System. This is not a test. Flash flood warnings are given for the eastern San Bernadino county. There is no rain in the desert, but when it does rain, it rains like the tropics. We avoid the flash flooding, but get a good dose of rain. Raindrops turning brown on the dusty steel. There are puddles, a land so thirsty it cannot even swallow.

There are no bold greens like in redwood forests, only the slightest change of brown to green-brown. It seems like everything is dead. But like the redwoods that endure for centuries, the desert knows too of patience. Their stiff branches endure the harsh sun to wait for the rain and then and only then do they sprout their tiny green leaves for a brief moment before the sun bleaches them brown again.

The road rises and falls while a rainbow stains the sky ahead.

Thursday, August 19, 2004

wedding registry and donations

The wedding channel website is now offering to donate 3% of anything your guests purchase from your gift registries. Donee sites include Asian Law Caucus, ACLU, UNCF, Sierra Club, Sweatshop watch, etc. It sounds nice. 3% is better than nothing, but it ain't much either. Haven't quite figured out how to resolve these gift registry purchases, many of them who use third party vendors that use sweatshops. Will have to ponder this a bit more.

craps

My aunt's palms were itching last weekend. She could wait for us to drive her to the casinos. Though for all the times she's gone to Vegas she didn't know that the neon filled row of hotels was called, "the Strip."

"OK, Auntie, Let's go! We're going to the Strip now."

She thought we were talking about a strip club.

"No, Auntie, you know the Strip, were all the casinos are: MGM, Caesar's. the Strip. What did you call it?"

She just called it the casinos.

My aunt is a hard core gambler. She plays it all, cards, mahjong, baccarat, blackjack. She has the nerves to be down $1000 and still come back to win. My stomach starts to quiver at $20.

Friday night after a long drive we head to the Strip and stop off at Mandalay Bay. Blackjack tables are $25 a hand. It already seems like big money. For my aunt, it's quick cash. She likes the fast paced games, especially with only a few hours to play. Poker is probably a bit too slow for her, having to read the other people around the table. She'd rather just play against the house.

We tell our aunt to be good, not talk to strangers and don't go wandering off, we'll be back in 2 hours to pick her up.

Mandalay has a night club with fake fire torches, streams of waterfalled windows, and go-go dancers on platforms two stories up. It looks like a movie set. I wasn't much of a club scene kind of person. I feel more like a promdi, as in "from the province". Most of the clubs in Vegas are free for the ladies since afterall the ratio here is more like 4 frat boys for every bridesmaid. Guys pay like $20 each just to be near the ladies streaming in.

Walking past the club, I feel overdressed in jeans and a short sleeve top, surrounded by outfits kept together by oh the slightest of knots. My cousin's fiance comments, "I wonder how many noses are real?" Isn't that how many chests are real? "No, that's a given." I'm usually not a catty person and tend to avoid discussions or interactions that bring out that side of me. It brings a bad taste to my mouth, kind of bitter. But it's hard not to be catty in an environment like that: pounding drum music, eyes everywhere both men and women looking you up and down evaluating your sexiness/womanliness/lustiness, to see if you're "worth" any time.

I find myself playing the same game thinking about whether people look good or not in the outfits they chose for themselves. Certainly, there's a distinct double standard. While most of the women where basically handkerchiefs, high heels and a load of makeup, the guys are in slacks and untucked shirts to cover their beer guts. You would think it would be the guys that need to show off a bit considering the ratio. And that was just the area outside the club!

We get past the club scene and wander around the casino floor. Stop to watch the Texas Hold 'Em games area. $40 to $100 buy-in. From the few poker nights with friends, poker certainly is not my game. I get bored, but wouldn't mind getting into a hand just once to see. The waitresses don't make much money here, only water and soda. Poker players always need to keep their wits about them.

Every now and then we stop at one of the giant slot machines and stick in a dollar. We pull the arm at its side rather than push the button. To keep you from walking away so quickly, they pay out casino tokens instead of cash. We take the metrorail (that goes to all the casinos, but ends at midnight) to the Luxor. You know, the pyramid with the contant bright light blazing to the heavens. My theory is that they're signalling the aliens to come down. The hotel rooms have window overlooking the casino floor. Personally, I'd rather not stay in a place that is supposed to be a tomb.

We walk over one more hotel to the Excalibur and stop to have drinks and play video poker. Drinks are expensive. Better to nurse $20 at the quarter slots to score the free drinks.

We head back to Mandalay. It's now 2am, but feels like 4. My aunt managed to win $400. The itchy palms never lie.

-----the next evening

After the wedding, we of course, return to the Strip. The 21 and younger crowd of cousins are all hanging out at my uncle's house goofing off. Myself, my sister, and my cousin, are the few left who are over 21, still "single" and no kids, though in a few more years all that will change as well.

Since it's my cousin's fiance's first time in Vegas we drive the length of the Strip from Mandalay to the Venetian. Tons of traffic on the Strip with cops all over the place. Crowds everywhere on the sidewalk since the monorail closes at midnight. We missed the Bellagio water show. I'm driving the SO's car tonight. We're all in a state of euphoric consciousness from the lack of sleep. My sister and cousin seem particularly "high" on something sitting in the back seat as my cousin reads off the scrolling ads for the $5.99 buffet in a slow, irregular disjointedness as if she's Dori talking to the whales in Finding Nemo. "Stop BY TOdaY to ta-aste THE deLIC-iOus stEAK." We turn up the AC fans, maybe they're not getting enough air back there.

At a light by Caesar's we note that the statue of David was not built during the Greek empire, but hey what do gamblers care about historical accuracy. Many of the hotels actually have extensive fine art collections, particularly the Bellagio. As we get to the end of the Strip and enter downtown, the mood certainly changes. The buildings are more run down, some boarded up. We watch a fellow sit with his head in his hands, elbows propped on his knees. It's the same look more and more people have the further we go along.

The Amazing Jonathan stares at us with his "evil eye" look on the poster to show just how "amazing" he is. Unlike New York where the neon is there to beg your attention, here it seems as those all the neon and billboards are looking at you: performers faces 20 ft high, chippendales, magicians, musicians, even Blue Man Group, stare at you in a strange gaze. The signs get more cryptic as you go along, "hypnotic exotics," "mud wrestling: Britney vs Christina," "The Borg Experience: now in 4-D."

This is now downtown where the old small rundown casinos are. Here you can easily find the tables for $5 or less bets and penny slots. I ask my sister where to turn next, we try this one street. She starts to comment how some of these streets around here can be "dangerous" and that it's not good to walk around here but she's not clear how "dangerous." It does look like we've run into a housing projects type area with very few people walking along the street. The SO and I consider what's "dangerous" in Oakland and LA and quickly make sure the doors are locked. My sister asks why we are so jumpy. The SO replies to her because she said it was "dangerous" and you didn't tell us if we should be ducking bullets. I manage to get us back on the neon boulevard. Strange how this street seems "safe" with all its bright lights.

It takes us nearly an hour to get through the entire strip, so we head back to Mandalay. We find my aunt who is down $1000. She has another hour to win it back. The SO and I look for Pai Gow or Baccarat, but Mandalay is a blackjack scene, with only a handful of other card tables. We try our hand at craps instead. I had been studying my computer casino game on the rules. It seems simple enough. Our first hundred goes well and I stay up for a while. I mostly bet on the Pass Line and study the bets the other players are making. Each shooter has his own system of rolling: the shake, the snake eyes stack. Each one hoping to get into a groove and rhythm. Our second hundred trickles down slower, but we end up crapping out. Hmm...should have noticed when the shooter bet on craps before he himself rolled. That's got to be a bad sign.

We find my aunt again, who managed to get back out of the hole and come out ahead. Next time, I'll have to take our $200 and sit next to her. It's always good to study from a mentor. She says $200 is plenty for blackjack even at $25 a pop.

It's now 3am. We call the 21 and under cousins who rode with us to Vegas. They're still at my uncles. We tell them they better get home. They ask if we could pick them up. The laughter is the car is deafening...no. Now that they're 18, we don't give them as much slack. If they want to go some place, they can find a ride back. The SO waits up for them back at the house. When we hear their laughter and the car drive up, he stands at the front door. He's already got the "dad in the doorway" stance down. They pile out of the back of a pickup truck, keeping their heads down to keep the cops from stopping them.

The youngest, a guy, comes out of the back of a truck too. As he enters the house, the SO tells him if his mom found out you were riding in the back of a pick up truck, she'd kick your butt. He replies, "Me? I wasn't riding in the back of the truck, I was sitting in the cab." Good boy.

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

Wednesday, August 18, 2004

abused women have the right to sue

It's called Republic Act 9262, or the Antiviolence Against Women and their Children law of 2004. Brand new on the books in the Philippines. The law allows for women who are physically, sexually, economically, and psychologically abused by their live-in partners/husbands/boyfriends. No need to be married.

We'll see how this works out. The Philippines already has some of the strictest laws in all of Asia on everything from the environment to drugs, but as most people realize very few are enforced on the streets.

Here's the Manila Times article.

Time to find Nemo

Just in the mail - my PADI Open Water Diver certification card! OK, so it took me more than a year to get an ID photo and send in the application. But it's here! Tells other scuba diving rental places that I can go diving with a buddy. Now to find a buddy...

Tuesday, August 17, 2004

wedding season

Went to Vegas for my cousin's wedding, the first of 4 weddings that will be celebrated in the family in the next year and half. The rest of the engaged couples took a picture while we were waiting outside the Little Church of the West Chapel as all the aunties and uncles looked at us with this sense of relief and happiness. It was a bit of a miracle we all found out what time to get to the church as rumors abound the previous day to various times and locations. Even the bridemaids didn't know.

I'd never been to a Las Vegas wedding before. Though we did go to one in Reno once. The Little Church of the West is this brown wooden building that looks like it was transported from the prarie. It's one of the top ten chapels in Vegas and they were backlogged. The parking lot was filled with circling limos and cars of all the guests. About 4 other brides and their entourages were waiting outside to be called in. I was half expecting there to be a "now serving number..." neon sign somewhere or maybe give the grooms those electronic pads that vibrate when your turn is up like they have at restaurants.

We waited about an hour outside. It was a good chance to catch up on the gossip around the family. It's also often a time to see what's up with folks. It's such a big family that it's easy to get lost. We usually use it as a way to let the younger cousins know that we're there especially if they need help dealing with their parents. The bride's two younger sisters had both gotten new tattoos. Their mom was not happy, though she didn't mind her brother or husband getting tats. The older of the two got a Japanese lion in full color on her lower back. $250, a steal by tattoo pricing standards. Cheap to get tats in Vegas. She said it didn't hurt, only tickled and she was sober. The other got her last name in alibata down her spine on her upper back. The writing looked good, but the tattoo work wasn't the cleanest I've seen. I'm glad they both got something meaningful to them.

It's about 80% girl cousins on this side of the family. Only a handful now that are younger than 18. The family is growing up fast. The grey hairs adding up even on the youngest of the uncles. We asked where the guy cousin from San Diego was. His sister said that he only had shorts and didn't have clothing for the wedding. We took mental note to tease him later. Did he not know he was going to a wedding? Seemed more like a ploy to hide out at home. Got a couple of guy cousins, one on each side of the family who are on the far side of recluse when it comes to social gatherings. From what I hear, they can be a bit spoiled and ask their parents for money as if it's their money. They're young and a bit entitled. Sometimes making your kids get a job is a good thing.

Lucky enough for us it was cloudy that evening, unlike the 110 degree cloudless days they had had this week. There was a very light sprinkle. Good luck for a wedding. When our turn came up, we all crammed into the pews. It was air conditioned. A woman in the back hit the button to start the video recording from the permanently placed video cameras. There was light elevator music going on in the background during the whole ceremony. On either side of the front were fake candles, about 40 of them in rows to add to the ambience.

The small bridal party came down the line as the groom and his best man (his dad) waited in the front. One pair of sponsors, the groom's foreign exchange parents. Next, the ring bearer, two bridesmaids (my cousin's two sisters), and the maid of honor (my cousin's best friend). Then my cousin who looked wonderful with the baby's breath interwoven in her hair. The groom's face was stunned. It had been a stressful engagement, less than 6 months to plan. They argued constantly even about the decorations for the house reception. They flipped back and forth between being determined and being scared about going through with all of this. But all of that didn't matter anymore, their moment had arrived.

The celebrant was an older gentleman who had a fatherly look to him. This guy was good. You knew he must have done at least 20 weddings this day, but he spoke of rings and commitment and unending devotion like he was saying it just for this wedding.

The entire ceremony took about 15 minutes. For most of my Catholic family it was the shortest wedding they had ever been to. They quickly asked the guests to leave as they took a few more pictures of the new couple. Then the next group was hustled in.

The reception was simple and sweet, an intimate gathering at my uncle's house. Hawaiian Passionfruit and Guava for the wedding cake. Christmas lights and red/yellow/orange streamers from the balacony outside. A G4 iBook set to play iTunes music through a set of speakers.

We sat with the family of my dad's youngest brother who comes more to my mom's side than my dad's side parties. They have 3 kids. The oldest, a senior in high school already. The youngest just started doing Filipino folk dances. We grilled her a bit on who her teacher was and what dances she was doing. We chided her that next time she's going to have to remember the names of the dances she's doing as opposed to "I don't know. The one where your feet move like this." We asked the middle daughter to play violin during the pre-reception for our wedding next year.

Our 16 year old cousin caught the bouquet, which she immediately tried to shove into the maid-of-honor's hands. Engaged people were not allowed in the toss. I have yet to go to a wedding where the women actually want to catch the bouquet. More often than not, I've seen it fall to the ground, or get tossed like a hot potato. The guys don't seem as traumatized by the experience of catching the garter.

After the cake cutting, the new couple gave their thank yous. We insisted the groom say his in French, not so much for us, but for his mother who didn't speak much English. The wedding they said turned out exactly how they had wanted it. Well, even if it hadn't, they were planning another wedding in France this December and a possible double wedding in the Philippines 2006 with her brother who is getting married next year. They're an international couple.

Around 11, we folded up the chairs and made our rounds with the goodbyes to the family. Safe trips home. See you at the next one in October.

Monday, August 16, 2004

reincarnation of Tarzan

Dear friends,

to those who have passed this way and to strangers who became friends...

 introducing...  the new faces, the new hands, the good hearts, the new management of former TARZAN'S NEST RESORT with  a new name...

please visit our website to get to know who we are...  we will be the one to welcome you the next time you come and visit the only exotic TREEHOUSE RESORT in Camiguin Island, now we call Enigmata Treehouse ART Camp, an artists playground managed by artists. 

 
http://www.enigmata.tk


We are Enigmata. 

We are professional, we are passionate, keeper of secrets, the storytellers, risk takers, moon bather, star gazers, and we are accountable, to you and humanity.

Our work standard is based on spiritual functionality. We do mind aesthetics; does it work or not?  Will it hurtle us towards a more elevated state of evolution? 

Our creative juices flow in waves of emotion.  Energy in Motion.  We are an espresso machine that will wean audiences away from their world of lethargy and decaf.    

Our services aren’t limited to customary media.  We will throw the most effective and imaginative concepts your way, if we think it will do the job for you; whether the work exhausts our very marrow, we will throw in our entire being if we believe in what you believe in.  It is in this conviction that your needs cease to be treated as mere “accounts,” but rather, earth-shaking movements about to cause a great rumpus. 

We are creatives with a universal soul.  Composed of a highly experienced team of hyper multi-tasked masters of all trades scattered all over the Philippines, it will be natural for you to think it difficult to deal with us because of the vastness of space that separates your offices from our traveling artists.  Yet this is what allows us to offer you the freshest insight, the most inspired angles, and the craziest schemes, conveyed to you through the highways available technology has to offer.  And you need not find us too “flighty”; we work fast, we’re accountable, and we will DELIVER ahead of time, beyond expectations.  You can expect nothing less from grounded people rooted in their beliefs and who live in a tree house. 

Our team is made up of vegetarians in the guise of former heads of Manila-based advertising agencies, world-class visual artists, event producers, musicians, digital film directors, development workers, environmentalists who can now be found in mountain tribes, island resorts, beaches, and a few cities.  We have worked with consumer goods companies, banks, government, advocacy groups, schools, travel producers, and special interest groups.  Our vast network of suppliers and contacts around the country allows us to efficiently produce almost any communication requirement known to man.  


excerpt from the first newsletter.

Sacred Tourism


The Filipino island stood up and walked to the city, hoping to find a better life.  It is through the rediscovery of the ancient art of walking in circles that we hope to bring the focus back to the island within us all, through the inevitable path that points to the center of our heart, and hopefully, the core of our country’s soul. 


“Pilgrim, begone! Nor return more hereafter,
Stranger thou art in the land of thy birth;
Others may sing of their love while rejoicing,
Thou once again must roam o’er the earth.”

-  The Song of the Traveler, Jose Rizal


We call it Sacred Tourism, a walking quest for individual and national identity.  During the yearly Holy Week Panaad, tens of thousands walk Camiguin’s 64km circumferential highway confirming this sacred walk has now become the island’s revered way of moving across space, an annual vow to walk the path of sacred homecoming.

Beside the Enigmata tree house, an indigenous sculpture by Kublai Millan pays tribute to a labyrinth garden walk, a spiraling stone path in the shape of a creative hand. Labyrinths can be found in almost every religious tradition around the world, where the act of walking in itself becomes a sacred act of pilgrimage to the core of one’s spirit, rather than the standard tourist look-see. 

What is the difference?  The tourist looks around, the pilgrim participates.  The tourist comes with an interested eye, the pilgrim comes with a searching heart.  Whether pilgrims find value in Enigmata’s resources, facilities, or in our Mindanao network, they are in any way encouraged to become advocates in the cultural, environmental, and spiritual regeneration efforts ongoing in Mindanao and across the country. 


The Enigmata Tree House in “The Magic Eye-Land”

Enigmata subsists in the heart of Camiguin, the magical island born of fire. Aptly enough, we live in a tree house, the Tree of Life being our chosen metaphor; here is the soulful soil we have chosen to plant our seeds on, where our steadfast trunk meets both the sturdy roots that ground us, and our many branches that point heavenwards.

 “Enig-Mata” means to open one’s eyes, to stir from a deep slumber to a magnificent awakening; The Enigmata Creative Circle is made up of gutsy dreamers from Mindanao, all sold on the conviction that the islands they walk on is indeed the Promised Land; this vindicates their vigorous passion to donate their talents as change agents, founded on the belief that it is not through passing idle time, but through hyperactive exploits that this promise, indeed lands on solid earth. 

The paradox we live by is that we become more homeward bound, the farther we go. The higher we fly, the more ground we see.  And it’s when we’re self-centered that we begin to desire to help all those who come our way. 


The Tree of Life

Our Roots                                                                    [Where did we come from?]

The walk to the center of the labyrinth refers to an inward remembering of our most profound roots, the very seed that makes us who we are, the seeds that will bring us to our grandest individual and collective versions of ourselves.  The labyrinth walk signifies the pilgrim’s process, yet extends outside Camiguin to various parts of Mindanao and the Philippines.  Enigmata seeks to help journeyers get in touch not only with their own personal identity, but to provide resources in the Enigmata tree house library and our various scattered Mindanao partners for those interested in helping us with the immense task of unearthing the pieces of the forgotten Filipino, back to a pre-Spanish time when “conditions in the islands” Jose Rizal says proved “that there was life, there was activity, there was movement.” 

We are in the process of accumulating a vast library of resource material that will be relevant to a pilgrim’s path.  e.g. [history of our religious, mythical, and indigenous roots, anthologies on extra-ordinary Filipinos who championed the path to self-identity, etc.]

We are collating an extended family tree which traces the genealogy of the modern-day Filipinos back to our most ancient forefathers.  We also plan to create an interactive travel guide and map of the country’s sacred sites.  Travelers will be encouraged to contribute to these interactive media, an ongoing process that grows over time with the vast information gathered from each pilgrim’s visit, sent email, or text message to Enigmata sharing the many things they have learned during their travels.

2.   Our Center                                                                 [Who Am I/Who Are We?]  


Enigmata stands for the convergence of our rich history and the optimism in which we regard our bright future. We believe in an awakened Filipino; empowered to lead through our inherent nature to serve mankind. We believe the means to a new-found greatness stems from a simultaneous remembering of the past and a clear conviction to reinvent our image of the Filipino on an individual and communal level.     


a.       Empowerment workshops, seminars, and forums aimed at unearthing the buried aspects of the Filipino psyche through painting, creative writing, science, creative photography, meditation, exercise, food, general health


b.       Celebratory Rituals, Parties, Festivals


3.      Branching Out                                                                 [Where are we going?]  The walk away from the center of the labyrinth branches out to the different artists and groups around Mindanao and the Philippines networked with Enigmata.  Our aim is to empower journeyers with the heart to volunteer and assist communities with needs in special advocacies (art, community development, history, culture, environment, science).  Our quest for the hidden “Great Filipino” in all of us is founded on the present conditions and past experiences which have readied us for our inevitable role to lead ourselves and others to the path to self-discovery.  As such, research and knowledge is not just professed, we believe it must be lived and shared. 


a.       The labyrinth walk extends to other points in the country, via a home-stay program where pilgrims could learn about the various tribes, historical landmarks, and benevolent communities; our aim is to create actual and positive participatory cultural re-generation that involves the pilgrim and the community involved.


b.       We are continuing the sacred traditions of storytelling and the efforts in cultural banking through the arts.  Pilgrims who come across artifacts that can add meaning to our religion called “Life,” can contribute their own personal discoveries through snail or electronic mail, or by sauntering over to the tree house for candid storytelling sessions over a hot cup of chai.    


c.       Enigmata envisions the sacred playground in Camiguin Island to becoming the confluence of the new and the sentient, the young and the old, the dreamers and their dreams, where all journeys take a life of their own, yet are connected to all the journeys ever walked.    


Ma-I’s Sacred Playground

With respect to the need to protect the ancient ways and myths that has brought us to our current place in the sun, comes also the task of creating movement where dysfunctional stagnation persists. As we broaden our scope in defining and unearthing the “Great Filipino,” part of the sacred walk’s “grounding” and “branching out” process is discovering existing patterns.  The ancient Chinese traders and settlers referred to Mindanao as “Ma-I.”  This term, re-ordered, hints at a reversal of an existing pattern, revealing to us, a resounding “I Am,” yearning for the long-awaited moment when we decide which adjectives to follow those two succinct words to finally complete this elusive sentence.

Sunday, August 15, 2004

et al

Welcome back, John!. The world does change after you've been home for a while. Get some sleep.

Congrats to Jean as she will be practically PhinisheD.

Thanks to Leny for the wrap up of the "Forgotten Book" launch. It was just like being there.

Will be driving back from Sin City today. Will have news for my bro and others about the start of a series of weddings happening in my family soon. Spent the night driving down the strip to give newbies a run down. I could spend an entire day with a notebook in hand just writing down the signage here, like "hypnotic exotics," "bikini bull riding," a mud wrestling match between "Christina and Britney," and "the Borg Encounter: now in 4-D." I thought the 4th dimension was time, so I wasn't exactly sure what was so spectacular about that.

I've not really been fond of Vegas, but this year's travels bring me here several times this year. There is obviously something that I have to see and experience here and I don't mean the kind of experiences that "stay in Vegas." Perhaps it's to understand the desert, since I'm a confirmed ocean/water person, or to understand the art of "illusion" which is what this place is all about. I'll let you know soon.

Thursday, August 12, 2004

daddy loves his baby

A friend posts about the constant struggle of getting her dad to get rid of his broke down 20 year old pick up truck. He would rather sell her 14 year old SUV to pay for the mechanic expenses for the 20 year truck that's broken down twice in the last year. He wants to keep the truck just in case she ever moves again (as if they don't have an SUV or can't rent a Uhaul). Hmmmm....

I have a feeling this isn't about the truck at all, at least not totally. My friend's dad is retired. He's looking for stuff to do. This is often the dilemna of older men, finding something to do in their retirement. They built their lives on taking care of their families, providing for their children. Now that their children are grown, and the family is for the most part cruising, he needs something else to take care of, enter the car. The car that he knows inside and out. That still has more mechanics to it than electronics. He can still tweak this thing. It had been a good truck, helping his kid move in and out of various abodes. It's still good. It's still useful, he argues.

My friend's friend had a similar issue. My friend recommended to her friend, that since her dad was a retired family man, well, what he wants to hear most is that his little girl (now fully grown woman taking care of herself quite well) still needs him in some way. Maybe she said, why don't you ask your dad his opinion on something. So that he feels he hasn't outgrown his usefulness. It doesn't really matter if she actually follows his advise. What's important is that she ask.

In the same way, Chatty's father still passes a dollar bill to her even though they both know she doesn't really need the money. But it's not about money and trucks. It's about knowing that he's still dad, and she's still his little girl, who still calls him up asking for advise and guiding her way. And when their daughters live all the way over there with their partners and careers and lives, it's not as evident how he fits into the picture anymore, so he hangs onto the things that he thinks will still make him useful, like a truck. If he gets rid of the truck, goes his logic, then she won't ask me for help anymore, so he has to keep the truck. He doesn't want to hear this thing about "his daughter doesn't need him to help her move," because the only thing that gets filtered into his head is "his daughter doesn't need him."

Dad just wants to know if he can still be his daughter's hero.

As if he ever stopped.

inspiring a poem

I should publish a book one day of all the poems people have written after watching me do Kali. I can count at least 4 right now. Here's the latest one from Malaya. It had been a while since she posted to that site and I wondered if she had stopped, then today, I stopped by her blog while making my blogging rounds to find this. It's the start of an excellent weekend.

buy the forbidden book

Click on the link below to download the order form of the book. There is a hardcover ($65) and soft bound ($24.95) version available. Hardcover is limited edition.


THE FORBIDDEN BOOK: The Philippine-American War in Political Cartoons
by Abe Ignacio, Enrique de la Cruz, Jorge Emmanuel, and Helen Toribio
Available August 14, 2004

T'boli Publishing and Distributor, P.O. Box 347147, San Francisco, CA 94134
Ph. 415-337-5550; tiboli@comcast.net
Order Form

-------------------------

A Chicago Chronicle cartoon in January 1900 showed President McKinley preventing Uncle Sam from reading the "Forbidden Book" about the "true history of the war in the Philippines."  Today, most Americans know nothing about a 15-year war with the Philippines that resulted in the deaths of hundreds of thousands of Filipinos.

On February 4, 1899, the United States went to war based on a false claim that Filipinos began attacking American soldiers in Manila.  The first shots were actually fired by an American soldier as Filipinos crossed a bridge, and historians would later discover a "prearranged plan" by the U.S. military to precipitate a war as soon as an incident was provoked.  Misled by false reports, the Senate passed (by one vote) a treaty to annex the Philippines.  President McKinley would later justify the war by claiming that God had counseled him to take the Philippines in order to civilize and Christianize the Filipinos.  What was really behind the annexation was the need for overseas markets and raw materials for American industry. 

Opposition to the war was led by the Anti-Imperialist League whose members included many prominent Americans including presidential candidate William Jennings Bryan, suffragist Jane Addams, labor leader Samuel Gompers, African American activist Ida Wells Barnett, and writer Mark Twain.  The "anti-imperialists" were branded as traitors by "pro-expansionists" and Filipinos were depicted as savages in order to de-legitimize their resistance to American occupation.  American opposition to the war grew as more and more American soldiers died and as revelations of military atrocities, torture of prisoners, killing of Filipino children, and concentration camps surfaced in media reports, military trials, and a senate hearing.  President Roosevelt prematurely declared the war over on July 4, 1902 but the last major battle was fought in 1913 and hostilities did not ceased until 1914.  Some readers may find interesting parallels between the Philippine-American War and events of today.

The book features eighty-eight colored cartoons taken from the pages of popular magazines, along with 133 black-and-white political cartoons reprinted from newspapers including San Francisco Evening Post, New York World, Washington Post, Boston Globe, Philadelphia Inquirer, New Orleans Times-Democrat, Minnesota Journal, St. Louis Republic, Detroit News, Denver Evening Post, Los Angeles Times, etc. as well as Life, Harper's and Collier's Weekly. Twenty-seven historical photographs are added to compare with the cartoons' stereotypical depictions.

The Introduction discusses America's economic transformation after the Civil War, the conditions facing the "other" America (immigrant labor, native Americans, Blacks, and Chinese), the Philippine Revolution for independence from Spain, Cuba and the Spanish American War, the decision to annex the Philippines, the start of the war, and the opposition to the war led by the Anti-Imperialist League. The Epilogue describes how the Philippine American War came to be forgotten and the aftermath of the U.S. conquest of the Philippines. The cartoons are divided into major themes and introduced by essays at the beginning of each chapter:

- Manifest Destiny and the White Man's Burden
- Government by Consent or Conquest
- He's One of the Big Boys Now
- Conquest and Commerce
- Civilizing the Savages
- The Filipino as a Racialized Other
  Experiences of the African American Soldier
  Hayop (Animal)
- Killing "Niggers" and Rabbits
  War Against the Moro People
- Mac and Aggy
- The Aunties are Coming

From the back cover reviews:

The brutal war waged by the United States against the Filipino people at the turn of the century has been shrouded in darkness for a long time, the truth concealed from generations of Americans. THE FORBIDDEN BOOK brings that shameful episode in our history out in the open, with a wonderful combination of crystal-clear text and extraordinary cartoons. The book deserves wide circulation.
- Howard Zinn
Professor Emeritus, Boston University
Author of A People's History of the United States

Brimming with insights into the beginnings of American imperial policy overseas, this book reconstructs an era that was to shape and refine U.S. intervention in the modern world. Through political cartoons in an era when the colonizer itself worked to hide the truth from the American people about the forgotten war a century ago, this book restores for the present generation a past marred by misinformation, racism, blind patriotism and outright lies. A thought-provoking education about the miseducation of the American people by arrogant imperial leaders whose successors never seem to learn the lessons of history. A particularly relevant book which makes it essential reading for the present generation of Filipinos and other colonial subjects of the modern PAX AMERICANA.
- Roland G. Simbulan
Professor of Development Studies & Public Management, and
Vice Chancellor, University of the Philippines

In this extraordinary collection of political cartoons from the period of the Philippine-American War and subsequent colonization, frank visual satire and caricature vibrate with 'forgotten' histories from the turn of the 19th century: they link U.S. imperial conquests in the Pacific to those in the Caribbean, refract American perceptions of Filipinos through its devastating treatments of blacks and native peoples, explicitly admit U.S. ambitions to employ not only war, but education and culture, to surpass the reach and power of the European empires by the end of the 20th century. These 'forbidden' images are windows onto an earlier moment in the history of American empire, a history in which we still live and struggle today.
-Lisa Lowe
University of California, San Diego

---------------------------REMINDER---------------------

"COLORED: Black n' White, The Philippine-American War in American Popular Media, 1896-1907"
14 August (Saturday),  2:00 - 5:00 pm
San Francisco Public Library, 100 Larkin Street, Civic Center, San Francisco
 
Opening Lecture: Main Library, Lower Level, Koret Auditorium, 2:00 - 3:00 pm
Reception following the program: Main Library, Sixth Floor, Skylight Gallery
Related Exhibition: Main Library, Sixth Floor, Skylight Gallery, From August 14 through October 21, 2004
"Colored: Black ‘n White: The Philippine-American War in American Popular Media, 1896-1907" – An exhibition containing approximately 70 magazine cartoons and newspaper images from 1896 to 1907 which convey the political, racial, and gender sensibilities surrounding the Philippine – American War. The objects are a mix of original material and reproductions, most of which are unframed. The focus is the portrayal of Filipinos in American media during this war, along with the debate over American colonial expansion. These images are examined and analyzed from a Filipino-American perspective and are linked to American perceptions of Filipinos today.
        
Public transportation: BART - Civic Center station

Wednesday, August 11, 2004

fear is the mind-killer

"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."

--"Dune- Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear" (Frank Herbert)


A friend posted one of my favorite quotes from Dune. I love Dune. I love the book, I love the movie, I love the TV mini-series. They each have their own merits (and flaws), but how can you hate Sting as the gorgeous nephew or how freaky scary Paul's sister is at the end of the movie?. They all have that scene where Paul sticks his hand in the box and feels super excruciating pain and remembers the Litany Against Fear.

My friend was reliving some old fears in a new car. Funny, the post flashed me back to a couple of moments like that in my life. I remember the first few months after these events I would reply the moments, the sounds, the feeling, over and over again. They occupied my mind and my days. I hung on to what I could have done, what might have been. People doing certain things would bring it about again as well.

I can't really say that I forgot those moments. But they don't send me into fearful fits anymore. And I've even gone back to those places where they happened. It was a matter of reliving the "drama" of it one last time. Mourn the healing as it were.

My friend thought the fear being felt was "unnecessary drama." I disagreed. Usually, I don't believe in over the top drama. But this time, I thought it was necessary. Necessary drama happens when you're trying to get over an old wound like a bullet that entered but never left. It hurt going in. It's going to hurt coming out. If you really let go, when you relive that memory, it doesn't hurt anymore. If it still hurts then you haven't quite pulled it out all the way. Those deep old wounds, the ones we tried to bury, are like that. We often choose the pain that we allow ourselves to feel.

One time in class I wanted to see if I could be like Paul in Dune and see how much pain I could take. OK, so I was young and probably stupid. It was a pressure point class. My teacher started doing pressure points on my arm to make me feel the pain, deeper and deeper. I kept telling myself that I would show no pain, calm my face, show no pain. It felt like my arm was dissolving from the inside, a slow pulse of electricity that was burning up my arm. When the pain got close to my shoulder, I hoped to god that he would let go before it hit my heart. I was scared, but kept telling myself, show no pain, show no fear. The pain is merely physical.

At last he let go. (whew!). As I cradled my arm with the other hand, he asked me, "Didn't that hurt?!?" I replied, "of course it HURT! I just wasn't going to let you know that it did."

a well connected septuagenarian

Manong Bert Florentino has a blog and a website.

He's been writing since he was 17, publishing since he was 28, and still manages to write ample posts to a Filipino list serve. I don't know where he finds the time or the energy. Sometimes he posts so often, I can't keep up with him. I admire him as a man who stays in the motion of writing, a lifetime of endurance as you will.

May the ink in our pens (or printers) flow as long.