Roadside Blooms 1

For some time now I live believing that there is something so beautiful about flowers on the roadside. They are not the flowers that are groomed for complex decorations. They wither easily. Sometimes they live, unnoticed. And sometimes they die, just like how they first existed, unnoticed. Why they chose to live on the roadside, where oftentimes the conditions are unfriendly, I have no idea. 

But these blooms seem to me the happiest of all. They are unpretentious. They are simple. And they are the types that are hardly imitated by flower manufacturers, and therefore their beauty is unexploited. They do not expect anything. They only exist in their real state- the natural, living state.

You have to stop on your tracks to really see them.

I often have a hard time distinguishing a fake flower from a real one. And distinguishing real people from phony ones.

Rabbits, Sheep and Cappuccino

I had the greatest dessert in the world a few nights ago. Not the food per se but the conversations that transpired over it.

Before I went back to Manila, my sister and I went to this fantastic pizzeria and coffee shop just a walk away from our village. I had flourless chocolate cake and cappuccino. She had brewed coffee and blueberry cheesecake. That was some of the best the evenings I look forward to in my life because it is one of the few moments that make life so delicious. Coffee, conversation, desserts and even more conversations. Since my sister is a published author herself, I knew that I was with the right company when I talked about the book trade. Unlike me though, she had a publisher who had issued her checks and other stuff that most mainstream writers enjoy.

When my book was about to be completed in March, I discussed with my husband whether we'd offer the manuscript to publishers or go underground and explore the dangers, risks and rewards of self- publishing. Through conversations with colleagues who had already enjoyed book launching and signing and royalties, I learned that publishing and writing is a complex business that one must read the fine lines thoroughly. First, there is the ratio shares between the writer and the publisher. Next, the marketing. Then the intellectual property rights. And so on. Having these information, I have decided to swim in my own blue ocean- away from the probable deals with bigger publishing sharks. Not to mention that I always have difficulties reading the fine lines on contracts and agreements. (Can life be easier?) It will not be easy, I know, but I rather see it so much fun promoting and campaigning for a product that is my very own baby. And if I have to share the profits with anyone, there are only the taxes and a few charities that I have pledged myself on. No headaches. No agreements with other parties. No competition. I hate competitions in the very first place.

"It means, you will be your own publisher," my sister said.
"That's ok," I replied, thinking, "I didn't get an MBA for nothing."
"Then let's conceive the name of your publishing house."
'That's so much fun!"
"Ok. Golden Fleece Publishing," she said. "You're born year of the sheep..."
"How about... Silver Rabbit? Golden Rabbit? Green Rabbit? Because it's the year of the rabbit this year..."
The baby naming again. Fun! Fun!

Osyters and an Attempt at the Logic of Aphrodisiacs

I used to be 'scared' of oysters when I was young. Scared, in a way that they looked strange to me, and that I didn't know how to shuck them. I didn't eat oysters until I was in my mid- twenties. (Whatever happened to me?) True, I lived in a province known for fantastic seafood but we had our own shellfish there and that didn't include oysters. When I lived with my siblings at our apartment and all sorts of food were introduced, oysters came in shells smelling of the sea. Shucking and cooking were done at our small sink, and there oysters went to various dishes from ceviche to fried. I am not fond of ceviches. Imaginary indigestion and food poisoning brought by paranoia made the acidulated food even more unappealing. But I LOVE (luuurve) fried oysters.

Oysters, like mussels, are good aphrodisiacs, it turned out. I have to see yet how aphrodisiacs work in real life. Does one get that love flush and make one more attractive to his mate? Do hormones rage at one thousand bytes per second that hitting the sack is the next best thing to dessert?
Studies say that there's a mineral in oysters and some shellfish that aids in the development of sexual characteristics and better functioning of hormones. That mineral is called zinc. I guess, if we connect the dotted logic of oysters:

A. Oysters are known aphrodisiacs --> B.Aphrodisiacs enhance sexual drive --> C.  Zinc aids in sexual functioning and drive--> D. Oysters contain zinc ---> Ergo, Oysters are Aphrodisiacs. (A+B+C+D= E) ???

I flunked logic in college.

Ducks For Fidelity and a Happy Marriage

Rain is pouring in the province again we have to cancel our scheduled visit to the farm. I heard that the fish have grown so much bigger and fatter at the pond, and there are new hatchlings for ducks and chicken. When I opened the fridge a few days ago and saw ducks eggs, I wasn't very happy.

"Why did you harvest ducks eggs? You should have allowed them to hatch!" 

Although duck meat is good (though more fatty and has higher cholesterol than chicken), and the eggs are excellent for salting and making custards, I saw the eggs at our refrigerator shelf as some form of annihilation of a species. Sort of. Because I wanted to see more little ducklings going around the farm tailing the quacking mother duck.

Before my wedding last year, I researched on Eastern traditions on weddings and keeping happy marriages. I stumbled upon a Korean and a Chinese wedding belief that the couple must at least be gifted with a pair of ducks - ceramic or wood or real- so that they can stay with each other for longer periods of time (like ducks do?) and come home to each other (like ducks do?) all the time. I received no duck pairs on my wedding.

 But ducks or no ducks, I am happily hitched and faithful to my spouse. Yes. Of course.

Weekend Laugh

I found this video at a very interesting blog. This is a rant against Asians by a political science student from the UCLA. There are many reactions and parodies from the everywhere already so I will not join anymore. I can't believe how funny and creative (and furious) Asians can get. She's just a kid. Who needs some spanking.

The Propagation of Species

"IN the animal world we have seen that the vast majority of species live in societies, and that they find in association the best arms for the struggle for life: understood, of course, in its wide Darwinian sense – not as a struggle for the sheer means of existence, but as a struggle against all natural conditions unfavourable to the species. The animal species, in which individual struggle has been reduced to its narrowest limits, and the practice of mutual aid has attained the greatest development, are invariably the most numerous, the most prosperous, and the most open to further progress. The mutual protection which is obtained in this case, the possibility of attaining old age and of accumulating experience, the higher intellectual development, and the further growth of sociable habits, secure the maintenance of the species, its extension, and its further progressive evolution. The unsociable species, on the contrary, are doomed to decay."

                – Peter Kropotkin, Mutual Aid: A Factor of Evolution (1902), Conclusion.

Source

Cats and Dogs

 

What else could be more relaxed?

Where Have We Been?

Our high school's 15th homecoming took off successfully last Saturday. (I'll write about this on a separate post)  Thank God. It was a big relief to see the circus pack up and go and leave happy memories. But what I really looked forward to, which I think would truly test our education  is the commitment of our batch to give back to the community who raised us. Class of 1996- what's next? More dinner parties in the city? There are two doctors in our class and many other medical-related professions that's why medical missions were conceived. Donations on improving infrastructure were also mentioned.

I did not join much the conversations when more charity work were discussed. Charity work is a little personal for me. Ora et labora. For years now I have been doing charity work, a personal commitment I do with heart. I link it  with my professional work.  I prefer to do such task with a small but sincere group, over a large one where sometimes, the true essence of giving and getting involved evaporates, making the charity work resemble another circus.

But while the community/ charity work of our batch wasn't finalized yet, I had made a pledge to our batch that some 5% of the sales of my books will go to an educational cause. Thank you all, dear batch-mates, for your support.

I am not waiting until I get rich. I am not waiting for the government to act. I might as well get a knife and cut just a little sliver off the pie. Ten percent goes to taxes, and the little five percent I intend to collate and give it in the form of books or school chairs or school supplies so children can have a better reason to go to school. Into school. I attended public school as a child and I am no stranger to the educational conditions here. And I can say, that children can dream and do better when they see that generations ahead of them have proven to be true inspiring examples.

Buy my book!

A Fish Story

First, there was the boat. 

 Then, the catch.

And finally, the fare.

"Govern a great nation as you would cook a small fish. Do not overdo it." 

-Lao Tzu

Passion

"If the world hates you, remember, it hated me first."

   

    I'm beginning to think that the Holy Week of 2011 has a looming unnamed presence in my life right now. I haven't prayed or mused over salvation and faith and acts of faith before. Maybe because it runs through my birthday (a sign that I am gettng older), and therefore makes me a little more laid back and think of other things besides business or work or craft. I tend to think more of my little family, my husband, my child, and a good marriage- the few things I cannot leave behind. I'm not in a mood for vacation. The thoughts about my book release are suspended temporarily in my head.

   Last year, Holy Week, was the first time I've watched Mel Gibson's film. I used to read about it from the papers many years ago, but at the height of all that controversy or many questioning about the film, I wasn't enticed at all to watch it.And when I did, I went beyond the movie-ness of the film but took it as a peek to the existence of Christ.

 

"Love one another."

Acts of Faith

 San Lorenzo de Manila, First Filipino Saint.
Why is the Filipino movie industry not making a film of his life? It should be inspiring.

Holy Week

     There is a tradition in the Philippines that almost has the same bearing to Christmas: The Holy Week. The Lenten Season (sounds like 'The Christmas Season') officially starts during Ash Wednesday, lasting forty days, if I am not mistaken, and ends on Easter Sunday. I am not a Christian expert to itemize the meaning of every detail of Lent, but one thing I can say which is true is that this tradition is another legacy of the Spaniards who brought Christianity to the islands centuries ago. 

    My own version of Holy Week are memories of grandmother days. There used to be 'pasyon' - during those days. Old women would come to our house, bring about those small books and kneel before the image of the cross and sing the life of Christ. I am looking for the same activity today, probably to align it with my Catholic beliefs. Because when I was young,  when I was quite too young to understand, 'pasyon' sounded to me like some un-tuned violin.

     Aside from 'pasyon' there was the procession around town in barefoot. It is the modern way of emulating Christ's journey to the Calvary- barefooted. It may not have something to do with my faith, but all that vision of flagellating and being crucified on the cross brings tears to my eyes the whole time. There are songs that speak of that journey, and I could hear my voice quake every time they are sung. I will not write here my acts of faith, whether or not I believe that Jesus Christ is a humanization of God, but there was a particular incident in history- that of darkening of the sky and the quaking of the earth when Jesus Christ died- makes me very true to my chosen faith.

    Another activity during Holy Week is the visita iglesia, a Spanish term that literally means 'church visit.' My friends and their families do this the whole time every good Friday. I've never tried this before. On good Fridays I stay at home and listen to cicadas humming on the trees.

Afternoon Work

 

     Three weeks after Julienne's birth, I reported to work. Kitchen work. I can no longer remember now how it felt. After a Caesarian operation and the stitches were fresh as trussed meat, I had to put on my kitchen clogs and tie apron round my waist. Sure it all sounds history now. But as I went about those kitchen tables with bandages under my black slacks, I could still see how the room swayed and blurred from my tired eyes. I slept mostly from the three- week recovery period and yet there seemed not enough sleep. Good thing kitchen work was only about three days a week. The remaining four days I spent rolling around with the baby and sleeping. I had to stop writing my book for a month because I got headaches from the glare of the laptop monitor.

    A few months later, a little recovered and feeling so much better, I began working on my book again. In the afternoons I would push a small table beside our bed as the baby struggled to turn on her stomach to start crawling. I could never leave the bed, unless I wished to find the poor thing on the carpeted floor. I only got up to get some snacks, make some milk and stretch those strained limbs from being hunched over the computer for hours, or making sketches for the book. (Although the drawings I reserved for the next run. The first edition did not have illustrations, save for the cover.)  Then I play and talk with the baby. Sometimes we read Le Petit Prince. Julienne liked the part with the boabab trees.

"Oh, darling, behave. Mommy's at work."

    Julienne would look at me with that sweet gaze, giggle, then suck two fingers, turn on her side, and before I knew it, she has fallen asleep. Do babies ever get bored? Among all things in the world, I don't like analyzing how children feel for their parents. By doing so, I hope I am saved from the guilt of being a total bore to my child. 
    Read this from Twitter the other day: "The only problem with working at home is that you work all the time." 101% True! 

The Piano Tuner

   I grew up spending summers with many activities. Going to farms, the beach, cooking in the afternoon, and, if ten months of schooling were not enough, we used to go to summer classes studying advanced sciences. I spent those summer classes looking across the wooden jalousies hoping that a horse-rider in black cape would carry me off somewhere interesting.

   Summers too are time for piano lessons, which, for a time, I had a love-hate love affair. Three of us sisters would go to the piano teacher's house once or twice a week. Although she did not whack our fingers with a 

wooden stick, reading notes was just too abstract. And worse, when we got home and there were off-tune keys on  the piano, the interest to play looked even more abstract. 

    Thus, the piano tuner.

    There had been many home- service people we called for favors. The mechanics, the air con-cleaners, the plumbers, etc. all of them were noble in their own ways and made life so much easier in the truest sense . But still I marveled over the interesting job of  the piano tuner. 

 

   Watch a piano tuner work and you'll amaze at the incredible hearing faculties of mankind. How can he distinguish an off-tune note from the other? Did he have any good background in music?

 

   The insides of a piano. It's a 'string' instrument too!

Bookmarked

Bookmarked for summer. But with a tight schedule due to book release, I might postpone for the next half of the year (if they offer classes still).

Re: Contemporary Asian Art/ Murals

Contact: Ms. Nenette Gonzalez 0917 812 5602
              Bohemian Nation, Westgate, Alabang

Plotting Book No.2

 

I found it extremely fascinating that one of my favorite blogs  had this posted on a recent entry. Because this is the book that I am reading right now. I have actually read this book for the nth time, specially when I become a little too lovesick or a little too bored. Either.

Yes, the question is, what if you met someone when you're 50? I don't think every woman has that kind of dilemma specially if she is married off to someone she'd offer her own head to. I have no comment. I can't relate this to my personal relationships... although...  

But this is the more interesting part.  When I received the message that my first book is already being assembled, the cover being 'glazed' for that glossy effect, I was too excited that I had to divert my attention somewhere else. I started plotting my next book. 

Book number two doesn't have a Bridges-Of-Madison-County plot. Far from it. But I think the only resemblance there is that it's about a love that stays with you until you're 80.

Tweet- Tweet!

Just signed in at Twitter. I am so excited. Maybe it's about time to use my Blackberry... (What's it doing lazing at home?)

400 Years

 My Alma Mater celebrates its 400th year Anniversary this year. It was founded in 1611 by the Spaniards, way before the Statue of Liberty was erected in New York.

I could not help but stop a giggle whenever I see old pictures of myself. The look, the fashion... the way I acted when I didn't know a thing about makeup and how a proper lady should behave. 

I spent a good eight years or so at the university. First during my undergrad and next on my post grad.

January 2005.

 It seemed I enjoyed my days at the post graduate program more. I liked the crowd better. We used to have forums and lots of going out together discussing things of the world (on the most part, just eating out, really.) Cambodia's landmines. Japan's future. China being a 'giant we cannot ignore', International Monetary Funds, and why kangkong tastes good on sinigang. I noticed that hanging out with international students seems to strip you naked- you're all out there in that academic pool, all hungry, all questioning. You are children  once again in the face of worldly challenges.

Circa 1997. 

 

My college days at the same university is a different thing altogether. We were still teenagers then, and therefore at the height of 'who-am-I' stage and finding where we truly belong. Competition was gritty and ridiculous.  Among the geeks, it was about grades. Among the pretty girls it was about shoes, nail polish and bubble bags. And a lot of cooking - those burnt cheese on apple pie (who changed the setting on my oven?!), making home-made hams and limp French Fries... and competition at the food laboratory. And if competing at the lab wasn't enough, we brought the same fighting spirit at the field during volleyball afternoons. I remember my friends telling me, "Hey, Enrisa, please have mercy!" 

So much for the burnt cheese on apple pie.

Conversation

Me: "I love my life right now, I don't want to get over it."
Shackler: "Good for you. What do you intend to do next?"
Me: "Write. Roll around with Julienne. Read. Paint. Cook."
Shackler: "You have no plans of going back to the kitchen full time?"
Me: "I have no plans of going back to the kitchen full time."
Shackler: "And there will be only one chef in the family?"
Me: "Yes. Only one."

End of story. 

Bachelor's Life In Sepia

My cousin is marching for his graduation tomorrow. They're staying up at my condo tonight. I love gatherings like this- the reminiscing of bachelor's life. How time flies! The conversations are about the crazy days at our old apartment at the other city.

Remember the "precious plant" that my brothers used to cultivate, and when mom paid a visit, they hid the plant inside the car- and forgot about it- until it dried up and died? The precious plant indeed!

Remember my tomatoes on those containers- they even bore fruits? It drove me quite crazy, I wanted to fill the building with lettuces.

Remember when we took our brother to the airport when he was two hours to his flight to England and we got crashed by a cab... we had to talk our way out of the police station...

And those coffee afternoons and tobacco at the back door?
And the turtle with the chef's toque? (When we were about to move out, we really thought of 'bringing' the mural with us.)
And the weekends at Tagaytay?
And so much more!

There had been so much possibilities during the bachelor life, and I am glad I brought all that joy with me as we moved on.

Story Book Art

 No, these aren't my drawings but my sister's. It still amazes me that every one in the family knows how to draw, whether they are stick figures or oil paintings. A year ago my sister Maria Victoria considered doing something on the side apart from her part time job. So she took some artist's pencil, paper and came up with these wordless story book stuff.

 "Hands up- or I'll shoot!" - and off she went with his donkey.

 This rabbit story fascinates me.

And this is a fairy slammed inside a book.

Twenty Eight Days of April

"While one is doing one's best, one must be detached from it." .... Err... I don't know if I got it right.

 While the book is running at the press, the butterflies in my stomach wouldn't stop fluttering. I can't make myself open the manuscript again, unless, perhaps, I could face the fact that I have punctuations missing. I feel like an actor after a 7-month long shoot, that when she comes home, doesn't want to open her luggage again.

So went the uncertainties and unnecessary worries of being a first-time author. I'm putting my head on the block for chopping.

And while 'detaching' myself from my first work, I am conceiving the next. Yesterday I bought five books with somewhat similar themes to the one I intend to do next. Except the other one is by Iris Murdoch, and though not necessarily related, it gives me that different outlook to physical objects. I headed to the arts store too and got a few brushes. For the arts, says the French philosopher Merleau- Ponty, is lending the body to the world to give birth to an artwork.

Can't think straight.