Neverland

"Aidan made a new friend today", V-Jane greeted me when I came home from work one evening. Aidan, Via's kid, is 1 year and 7 months old. He is the smartest kid under 2 years old I know. Of course, I said the same thing about my two cousins Inno and Rico when they were still little.

"Really? What's your friend's name, baby?" as I ran after him for a kiss. I make it a point not to use baby talk but I could not resist it at times, especially when he covers his eyes with those little fingers of his and pretend to wail. Yes, he wails.

"Say hi to your friend, Aidan" V-Jane said. He started to turn around from one side to another, looking down. V-Jane was amused. I wondered. At last he found it and waved at his own figure cast upon the floor. Two days later he came to know it as the shadow.

Last night, V-Jane was up to her old tricks again.

"Aidan, touch the shadow."

I didn't think it was funny seeing a little boy, who is very much a baby in my eyes, on all fours trying to catch his shadow. Oh not at all! I scolded V-Jane for teaching Aidan these things, telling her she'd be better off reading the kid "Wizard of Oz".

"Watch, Ate. This, I did not teach him at all. Aidan, show tita! Touch the shadow."

Aidan, turning from left to right, head down, searching for his cast figure, making a few steps forward and back, and when he was satisfied at the boy figure on the floor, stopped. He stood still, slowly lifted his right hand, and held it on the tip of his head.

I smiled. Smart boy, I thought. Somehow I wished he would never grow up.

***************

"When the first baby laughed for the first time, its laugh broke into a thousand pieces, and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies."
- Peter Pan

The Ire of Eve Goes Virtual

M once set a blog up to cuss-all-she-can on her boyfriend's querida, C created a fake social network account in her boyfriend's name to disclose the number of women he impregnated, and Y posted hate mails on her site, all addressed to le boyfriend.

Men, beware. The wrath of women knows no boundaries. It will haunt you whenever, wherever a "Search" field is found, with very specific tags so that as far as cyberspace is concerned, you have nowhere to hide.

Women, I'll take your method any day over slitting wrists, drugs, and acid-throwing BUT be warned. Even after your rage has died down and you thought you deleted all the fake accounts you've created, the web is full of creepy crawlies waiting in their caches to save eeny teeny weeny bit of information. Okay, this is starting to get annoying; let me cut to the chase.

When women get hurt and angry, we tend to forget all sense of dignity and declare an all-out (virtual) war against the person(s) who wronged us. Hence, we tend to do things that are embarrassing and hurtful. And yes, hiding behind an alias or nick doesn't make it any better. We're smart enough to know that it won't change a cheating boyfriend or make a virgin out of a slut. So at the end of the day, in spite of a momentary feeling that we got even, we really just wasted our time and energy on a good-for-nothing pig.

Men, be man enough to stick to just one woman.

Women, who are we kidding?

S 2009

Majestic
Pristine
Sun and sand in interplay
Mystic
My first
Alone

Siquijor
Siquijor Tour

Dream Sequence

One night I found myself scampering down a never ending alley...Hurry!

I must have popped more blue pills than usual. Or was it the pink ones? Everything is a blur. Was that a cat out of the hat?...Alice!

She paints the wall crimson red. Her mascara dripping down her cheeks. She turns around. She looks insanely familiar. That's...oh my god...me!

I crack the code to his brain. That bastard... I wasn't alone!

Run!

Who am I chasing? Wait--

Who is being chased?

Run Lola Run!

Franka?

...the phone rings...

Sorry, Mikee

I know you're a big fan of that supposed teen sensation, the Twilight saga. I say "supposed" because I still can't get what the big deal is all about. It's one of those phenomena (is it?) which I wished never happened just because I see Robert Pattinson's humongous head (and hair) on practically every episode of E! News, and I couldn't get Kristen Stewart's constipated expression on New Moon off my mind. Plus, I'm a little ashamed I am ranting about this while Peping is closing in.

Yes, I did watch New Moon with a girlfriend who was clueless like me. We wondered while waiting in line at the cinema why girls went gaga over the book. Believe me when I say we were still wondering why when we left the theater. I vowed to stay off Twilight from then on but thought maybe I was just getting old, er, older.

However, that is going to change. The new installment of the Twilight saga, Eclipse, has come up with a deal so tempting, I don't think I could resist. First, they got Bryce Dallas Howard to join the cast as Viktoria (who Viktoria was in New Moon, I can't remember). I loved Howard in M. Night Shyamalan's The Village. I loved her even more in Lady in the Water. Second, I thought Eclipse's new director David Slade did exemplary for 30 Days of Night so I'm hoping he could give Eclipse some bloodthirsty oomph(!).

So Mikee...I think there's a lot of potential in Eclipse...maybe if Bella actually take whatever's stuck up her arse out and Edward got a rebond, then we'll talk.

Cya at work! :))


****************************************

Here's to calm me down --

It's about time that I

.

Do not go gentle into that good night...

This quarter saw a number of known personalities pass away-- the King of Pop, Charlie's angel, the saint of People Power (according to TIME), and, recently, the Johnny who wooed Baby to dance. It saw the loss of a dear friend's father and brought back the memory of my own mother's passing, encapsulated by a reflection on my own mortality.

I will be honest. Death, the emblem of inevitable uncertainty, is one I fear the most. Teasing or coaxing Death never cross my mind lest he falls for it. In the darkness of my thoughts, I stand defiant. I will not die. I cannot die. Not. Just. Yet.

Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

But. When Death insists, he persists. What's a mere mortal to do but let go? When my time comes, though, I hope he finds me worthy.

Do not go gentle into that good night
by Dylan Thomas (1914-1953)

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

The Good Life

I love the good life and I admit I know no shame in living it, not flaunting it, whenever and wherever I can afford it.

Back in Zamboanga City, the good life is pretty much accessible and affordable. A favorite spot by the river is just a 5-minute drive from my grandparents' house in Pasonanca. The city has more than 10 beaches to choose from, the most famous of which is the Great Sta. Cruz island with its rare pink sand. Food is affordable (mmm, curacha!) and night life is good enough for fun.

It is true that security is a problem which affects the inflow of investments in spite of the city's great potential. For example, the city's economic zone can accommodate BPO companies. After all, chavacanos are easily hired to support Spanish-speaking clients in most call centers in Manila. Also, Sta. Cruz island can be developed for tourism. These days, the city is thriving primarily from the enterprising spirit of Tsinoys and Muslims, who come from Jolo. Don't get me wrong- we, chavacanos, are very proud of our heritage but we have learned to live well with Muslims, Tsinoys, and Visayans.

On the other hand, I fear that too much development can bring about the end of the good rustic life. By then, will I still have that favorite spot by the river?

Sta. Cruz island below. I hate it that I do not have pictures I took of my own city. It's been quite a while since I have gone back home and when I was younger, unfortunately, I took a lot of things for granted. But I digress.

I had musings about mi ciudad de Zamboanga after visiting one of my favorite blog sites, My Castle in Spain by Lala Ema. Lala is French with Malagasy origins who now lives in Granada with her moncherie. The site is filled with pictures of her art (also her work), the terraces of Alhambra, her passions, the majestic views of Granada-- the good life!

I've been following her blog since early 2009 and I was excited about her new site, Un Mariage au Soleil (A Wedding Under the Sun). Her creativity is just all over the page. With Lala taking the helm as wedding planner, Granada could be a perfect wedding getaway.

Check out Lala Ema's blog sites:

http://www.mycastleinspain.blogspot.com/

http://mariageausoleil.blogspot.com/

** For more travels the backpacker way, check out www.ironwulf.net

Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example,'The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voide. Her bright body. Her inifinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my sould is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

- Pablo Neruda, Nobel prize laureate for Literature in 1971

What's God Got To Do With Aling Dionisia?

I am going to church in 2 hours. I am going back after over 5 years. I barely remember the last time I was inside one, only the feeling that I was cajoled to come along.

My last two entries were on faith and religion (this may be my last for now). I may have come across as a skeptic and as someone who mocks faith in the existence of the divine. I am a skeptic, yes, but I respect those who believe.

Not a few of those who know have asked me what happened. They wondered if I had an experience significant enough to determine this life-changing conviction. Some have thrown in a couple of painful life events. Others were bold enough to suggest the most incredulous psychological trauma worthy of Bruckheimer's CSI.

"Did you stop believing because your mom died?" - Everyone dies.

"Were you abused when you were a kid?" - I had a very happy childhood, particularly during the summer vacations I spent at my grandparents' house on top of a hill, overlooking the rubber plantation which extended to as far as the eyes can behold.

"Were your parents separated?" - They had admirable tolerance for each other's strengths and foibles. Whether or not they were happy I do not know, but my father was there to the end as my mother lay on her deathbed.

"A bump on the back of your head, perhaps?" - One or two, but not detrimental enough.

Really. The only traumatic experience as far as I can remember was the unfortunate chance of catching Aling Dionisia dance on national television, toppled only by her Ginebra commercial with son, Manny. There came then my big, exasperated- "WHhhhyyyyy???"

So what's God got to do with Aling Dionisia? What's believing, or not believing, got to do with painful life events? In my case, nothing.

I do not believe what you believe because one day on a cold morning, I sat staring at a tree, wondering what was inside it, what it was made of. I thought that if I had the tree sawn into half without stopping, would I get to its most infinitesimal particle or would I not get anywhere at all as the tree is cut into half infinitely? Either, or.

I figured I was going to die early so my life would be too short and too precious to be spending on "tree-cutting". I also could not convince myself to believe in something I cannot see, smell, hear, touch, or taste. Even emotions are given life by the five senses.

I sat staring at the tree, longer than I usually would have had. It wasn't tall or big enough but it was the most imposing as it was the nearest to where I sat among all other trees in the area. Its fiery orange leaves were starting to fall off; a few leaves danced to the rustle of the silent wind. I smiled and sighed, and whiffed a blend of damp earth and the dew that settles down on a cold morning. It was beautiful. I felt renewed.

One day I saw a tree on a cold morning and, looking back, it was all that mattered.

I am staying home instead.

O and V's Ridigulous

O and I were listening to a talk show on the radio last night. A letter was read on air and listeners get to text in their opinions and suggestions to supposedly help the letter sender figure out the solution to her problem. The letter sender was a daughter who decided to be an atheist and a rebel as a result of her mom's illicit affair with a priest.

O and I have considerably strong opinions about almost everything under the sun. We almost always never agree on the same things: he likes Vietnamese cuisine, I would rather have Italian; he likes to bask in the sun, I love to stay in the shade; he jogs, I smoke; he adores Kubrick, I find a few of his methods a waste of film; he is a socialist who thinks communism works depending on the context, I think communism is good only on paper; he believes, I don't. But I digress.

O told me of a debate between 2 religious groups. A friend of a friend of a friend of his told him about it. Hence, I doubt the veracity of the story mainly because I do not know how many other friends are involved and the story itself is ridiculously funny it couldn't have possibly happened. Anyway, the debate was shown on a TV channel owned by Religious Group A.

Religious Group A: The Holy Trinity cannot be true. How can one plus one plus one be equal to one??

Religious Group B: The Holy Trinity IS real. The Bible states, "Go forth and multiply." Therefore, one times one times one equal one.

We were having fun being ridigulous. O quipped-

O: I bet he's a Pastor (referring to the topic on the talk show). It couldn't be a priest.

Me: Why not a priest?

O: If it were a priest, his illicit affairs are with "little boys".

Me: That's stupid. (um ok, after I said, "Hahaha!")

The only thing we didn't do last night was actually text the radio show, which, I think, was fortunate for everyone's sake.

Me: Why is it when one learns you're an atheist, the next question is-- "What happened?"

O: They think something traumatic happened in your life.

Me: Yeah. Don't they consider you have a capacity to think, to question?

O: But...

Me: I'm not done yet. It's actually easier to believe again when you stop believing out of a traumatic or hurtful experience. If you eventually come to terms with the cause of the problem...or...if you're healed...you can always go back to believing.

O: "Heal the world. Make it a better place, for you and for me and the..."

Me: Oh shut up.

O never takes me seriously but I persist.

Me: You know what I would tell the letter sender?

O: What?

Me: Shame on you! It's bad enough to stop believing just because your mom is having an affair with a priest. If you decide to be an atheist, do it with integrity. Take control of your life; make it better. Rise above the situation instead of being a rebel. Don't go emo on everyone and everything else. You're not the only one with problems. Children in Africa are dying of hunger and diseases everyday. Hell, some kids don't even know their parents! *snip*

Then I rant about a totally different matter, which is typical of me.

O: You know what I would tell her?

Me: What?

O: We decide our fate. Your mom could have decided to have an affair with a gang lord instead of a priest. And instead of being an atheist, you could be doing drugs right now. So if you really think about it, your mom made a better choice and you made the right choice.

Me: That makes sense.

Methinks the world last night was better off without O and my 2 cents.

Faith

posted by Ayla

*****
I believe in you and me.

I believe in our capacity to do great things. I believe that we can create and destroy. I believe that we have the power to change the world. I believe that our decisions, indecision, and non-decisions actually shape the world.

I believe that love, kindness, and compassion were born when we decided to be selfless. Forgiveness, bravery, and courage sprung when we realized we were free.

I believe that we can do miracles. A sleight of the hand can bring a smile to a child's face. A helping hand can build a family a home.

I believe that when a person goes on a spiritual journey, he actually finds himself, not God.

I believe that if there is such a thing as the divine, there is no need to look up above, or elsewhere. Look at me; see through me. You and I, we are equal.

You gaze in wonderment at stars and search endlessly for beautiful love because that is who you are- a poet, a storyteller. But, not everyone will share your muse.

See this. We are the same yet we are different. That, in itself, is beautiful.

I know of a black man who changed the world in November. I heard of a woman who saved her charge in the middle of gunfire. And I've long read of a man who preached tolerance and died on the cross.

If God is anything beautiful, then I believe he, she, or it exists. He was the black man who became president. She was the brave nanny. He was the one crucified.

Look at me. There is no need to look elsewhere.

Mad Girl's Love Song

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

Act Now

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

Ponder...

When was the last time you did something for the first time?

Grocery

Doing the groceries was once a task I looked forward to. It was usually a Saturday morning or in the afternoon on a weekday when I would meet up with my Mom to accompany her to the grocery store. I usually did my own thing (school stuff, friends stuff, or boyfriend stuff) first before the groceries.

The grocery store occupies half the first floor at a popular mall in my hometown, about two-thirds the size of Megamall's Supermarket. Its floors are shiny and white. The aisles in between shelves are comfortably big enough. The goods and produce are organized accordingly. It doesn't smell fishy and the airconditioning makes you forget it is warm and humid outside.

Notably surprising was how quiet the people doing the groceries were. It was as if conversations should be had at hushed tones and rarely did Serendipity favor a chance meeting between friends or relatives.

It has been 5 years since I last did my grocery there. Looking back, the grocery store was a sanctuary, a refuge from a stressful environment at home: going over the shelved items, running my fingers down labels, helping Mom figure how many of each kind, and silently planning of a strategic way to sneak a bar of Toblerone into the cart without Mom having the chance to say "No".

Today, the nearest I get to sanctuary is Rustan's supermarket but I always end up with a few items on my grocery list I have yet to cross out. Megamall's supermarket holds more items, more variants, and is considerably cheaper BUT all's a hubbub in there-- the moment I am graciously offered a grocery cart, I want to rush the hell out of that place.

I'm contemplating going to a weekend market instead. How about we go back to Salcedo?

Goddess

Goddess

My lover awaits you

Hurry into his dreams

Step into his songs

His poetry crafted after the

gentle curves of your

gentile silhouette

Down the tower you climb

Out of coffee-stained pages you rise

Into the water you wade

Trees whisper your name

Where is he? My lover

Its leaves rustle

They echo his name

I searched in frantic

Juxtaposed light and shadows

Untangled space and time, there

My lover lounging on your bosom

Prisoner to your embrace

Drunken in the

salty liquid of your desire

Goddess

Conniving
Evil
Bitch

You will not suck him dry

Your constellation will soon fall

On the morrow, he will be mine

* V-Ray, #1 of Goddess series

* image: http://kimolsen.files.wordpress.com/2007/08/goddess-3.jpg

D Ville

Patience is a virtue I have had difficulty learning. I am happy to say that in my 27 years of existence, almost akin to treading in water, a girl has to learn what she has to learn lest she drowns.

I learned, yeah, but it seems the patient me has gotten herself confined only in the workplace. Outside the BPI building, hell may break loose. You don't want to be around me when that happens. Ask my sister. Ask O.

On Wednesday morning, my sister and I got duped into wasting over 45 minutes of our precious shopping time with an agent who was blabbing about how we should start saving our mulah today.

The truth is, whenever I go to Megamall, I patiently check the shops out. Only when my heels start to scream, nicely designed sweet-smelling shopping bags are fully loaded on both arms (OK, I'm exaggerating but how I wish!), and my beloved plastic has gone brittle from too much swiping, will I wake up from this tantric experience and tell myself, "Enough is enough!" Oh well... We know this didn't and will never happen, God forbid. Honestly? I stop when confronted with the thought my hair will start to fall from eating pancit canton for the rest of the month.

There's only one thing I avoid at Megamall and that's the throng of agents strategically positioned at hallways on every floor, except for the basement where it is mostly kid's stuff. The mall has ceased to be just an abode for food court, the cinema, National Bookstore, a few novelty finds here and there, and clothing. It has now gone to retailing houses, land, fitness, health, financial stability, and, yes, our future. You can get them on bargain too!

The trick here is to avoid eye contact. Stick to the shops because the moment you lock eyes with an agent calling out to you, you will find yourself in a well-adorned office on the 5th floor with another agent, who insists he is a "consultant" by the way and seems to hold a Guiness record for the most number of unintelligible words per minute. He will promise to take only 45 minutes of your time but even after 30 minutes, also known as "eternity", he wouldn't be done with the introductions yet.

He tells you he's from UP Diliman. Don't ever say "Really?" when you're just secretly wondering whether your taxes are even allotted for education in the country because his reply to that is, "Yes. UP Diliman. In Quezon City." You will then wonder if this guy probably thinks you're that stupid you don't even know where UP Diliman is.

I'm sorry to tell you but you are now in D Ville, damned to listen to nonsensical chatter on securing the future by charging your credit card P16,000. Before you decide to continue on your journey of the, uh, underworld, allow me to scatter pieces of bread along the way so you can find your way back out.

* Your "consultant" will ask to see your credit card a number of times. If you want to be polite, make sure to cover the digits with a finger. Better yet, tell him flat out that you're not giving your card number away. Expect a change of strategy on his end. If you can't help it, ask your card company to cancel the number out. Most card companies will have a new card sent to you in 3 banking days.

* Never trust a "consultant", or any person for that matter, who isn't wearing a watch. I have a thing for this. If a man wants to talk business with me, he needs to get himself a good-looking counter. If he can't afford a brand he can't pronounce right because he-will-only-sound-like-his-tongue-is-sparring-with-an-ice-cube, a stainless Seiko will do just fine.

* Your "consultant" will try to convince you to sign up TODAY. Don't. Weigh your options well.

* Your "consultant" will show you his clients' statements of account to entice you into signing up with them. A financial company should not be doing this at all. A client's statement of account is supposed to be confidential.

* Your "consultant" will have a lot in common with you. If you're from Zamboanga, he's from Zamboanga too. If you're working at an office found in the RCBC building in Makati, then he will tell you he used to work at RCBC. If your dad is a seaman, his uncle is one too. If you say your mom is no longer living, he will say his father has just passed away, and later, he will slip by saying he comes from a broken family.

* Never ever go just by what the "consultant" tells you. Check the company out from other sources.

* When it comes to finances, it is always best to invest in more established institutions. There will always be risks but you are surely not minimizing the risks by investing in a 2-year old company that sucks up to a 43-year old insurance corporation for credibility. Your "consultant" will tell you that they are a holdings company with investments in this much older corporation. (Sweet Jesu! I invested in a 100-year old company and I still say my prayers everytime I go to the Stocks section in the papers.)

I hope you will never find yourself in D Ville but if you do, investing (or not!) your money is your decision to make.

Honestly? If 45 minutes of crap seem like an eternity, impatience helps. Forget forbearance. Be a bitch and simply walk away.

Neil Gaiman for the First Time

I could not wait to take a break.

In a week's time, I am flying my bee-hind to a place down South with beaches nearby, more beautiful than Boracay and more serene than Palawan. They say one island is hailed by many diving magazines as one of the 10 most beautiful dive sites in the world. My friend L says he digs it better than El Nido.

I've got everything ready except for my, yes, bee-hind which begins to plummet, where else but, south. It looks heavier now and I swear I've been only eating 1 meal a day. I have yet to open an email sent to me by R; it's this "be-model-thin-in-one-week" diet plan where you get to eat fruits and...shoot!...oh well, I really need to get to that email soon.

I am most excited by the thought of getting my fingers through the pages of Neil Gaiman's The Graveyard Book. You see, I have never read Neil Gaiman but I've heard a lot about him from friends. J from Vanda could talk for hours about nothing but Sandman and T has Gaiman, I suppose, on her list of "Men I Want To Marry".

I will have plenty of time to myself because O will be spending most of the day working. Yes, my (only) one surprised and bitter reader, O will be on vacation while working. I, on the other hand, will roam around the resort, finally figure out how my camera works, eat anything I want, and get to know Gaiman through The Graveyard Book. All is fair...

Oh yes-- I got interested in Gaiman when he, deadpan, got even with Stephen Colbert. I enjoy Colbert for his narcissism, his satirical delivery of political and the not-so political issues, and his comedic jabs on his guests. Colbert is so funny even his guests lose focus. But not Neil Gaiman. Not French high wire artist Philippe Petit (but that's another story).

I need a smoke.

When I come back, from my vacation that is, I hope I'll be inspired to write about the book. Who knows, I may even add Gaiman to my own list of "Men I Want To Marry".

We'll see.

Chefs' Quarter

A couple of days ago, my sister and I decided to check out the food stops at SM Megamall's Atrium. Since I've eaten in most of the restaurants there with O, I suggested, to which my sister readily agreed since I was gonna pay the bill, to try out (for the first time) Chefs' Quarter.

Chefs' Quarter first opened at Midtown, the expansion wing of Robinsons Place Ermita. Another branch is located in Eastwood Mall and this one at Atrium is the most recent.

We got there at 1:15 PM, which was a little bit late for lunch (don't you think?), and so we took a few moments in deciding to go for a la carte or the buffet. Prices average at P300-P400 a la carte and the buffet costs P495. The buffet usually ends at 2 PM but, according to Jermie (shoot! I'm not sure if that was it on his name tag), it continues on for as long as patrons kept coming back to the table. Here's the thing- we only asked him what time the buffet ends but he gave us an unsoliscited advice to go for the buffet if we ate too much. My sister's eyebrows arched on reflex. I beg my sister to ignore the waiter because I'd like to eat with happy thoughts.

We diverted our attention to the interiors instead, which was inviting and not intimidating. I like the play of colors on one side of the room- cream, adobe, and lemon green. Gold-framed mirrors against lemon green walls look good pala.

On the other side is a brick wall where they keep their collection of wine. Their Wine List include reds like Shiraz and Merlot, and Sauvignon Blanc if you wanna go white. They also have wines coming from Chile, Australia and South Africa.

Finally, we decided to go for the buffet not because we "ate too much" (actually, we do...) but because we want to taste a bit of everything. We had Lettuce soup and salad greens for starters. I also tried Salmon Carpaccio, but waited for my lemons in vain. The main courses include Roast Beef, Roasted Chicken, Mashed Potatoes on the side, Grilled Fish Fillet (Lapu-Lapu I suppose), and Paella.

Their Pasta Bar include Penne, Spaghetti, Fettucini, and you can have it cooked in either Pesto or Vegetable sauce. My sister is naturally repelled to anything green in food because she associates it with veggies so she went for the Vegetable sauce, which was red-colored, on her Spaghetti. The Vegetable sauce is actually just tomato sauce with diced zucchini (at least that was the only veggie I recognized) but our Vegetable sauce was a little bit too spicy. I'm sure I would have done a better job!

There were other dishes on the buffet table but I suppose, and I quote Simon Cowell when I say-- they were forgettable. Don't get me wrong; the food wasn't so bad but it wasn't extraordinary either.

Desserts are another story. Thank God for desserts! I'm not really sure if Chefs' Quarter's desserts are that good or any dessert is good for that matter. I tried Ube Creme Brulee (this is a must-try!), and Chocolate Fountain with fruits and mashmallows to dip (I can die now...). I remember a Sunday buffet I went to at Mandarin (a friend's GC made it possible) and their Dessert Bar occupied one wall of, say, Chefs' Quarter. The only regret I had when I was going through my sweet options was that desserts aren't appetizers.

Now that I was full, I couldn't help get back to dissing our waiter. Jermie (his name leaves a bad taste in the mouth- forgive the pun) was so much wanting in grace and refinement that maybe he thought he was waiting on a fast food joint rather than on a fine dining restaurant, even though this fine dining restaurant serves fine dining on a budget (works for the recessionista in me).

To cap my lunch buffet experience at Chefs' Quarter, I'd say P495 ain't bad at all but it's not worth coming back to.

Try this one out:

*image from www.pentik.com

Salmon Carpaccio

Marinate thin slices of fresh salmon fillet in lemon juice, salt, and pepper. Let it marinate for 15-20 minutes but never over 30 minutes. Remember, you want your salmon raw. After marinating, transfer the salmon onto another dish. Garnish it with slices of lemon on the side. You can also sprinkle fresh herbs but I suggest you go for herbs with texture and a subtle flavor. Or you can always use fresh basil, which almost always goes with everything. Enjoy!

Redemption

Ok, so right now I'm chatting with O. and we are trying to revive our old accounts online. O. more determined now than ever, particularly on Multiply, because he's been seeing his poems posted on other people's sites.

"I'm getting my poems back!" He said.

"You don't have a blog. What did you expect?" I, half-heartedly, berated him.

And now...he just got an email from Blogger asking him to wait while they verify his account isn't spam.

Poor O.

I was partly the reason why he stopped posting online.

Ponder...

"Into each Life, some rain must fall."

Ang Himig Natin

I should say many of us can listen to a song over and over, and over, again until our desire to throw up gets in the way of fun. I have one of my favorites which I’ve been enjoying for the nth time as I am writing this.

First, here’s an excerpt from ‘Ang Pagbabalik ng’ Juan dela Cruz by Igan D’ Bayan…

“In one hazy, green-tinted day in the ’70s, just before the guys of Juan dela Cruz - Joey “Pepe” Smith, Wally Gonzalez and Mike Hanopol - were about to play a gig at the Luneta, Pepe found himself in a toilet at the Luneta Observatory, scribbling lyrics on a sheet of toilet paper.”

“I wrote a song about 20 minutes before we got onstage,” Pepe recalls, adding that he wanted to write a song with the same title as that of the gig: Ang Himig Natin. So, he ended up in the ladies’ room (since the men’s room was full) writing what has become the “national anthem” of the Pinoy Rock generation, and arguably the best OPM song ever written.”

My introduction to the band came on one rockin ‘n rollin night at UP Fair. I believe it was Liza who invited me to this event when I was still a Freshman. (I miss you Liz!) Anyway, it was this one evening at the fair and it smelled ganja in the air. I honestly didn’t know anything about ganja in those days as I was only 15. Back then I thought the stench was a cocktail of too much cigarettes, too much booze, as well as puke, and, because it rained earlier that day, wet grass. So I was right one out of three—it stunk of grass that night!

I was with High School classmates and we were crossing the street towards the open field of jumping, and jumpy, boys and girls when a guy randomly passed by us as he was exaggeratedly swaying his hips. This guy was obviously straight, drunk, and loud. I asked myself, “What’s an old fart, a very old fart in this case, doing at a UP Fair?” I figured he was taking his Masters degree 5 times over and so I let him pass any more scrutiny from me.

“Do you know who he is?” asked one of my more musically-inclined classmates.

“Pepe Smith. He’s popular.” He said.

“I see. No wonder he looks familiar. What horror films did he star in?” I was serious.

Needless to say, I got a crash course on 70s Rock Music from my friends later that evening who, I’m now guessing, might have considered not tagging me along at the next UP Fair. And yes, they did point out that Pepe Smith is the “Father of Pinoy Rock Music” and stared at me like I crucified the guy to the cross.

Anyway, I later came to genuinely like the Juan Dela Cruz Band. Pepe Smith together with Mike Hanopol and Wally Gozalez form this great band. I learned that I had gotten to listen to some of their tracks in a lot of places even when I was little. Hits such as Beep, Beep, Titser’s Enemy No.1, Laki sa Layaw, and, definitely, Ang Himig Natin. They’re the only band that has remained in the Filipino consciousness for over 30 decades now. And you have to admit, nothing or no one rocks the stage or Arina like Pepe.

I hope he forgives a fifteen-year-old girl’s blunder though. Whoever she was- that girl!

Ang Himig Natin

Ako’y nag-iisa
at walang kasama
di ko makita
ang ating pag-asa

Ang himig natin
ang inyong awitin
upang tayo’y magsama-sama
sa langit ng pag-asa

Ako’y may kaibigan
at s’ya’y nahihirapan
handa na ba kayong lahat
upang s’ya’y tulungan

Ang himig natin
ang inyong awitin
upang tayo’y magsama-sama
sa langit ng pag-asa

Ang himig natin
inyong awitin
ang himig natin
inyong awitin
ang himig natin
inyong awitin

Anonymous Kitchen

A friend, once dear, told me that the hardest part about having a broken heart is dining alone.

On a cold January morning, I was Kitchen’s first customer, sans the broken heart, but it was very sad nonetheless. While waiting for my Salmon and consciously sipping my Pandan Iced Tea, I was not oblivious to the fact that I was the only diner in Greenbelt 3 with my beehind for a companion. So as not to stare straight ahead like a harlot waiting for her amore, I pretended to be occupied with writing. In truth, I was berating myself for not tagging Sudoku along.

Slowly I pick up the pieces of a broken heart,
Shattered by an unwitting shadow of days gone by. And
Even when pain is silenced by space and time,
It illuminates in the darkness of the night. Oh
Let a dying Casanova resurrect this heart of mine!
Slowly I pick up the pieces,
Gently I mend.

Rain Thoughts

It started drizzling and for a seven-year old girl, it was like the ice cream man’s bell ringing. She started for the door but grandmother stopped her. “Ok,” said grandmother, “but only for a little while.” Mother, always the cool woman she was, simply smiled. Grandfather stared straight ahead but she knew him too well. He was her favorite of all.

The door flew open and freedom smelled of grass and wet earth. Children’s laughter, and teeth chattering, blended melodiously with the spatter of raindrops on rooftops nearby. And then it poured. It poured heavily. The voices grew louder. The spatter turned to splatter and there were splashes everywhere. The children jumped from one puddle to another joyfully, delighted in what the heavens have brought them. “’Tis not going to rain this hard tomorrow so let us steal as much time away from home as we can!”

Memories of a decade gone by, of thousands of isles away, and of innocence lost. Today, when it rains, it simply pours. I sit by the window, take a careful sip from my cup, and stare out, a bit annoyingly. Sometimes I catch myself hoping for children to be out there like we used to but I seldom find any. I muse at the thought of starting for the door like I used to and Grandmother would stop me like she used to, and jump in the rain and linger there as if it were my last.

Weekend in Galera

On Saturday afternoon last week, my workmates and I braved the tides of Oriental Mindoro to enjoy the beaches of Puerto Galera, a getaway haven to most Manila urbanites. We took a 2-hr bus ride from the terminal at Taft Avenue to Batangas Pier. I thought we were lucky to catch the last ferry trip at 4:00 P.M. but, drat, we spent almost 2 hours in it. The ferry didn’t go straight to White Beach, where we were destined, but had to make a stopover at Sabang Beach. One of the passengers exclaimed he would be kissing ground when we reach “harbor”. We didn’t kiss ground but it felt like touchdown getting off the ferry and feeling the sand with the soles of my feet.

On Sunday morning, we went snorkeling and visited an island devoid of the party atmosphere found in White Beach. Since there were more than 10 of us, we only paid P150 each for a big bangka (pumpboat) to bring us to the site. There were a number of smaller bangkas waiting there, willing to bring you around the site for P70 each. All we had to do was hold on to the bangka’s sides and experience the beauty that lay down under. We saw corals, clownfishes, big blue starfishes, anemone, gigantic(!) sea urchins, and a lot more I could not name (unfortunately). Their magnificence right in my face…

We had dinner at Italian Pizzeria, a new addition to White Beach since I first visited it last year. The pizzeria is situated at the end of White Beach, just before you cross over to Tamaraw Beach Resort. My friend Migs texted me and said the view was not to be missed. I didn’t. The view from up where we dined was the perfect culmination for an enjoyable morning.

We had Aglio e Olio, Pizza de Pirata (with ham and Italian sausages), and Hawaiaan Pizza. The two pizzas were great, straight from the oven. The pasta on the other hand was not al dente; if it stayed 2 minutes more in boiling water, it would have been perfect! I thank Dave for giving the waitress special instructions for my Mango Shake– more of the mango fruit and a little bit of dairy. Apart from the fact that I am lactose-intolerant, my shake was better than Regina’s. I think each of the 5 of us shelled out around P300, not bad for a good meal. Oh yeah, we scored a slice of Tiramisu each (on the house!) as courtesy for Dave’s inconvenience; his cappuccino was the first to be ordered but served last.

We went back to the center of White Beach and found a not-so-sober Maki, tattooed and braided, calling on us to get a henna tattoo from this shop just beside the White Beach Restaurant. She made friends with the manager and artists. She got discounts for friends who decided to get a tattoo. J and Dave had theirs done permanently, and Nicca had a henna of her name on the ankle only for P100.

Later in the night, the people at a nearby bar, Miko’s Bar, got excited. We went to check it out and found a show that just got started. I don’t know what it’s really called except that it was hilarious and fun to watch– three drag queens doing impressions of Beyonce, Mariah, and Tina Turner. Dave, Regina, and Cathy decided to stay (and drink) and told me later the queens had a silly dance step of a popular station ID, “Makulay and buhay...”

By the way, don’t miss Mindoro Sling, it’s the cocktail while (you’re) in Galera. It’s a concoction of rhum, orange juice, mango juice, grenadine syrup, and Sprite, served with slices of apple. Get the pitcher if you’re with a small group, which makes it cheaper than ordering by the glass.

When it started to drizzle, I knew I had to call it a night. My Galera getaway ends the morning after, back to Manila I will and back to the corporate jungle I shall.

To Do/Go List next time I visit Galera:
* Tamaraw Falls
* Diving (for Oscar)
* Drink, Drink, Drink

Last Night

Last night

My bed was a placid sea
Of lucid premonitions
Like gentle waves
They frolicked in my sleep
Away from the day’s delirium

Last night
Your eyes were like the setting sun
Still and distant
They sank over the horizon
As the night embraced me
Into your dark spell

Last night
I drank wine
From your intoxicating mouth
Your lips supple like grapes
Of red and satin thirst
I drowned in your abysmal kisses

Tonight
I stare at white sheets
And close my eyes
Visions of your naked skin appear
Like dandelions from the midnight sky
Brush my chest with subtlety

Tonight
I caress your hair
When dreams beset me
Like a dark river your hair
Flows through my body
And bathe me with temptation

Tonight
I close my eyes
And await your silhouette
Dreams of naked promises
Of pillowing and stained sheets
Your starlit eyes and venomous lips

The night
My abyss of secrets and dreams
Eyes closed from the tempest
Unlit room and shadowy blanket
I wait for my midnight visitor
Every night, like the night before that.

- Shogunoka, 11/2008

Whisper

I think I should go now,
I must leave before my --- much the sunrise
No more coffee will pull off today,

I stood too long,
In the shadow of a doubt, I need some sun,
It seems the time returns to me once more,
But I have less now then before,

And when I feel my world falling down,
I think of you, I think of you,
And when I feel I cant breath no more,
You speak to me, you speak to me,

When the brightest star,
Smiles as its --- quit shoulders with the night,
You let that going --- ambers of my own light,
Do you know?
Your words can track the moon down from the sky,
So choose my frozen heart with your work right,
You really made me listen from a voice,
And I had millions,

When you fell,
I see your visionary thoughts be front your blood,
Crumps of lovers drowning in the same floor,
I miss the beauty of your young black skin,
I thought that freedom,
Could only be defined as end of choice,
And I only listened to the --- love you broke your loudest,

But this world,
Will be shaken by a whisper,
But this world,
Will be shaken by a whisper,

But this world,
And I live with integrity,
Will be shaken by a whisper (and peace inside, and peace inside)
But this world,
And I will live with all honesty,
Will be shaken by a whisper (and peace inside, and peace inside)

Alone

Christmas, this year, could well be the loneliest so far.

Imagine this, spending Noche Buena alone in your apartment when every year you fly home to the comforts of family and good food. This year,though, you stay put because you have to work.

Imagine this, you brave Shaw Boulevard’s hell, er, traffic to get yourself a fine bottle of Merlot (yes, you’re beginning to enjoy wine but, admit it, you can only distinguish between white and red), prepare Tuna Marinara (the peso wasted on Yummy ain’t a bad thing), and belch a few high, albeit annoyingly shrill, notes in the shower, only to end up sweating and trying to figure out how in sweet Jesu(!) will you pop that cork off the bottle (you DID consider whacking the top off instead) with your non-Herculean strength.

Imagine this, dozing off to sleep at nine in the evening, forgetting to call your dear family, as tradition dictates, and making up a really good excuse in the morning why you haven’t called. ‘I really tried but I kept getting “Service is not available.”‘ Yeah right!

Oh, there was no reason you had to be alone on Christmas Eve. It’s just that, you had all the reasons you were alone. Figured?

Hey, (aren’t you) sOoo looking forward to New Year’s Eve and what loneliness it has to offer?…

Ponder...

For mortals who have to go through life, its twists and turns– life sucks or rocks! Either way, you have to live it.