11.29.07
Posted in 2007 Mosaic at 6:44 pm by Miracle ♪♫
*sigh* I suppose there’s one being who cannot bear the placid concept of myself in a Monet. This person had to litter it with botchy splatters. Would it pacify you if I told you I have more Rembrandt days than Monet? But well, if Jackson Pollock’s your kind of life (that’s a compliment), I’m not judging you. It seems to be convincing and selling to a majority, but please, do not taint my canvas if I stroke in peace. I’ve put the past behind and have no desire of stealing paint from you - the way you dip from my palette every now and then… and evidently, we mix colors differently.
“He who loves, flies, runs, and rejoices; he is free…” Henri Matisse
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Posted in 2007 Mosaic at 3:22 pm by Miracle ♪♫
Yes, your car may be rather dazzling… but I’m not interested in it. Like my Mama always says - a la Forrest Gump - “one doesn’t make love to a car.” Weren’t you aware that I prefer ambling in the sunlight or in the rain? Are you capable of bringing me to places – even without wheels? Books or flowers over Louis Vuittons and manufactured signatures, please. By the way, the name of the posh hotel you stayed in was waaay out of the topic. I would have been impressed if you told me you spent the night in a nipa hut.
.. … ..
No. Being a musician is not a requirement. Being a decent man is. (But on the other hand… you should at least know who Bach is.)
.. … ..
Oh, yes. It’s mighty sweet of you to deem that I’m perfect, be so understanding, tolerant with my moods, submissive to my wishes. Truly, a myriad of girls would vie for your affection.
B-b-but… where’s the romance in that?!
Be a man! Tell me what I’m doing wrong. I am not perfect. Far from it! If you believe otherwise, then you have no idea who I really am. If I’m perfect, then what do I need you for? Raise me. Edit me. Teach me. If you cannot, then you’re not for me. Cultivate my good qualities but show me how I can improve.
.. … ..
My ideal man, you ask… you know what?
One doesn’t necessarily have to ask, thank you.
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11.27.07
Posted in 2007 Mosaic at 11:10 pm by Miracle ♪♫
It rains in a misty adagio and the whispering wind accompanies nature in hushing this child to serenity. Shhh…
Today, I live in a Monet.
Fragile.
Delicate.
Ethereal.
With waterlilies of perception
and liquid memories.
—————=======================—————-
A song chimes in softly from the sighing speakers outside…
When the dark wood
fell before me
And all the paths were overgrown
When the priests of pride say there is no other way, I tilled the sorrows of stone
I did not believe because I could not see
Though you came to me in the night
When the dawn seemed forever lost
You showed me your love in the light of the stars
Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me
Then the mountain rose before me
By the deep well of desire
From the fountain of forgiveness
Beyond the ice and the fire
Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me
Though we share this humble path, alone
How fragile is the heart
Oh give these clay feet wings to fly
To touch the face of the stars
Breathe life into this feeble heart
Lift this mortal veil of fear
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears
We’ll rise above these earthly cares
Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me…
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11.23.07
Posted in Uncategorized at 7:30 pm by Miracle ♪♫
November 26, 2007
Congratulations to the Fiddler
on the Roof cast and crew for making it through Anatevka without breaking their
necks despite the somewhat wobbly proceedings. (hehe)
Mazel Tov!
——————————————————————-
November 25, 2007
An old friend and I chanced upon each other today and he said my name with a
nod as a greeting, then went on his way after I did the same. What used to be hours of confiding and genial
delving into each other’s beeswax was reduced to the first syllables of our
names and a simple nod. Strange how
things change.
——————————————————————-
November 24, 2007
At 5:00 a.m. this morning, I woke up from the same dream I’ve been
having for the last four years. Resembling characters from a world of magic realism in South American
novels, I’m gifted with the ability to dream in color, along with the other
four classical senses.
I beheld the same face, heard the same reverberating laugh, breathed
the same scent, felt the same zephyr, and towards the end of the dream, tasted
the gall of this uncanny sensory ability. Then I woke up and sighed dismally and muttered, “so much for
resolutions.”
I grabbed my rubber shoes, and hiked glumly for thirty
minutes… suddenly, at the end of the road, flowers! Someone handed me three roses. No, not metaphorical flowers. Real roses! It was unexpected… and the most wonderful
thing is that the person gave it with no romantic intentions or expectations
whatsoever (his beloved wife was with him ^_^), and I can confidently say that God used this person to lift me up
today.
Then I understood that even though resolutions do not always
have their immediate results, prayer does. Despite being unworthy, God sent me flowers today.
——————————————————————-
November 22, 2007
I just watched a tragic mushy film.
Yes, you heard me right. I watched a mushy film and I cried. It was the only movie I watched in months…
and it was mushy and tragic.
Ok, I’m
talking like Dory now. Did I say it was mushy and
tragic?
*slaps myself*
Why do girls watch these kinds of movies anyway? I
should have read a book instead. Mushy movies should be banned. I
believe it kills an unsparing amount of
brain cells. Not only do you disregard
the fact that you’re watching fiction, valuable tears are wasted, and
you end up
talking like Dory…
you come out a little impaired.
Still, some people prefer to keep watching.
Just keep watching,
watching, watching…
How about we play a game?
I’m thinking of something orange and small… and it has
stripes…
—————=======================—————-
Oh, the movie I watched? Griffin and Phoenix. Featuring Dermot Mulroney and Amanda Peet as Geoffrey
Griffin and Sarah Phoenix.
Who noticed that their last names were mythological
creatures?
Second question, who noticed something about their first
names? The latter however is a query for a limited circle.
(Note: Griffin or Phoenix, Geoffrey or
Sarah, I have no intentions of ridiculing any of you. Blame the writer… and forgive me for having the
knack of finding these trivial connecting coincidences and um… serendipities.)
(Second note: Hah! Perhaps
I’m just getting back at someone for mercilessly teasing me last Saturday… maybe I’m just mercilessly teasing him
back. Didn’t I warn everybody about becoming MY blog-material?! Hehehe =P)
——————————————————————-
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11.21.07
Posted in Uncategorized at 12:43 am by Miracle ♪♫
While browsing through my photo folders, I caught sight of my favorite Norman Rockwell painting. I lavished the illustration with another admiring contemplation as I did several years ago… but there seems to be something more substantial about it now…
…and as it has often been occurring lately, I think of you and dwell on the image as the toned down fabric of their apparel touch intimately on the canvas…
brushed by the same creator…
conceptualizing the same sunset…
clinging to nature’s wild flowers…
having their backs turned to the past… too innocent, yet too familiar with each other… within the same frame they come together…
…but no, they don’t kiss…
well… not just yet… =)
.
Return to Home Page
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11.19.07
Posted in 2007 Mosaic at 7:07 pm by Miracle ♪♫
13th of November
In the pre-departure area with the whole family including Papa
and Mama’s adopted children, Lester and Haidee. We flew PAL (Plane Always Late). The flight delay was the mainspring of
Dandi and Lester’s foolishness with their camera phones… thus provoking me to
dub Lester a new nickname – “Torts.”
Torts [Tawrts]
Both verb and noun.
Origin: from the words distort,
distorter, and distorted.
Several hours later, we made it to the urban sprawl of Manila. Oh wow, Dandi vs. Haidee, and Lester vs. Me,
made it through the trip without crashing the plane! (Misha behaved more than
any of us. *blush*)
It was already duskish when we reached Greenhills and our ever
reliable room with a view at Le Gran… and it does not take a genius or
clairvoyant to predict where I went next. FullyBooked at Promenade – walking distance from Le Gran!
Oh Fraaaanz, look what I got on my first day! =P
—————-=======================—————-
14th of November
We visited the Literals since it was one of Papa’s main
“missions” to Manila because unfortunately, Uncle Tiny was sick. It was a relief to see him in better condition than expected. We arrived at
their house after staggering hours of traffic.
“Uncle Tiny” is a very big man… and his full name is Tiny
Literal. *gasps* How did that come to be?! He is literally not one bit tiny!
With Auntie Febes, Uncle Tiny’s Wife
Later that afternoon, we checked on Papa’s works at The Met
and I got frittered away with the Hidalgos and Amorsolos.
Even though Lester and I have our “sibling rivalries,”
(haha) he and Haidee were so kind to treat us to dinner at a special Vietnamese
restaurant in Fort Boni where the food was superb and the red wine was, um…red. =P But the biggest treat was when they brought me to a five-storey fully
booked FullyBooked. I was about to
plead, “can I just stay here for the entire trip?” For a birthday present, they even bought a
hard-bound publication of one of my favorite classics, Pride and
Prejudice. Awww… *sniff sniff* Thanks
Les and Haidz.
—————-=======================—————-
15th of November
Day of Papa’s exhibit and Misha’s birthday. The skies
seemed unable to contain the bad weather up there for there were some whose
hearts were cold and gloomy enough that day. It was a very wonderful experience for Misha who was blessed to be unaware
of every irksome situation that surrounded him. He was even the one who brought life to the exhibit when he performed
beautifully on the violin. Everybody
loved him – even Mdme. Ingrid Santamaria. As for details of the exhibit, I shall refrain to elaborate for it will
only distress me. The exhibit was a
success to those who were oblivious to what went on behind the scenes, but all
I can say is that Papa’s works do not belong there.
—————=======================—————-
16th of November
Hmmm… the sunshine burst through the clouds like
chrysanthemums. My 23rd birthday.
I started it with a prayer/resolution and
everyone seemed to have put yesterday’s despondency behind. Everything was bright…
I even met “Lightning” and poor lightning had to experience shaking my damp, cold pianists’ hand which I
successfully avoided the first time he streaked through my sky. Hahaha ;-) Thank you for everything, dear Lightning… although it’s corny and cliché, I must say, you lit up my day! hehehe =p
—————=======================—————-
17th of November
While we were still in Dipolog, Mdm. Ingrid already offered
her home as venue for our violin lessons with Sir Jeffrey so she could also
have a chat with my parents. Naturally,
I would have immediately declined… but etiquette required me to concede. So for me it was a dreadful day when the
great Ingrid Sala Santamaria would witness my inferior violin playing. However, she was so gracious, so kind, and so
warm, that I instantly forgot the dread the moment she stood at her door
smiling like a magnanimous queen. She
even served us food, gave a tour of her museum/home, and made us feel very
welcome. I was even more rewarded when after hearing
Misha play, she complimented on Misha’s performance and commented that I taught
him “very well.” I was walking on air…
and that’s not all… while I was having my violin lessons with Sir Jeffrey, she accompanied me on
the piano! So yes, the feeling was a
mixture of happiness and nausea… hahaha =P
I was also glad to see Sir Jeffrey who in my opinion has
changed so much for the better… (except when he still managed to tease me about
a certain performer of the Arpeggione Sonata.) Man, I turned beet red in front
of Mdm. Ingrid!
All in all, it was a pleasant musical evening and everyone was
light-hearted. Amazing how music suffices in uniting different characters!
—————=======================—————-
Well, that’s about a week’s worth of blog entries. I’d rather not go through the details of a canceled flight on the 18th and being redirected to the Cebu airport before finally heading home to Dipolog today on a plane navigated by a pilot having the surname “Viola.” (!!!)
The important thing is that we’re home and very grateful that God provided us all our needs.
Home sweet home - sweet home blanketed in an ample layer of
dust after a week in Manila, sweet quaint house that would seem like an
unsightly wooden speck amidst Manila’s skyline, sweet residence that usually
blocks my nasal passages with sanitary dust
while I clean up after a trip. Yes, when
you live in Dipolog and visit Manila,
one can actually say there’s such a thing as sanitary dust… this kind of dust doesn’t clog up your heart or your mind.
This was my balm throughout the whole trip.
I Thes. 5:18 =)
—————=======================—————-
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Posted in 2007 Mosaic at 6:16 am by Miracle ♪♫
Of the book of my life, I thumb through the leaves. Strong traces of blaue blume infiltrate my
nostrils as I turn a page, while an Ottoman Master Illuminator seemed to have expertly stroked a perfect hue to match the scent… an enigmatic blue enchanting to the eyes
but threatening to the spirit.
All of a sudden YOU flip forward to the next empty page and
scribe with your very soul until fragrance of white flowers emanate from the
pages - a scent of pure unadulterated
nature… and delicately you bury the stains of blue with white unblemished
petals.
…and silently peach-colored petals join the white as a little
girl softly whispers, “he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not…”
How dare she taint the white with her undeserving flaws?
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11.12.07
Posted in Life Betwixt Book Covers at 3:10 am by Miracle ♪♫
After inhaling the delightful scent of a book’s virgin pages,
I was ready to plunge into another Pamuk opus. Known for its opening line, “I read a book one day and my whole life was
changed,” I expected to find the exact words on the first page. So I was surprised when I came face to face
with a quote from “Novalis.”
Novalis, the name with a philosophical ring sounded so familiar but I knew I had no substantial
knowledge about him whatsoever. Intrigued
enough, I had to put Pamuk down to do some fact-finding. Several clicks away brought me to a man
deeply tormented by the death of a young fiancé in his set of six prose and
verse lyrics Hymnen an die Nacht (Hymns to the Night).
I read Hymns to the Night and here
you shall see that despite being a man of great worldly triumphs, he was not
able to escape the throes and the dark seasons of losing a beloved. I may not have been able to relate to it
wholly – which is a good thing, but I was exceedingly moved. Here are some of the touching phrases;
-=-
Afar lies
the world — sunk in a deep grave — waste and lonely is its place. In
the chords of the bosom blows a deep sadness. I am ready to sink away
in drops of dew, and mingle with the ashes. — The distances of memory,
the wishes of youth, the dreams of childhood, the brief joys and vain
hopes of a whole long life, arise in gray garments, like an evening
vapor after the sunset.
-=-
…now
am I awake — for now am I thine and mine — thou hast made me know the
Night — made of me a man — consume with spirit-fire my body, that I,
turned to finer air, may mingle more closely with thee, and then our
bridal night endure forever.
…and
through the cloud I saw the glorified face of my beloved. In her eyes
eternity reposed — I laid hold of her hands, and the tears became a
sparkling bond that could not be broken. Into the distance swept by,
like a tempest, thousands of years. On her neck I welcomed the new life
with ecstatic tears. It was the first, the only dream — and just since
then I have held fast an eternal, unchangeable faith in the heaven of
the Night, and its Light, the Beloved.-=-
I die every night.
-=-
Have courage, for life is striding
To endless life along;
Stretched by inner fire,
Our sense becomes transfigured.
One day the stars above
Shall flow in golden wine,
We will enjoy it all,
And as stars we will shine.
—————-=======================—————-
No wonder Novalis’ name seemed familiar! How soon I forget! Franz reminded me that
Jostein Gaarder had mentioned him in Sophie’s World. Within 24 hours, I mulled
over Gaarder then to Pamuk which led to Novalis and back to Gaarder. Novalis’ Blaue Blume, the central symbol of
Romanticism… hmmmm… strong emotions… unrequited love… Floria, Floria…
is there a connection?
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11.11.07
Posted in Life Betwixt Book Covers at 10:08 am by Miracle ♪♫
1:25 a.m. and the rain sustains its steady percussion… and
for some reason, I am having reminiscences of Floria and portions of her letter
to St. Augustine. Was it yesterday’s conversation with Bings
about celibacy that evoked these thoughts? Or was it Kundera’s words
touching upon body and soul that were echoing?
…but these lines, these lines! Straying from the prime issues and vital concerns but reverberating through me, nevertheless… they’re like figs from the
tree in Carthage – back when it was still fruitful – falling with the rain and accenting every
downbeat.
“First I read everything I could get hold of on philosophy… So in order
to understand you better I had to go some way along the same road you had
trodden.”
“Already then and there I think there must have been something about
the two of us that somehow frightened the others, something strong and close…”
She
wrote in such a headstrong manner…
but no one knows whether she even had the courage
to send the letter…
Bah, go to sleep little girl! Don’t end up bitter like Floria. Vita Brevis!
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11.10.07
Posted in In Memoriam at 5:25 am by Miracle ♪♫
Goodbye to a man
who has practically been “through it all” – an engineering science degree from
Harvard, being posted as an infantryman here in the Philippines, and winning two
Pulitzers among other things. Although
his life was terribly criticized, his outstanding journalism and writing is
what a Newsweek reviewer led to say, “In the end it is the writing
that will count.” (I don’t fully agree, but we get the point, don’t we?)
“In my day the library was a wonderful place… We didn’t have visual aids and
didn’t have various programs…it was a sanctuary… So I tend to think the
library should remain a center of knowledge.”
Even in my day with abounding visual and virtual luxuries, I would still like
to continue believing
the same, Mr. Mailer… and there will you also abide.
***
“Every moment of one’s existence one is growing into
more or retreating into less. One is always living a little more or
dying a little bit.” Norman Mailer
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11.08.07
Posted in Life Betwixt Book Covers at 7:13 am by Miracle ♪♫
An overdue review.
It was almost unbearably heavy. I should remind myself not to read two disturbing novels consecutively – especially those that have Nietzsche’s shadow etched on the soul of the words.
Still, hats off to Kundera – rather, bowler hats off to Kundera. Instinctively, I considered this a simple tale of four intertwined lives… but no, the four people were mere nozzles for Kundera’s philosophy. I cannot pretend that I completely grasped everything about this book, but I can confidently claim that Kundera used Tereza, Tomas, Sabina, and Franz as channels for a sort of subconscious schizophrenic view of the body and soul.
In the end, I could almost imagine Kundera, Beethoven, and Nietzsche like a mortal trinity removing their bowler hats off, bowing, while chorusing; Es muss sein.
The strains of the piano and violin rose up from below, and while my body was muted by the heaviness, my soul still kept asking, “Muss es sein?”
To stamp my being to an even deeper silence Tereza, Tomas, Sabina, and
Franz seemed to join Kundera, Beethoven, and Nietzsche to form a septet
and chanted, “Es muss sein.” It was indeed der schwer gefasste Entschluss.
Huge thanks to Marie Vic for encouraging Polybibliogamy and generously giving me this rarity.
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11.05.07
Posted in Uncategorized at 7:46 pm by Miracle ♪♫
Ask me the most recent instance where I became extremely happy, and I’ll answer, “the moment I knew Tonet passed the board examination.”
I got up early that day and hunted website after website for the results, and as expected, Tonet’s name appeared on the list, yet my eyes still brimmed with tears. My heart was bursting with joy and thankfulness. I’ve been known to discourage friends from taking up nursing. (Why? Let’s talk it over espresso.) But here comes Tonet, one of the most caring and unselfish people I have ever met, and I can say that I don’t know anyone more worthy of the nursing profession. In her self-sacrificing heart a thousand Nightingales.
A few days ago, another dream came true. She performed at CCP and received the applause that she deserves as a person and as a singer… and this happiness and love that I share with her, Reji, and Franz, dims the coarse and base things of this world.
Who would have thought that the little girl who followed me
around at Springdale saying, “’te, nice jud kaau ka ug hair!” and“Unsa imong shampoo, ‘te?” would come this far? Well, Reji, Franz, and I thought and believed so. We knew you were a magnanimous being disguised as a little girl, and words cannot define how overjoyed we are for you.
Tonet, you are my sister (my twin), a soprano (who will sing Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring on my wedding), a nurse, a violinist, inter alia… but an angel is
truly what you are. Continue living for Him and His light will never diminish in you.
BEST FRIENDS
In sanity
or insanity!
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11.04.07
Posted in 2007 Mosaic at 7:18 pm by Miracle ♪♫
“A fiddler on the
roof. Sounds crazy, no?
But here… you might say every one of us is a fiddler on the roof trying to scratch out a
pleasant, simple tune without breaking his neck. It isn’t easy.”
It’s my second year with ABC’s theatre crew, and although
our small-town musical presentations are far from being worthy of critical
acclaim, I find myself enjoying these performances. With struggling performers, and an audience
of several hundred unruly school children, I can say that we’re all fiddlers on
the roof trying to scratch out a pleasant, simple tune without breaking our
necks. It’s not easy, but it’s a worthy
attempt to expose these children to another art form.
Last year, we did The
Sound of Music and I had to carry out the whole score on the piano – which
was not so difficult since I practically grew up with The Sound of Music. This
time, it’s The Fiddler on the Roof…
and I shall be the pianist for the rest of the score, and for two songs, the
fiddler. Yep! The first female fiddler on the roof – as far
as I know… and I shall be the fiddler… on the roof… trying to scratch out a
pleasant, simple tune… and praying that I won’t scratch it out of tune… or break my
neck… it won’t be easy. (Where are you
when I need you, Franz?! Haha)
From my worries, let us divert our attentions to the musical
itself. The Fiddler on the Roof. Although
the characters are based on Sholom Aleichem’s fables about Tevye the Milkman
and his daughters, the title of the musical credits Russian-born artist Mark
Zakharovich Shagal (Marc Chagall) with his painting called “The Dead Man”
which depicts a funeral scene and a man playing a fiddle on the roof top.
I believe this painting reflects the depth and grimness of
the story. The theme and soul of this musical
requires and deserves a profound exploration. These are people in bondage by poverty, government officials, inevitable
change, and most of all tradition – the same thing that makes them keep their
balance… and in one way or another, most of us can relate… and we all can say
that we ourselves are fiddlers on the roof, trying to scratch out a pleasant,
simple tune without breaking our necks. It isn’t easy.
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11.01.07
Posted in 2007 Mosaic at 1:37 am by Miracle ♪♫
“Excuse me miss,” I tapped the uniformed girl on the shoulder, “do you have a size 6 or 5 ½ of this shoe?”
“Miss” turned around quickly
and exclaimed harshly in bisaya, “ambot!
Unsa bah?!”
After glaring at me, she grabbed
a guy’s arm – presumably her boyfriend – and hastily left the shoe store with an
arrogant strut. She took off too soon
and I was too flustered to apologize.
Silly blunders! I did it
again. Next time I really should be more
careful. It’s not enough to identify a
salesgirl by the color of a uniform.
I felt really sheepish about
my blooper because I’m certain that it ruined the girl’s day. On the other hand, right then and there, I
realized that I had just witnessed another form of discrimination. What was so bad about being mistaken for a
salesgirl? That happened to me once and
I just laughed – so did the person who misconceived when he realized his error.
Some of us react hysterically
when a foreigner observes how dirty the Philippines is and announces it on
air, or when our medical schools are slighted. We call it prejudice. Yet, we
look down on salesgirls or household maids. We dress up nicely on social gatherings because we “wouldn’t want to
look like a yaya.” We
hate to be “underestimated.”
I call that
prejudice.
A graver kind of prejudice.
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