Wishcatcher

Philippine Speculative Fiction 7 (PSF7): Lineup Announcement

2012-01-02T18:05:00.009+08:00

Over a hundred stories were submitted, with roughly around 400,000 words in total. It took us one whole month to read (and reread, and reread) the stories. Another week was spent arguing, negotiating, deciding and then re-deciding which stories would be included in this year's anthology(it was a tough process; aside from the fact that Alex's and my poetics are vastly different, the stories submitted were all of a certain quality that it was literally like pulling teeth to get us down to 24); and another month for me to get all our rejection and acceptance letters out. But after what seemed like a loooong time, we finally (finally!) have the PSF7 lineup!

PSF7 stats and trivia:

14 males / 10 females

23 of the 24 will find their first home in PSF

1 story was written after an author realized she was broke (I have every faith she has recovered since then, folks!)

1 story is the last leg of a troika of erotica (it rhymes!) written over a period of 3 years

3 stories are from first time fiction authors

1 story's idea was stolen from a pastor's sermon

1 story is the last short fiction the author will be writing until he finishes his novel

0 stories were from time travelling Filipino Vikings (darn it, I was hoping with the numbers we would have at least 1!).

Philippine Speculative Fiction 7: Lineup!

1. All That We May See by Kenneth Yu

2. All the Best of Dark and Bright by Isabel Yap

3. Bastard Sword by Nikki Alfar

4. Chasers by Chris Mariano

5. East of the Sun by Dean Francis Alfar

6. Faith in Fiction by James Constantino Bautista

7. Mother of Monsters by Philip Corpuz

8. Never Land by Mo Francisco

9. Oblation by Paolo Chikiamco

10. Pet by Kristine Ong Muslim

11. Sarsarita Time by Melissa Sipin

12. The Call of the Chained God by Dariel Quiogue

13. The Changes by Benito Vergara

14. The Commute to Paradiso by Charles Tan

15. The Day Nostalgia Swept Over a Town by F. Jordan Carnice

16. Dragon's Orb by Vincent Michael Simbulan

17. The Likeness of God by Crystal Koo

18. The Little Things the Datu Did by Andrew Drilon

19. The Love Spell by Julian dela Cerna

20. The Nature of Apocalypse by Joseph Anthony Montecillo

21. The Scrap Collectors by Arlynn Despi

22. username: tanglaw by Eliza Victoria

23. What the Body Remembers by Tin Lao

24. What You See by Ian Rosales Casocot

Now, if any of you can guess by title alone (well, and what little clues I have given), on which story is which based on the trivia above, I will believe that you have some secret mind power; or, at the very least, that you have secretly hacked my email. Seriously, if you can, by the power of your gut feel, guess which one's which, you can win a copy of Philippine Speculative Fiction vol. 6 (PSF6) which I will give during the launch. Send your guesses to kate.osias at gmail.com :)

PSF6 News

The anthology has garnered positive reviews, with several bloggers / editors / writers voicing their opinions and favorite stories in the antho. (RocketKapre keeps track with a number of them; go to this website if interested www.rocketkapre.com). The most recent news bit was from GMA News Online (by Mean Ortiz), which named PSF6 (along with Alternative Alamat edited by PSF contributor Paolo Chikiamco and Heartbreak & Magic by PSF contributor Ian Rosales Casocot) as one of the notable books of 2011. Yay! :)

And... that's it for now folks. Tune in for more updates on the launch! :)

Shameless Plugging: Two stories out

2011-11-29T14:37:00.003+08:00

Just plugging my two stories out currently online (for free!):

There's Makisig's Heart (my take on an Ilokano epic):

http://philippinegenrestories.blogspot.com/

And, Connections, my non-specfic story (gasp!):

http://philippinesfreepress.com.ph/?p=4440

Read up if you guys have the time, and let me know what you think. :)

PSF7: 5 days to go! and Other Matters

2011-09-26T10:28:00.004+08:00

PSF7

Let's go people, I have faith in y'alls! Remember, I always respond within 24 hours (unless it's a Saturday, haha), so please resend if you have not heard from me.

For those who have submitted already, our reading period begins in October, so expect to hear from us somewhere in early November (or earlier, depending on the average length of the stories we have received).

Other Matters

Attended the Nick Joaquin Literary Awards last week (also known as Mo Francisco's birthday bash, haha). It was... interesting. The food was good. Met new writers (who, of course, I badgered into an oral contract to give stories for PSF). But the program was unclear.

That said, Alex and I (in separate instances) won luggage in the raffle. Not a bad evening. :)

Other (Other Matters)

If you need some inspiration for your stories, here are some fiction from PGS:

http://www.philippinegenrestories.com/

Also, there's a new story from PSF contributor Tin Lao:

http://philippinesfreepress.com.ph/2011/09/24/workshop/

Philippine Speculative Fiction volume 7

2011-05-30T15:49:00.007+08:00

People are still basking in the afterglow of the successful book launch of PSF6 (you can read about it here, here and pictures here), which makes this the best time to open our virtual doors for the next volume: Philippine Speculative Fiction volume 7 (PSF7), to be edited by yours truly and fellow writer, action-adventure-sci-fi enthusiast (and also my husband!), Alex Osias, is now officially open for submissions.

Please read the guidelines below. Don't be afraid to email or facebook me (yes, I have declared 'facebook' to be a verb), if you have questions.

On a related note, PSF6 immediately sold out last Saturday. We are thinking of doing another print run, so if you want a copy or several, drop me a note so that I can forward it to our publisher, Dean Alfar.

___________________

Editors Alex and Kate Osias invite you to submit short fiction for consideration for Philippine Speculative Fiction volume 7.

Philippine Speculative Fiction is a yearly anthology series, which collects a wide range of stories that define, explore, and sometimes blur the boundaries of science fiction, fantasy, horror, and all things in between. The anthology has been shortlisted for the Manila Critics’ Circle National Book Award, and multiple stories from each volume have been cited in roundups of the year’s best speculative fiction across the globe.

First-time authors are more than welcome to submit; good stories trump literary credentials any time.

Submissions must be:

1. speculative fiction—i.e., they must contain strong elements or sensibilities of science fiction, fantasy, horror, magic realism, alternate history, folklore, superheroes, and/or related ‘nonrealist’ genres and subgenres

2. written in English

3. authored by persons of Philippine ethnicity and/or nationality

Submissions are preferred to be:

1. original and unpublished

2. no shorter than 1,000 words and no longer than 7,500

3. written for an adult audience

In all cases, these preferences can be easily overturned by exceptionally well-written pieces. In the case of previously-published work—if accepted, the author will be expected to secure permission to reprint, if necessary, from the original publishing entity, and to provide relevant publication information.

Submission details:

1. No multiple or simultaneous submissions—i.e., submit only one story, and do not submit that story to any other publishing market until you have received a letter of regret from us. We don’t mind if you submit to contests.

2. All submissions should be in Rich Text Format (saved under the file extension ‘.rtf’), and emailed to kate.osias at gmail.com, with the subject line ‘PSF7 submission’.

3. The deadline for submissions is midnight, Manila time, September 30, 2011. Letters of acceptance or regret will be sent out no later than one month after the deadline.

Editors’ notes:

1. Please don’t forget to indicate your real name in the submission email! If you want to write under a pseudonym, that’s fine, but this can be discussed upon story acceptance. Initially, we just need to know who we’re talking to.

2. If you’d like to write a cover letter with your brief bio and publishing history (if applicable), do feel free to introduce yourself—but not your story, please. If it needs to be explained, it’s probably not ready to be published.

3. We advise authors to avoid fancy formatting—this will just be a waste of your time and ours, since we will, eventually, standardize fonts and everything else to fit our established house style.

There will be compensation for selected stories, but we’ve yet to determine exactly what. In previous years, we’ve provided contributor copies of the book, as well as small royalty shares, but we are considering shifting Philippine Speculative Fiction to digital format, so we may be shifting to outright financial payment as well.

Please help spread the word!

Thanks,

Alex and Kate Osias, co-editors

Dean Alfar, publisher

PSF6: Test Covers

2011-04-09T15:42:00.003+08:00

PSF 6: Lineup Announcement

2011-01-23T11:38:00.011+08:00

After several months of reading (and reading, and reading), intense discussions, emails and follow ups, Nikki and I are pleased to announce the Philippine Speculative Fiction 6 line up (in no particular order):

Alternative Histories by Ian Rosales Casocot
Strange Adventures in Procreation by Andrew Drilon
Lament of the Counselor by Jay Anyong
The Grim Malkin by Vincent Michael Simbulan
A Smell of Mothballs by Mailin Paterno
Ashland by Elyss G. Punsalan
Carpaccio (or, Repentance as a Meat Recipe) by Arlynn Despi
Eternal Winter by Maria Pia Vibar Benosa
From the Book of Names My Mother Did Not Give Me by Christine V. Lao
Hollowbody by Crystal Koo
Offerings to Aman Sinaya by Andrei Tupaz
On Wooden Wings by Paolo Chikiamco
Prisoner 2501 by Philip Corpuz
Resurrection by Victor Fernando R. Ocampo
Simon's Replica by Dean Alfar
Break in at Batay Street by Francis Gabriel Concepcion
The Big Man by Asterio Gutierrez
The Bookshelves of Mrs. Go by Charles Tan
The Impossible and the R.S.C. Gregorio del Pilar by Alex Osias
The Kiddie Pool by Kenneth Yu
The Storyteller's Curse by Eliza Victoria
Villainoguing by Joseph Montecillo

For those interested in stats (like me, haha) this year, we have 22 stories total, of which 21 will see their first publication in PSF6. There are 15 guys and 7 gals in the anthology and the story subsets include horror, sci-fi, 2nd world and urban fantasy.

It is such a great honor to be on the editorial team this year. I hope to see you all in the book launch, which we expect to happen sometime in March!

PSF6 Update: TOC coming soon!

2011-01-13T13:45:00.003+08:00

Hello folks! Sorry for the delay, but due to technical problems, we haven't been able to announce the TOC. But never fear, we are still right on schedule for the ultimate deadline. :)

Stay tuned for more updates on this blog, or find me on Facebook for more frequent, status-sized updates. :)

PSF6 Update: Letters are out

2010-12-15T16:17:00.001+08:00

Let me know if you haven't received anything from us. :)

PSF 6: And so it begins...

2010-12-08T18:08:00.003+08:00

To all those who submitted to PSF6: I have begun but have not yet finished writing those letters so don't panic if you haven't received one yet. I have an internal quota (yeah, I'm really an auditor) but hopefully, I will be done by December 15. And no, there is no rhyme or reason in the way I'm going about the letters (really, lol).

Philippine Speculative Fiction 6: Deadline Today

2010-11-15T15:14:00.003+08:00

Hello everyone. First of all, thanks to everyone who have submitted. Nikki and I are deeply touched with all the hard work people have put into writing their stories, with some submitting their stories in between call center calls, while others sent theirs in between meetings outside the country. It’s really incredible to see how much story affects so many of us that despite the demands of our careers and families; despite the limitations of finances or time; despite the distractions that abound, so many still found ways and means to explore their imagination. What’s even more incredible is that so many took the time to write them.

For those still in the process of editing, writing, trimming, adding, deducting, dividing and bullying your stories into place, take heart. You still have several hours left to pacify your stories and submit. :)

Now, for some business.

I personally have tried to respond to everyone who submitted within (roughly) 24 hours. There are a number of reasons why you may have not received an email from me confirming the receipt of your submission:

1) Gmail failed. Hard to believe, but I hear it happens. Your email or my response may have been lost in the fiery underbellies of the Internet where all viagra-related spam should be.

2) I failed. I am, of course, merely human with a predisposition for coke zero. While high on the said beverage, I may have deleted or erroneously categorized your submission. I tend to believe I’m fairly organized, so chances are, I logged in your submission but have not responded to you because of my sugarless high.

3) You failed. I use Gmail’s filtering functionality to keep your submissions out of my spam folder. This means that your subject heading is extremely important. While I do catch the occasional recalcitrant submitter and transfer them safely into the submissions folder, I cannot be certain I’ve caught all.

Whatever the reason, the safest thing to do is to simply re-send your submission to me (kate.osias at gmail). Don't worry if you've forgotten whether I've responded or not. Just send again to be on the safe side, and let me figure out how to work out our submissions inventory.

Again, thank you for all the hard work people. Looking forward to reading your submissions! :)

Philippine Speculative Fiction 6!

2010-07-12T14:01:00.003+08:00

I am honored to be co-editors with Nikki this year! Read the invite below :)

______________

Editors Nikki Alfar and Kate Aton-Osias invite you to submit short fiction for consideration for Philippine Speculative Fiction volume 6.

First-time authors are more than welcome to submit; good stories trump literary credentials any time.

Submissions must be:

2. written in English

3. authored by Filipinos or those of Philippine ancestry

Submissions are preferred to be:

1. original and unpublished

2. no shorter than 1,000 words and no longer than 7,500

3. written for an adult audience

Submission details:

1. No multiple submissions—only one story will be considered per author.

2. All submissions should be in Rich Text Format (saved under the file extension ‘.rtf’), and emailed to kate.osias@gmail.com, with the subject line ‘PSF6 submission’.

3. The deadline for submissions is midnight, Manila time, November 15, 2010. Letters of acceptance or regret will be sent out no later than one month after the deadline.

Editors’ notes:

3. We advise authors to avoid fancy formatting—this will just be a waste of your time and ours, since we will, eventually, standardize fonts and everything else to fit our established house style.

Compensation for selected stories is, alas, currently up in the air. In previous years, we’ve provided contributor copies of the book, as well as small royalty shares—but we don’t want to make guarantees just yet, as we are presently exploring alternative publishing avenues. Rest assured, though, that Philippine Speculative Fiction volume 6 will see publication by the first half of 2011, in a form that will be accessible to the general reading public.

Please help spread the word! We’d really appreciate it if you’d publish this invitation on your blog, e-group, etc.

Thanks,

Nikki Alfar & Kate Aton-Osias, co-editors

Dean Alfar, publisher

I'm not a fluke; I'm lucky

2009-08-10T09:12:00.000+08:00

Yay!

Thanks to my hubsand (who edited), the LitCritters (who inspired), and Dean (who believed).

Good News, Bad News

2009-02-23T04:28:00.000+08:00

Monday found me opening an email from the people at Serendipity saying that my story is part of the Best of Serendipity. While on one hand, I'm ecstatic (to be part of only 12 stories of the virtual anthology is wonderful), I was a little put off by the fact that they had forgotten to inform me and had just remembered to tell me yesterday evening (Manila time). But I forgive them because I was a late in my submission even then, so I guess we're just even (it doesn't hurt that I also owe them my citation in the Year's Best as well :).)

But while a late email wasn't enough to keep me from jumping up and down with joy, knowing that Serendipity has already issued its final issue was. It seems like a lot of the markets are closing down this year and it makes me feel sad. It seems like I'm seeing the death of an era. An era that I had just discovered so recently.

Oh well.

Anyway, I would appreciate anybody and everybody if they could visit Serendipity and see the other wonderful stories that they had the honor of publishing over the years (and, if you have time, visit mine as well :P).

Hopefully, Serendipity and others like it, will find another life, another form, in the not so distant future.

How Japan Can Save The World (What, no cheerleader?)

2009-02-02T09:04:00.000+08:00

Some interesting bit of news from Newsweek.

On other news, my last quarter storm has passed. On to more maudlin (if not exactly routine) projects.

Goodness, its February already...

Picture Taking with the Gang

2009-01-05T09:51:00.000+08:00

Here's some of the pix from last December 30.

Its been an on-going joke that Hector (who is exactly one week older than Dean and Nikki's youngest, Rowan) and Rowan would have the kind of love story that would rival those epic florid romance novels. While I do find the notion interesting, for me, what I'm most glad of is that at the very least, my son will have someone his age to play with and grow up with.

I know it's selfish. But growing up as an only child (my brother only came along when I was 11), wasn't pretty. Everybody I knew had some sibling who would be their kakampi despite whatever gang wars that occured in our little universe. Unfortunately, due to financial constraints, I don't think Alex and I could afford another child to give Hector company. Seeing Rowan and Hector together consoles me a bit, in that, at the very least, he is not alone. In addition, he also has his Ate Sage (Dean and Nikki's eldest), although having grown up with a brother so far behind me in years has made me doubtful if Hector and Sage would actually find something in common.

Whatever the case, I fervently hope that though Hector and Rowan and Sage don't share the same gene pool, they will consider each other family.

Editor's Choice and New Year Epiphanies

2008-12-22T05:48:00.000+08:00

Yay! Just found out today that my story, Ghost Between Moments published in Bewildering Stories was considered to be part of the review editors' favorites for the fourth quarter! That's so cool!

Now, if only I could write more. 2009 looms in the not so distant horizon and its going to be quite a challenge to equal my 2008 writerly accomplishments, but, we'll see. If I do fail, at least it will not be because I did not try, right?

This year has proven to be a year of growing up for me. Now, more than ever, I'm forced to accept that I'm not quite the end product, but instead, I'm simply a work in progress. Perhaps I'll always be a work in progress. In the past, I had believed that you could have one perfect state - just like characters in a book, who eventually reach a point where, flawed or not, they no longer feel the urge to change - but of course, the one perfect state is impossible unless you're like Buddha or something.

And that's fine.

It doesn't bother me as much now that I make mistakes; nor does it behoove me to admit and acknowledge them. Instead, I strive to not repeat the errors in my past and move on. I don't dwell; neither do I whine (too) much. I've even learned how to talk (with less sarcasm) about what bothers me, even when the pain is raw. But most importantly, I know, with irrevocable certainty that someone is more important than me in the bigger schema of things. My son, though not the center of my universe, definitely occupies several galaxies that before his existence, I had not known were voids of emptiness.

On to 2009!

Because Love Doesn't Have To Make Sense

2008-12-02T05:59:00.000+08:00

When we first met, I was young (and not just younger) and you, were already you. In a crowded coffee shop, filled with good juju and over several frappes, we talked, and laughed, and fell in love. For me, it was our seeming difference – where I was aggressive, you were calm, where I was loud and insecure, you were even tempered and confident – that made you irresistible me. And for you, as you would tell me later on, it was my seeming crazy self-importance – the fact that I seemed to know that the world owed me (and I owed the world) something far greater than what I already had.

It wasn’t easy, after we got married.

I wanted excitement, and romance, and adventure, while you desired the quietness and Babylon 5 and sleepy Sunday afternoons. It had been a long road since then, but it was good road. Through protocultures, Bango Bubbles, cold noses in the middle of the night, stolen blankets, and unexpected snuggling in the early morning, we learned how to love each other despite and because of our own eccentricities. You learned to value physical touch (and Gossip Girl, and cut-throat Acquire); I learned how to value time (and Band of Brothers, and vat-less Science Fiction). And somewhere in between, we were blessed with a son who taught us that yes, we could still love each other (and laugh, hysterically, about our own foolishness), despite being deprived of sleep, and rest, while being overcome with worry for every little thing that he does.

Perhaps we are not the best of pairings still. We still fight, and argue; we still don’t completely understand the “kampi system” (though we have come a long way since we began). Sometimes I get impatient with you; and you, sometimes, find me unreasonable. But at the end of the day, even if things don’t make sense anymore, we still love each other.

We are the best of friends. We are the best of lovers.

Happy Anniversary (Week), my Beloved.

A Rough Week

2008-11-21T06:15:00.000+08:00

It's been a week of painful endings, virtual email fights, tenuous beginnings, unreconciled reports, shallow sleep, a little writing and inevitable goodbyes. Somewhere in between, we found time to put up a humble-sized christmas tree, take pictures, cry, go to the doctor, eat chocolate, and simply enjoy the time we had.

I love my son, Hector. But I think I speak for my entire (small) family when I say I'll miss yaya Janice.

String Addiction: For A Musical Weekend

2008-11-14T10:45:00.000+08:00

A couple of weeks ago, Dean introduced the string version of I Dare You To Move by Switchfoot. I was enthralled. Now, some weeks later, I have probably listened and relistened to every (modern) song redone by a string quartet. My favorites include some classics I had already loved prior to being "string-ed", but also include one or two I've only heard in string version (ergo, I don't really know if it sounds better in strings or not).

For those wanting some music without the lyrics, I recommend the following (all can be found in You Tube):

1. String Quartet Tribute to Seether and Amy Lee - Broken

2. String Quartet Tribute to The Killers - Mr. Brightside

3. String Quartet Tribute to Evanescence - My Immortal

4. String Quartet Tribute to Oasis - Wonderwall

5. String Quartet Tribute to Full Metal Alchemist (I only have a vague idea about this anime, but I love the string soundtrack)

http://www.youtube.com/v/YjSPqdQzRrs&hl=en&fs=1"> name="allowFullScreen" value="true">http://www.youtube.com/v/YjSPqdQzRrs&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344">

6. String Quartet - Helena

7. String Quartet - Through the Fire and the Flames

http://www.youtube.com/v/pTSnhBOaknM&hl=en&fs=1"> name="allowFullScreen" value="true">http://www.youtube.com/v/pTSnhBOaknM&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344">

Breed of Auditor

2008-11-06T12:25:00.000+08:00

Strange as it may seem, auditor though I may be, I find some auditor species to be just as strange as I probably am to other people (oh, and yes, there are types of auditors, just like there are types of doughnuts and chocolates, lol). In particular, I find IT auditors kind of odd.

It's not that I don't understand them, exactly. I'd like to think that being the general auditor (with a burgeoning specialization in Treasury, which is a choice of logistics rather than of actual preference) that I am, I know enough to talk the talk with the almost best of them, if not walk it (the talk, I mean). But they do weird things, say weird things, that even I find cutely pecuilar.

For one thing, they rarely keep physical working papers. They tend to keep everything in databases (gasp!) and they actually know how to manipulate the Lotus application to its fullest (double gasp!). For another, they have weird terms, which I understand (sort of), but laced with a certain humor I could almost grasp. For example:

IT Auditor 1: Just ping me when you're done with your documentation

IT Auditor 2: Wow, parang server.

IT Audiot 1 & 2: (laugh)

General Auditor Known As Kate: ....

These kinds of situations gets me thinking that perhaps, one day, people will even find me stranger (causing other auditors to write a post similar to mine) once I actually become proficient with Treasury Products. Currently, it's quite difficult since there aren't really other Treasury Auditors with whom I could create slang with. Maybe when there are more of us, I could joke about derivatives and swaps, and repos, and, mark to market rates.

Right now though, I can't even think of a lame joke about these things that routinely give me headaches nowadays. And the potential stranger version of me seems so distant, so foreign. So all I can do is watch IT auditors laugh and chat and feel, with an epiphany that I don't want to accept yet, that perhaps, after all, by sheer number, I'm the really strange one.

Blast from the Past

2008-11-05T09:34:00.000+08:00

Just got the lay out for our wedding album today (I know, I know, its been three years, but it's a long story). Here are some of the pix of that wonderful day:

Stupid Facebook: Warning - I'm Just Complaining

2008-10-29T10:33:00.000+08:00

All I wanted was to access my son's photoalbum located at my sister in law's site.

I have her invitation. Before logging in, I could even view the pictures. And then, I just wanted to see the comments, but the site asked me to register.

So I registered. (Twice, because somehow, my first registration got lost - argh.)

And then, now I can't even see the photoalbum, nor my sister in law's site, nothing!!!

I see nothing! This is what i get for registering.

Hector Stats

2008-10-27T10:01:00.000+08:00

Several years from now, when I'm talking to my son's girlfriend, I will have to have some hard facts and stats about him to properly fulfill my embarrass-my-son duties. And so, here they are, as of 27 October 2008:

Age: 3 months, 1 week and 4 days old

Height: 65 cm (above average percentile)

Weight: 7.3 Kilos (slightly above above average percentile but below the 95th percentile)

Head Circum: 45 (way,way,way above the extreme percentile)

Likes: Shiny, silver things; Mickey Mouse Club; Annie Lenox Songs; Whistling;

Dislikes: Fork on plate sounds; rattles

Looking at this list, I'm sort of worried with his rather rapid growth (the doctor is also concerned he might become obese, but thankfully, he's not yet at that stage). Especially the head circumference thingie - while it sounds good to have a big head (now, now, dirty minded people, you know what I'm talking about), and in general, we are taught that being above average in anything is also good, for a baby, I don't really know what it means.

My only consolation is that he seems healthy, and strong, and happy. And I guess, right now, that's the most I can hope for.

Bewildering Stories

2008-10-27T09:50:00.000+08:00

Yay! My story is up in Bewildering Stories in this link!

Please visit and share with me your thoughts, if you have time. :)

Conservative Parenthood

2008-10-22T12:50:00.000+08:00

Now, more than ever, I find myself thinking about the intricacies of being a parent. Having been brought up by two not so patient people, I know I'm in danger of being temperamental myself to my child, expecting the best all the time and conveniently forgetting the drama I went through when I had to undergo the weight of my own parents' expectations. I hope I won't though, and I hope that I will actually listen to my more even keeled spouse when my own patience is tested, but I know the risk always loom not too far from me precisely because of my own upbringing.

One of the things I've never really thought about, however, is the concept of being "conservative".

Just today, I received an email that emphasized (underscored and highlighted), my apparent liberal nature. Here's the situation;

A teenage boy asked permission from his parents to go to a party in a hotel in Ortigas. Parents agree, and pick him up two hours after the party began. They find that the party was in a room (not a function room), with beds (god forbid), a lot of kids (mostly boys), some booze and smoke, and their son, playing truth or dare with 9 other kids in a bedroom. The mother (the apparent sender of the email), was freaking out about the entire situation, thinking it was so horrible that something like this could happen. The email then goes on to scare (yes, scare) the recipient parents with this final message:

THERE WILL BE ANOTHER PARTY IN [identity protected], AND YOUR CHILD COULD BE IN ONE OF THEM. WE HAVE TO WORK TOGETHER TO STOP THIS FROM HAPPENING!

My first reaction was, OMG, these parents are overreacting. I mean, I don't want my own child to be drinking and smoking, but I also know that you can't actually stop them or their friends (and in fact, the more you do, the more they seem to like doing it, at least that's how my own drinking and smoking friends explained it to me). But what really got to me was that the mother was so upset with her son because he was playing truth or dare (note: he wasn't even drinking or smoking, nor was he caught in a compromising situation).

My second reaction, on the other hand, was something along the lines of 'did I miss something?' Perhaps that's what responsible parents do. They freak out when their teenage son is in a hotel room with twenty other kids with loud music, and booze, and girls, even though he obviously is not drinking or smoking. Perhaps, that's the right way to bring up a child. Perhaps I'm just too liberal.

My third reaction is what's currently taking a hold of me now: a sort of surreal amusement. Especially, when I read the last line of that email.

Which isn't what a responsible parent should do, right? Times like these, I'm just glad moral issues like the ones above are still a long way off.

Hector Stats

2008-10-09T11:53:00.000+08:00

Age: 3 months, 1 week and 4 days old

Height: 65 cm (above average percentile)

Weight: 7.3 Kilos (slightly above above average percentile but below the 95th percentile)

Head Circum: 45 (way,way,way above the extreme percentile)

Likes: Shiny, silver things; Mickey Mouse Club; Annie Lenox Songs; Whistling;

Dislikes: Fork on plate sounds; rattles

My only consolation is that he seems healthy, and strong, and happy. And I guess, right now, that's the most I can hope for.

I'm Back

2008-10-08T05:39:00.000+08:00

After 83 days worth of maternity leave, I'm back.

And now I have two projects waiting which, I miraculously have to finish by December, plus the first act of a novel and a short story.

I miss my baby boy.

Some Unexpected Good News

2008-10-02T07:57:00.000+08:00

Who knew?

It was the last story that I had written with cold, calculating control (as opposed to the fevered, and often mad bursts of white heat). Every word, every thought, every unfortunate comma was thought of, deliberated then decided on. And, despite all the hard work, blood, sweat, tears, heart, soul and, ever more importantly, time, put in it, I was still unhappy with what came out.

I have never worked on a story as I did on Riverstone Heart. And I don't I will anytime in the foreseeable future as I have learned that my returns for the works I didn't work too hard on (and didn't, consequently, over think or over edit) were much higher than the ones that I've obsessed on for ages.

And yet, someone thought it was pretty good. A couple of people who I've idolized for so long, actually thought it was good enough to be cited in the Year's Best. It's a heady feeling. In fact, it's the second best news of the year, just edging out my first (hopefully not my last) Palanca (but still way behind the birth of my son for obvious reasons). I think it's because it's so unexpected. I mean, regardless of what I thought of my story submission for the Palanca, I still did something to join the contest, and come August, I'm of course hoping for the legendary Palanca letter. But this, this, was literally out of the blue. I didn't even know my idols read Serendipity mainly because it was so new there's no record if it being even in the radar. But they did. And here I am.

But perhaps the even bigger reason why I feel so good about this is that it is some form of validation; not that my idols read my work (but of course, that's part of it as well), but that there were actually people who did read my work - not just my friends, or my enemies, or people who knew me or, even more probably, knew of the people I knew. I was just someone out there, unknown, without anything or anyone to back me up or bring me down. And all that spoke for me was my story.

Perhaps that, more than an award, makes me feel like I wrote something of value. And whatever the future brings; even if I probably won't be able to replicate this wonderful year in terms of writing, I will always own this moment where I can say that, for at least one story, I was a writer.

Two Big Roses and a Thorn

2008-08-07T10:59:00.000+08:00

This is kinda delayed, but I just want to announce the birth of my most beautiful, darling, wonderful, healthy baby boy, Hector Benjamin, last July 16 at 11:25 pm. He weighed 7 lbs. and 3 ounces (but has since then gained a full pound!:) ) and was 50 centimeters tall. My labor was difficult - I had to go through a 'trial of labor' for 15 hours before my doctor told me that I had to get a CS to keep me and my baby safe - and the weeks that followed have not been a walk in the park (he feeds every 1.5 to 2 hours or so), but seeing him grow, smile, kick, punch, move and basically do anything, made me feel its all worth it.

And in a bit of more recent good news, I (think - I keep feeling that maybe its just a practical joke that someone sent me with the CP letter head through TNT - lol) am now a fluke!!!

As for the thorn, my husband and I, due to a paritcularly expensive investment, are now officially poor for the next ten years. Sigh.

Thanks to all who prayed for my son!

36 Weeks and counting

2008-06-20T05:28:00.000+08:00

Today marks my 36th week and 1 day into the pregnancy.

By now, the fine downy hair (lanugo) that has covered our son's skin is beginning to disappear, along with the vernix caseosa (the thick, creamy substance that has protected the baby’s skin while he has been submerged in amniotic fluid). I've also gained a total of 28 pounds - 3 more pounds than I had originally envisioned. While I wish i could say I can stop right here, my doctor feels I'll just be putting on more weight as D-Day (delivery day) draws nearer, as fluid retention will work against me and the weighing scale.

As early as next week, as late as a month from now, I could be giving birth. I'm scared, excited, tired, excited, scared, tired - you get the drill. The pregnancy gestation period has been both an extremely long and short journey, depending on what time of day people ask me about it, and what i've just eaten prior to the question.

But we're almost there. Your prayers for my baby's health (and mine) would all be appreciated.

Surprise Office Baby Shower

2008-06-11T11:45:00.000+08:00

Just when I thought I couldn't be surprised, my office mates just proved me wrong.

Here are pix from my office baby shower. I look tired and I haven't even combed my hair (I thought I was just going to go to some unofficial office shindig), but don't doubt, I was happy. I think my hubby was happy too. :)

Big Hands, Big Feet

2008-05-23T13:02:00.000+08:00

My hands and my feet are the two (in terms of sets) of my biggest insecurities in life. While most people don't notice it, I actually have large hands (relative to my size) and fat feet (I mean, length wouldn't have been that much of a problem I think, if they were slender).

The large hands was embarassing during the "dating" phase of my life when guys, in what would have been a romantic moment, notice my rather large, stubby hands (that sometimes, despite the fact that I'm smaller than the guys I've dated, are larger than my date's). It was especially horrific when I got engaged and my hubby - ever the honest kind of guy he is - revealed matter of factly to his family (to his family, would you believe), that I have a bigger ring size than he did.

I nearly died in humiliation but of course, my hubby was unrepentant ("how else would I be able to arrange our wedding ring size?", he asked).

My feet on the other hand, is not so obvious, but the tragedy, though quiet, is just as bad for me. The thing is, I love shoes. I mean, I LOVE shoes. Unfortunately, here in the Philippines, while they carry my size, they don't necessarily carry my girth. Plus the fact that most designs only look good on slender feet. As it is, I have to keep buying open toed thingies not because they're sexy, but because they're really more comfortable.

Of course, not everything is bad about them, no matter how much I complain. My hands, for example, though large and embarassing and inconvenient when texting on cell phones, they are incredibly good for giving massages, typing and playing the piano. In the meantime, my feet has saved me numerous times from graceless falls - being the clutz that I am, I just end up hitting things rather than hitting things and then falling gracelessly to the ground.

So why am I writing this? This isn't really what's on my mind right now. Maybe it's because I'm really scared right now, and I'm frustrated and I just don't want to deal with what's going on in my life that I focus on things that are more mundane and manageable.

And damnit, there's a story somewhere here in this blog, but I just can't write it.

Back To Work

2008-05-16T11:26:00.000+08:00

After 2 weeks, 11 pokes (either from injections, blood withdrawals etc) and a gazillion antibiotics, I'm finally back to work.

For all those who had prayed for me and my baby, thanks.

Now, it's time to catch up. Hopefully, the rest of my pregnancy continues without any further complications.

My Calculator and I

2008-04-24T13:43:00.000+08:00

Auditors and accountants have a very personal, intimate relationship with their calculators.

For most of my professional life, I had endured being laughed at, teased, made fun of, by non-accounting/auditing friends, who find my lugging around my ancient table calculator at all times, a source of never ending amusement. I don't mind. Few things came between me and my calculator (one of which is coffee, but that's for another blog), but for the most part, we're inseparable. I simply feel naked without it.

But perhaps what's even more unusual, is that it has to be the calculator. I have only changed calculators once in the past ten years, and it was with so much grief because I couldn't find my original, large numbered calculator. When I finally found it again (the original, large numbered calculator, or OLNC for short), I nearly sagged with relief. Far from retiring it, I had even used for a couple more years, even though its batteries have long died and it only relied on its solar power. With reluctance, I had put it in a "home" when the numbers are no longer discernible. The "home" was our little shelf in our condo where useful things reside: scissors, tape, clips etc. There, my battered, ten year old calculator would stay to be called only during special circumstances wherein I would have to calculate something at home (hey, it happens).

I write this blog now, because I have just been introduced to a nifty, far more advanced, and expensive looking calculator: the HP 171BLL Financial Calculator. It comes with its own leather case, and 300 page manual. It has buttons that are alien to me like "Print" and "Input" and "Math" (like, isn't the whole point of calculating is to do math?). Its packaging boasts of 28K user memory, 250 easy-to-use functions, a solve application nd RPN and algebraic entry. Browsing through its manual, I find that it can perform cash flows and mortgages without you having to put in an equation.

But despite all its cool functions, I feel disconnected.

I find myself longing for my battered, solar/batter operated calculator whose most advanced function was that it could back space. And yet, if I were a fantasy character and the calculator was a sword, there would be no question that I should be happy to obtain something so cool, it has its own name. But I'm not.

Maybe I'm just getting old and the barrage of information is too much for me to process. Or maybe I really just have difficulty moving out of my comfort zone. Or maybe, irrational or not, I just find it a sort of betrayal to the relationship I have had with my good, old calculator who has been a sort of friend, sort of security blanket, sort of good luck charm over the years.

Forbidden Kingdom

2008-04-21T09:23:00.000+08:00

For those who are thinking of watching it: don't.

Enough said.

That's it, I'm now a Cookie

2008-04-16T11:29:00.000+08:00

Right from the moment I had seen and heard David Archuleta sing Waiting For the World To Change for his American Idol auditions, I had been a fan. And at the beginning of the formal competitions, it had seemed like there was no one who could come close to him in terms of charisma both on and off stage, having mass appeal to all ages and genders alike.

And then, Eleanor Rigby happened, and I began to have grudging respect (and reluctant crush) on David Cook. Still, he was my number 2, and deep inside, despite his Billy Jeans and Little Sparrows, I had kept rooting primarily for David A.

Today, things changed.

For one thing, he came out in the unkempt-tie-and-vest look which I adore. And then he sang something so sweet and pop and maraiah and made it dark and sexy and manly. And then, they kept panning the camera over his brother (who had brain cancer or something and had only been able to attend this particular performance of his). And then, David Cook cried.

And now, I'm a true, blue cookie. Go David C!

Word Recall: Parfait

2008-04-14T12:16:00.000+08:00

It's funny how certain mundane words have the power to bring back memories of ages past. I mean, I can understand how scent does that to you, or how names and places can rouse nostalgia, but more interesting to me are the ordinary words that spark some long unused brain cell into remembering the past.

Recently, I had encountered one particular, seemingly innocuous word: parfait. There I was, just browsing casually at some menu, when I saw the word parfait and on cue, time slowed down, camera moved closer as I found myself drawn into a flashback.

Back in high school (god, that's been like over a decade ago), parfait meant lazy, hot afternoons after school wherein my best friend and I would cross the street to go to a small store that served what was then, in my limited estimation, the best parfait in the world. I remember small, inconsequential details of those times: the dark, chocolate brown color of Gate 4 (the nearest gate to the store); the hushed rustle of trees that seemed to mumble greetings as we passed; the glare of the afternoon sun that, for some reason, seemed to be more unbearable outside school premises; the high pitched clinks of smell bells as we entered; the 45 peso price tag to our ice-cold luxury (that was expensive back then, but my best friend and I would have gladly skipped lunch for this indulgence).

And of course, since I was already there, it was so easy to get lost in the myriad of memories of high school. From the parfait shop, I remembered we'd hop to the small school supplies store that sold, among other wonderful things, magnificent greeting cards. I, and a lot of girls my age (or should I say, the girls I hung out with), had a thing for greeting cards then. And we'd hungrily scour over the various kinds of greeting cards, collecting those we can afford, salivating over the ones we couldn't (after all, in the battle of parfait vs. greeting cards, parfait always won). There were small greeting cards with beautiful little sentimental notes; large ones with extremely cute pictures of babies and dogs and butterflies; medium sized ones that played music-box melodies; odd shaped ones that had funny anecdotes and witty (or sarcastic) little bylines. After our little tour of the school supplies shop, we'd go back to school, sit down on the concrete floor right beside St. Cecilia's auditorium, and talk, or sing, or read. I didn't know it then, but in retrospect, I was happy.

Nowadays, though conceivably, I can afford to buy parfait on a more regular basis, I don't anymore. I've lost some of my sweet tooth as I grew older, and the parfait, with its whip cream and chocolate syrup seems too much for my adult sensibilities. As for the greeting cards, they've also sadly lost their appeal. I hardly even pay attention anymore to the greeting cards I personally receive, feeling somehow that their messages are trite, overly sentimental, saccharine sweet.

Oh, how things have changed.

Sleepless in Manila

2008-04-01T13:33:00.000+08:00

Besides the heat, which, for some weird reason I can't get used to yet (meaning outside, its way too hot, inside my office, its way too cold), I've been dealing with a lot of issues with the pregnancy that has whiners like me (yep, I admit it, I'm a certified whiner) complaining and grumbling for most of the day. I do, however, try to limit my whining when the sun is out, simply because I know that while my husband is great, even he will probably throttle me if I keep piling on him my discomforts after he had gone through a hard day with work and traffic. As much as possible, in fact, I try to be nice at night, saving all my good humor for the time when I can wind down with my husband and cuddle up to him to sleep.

However, lately, its becoming difficult. For one thing, I haven't had much sleep. What, with my additional weight (I can't seem to position my arms and belly in a way that I'll be comfortable anymore when I sleep), the creeping back pain (which starts out small, but starts to gnaw on your nerves after awhile), the toothache (according to the dentist, this is the baby stealing calcium from me, since I'm off calcium supplements temporarily), my allergies (the extreme itchiness that I am unfortunately cursed with) and, more recently, my colds which has given me grief over such a simple thing as breathing, its not wonder I can't sleep at night.

The sad part of it is that I keep my husband awake too. Every time I toss and turn, I jostle him awake, so that he too, has to share in my tragedy.

The only thing good so far is that my baby kicks a lot now. While its not always a pleasant experience (try getting a few more minutes of sleep when someone is kicking you [furiously] from inside clamoring for food), it is a reminder of what truly matters at the end of the day.

Now, if only that reminder could get me some better sleep....

Are Feelings Actions?

2008-03-18T12:22:00.000+08:00

Hot on the heels of a terrible row with one of my close friends (and I'll tell you right now, it's all been fixed and tidied up and we're both fine), I've gone introspective again by questioning what truly constitutes 'action'.

To give you a little perspective of what I'm talking about, the fight was about him not wanting to have to censor his words, and me not wanting to have to censor my feelings. My stand, for sometime now, was very pragmatic about emotions, especially since I have a temper and calling me "emotional" would be an understatement. I basically adhere to "judge a person by his actions, and not his thoughts", with thoughts not being limited to the cerebral but to the emotional, and the actions coming to include hurtful words that are spoken out of spite.

It's because of this code that I've always felt guilty about losing my temper - I turn nasty and sarcastically succinct not caring about the other's feelings - and why, especially for my loved ones, I tend to shy away from confrontations (as opposed to with people I care less about where I'm slightly [okay, more than slightly] more aggressive). I need to time to calm down, to think about why I'm upset, to differentiate whether or not I'm overreacting, to arrange my thoughts and pinpoint what exactly bothered me and, if I'm still bothered, to find a way to say these things without being hurtful. Unfortunately, I'm also a terrible liar and I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve. So when I'm bothered by something in public - bar me walking out - I tend to be obvious about it.

Which got me to my current introspective dilemma now. My close friends (and even to some extent my husband) have been subtly hinting that I should be more open about my feelings, to confront them and not to be afraid to them, to tell people outright when I feel like I'm being offended or hurt so as to prevent escalation. Some of them even had stated that they prefer the hurtful words over the awkward silences wherein I would ensconce myself in my own turbulent thoughts, letting them to be unwilling witnesses to my despair.

But how can I stop the way I feel? How do people learn not to get hurt? And yet, despite this, I do see their point. When you see someone you love feel bad, you want to do something about it. And the very inaction of the loved-one-who-feels-bad could cause you tremendous pain or, at the very least, incredible discomfort. Should I really subject my friends to that just because I need some time to calm down? Should I start thinking that my emotions, by virtue of being felt and because it is so obvious, is an action in itself?

And if it is, does that mean my obvious solution is to become a better actress, to learn to hide my discomfort and my distress behind a more comprehensive mask?

For my close friend and I, we've come to a compromise about what we should do when something similar happens without compromising who we intrinsically are (because it would be a tragedy if you're not yourself with your friends). Only time will tell if it will work - if I will remember the code words and be calm enough to say them, and if he will remember the code words and remain calm enough to give me space until I can state my reasons.

But for the rest of my friends and family - what do I do?

What do I do?

What's in a Name?

2008-03-12T07:51:00.000+08:00

Apparently, a lot. Of hard work, that is.

Especially if you're female and you got married and you have a ton of licenses, bank documents and the like that are in your maiden name.

What's worse, is that no one actually tells you and prepares you for this stress. Either by conspiracy of revenge or simple forgetfulness, my mother, my husband's mother, everyone's mother or wife, while always ready to spout wedding and marriage advice in the early days of my wedding preparations, neglected to tell me how difficult it would be to change my maiden name to my married name. So now, two years and some odd months later, I'm still dealing with the stress of changing expired licences and insurance documents etc.

It has pushed me to even keep my maiden name with a dash to help avoid even more paper work. Its not that I'm trying to assert my feminist side, and sadly, its not even that I'm trying to sort of rebel against the age old (and admittedly chauvinistic) tradition of losing one's maiden name for a husband's last name. I'm a feminist, but I'm not that much of a feminist that I'd be willing to go through the inconvenience of always having to type (and more annoyingly, print) four more letters and a dash to my last name (as if doing so will change how people would treat you, gender wise, which, ya know, is what truly matters to me).

But still, the paperwork haunts me. Don't they understand I got married? Why can't they just accept my photocopy of a wedding certificate (authenticated by the NSO, no less)? Why do I have to file millions of paperwork? Why do I have to file the millions of paperwork in their hard to reach head quarters and not in their more convenient satellite offices? Why can't bank systems simply allow me to put a dash in my maiden name and my last name (I can't even begin to tell you how stupid some of their reasons for not allowing me to do so, beginning with their system doesn't accept dashes in the last name)? Do all recently married women go through this or did I miss some special seminar that tells you the most efficient way to survive the name changing process?

Ugh. Times like these, I wish I just didn't have to go through my birthday.

Turning 28 and Other Stories

2008-03-07T10:11:00.000+08:00

Twenty Eight

One more day 'till my birthday.

Unlike previous years when I would look forward to my birthday with about the same excitement as a four year old, I feel decidedly more calm about the event this year. I think I'm getting old - I just can't get myself to even hope that the world will all stop to give me a day to remember. Or, it could be that I'm just pregnant, and every event until the big event in July pales in contrast.

If anything, I'd just be happy to get through tomorrow without any nasty complications from my pregnancy. I don't really expect anything to be significantly different tomorrow (I will have lunch with my parents and then litcrit and then dinner [hopefully] in dampa) and all I can hope for is that everything goes smoothly.

Other Stories

Two stories in the news troubled me. One was about the Jersey Children's Abuse Scandal (read here) and the other about the re-use of syringes in hospitals (read here).

The first, troubled me because it feels so much like the young adult horror stories I've read and watched, only this time, it's all too real. Unlike books and movies where I could comfort myself that its all exaggerated, this proves that such places does exist, and people do suffer in cellars and attics, perhaps even shackled and raped. And the fact that they're children, makes it worse.

As for the other one, it troubled me because I didn't even know that re-use of syringes still existed in modern times. Knowing that i would soon be confined for the delivery of my child (and knowing that I'm terribly frightened of needles and such, can't be trusted to actually look when the nurses supposedly open them up to be used) only magnifies my fears.

Oh well, just goes to show how pregnant women can get extremely morbid with the slightest provocation.

Our New Baby

2008-02-11T04:48:00.000+08:00

Believe it or not, this ain't a post about pregnancy. Instead, this is a post about the newest addition to our little family, weighing in at around a pound and costing my husband (the most wonderful, incredible man in the world who loved me enough to give it to me for my 2007 gift) around Php31k: the new Nikon Dx40 SLR camera!

I've always been interested in photography. Which is ironic, because 1 - I myself, don't photograph well (it takes a certain alignment of stars or a total eclipse to ensure I get a good shot) and 2 - I have awful eyesight (which is getting worse recently, but of course, I refuse to take any reasonable action such as getting eyeglasses - heaven forbid! - for it). As a child, I've found it fascinating to see those "art" shots that show images of mundane things made more marvelous by trick of shadow and light.

I've always thought that once I was old enough to own my own SLR camera, I would take pictures of the same mundane things that had fascinated me in my youth (in particular, and not a lot of people know this, I have a rather morbid fascination with trees - wet trees, dark trees, trees with complicated branches that sink so low to the ground before thrusting upwards - almost as if it were redeemed - to the sky). Lo and behold, my interest took a slightly different route when I saw a documentary of this Korean female monk where they showed still images of her just thinking, or walking or simply staring straight in the camera that somehow gave the viewers an insight to her thoughts, to her personality, a glimpse of her charisma.

I never knew a human face - and I mean a normal human face, not the overly made up supermodel types - could be so interesting. And so I decided that what I wanted most for 2007 (aside from the child of course) was an SLR camera. Dean of course was there to caution me about how photography could take years to master just so you can take a simply face shot and make it marvelous, but though my mind agreed with him wholeheartedly, my heart just wanted to take pictures and believe that somehow - formal training be damned - I can someday come close to those still images of the Korean female monk in that documentary.

The wonderful thing about my marriage is that my husband also shares my interest in photography, although with slight differences. He, I believe, is more interested in the technicalities of getting a great shot - changing colors, adding blue or red pigments to the picture, making sure the composition is right, cropping and cleaning out images - whereas I just want to capture the moment on digital film.

Between you, me and the rest of the world, I think he has a better chance of becoming a great photographer, as he's actually interested in learning how photography works, while I'm just waiting for a certain alignment of stars or a total eclipse to get my shot. Despite this, however, its great to know I have someone to share my interest in, someone to learn it with and most of all, someone to take pictures of when all other models and muses have given up with my long wait for brilliance.

Here's some of my practice shots with our new camera (of course, with my favorite person in the world):

Big News

2008-02-06T10:01:00.000+08:00

Last night I just found out that my best friend (will keep her anonymous for now, until she announces it herself) was also pregnant. Around two months behind me, in fact. Aside from the customary delight (and I have to admit, relief, because at least now, I'm no longer the only reason why my smoker friends can't smoke, lol), I'm truly excited just thinking of how cool it would be for our kids to grow up with each other.

Growing up as an only child for eleven years was undeniably lonely, especially since I literally grew up alone (no nearby cousins and such) for the first five years of it. I didn't know how to interact with the other kids and had to learn the hard way how to deal with interpersonal relationships that would, at least I feel, come easier for someone who had somebody else their age when they were growing up. While my best friend's baby is not exactly a sibling, I feel interaction with someone so close to my child's age would be extremely beneficial, helping my child navigate easier the wild landscape of his/her childhood.

Of course, I know that I'm getting ahead of myself. Of the many things that could go wrong with my little fantasy of our children becoming the best of friends, there's the more mundane concern that their personalities will not mesh and they'll simply not like each other. Or, something more extreme and more frightening would be what if one if not both of our children are unhealthy (and for any expectant mom, this is one of the primary concerns).

But right now, I can dream and it's good to have my mind occupied with something else besides coffee cravings and work. And I can pray, and hope that everything turns out well.

Congratulations best friend! Apparently, 2008 is a big year for us in more ways than one. :)

Going on 15

2008-01-16T11:08:00.000+08:00

Weeks that is. At least in terms of pregnancy.

Which means that my first trimester is officially over, although, unofficially, the nausea still bothers me every now and then, granted it is no longer to the extent that I would actually throw up blood. So far, the pregnancy has been both worse and better than I expected. But while there are a lot of things I still miss (and will continue to miss until the baby is born) things are definitely looking up.

At 14 weeks and 5 days, here is my pregnancy update:

What I miss...

1) Obviously, the game, which, because four out of the six people involved (including God himself) are smokers, is just a big no-no for me in my condition right now. Just this week, Andrew created the digital art for our characters and it made me feel both proud (hey, I didn't know my character and my shard was that pretty!) and sad (I really do miss gaming).

Art courtesy of Andrew Drilon (I hope I'm not committing some social, grievous mistake by posting something a friend of mine did for the game, but I just felt Andrew did such a terrific job at making these masterpieces that I can't help but blog about it. )

2) Coffee. Once upon a time, I fell in love with Mocha Java (from Great Taste) and I thought that love was reciprocated. Through the years however, Mocha Java became more distant with me and became less and less available. Until one day, Mocha Java just simply disappeared. For awhile, I was lost. Somehow, I picked up the pieces, got involved with Coffee House's Cappuccino and I thought I had moved on. And then I found out I was pregnant. And then, Mocha Java came back. And then my doctor said I can't have coffee.

It's a sad, sad world, I tell you.

3) My friends. Though they've been bending over backward to accommodate my suddenly healthy lifestyle, it's just not the same hanging out with your smoker friends knowing they will start to fidget in an hour or so, trying to compensate for the non-existent cigarette in their mouths by eating candies by the boxes. And while I know that they all love me (and my husband) to bits, I sometimes don't know anymore if we've (hubby and I) have over-extended our welcome by staying too late when every minute I'm there, I'm essentially depriving them with something they arguably need more than water. So now I feel we're caught in the awkward stage - I'm trying to be polite and trying not to inconvenience them too much but at the cost of not spending as much time with them as I am used to. The real tragedy here is that my husband, great guy that he is, has decided to stay with me when, the truth of it is, he could actually spend time with them, game with them, do stuff with them (albeit without me) because he is not bound by the no-smoke-shall-reach-thy-nostril rule.

What's Great About 14 onwards....

1) The nausea and heartburn has let up. I know I've been whining about this incessantly, but the all consuming nausea and heartburn (made worse that I'm actually hyper acidic even prior to my pregnancy) had been so bad that I just wanted to crawl into a blanket and stay there forever. What's worse, when I did walk around, I hardly had any sense of fashion, my hair was a mess and I was pale with hormonal zits all over my face, making my already battered self esteem plummet even further down the depths of nauseating despair. All these made me walk slower and with a slouch, face down (you should ask Alex when you see him about how I walked, he does a pretty hilarious impersonation if I do say so myself). Now, either I've gotten used to my pale, hormonal zitted face, but I think I've started to look better. And while I'm not exactly skipping towards a rainbow, I'm actually walking at more or less normal pace towards some destination. And of course, I've started to actually comb my hair.

2) My breasts have grown from a 36 to a 40. And while this was not actually an occurrence that strictly happened in my 14th week, I am beginning to see the fashionable opportunities with increased breast size. I'd be deliriously happy if I go down to a 38 after the pregnancy, but friends have said this is not that case. Oh well, enjoy them while I have them.

3) My belly is now a pregnancy belly. Prior to this, I keep inspecting my stomach and instead of seeing an unborn child, I just keep seeing the donuts I shouldn't have eaten at lunch time. I didn't look pregnant, just, well, fat. Now, it definitely looks like a pregnancy belly so that people actually look at you and say Congratulations, instead of trying to hide the "Oh-my-god-she's-grown-fat" look from their eyes.

What I'm thankful for...

1) My husband. Through out the horror of my existence in December, he has been funny and patient and kind and firm and mean and persuasive and determined and optimistic when he needed to be. Even now, he takes such great care of me, that I often feel that I'm letting him down when I can't help but throw up. He's been wonderful and wonderful. I don't know what I did to deserve a husband like him.

2) I didn't actually lose my temper as much as I thought I would. In fact, a lot of people have voiced their fears to both me and Alex about my mood swings, thinking, not without basis, that I was a fairly temperamental person to begin with, baby or no baby. But the sudden bouts of illogical anger or even tantrums did not occur. The only times I got angry with Alex, in fact, was when he, upon sensing that something is wrong with me, would badger me with questions when all I want to do is sit still, not move, not speak, just letting the pain die down. In those instances, I get so annoyed that I actually get enough adrenalin to lose my temper and tell him to leave me alone before I crawl back to my own pocket of despair. But those instances were rare. For the most part, we hardly had any fights nor arguments, to a point I'm actually beginning to miss them. Alex says not to worry though. He thinks its just the nausea that keeps me too tired to be temperamental and that soon in the second trime, we'll both be back to normal.

3) Jelly Tongue and Crushed Ice and Plasil. All of which are used to keep me from throwing up. The Jelly Tongue in particular, a frozen apple flavored gelatin available in most stores, has the added benefit of tinting lips a delicious color of red, which would have been useful for my self esteem had I the skill to apply it more evenly.

So that's it. Supposedly, this second trimester is the best three months I'll get during the pregnancy, so here's to hoping.

And to all my patient friends, Mocha Java and beloved characters, I'm almost back.

I'm almost back.

The Baby Moves!

2008-01-04T09:26:00.000+08:00

Today was supposed to be a bad day. First of all, it's Friday (and recently, Fridays have become depressing for me since hubby and I no longer do what we usually do on Fridays, but that's another story); second, the week had been so horrible in the nausea and throwing up front that last night, I was actually vomiting blood (which is, thankfully, just gross and not life threatening); third, there's tons of work to do and yet despite those, I have to take the entire morning off to go see the doctor for my monthly check up.

The morning itself did not start well. I could hardly force myself to eat, I was nauseous, I had no energy and all through out Alex was hurrying me (and pushing me) so that we could actually meet our doctor's appointment. The night before, I barely had enough good sleep with my stomach churning and churning so by the time we got to the hospital, I was already tired.

And then I had my ultrasound. And I saw it - the most wonderful thing in the world. Our baby moved! (And, well, kept moving - according to the doctor, malikot ang bata.) Alex had this big smile on his face, and I was near tears. The last time we saw our baby, he/she was just a tiny (unmoving) blob. Now, the child has limbs (which he/she uses to propel himself into various positions) and looks more like a baby than a fetus. It was such a great moment, that hearing the child's heartbeat an hour later, seemed anti-climactic.

Just remembering how the baby moved in the ultra sound, makes me want to break into song - never mind that I'm still nauseous.

It's a great way to start 2008.

Thanksgiving

2007-11-28T08:17:00.000+08:00

First of all, congratulations to all those who've won in the recent neil geiman contest in prose and graphic fiction, most especially Andrew, Ian, Banzai Cat and Yvette! What can I say? I'm so proud to be walking (and being friends with) giants. :)

Another noteworthy occasion, on a more personal note, is that Alex and I are expecting! We expect the newest addition to our family to come in around late July to early August next year (complications notwithstanding). Any sort of prayers for the well being of our "little blob" (as that's how it looks right now in the ultra sound), will be most appreciated.

All in all, it's been a good year.

Serendipity

2007-11-20T02:38:00.000+08:00

If you guys have time, please do check out my story (as well as the other stories - see, I'm not so selfish ) in the 3rd issue of Serendipity*. It's my first story published abroad (theoretically).

Unfortunately, my forays into long titles have made my title the smallest to read, but please do take the time to find it and read it. And, if the voting system is out, please share your views on what you think of my story.

*Serendipity is a UK based on-line magazine that specializes in magical realism and light fantasy.

Plotting December

2007-09-26T11:47:00.000+08:00

After a rush of LitCritter deadlines in the past few months, Dean gave us a break of sorts and announced that our next LitCritter Writing Challenge will be on December, with the actual challenge being to write a "plot-ty" (plot heavy) story. Unfortunately for me, plot is one of my weaknesses. This, despite growing up on such plot heavy masterpieces like Master of the Game by S. Sheldon and the plethora of spy-conspiracy novels of R. Ludlum.

What's even worse, of all the LitCritters, I take the longest time to craft a story. Unlike Andrew and Nikki, that, given a week (I daresay for Andrew, even less), they can come up with a competent piece of fiction that could be crafted into a great story given another few days; or unlike the two pigs (and I say this with the purest of intentions, referring to their Chinese Zodiac signs), namely my husband and Vinnie, where plot comes easy as Sunday morning and they could whip up something interesting and exciting within moments of just thinking about it, I tend to take my time crafting something and my approach is more like a sculptor than an artist wherein I batter my story into some cohesive and hopefully understandable shape as opposed to creating something from a blank slate.

And so now, I'm worried. I've been going through my old files, looking for some plot driven idea, and even started on a conceit or two and found myself incredibly bored. Or, hitting my infamous metaphorical wall. Most of the dead stories I've posted here, I concede, could be construed, if you squint hard enough, as plotty. But there's a reason why they're dead - I just don't have the heart to finish them anymore, having decided that the story is crap and not worth revisiting.

I'm tempted to try magical realism again, if only because, sa dami siguro ng nangyayari doon, hindi mo masasabing hindi siya plotty. And if I do, it would seem that I try this style at least once a year. Last year, I wrote a story entitled Wishcatcher based on what I thought magical realism was about (which is mostly reading GGM's works and Dean's works). It failed horribly. Now, I don't know if I've matured enough to try it again, knowing what I know (Dean gave us LitCritters a two hour seminar on magical realism after I submitted the story and my reaction was - that was what I was trying to do?! Good God!). But still the old fear creeps up that I will fail again. And while I have tried not to be obvious about it, having not submitted a good story in all the three recent deadlines for the LitCritters has hurt my confidence horribly, making me think twice (and thrice, and more) about my abilities as a writer, which subsequently forced me to revert back to the bad habit of over editing.

I know it sounds like I'm whining. But one of the things I love about blogging is that it allows me to face my fears and my concerns in a logical manner. And right now, after hearing some bad news about a particular story, this is my fear. That really, I can't write and everything else was just a fluke. Unspectacular flukes at that.

I know that after this blog, I will go back to writing my stupid plotty story for December. And I know I will never, ever, ever (ever) show how afraid I am about failure again. I know that, insecurities aside, I'll just keep writing, because that's just who I am. And I know, that come December, even if I fail, I will pick myself up and smile and take all the constructive criticism and move on.

But for now, I think I'll allow myself some moments to be afraid.

Dead Story: Redemption City

2007-09-26T07:38:00.000+08:00

Redemption City. Legend has it, it was built by priests and nuns as a sanctuary of Christianity for those traveling to the New Frontier. Nowadays, people travel to Redemption with redemption the farthest thing in their minds. It’s a haven for criminals, prostitutes, gamblers and basically anyone else who wants to run away from horror of their lives.

But that’s not the reason why you’re here. You did not travel by coach and then by train and then by caravan, and again by coach, enduring the cloying heat, a highway robbery and the clinging smell of horse dung, dust and old leather to run away from your problems. You came here to solve it. And the answer to all your problems goes by the name of Buck Weston.

You take out a small mirror from your reticule and try to compose yourself. You feel tired and dusty and your petticoats are dirty from the sweat of your legs. You think this is no way for a lady to be seen, but then again, you’re no lady. You are, however, a widow, and for your late husband’s sake, you try to keep a modicum of decency. You fix your bonnet, tuck a curl behind your ear and pat your nose before putting the small mirror back. You will make your late husband proud of how you look if not with how you act.

Finally, the coach stops. You've been wanting to look out ever since the driver announced arrival at Redemption proper but you held yourself back. Though you have never seen Redemption, you have an image ingrained in your head painted by your parish priest and confessor that was hardly encouraging. Now that you’re here, you almost expect to see flaming towers and people cavorting in the dirt. You’re not entirely certain lightning won’t strike you down once you step foot on Redemption. You almost wish lightning would.

With a deep breath, you open the door.

You’re disappointed. Because you had expected so much, seeing the low cut gowns the women wore and the leathered up men was anticlimactic. The only details that reminded you that Redemption was not like any other city were the holsters the men wore, proudly brandishing weapons that would have been illegal anywhere else but in this city of sin. You wonder if the ladies had guns under their petticoats.

You step down and pay the driver, adding a generous tip. The fare itself was a hefty sum, but you expect to live to the hilt while you're here. After all, why not? Soon you will be free and everything that had haunted you these past years will seem inconsequential and trivial. The driver brings down your luggage and deposits you in front of the Red Lady Saloon.

Before you enter, you wonder how much it will cost you to kill a man.

His name is Buck Weston and he is reputed to be the best gun slinger in the country. According to your sources, he will pretty much do anything for the right price, including selling his own mother. What they didn’t tell you was that he was a handsome devil and that he could be such – such –

An ass.

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything, Mr. Weston,” you bite out, adding to his list of faults his lack of gentlemanly manners as you have conducted your thus far five minute conversation standing up while he calmly ate his meal unperturbed by the slight.

Buck took his time replying. “Well, see here, little lady –“

You are not little!

“- I don’t know what you heard about me, but I don’t just kill people for money. That just ain’t me. Now, if you tell me the entire story, maybe, just maybe I’ll be persuaded to fight for your cause.” Buck took a napkin and wiped his lips. “What you have so far is a sketch of a man, who has no name, who you insist is in Redemption who I should kill by tonight. It’s not much information to go on. Simply put, I’m just not interested enough to take the time out of my very busy schedule to do what you want, even if you are pretty.”

You wonder how long this conversation could go with you not strangling the man.

You take a deep breath and calm yourself. “Mr. Weston, if it’s just a matter of money –“

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Ms. Rogers, it’s not about the money. Pardon me?’

“It’s Mrs. Rogers,” you say, as if the oaf cared about manners.

“Mrs. Rogers,” says Buck, pushing his plate away as he leaned back against his chair, “It won’t do my reputation any good now, if they found out I would point and shoot whenever a beautiful lady asks me too, now would you? I’d like to think I have more discriminating tastes.”

You don’t know at which you would be shocked more, the sexual innuendo or that he truly believes he had a moral reputation to protect. Before you could say something – anything as a cutting retort to that - Buck stands up, throwing loose change on the table, picking up his Stetson.

“Now, if you have nothing else to tell me, I’d best be going. Got somewheres to go,” he said.

“Wait!” You say, because you cannot fail now, when you’re so close. “This man, this man killed my husband.” Several of them, at least you think he did, but you don’t say that.

Buck stops, and then he slowly turns and gives you the most dashing, devil-may-care smile you have ever seen. It must be the heat, but you could have sworn that the room moved.

“Now, that, is interesting,” Buck walks back toward you and you had to force yourself to keep meeting his eyes, “Here’s what, little lady, I’ll sleep on it tonight. I’ll tell you what I think tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” You croak as he leaned forward to pick up the sketch he had earlier tossed aside and for one brief moment was too indecently close that you can smell his cologne. “Can’t you think about it this afternoon?”

“Don’t rush me, Mrs. Rogers. I like taking my time.”

And with that, he leaves.

And the full impact of what just happened, hit you and you want to cry.

Learning How To Mourn

2007-09-21T08:19:00.000+08:00

My husband's Ninong Jamin passed away yesterday.

Standing amidst family and friends at the wake last night, I can't help but feel a little out of place. It's not because I'm treated any differently, in fact, I felt that everybody went out of their way to make me feel part of the family. But I still felt uncomfortable. I think its because I really don't know what to do. All around me, people were laughing and chatting and making jokes (like one particular classmate who kept asking why Ninong Jamin is always racing to the finish line), complaining about the air con, gossiping about dead people and their not so dead 'other' relations. Even my father-in-law (Ninong Jamin's only brother), seemed to be in good spirits, making small talk about politics and how his little girl (Corinne) was growing up.

Honestly, I didn't know how to react.

My experience with mourning, Filipino style, is horribly scarce. My parents didn't like attending wakes and funerals, and when they were forced to, they were loathed to bring me saying that they didn't want to traumatize me. As I grew up (theoretically more capable of taking whatever drama might take place), they still hesitated in taking me along, leaving me in the dark as to what actually takes place during those sorrowful gatherings. In fact, on my family's side, I've only attended one wake/funeral - that of my aunt, uncle and cousin (who died at that infamous Manor Hotel Tragedy) - and, believe it or not, even though we traveled all of eight hours to get to the province, I was only at the wake at most four hours.

In the case of my aunt, uncle and cousin, I knew that the reason was because my mother, strong as she was, couldn't take seeing the coffins. My mother's way of grieving came in spurts. When she found out about her sister's death, she cried for all of two minutes; but oh, what two minutes they were. She wailed and wept and screamed and fell to her knees, and for her daughter who rarely saw her as anything but strong, it was an eye opener. And then, after the two minutes, she was all right. Perfectly normal. Until we arrived at the place where we had to identify the bodies. Another two minutes of heart-wrenching sobs, until she just said, in a tone that could not be argued with, that she will not see the bodies. And then, again, she was fine. When we went up to the province to attend the wake, my father had to forcibly push her to the coffins so that she and all her siblings could have one last family picture (I know it sounds cruel, but at that time, it was important to the rest of the family to have that one last moment.), but even he could not take the physical manifestation of my mother's sorrow. And so just four hours into the wake (my mother spending most of those four hours outside the funeral parlor), we left and retired to one of the houses that was kindly lent to us for the duration of our stay.

Since I've married Alex, my experience with attending these wakes and funerals have gone up by more than 500%. Alex grew up, on the other hand, knowing it was polite (and required) to go to the wakes of of even friend's far relatives. And since his friends family was far more "cultured" than my family, one of the first surprises I had was that, 'nagpapakain pala sila'. Honestly, before that, I didn't know. But attending these wakes, I learned not only that they usually serve catered food, but they also provide giveaways, even a programme of activities where known choirs/singers performed. Comparing this to the rather traumatic first wake/funeral I've been too, it was a little overwhelming. And then, there was the 'grieving' part.

When I attended that one wake/funeral, it was easy to look sad and be quiet. And perhaps, because of the tragedy, everyone else was too. But with the recent ones I've attended, people tend to be happier, more at ease. It's almost like a mini-reunion. I don't know whether I should respond in the same way (and yet, it still feels inappropriate) or just smile, act like I'm part of the wall (as I've been doing). If I'm to take a cue from my husband, I would be all "social butterfly-ish" and go around chatting with people, which I can't actually do even if I had the gall to do it because I barely know anyone (On a side note, Alex too, apparently don't remember everybody's names, but that's my husband for you). And even then, do I even have the right to go around when, honestly, I'm not that close to the ones that have passed on?

And then, there's the what-do-I-say to people who are directly affected problem. Is saying 'condolence' Filipino style, sufficient? If I say a few pretty lines, would I be overstepping my bounds? If I don't, am I being too cold? With my mother, I knew exactly what to do, and more importantly, what not to do. But with these new influx of family that I care for who are suddenly affected by something like this, what do I say?

Even with my husband I don't know how to react. I remember waking early yesterday to my husband mumbling something. I would find out later that he was saying the rosary after finding out that Ninong Jamin's condition has taken a turn for the worse. I was barely conscious and he really didn't want to wake me, so he started praying by himself. But even if my body was sleepy, I knew something had gone wrong. We had visited Ninong Jamin the night before and knew his condition was not good. And so I tried to ask (clearly I thought) "What's wrong?", to which my husband did not reply, and I figured he didn't want to talk about it. Flash forward later that afternoon and my husband said the only thing he heard me say was "Grhghreh?", to which I of course insist, I was perfectly clear when I posed the question.

Funny anecdote aside, I don't know what to say to Alex. He seems fine, and just like my mother, he seems perfectly normal. But unlike my mother, I don't know what not to do. We talk about the same things, he doesn't seem sad (except at one point during the wake when we both were affected seeing Tita Malen wiping the holy water off the coffin with her hands so that she could see Ninong Jamin better), he acts as if everything is fine. But I know he was close to Ninong Jamin. I keep thinking that perhaps, because I'm not (I only met Ninong Jamin a few times before the hospital visit) that close, he can't really share his sadness with me. And then, another more cerebral part of me insists that, probably, just like the rest of his family, they grieve by acting normal and by praying and by having utter faith that Ninong Jamin and the rest that had gone ahead, are now happier wherever they are.

Maybe someday, I would learn the same.

Comparing Green Eyed Monsters

2007-09-19T06:37:00.000+08:00

Once upon a time, I was an extremely vocal, jealous girlfriend/loved one that lead to serious problems with my relationships at that time. Since then, I like to think I've grown - not so much as being the less jealous type, but more of knowing how to rein in my little green eyed monster. Right now, I tend to coat my possessive tendencies as jokes, and, as much as possible, I try not to let it get more serious than that. My husband senses though the storm beneath the calm waters (Or maybe, I'm just deluding myself into thinking I've got it under control - lol) and knows when to tiptoe around particular issues especially involving one particular ex-girlfriend.

Alex, on the other hand, is extremely un-possessive. I could go around flirting with men on a regular basis and I know it wouldn't bother him - not that I do, mind you - just that I know if I did, it wouldn't be a big issue. Which brings me to a sticky point in my long winded blog - if someone is not possessive nor jealous of you, does that mean that person doesn't think there's a risk of losing you? Which doesn't sound half as bad if it means you are doing a good job of showing you love him/her, but sounds absolutely horrid if it means that he just doesn't think you're good enough to get somebody else's attention.

In my case, on a purely cerebral level, I know that Alex is just being Alex, and with his confidence (partly because of the way he grew up, partly because its in his genes, and simply partly because he trusts me completely), he is not afraid of losing me. However, on an emotional level, I can't help but sometimes feel that a small, infinitesimal part of him believes I'm not attractive enough (and flirtatious enough) to the opposite sex (well, these days, it doesn't matter whether its opposite, does it?) that there's a risk I might fall for someone other than him (or that someone may attempt to make me fall for someone other than him).

I know that part of my jealousy stems from my insecurities (I have a lot of them as people may have noticed) and from my belief that Alex is a good looking, nice guy, who's smart, kind and practically spoils his loved ones that I almost always feel especially lucky that of all the women he could have gotten he chose me (the 'almost' there are for the times when he would disallow me from eating ice cream on the divan - ha!). As such, I think a lot of women (and some men) would be willing and open to flirt with him, wife notwithstanding. So, if he's never, ever jealous of me (Is this 'of', or 'for'? I'm not sure anymore.), does it, in some way, mean the opposite?

Or am I just being paranoid?

Sigh. Maybe there are some things where epiphanies will come maybe, oh, ten years down the line. Till then, maybe I can train my green eyed monster to do some other tricks.

Forgetting How To Smile

2007-09-17T09:28:00.000+08:00

When I was really young, I didn't know how to smile. At least, not on demand. I hated having my pictures taken where adults, all smiles and high pitched voices (as if by doing so, it will be easier for kids like me to understand them) would tell me to say "cheese" when I knew perfectly well they wanted more than just me baring my teeth. But I learned to deal with it, like most other kids do, and my childhood was saturated with me smiling (and I use the term loosely here) awkwardly at the camera.

Ironically, when I was in my adolescence and teenage years, I learned how to smile. In fact, it was one of my biggest assets, being able to conjure up a cheerful/flirtatious grin with hardly any effort. Three of my boyfriends wrote poetry about my smile, another wrote almost nothing but my smile in his love letters, while the other - well, the other didn't actually notice, but that's another story. Needless to say, somewhere during the time I felt most awkward about myself, I had the consolation of knowing that I had great smile that could turn my otherwise plain face to something a little less average.

And then I began working. I don't even remember when exactly I started to forget how to smile, just that one day, someone asked me to smile in front of the camera (one of those group shots people are fond of) and I didn't know how. And so I froze. And bared my teeth.

Flash forward to the pre-nuptial pictures in the months before my wedding. My photographer, a really nice guy, was getting frustrated with the pictures he was getting from me. I was almost always tense in front of the camera. A vein appeared in my forehead, as if I was solving a math problem rather than simply showing my happiness. My eyes were almost never happy. It was a trial for him and a big ego setback to me, especially when I saw the prints. I looked horrible - old, tense, unhappy. And to be honest, bar those times I was in front of the camera (and the instances where I was fighting with my coordinator), I really was deliriously happy. I had a good job, I had wonderful friends, I had a great fiancee, and I was about to get married. What more could I have asked for?

Now, several years after I realized I had forgotten to smile, I wonder, if perhaps when I'm happy, I just can't smile. I know that this epiphany is a little late in coming, but it just struck me last weekend, that perhaps, the skill of smiling is most needed when you have nothing to smile about. And now that I'm actually happy, I don't get to exercise the skill and that's why I've forgotten it.

If my late epiphany is true, then I hope I never have to remember how to smile on demand.

For now, I'll just have to rely that my friends will feel my happiness, even if it doesn't translate well on the camera. :)

Sick, Tired and Bad Poetry

2007-09-12T08:01:00.000+08:00

A little known fact about me is that when I'm sick, I tend to be poetic. I'm not saying I come out with good poetry, but I do tend to write poems during the really horrid days. I think its because my brain is just too tired to stitch sentences together and will thus rely on imagery to convey whatever emotion I feel like expressing. Oh well, here's my output for this really bad day.

You sit in front of me,

expressionless with your phantom eyes;

- Oh, if you were just a memory

Of delicious blurred lines,

iridescent in my mind

that even your shadow is luminous –

But you, as we both know, are not –

Radiant.

Instead, you are dull, as if you are dead;

And you speak of dead words

And dead promises – were they mine?

I can barely recognize the carcasses.

They could be yours.

It almost doesn’t matter. Really.

Do you expect me to mourn?

You’re almost intangible now, flickering,

Like candlelight, like lost islands, like economies,

Like promises when they’re no longer convenient.

Am I being convenient?

I hope not.

I hope I make you uncomfortable.

As uncomfortable as I am now, sitting in front of you;

Dreaming that you aren’t there and I wasn’t here,

Remembering a time when you were alive

Vibrant, beautiful, solid,

So that when I touch you, you do not break

Nor shatter into excuses

But instead, you smile.

You’re not smiling now.

I think you’re crying, but I could be wrong.

Ghosts do not cry,

And if they did, who could see their tears?

They would be like mist,

Like dry rain,

Floating, evaporating, even before they fall.

Dead Story: Weaver

2007-09-11T05:36:00.000+08:00

You thought you had it all figured out. That was, until the weaver died.

Here you were, about to get married, dealing with your crazy mother who hated your fiancé, your crazy would-be in-laws who hated you, and your crazy neighbors who like talking about people who hated each other, telling yourself, well, it wasn’t all that bad, all things considered. You had your man, and while his family wasn’t exactly welcoming you with open arms, they weren’t planning your assassination either. Of course, they still made the not so occasional snide remark about your mother’s not so pristine past, but those were just words and they couldn’t hurt you. Not truly hurt you, anyway. Because you’ve grown up, you’ve matured, you’ve survived and everything else could pretty much go to hell and back (your mother and his family included), and the wedding would still have taken place.

But then, the weaver died.

Technically, it shouldn’t complicate things. Much. But almost immediately after the village bells rang, Big Tom came knocking down your door declaring to your over-stressed mother that you’re the sole heir (or would that be heiress?) to the weaver’s family fortune of looms, cloth, needles and thread. You would hear later that your mother threw a fit – after all, she waited 22 years for some man to acknowledge his part of the tango of creating you, only to gain the much coveted recognition some two decades and odd years later with the man doing the recognizing pretty much dead and beyond murdering.

For your part, just a minute before the village bells rang to begin the mourning period, you woke up in tears, feeling as if something tenuous broke, a loss you could not verbalize. And so you didn’t hear the knock and you didn’t hear your mother’s wail and you barely even heard the village bells, ringing as loud as they did. Because all you heard was the rain of grief falling on dead dreams you didn’t know you had.

You thought they’ve gone insane.

Of course you wouldn’t speak during the funeral. Of course you wouldn’t attend the reading of the will. And you definitely wouldn’t want anything, not the looms, the cloth, the needles nor the thread, anything! from the weaver.

You don’t care if Wise Sally believes it would be best for the village if you actually let go of your grievances; you don’t care if Pastor Frank thinks that the spirit of the dead weaver will not rest peacefully without your forgiveness; you don’t care about Watchful Jack’s opinion that certain things have gone askew and it falls on you to do the fixing by actually accepting your inheritance. You. Don’t. Care.

In fact, the only reason why you’re even in the funeral march was because Big Tom came to get you, and when he comes to get lost things (or lost daughters as the case may be), you can’t say no. Mainly because he doesn’t even ask, just stands there by the door, and you get the feeling that he can out wait God. And so you went. But it doesn’t mean you’ll do anything else but march. Big Tom and the rest of them can just wait it out as long as they want, but there were things you just wouldn’t do. Period.

It was your fiancé who finally takes you aside. For a brief moment, you were relieved. At last, someone who didn’t have an agenda, who didn’t have some stupid (hypocritical!) righteous (hypocritical!) speech. Just someone who actually cared about what you felt.

But he surprised you. He started talking to you about new beginnings and how old hurts could ruin it. He continued by saying something so trite, and so stupid, as how love could heal all wounds, and that he was offering all of his to make up for what your father could not give. If only you would let go. If only you would forgive.

You walked out on him. You walked out on them. You feel betrayed, angry, betrayed, tired, and mostly, betrayed. You walk back to your house and instead of crying, you allowed yourself to scream.

Fighting for the Ideal

2007-09-10T05:44:00.000+08:00

When Alex and I just got married, we both had pretty contradictory views on how marriage (and the consequent political ramifications of being husband and wife) should be. He grew up in a family that was more or less traditional - strong father (husband) figure with a supportive mother (wife); while I grew up with parents who both had strong personalities. One relationship was peaceful and the other, well, was not (Guess which is which - lol).

The only other model of a successful marriage we both were witness to on a regular basis was Dean and Nikki's. One of the more important virtues of their marriage, on the other hand, was the kampi concept, wherein they will always stand up for each other, in whatever circumstance. Because of that (as well as other things, I'm sure; marriage isn't exactly a formula), in their twelve year marriage, they have never (ever) fought.

Since my less peaceful model was outnumbered, Alex and I tried to go for the ideal, peaceful relationship. And failed miserably. Right on the first month, we were already having problems - which, in retrospect, isn't really that surprising since as girlfriend-boyfriend, we had lots of fights, I don't know how I could have thought one ceremony could change that. Needless to say, no matter how hard we tried, we were always ending up having fights usually coinciding with a certain time of the month (yep, I'm stereotypically irritable).

Our efforts were not without some results, though. We developed (well, not really, its been there long before us) a little game wherein if one was almost irritable, say, a five in a scale of one to ten (where 10 would mean that individual will be raring to get into a fight), that person will literally say that he/she has taken hold of the irritable stick, and the other (slower - ha!) individual will have to be patient and back down as much as possible. But, despite this innovation, we were still ending up having fights.

Recently, however, I've begun to realize that I actually enjoy the fights. It's not that I'm a masochist by nature, but when we fight, I see a side of Alex not obviously apparent to other people. Usually, Alex is amiable, nice, quirky and gentle to a point that I sometimes feel he's patronizing me; when we fight, he's aggressive, curt, masculine, and extremely sexy (anyone who has had angry sex and make-up sex will understand what I'm talking about). And at the risk of sounding even more perverted, I actually find myself liking the fact that I'm told I'm wrong. Most of the time, Alex tends to give in to my whims - he's just that kind of guy - but when I get him angry enough, he'll put me in my place and ironically, I feel even more loved.

I discussed this with him a couple of weeks ago and found that he too, enjoys our fights. His enjoyment comes from being able to raise issues he would rather hold back during peaceful times, and with me actually admitting I'm wrong (which rarely happens - ha!). And of course, the angry and make up sex.

With this little bit of epiphany, I've begun to realize that I really don't think I could survive in the peaceful model of my friends and family and neither could I survive in a war-torn marriage. But each couple needs to work out what works best for them.

For us, its all about having the occasional fight before going back to the lovey-dovey cutesy couple that we usually are.

Pride of the Family

2007-09-07T13:29:00.000+08:00

My mother recently passed this really impossibly difficult exam by the SEC (something like Financial Representative yada, yada). She was one of the 10% fortunate (and clever) ones in the Philippines who made it through the tortuous exercise that tested participants, among other things, on the AMLA (Anti Money Laundering Law - like Nikki, I try to inform the, uh, well, uninformed, a little something every time I post), Investment Computation (yep, number crunching) as well as other related legal and accounting issues for investments and insurance (a bit more number crunching). This is the third exam she has taken and passed. And while I don't want to parade on somebody else's rainy day, I can't help but brag that my mother beat this valedictorian type (you know, the one who always got perfect grades and had neat handwriting and perfect English and crisp uniforms) who had previously perfected the other two exams.

Is it obvious that I'm proud of her?

My mother at the age of ______ (ha! Even I will not risk incurring my mother's wrath by putting in her age), has accomplished much - she passed four licensure exams since retiring, started up her own business and now has gone into the investing industry, because, as she reasoned it's better to know how to manage your own funds. Being somewhat aware, if not totally an expert, on such things, I know how difficult it is to study the scope of subjects that she did. But not only did she do it, she succeeded. And while everyone else her age were going to parlors and salons and fancy restaurants (which she does - at least, the parlors and the salons, not the fancy restaurants), which I think she deserves after working most of her life (my mother's life is like Ana-Luna which is too convoluted to summarize in one blog - suffice it to say she and her family ended up dirt poor), she's out doing stuff, accomplishing things, not necessarily for the money (my dad suspects we spend more for her tests, gas, books and all, than she actually brings in), but for her.

I wish when I'm ______ I'll be as brave as she is.

I'm proud of you mom.

Happy Birthday Hubby

2007-08-09T10:21:00.000+08:00

Today is my husband's birthday. Unfortunately, he's in SF to attend his best friend's wedding (it sounds like a movie, I know). Which, I keep telling myself, is great. Of course, selfishly, I can't help but wish he was back home.

I guess this is what happens when you've reached a certain level of trust with a person. You begin to get used to the fact that they're always there. Last night, I hardly slept, as I kept tossing and turning at the sudden expanse of bed space I had, feeling dissatisfied that there was no one to fight with over blanket custody. Early morning, I kept imagining I heard strange sounds (bells, footsteps, etc.) which I know aren't really real since I'm usually deaf to these sort of things (with numerous instances of people banging on the door to which I was blissfully unaware of) but without Alex, it seems even the smallest things are intensified and my mind takes care of the rest.

But while it's only a brand of fear laced with loneliness that I have to contend with at night, it's really the emptiness in the mornings punctuated with silence that drives me insane. I will be the first to admit that I'm a spoiled spouse - Alex wakes up earlier than me everyday so that I can have a few more minutes of sleep and then courageously negotiates, bargains, blackmails (entices, begs, entreats, forces) me to consciousness with kisses and hugs and other R rated promises. And while I'm barely capable of thinking, much less speaking in the first few moments after I wake up, he's always smiling and puttering around so that when I do my morning rituals, there's always some sort of sound - TV, Alex humming, Alex talking on the phone etc. For obvious reasons, I had to learn to actually set my own alarm clock on the cell phone, and if you've tried negotiating for an extra 5 minutes with an emotionless (cruel, cruel) device, than you know it's not really as fun. What's worse is that I'm beginning to feel suffocated with the quietness around our apartment. Even when I turn on the TV, it seems as if I'm just deluding myself since I know, I really do know, that he's not there.

This wasn't always the case of course. Once upon a time, I lived all by myself for several years and the lack of sound was something I valued, rather than abhorred. I even remember that in the first few months of my marriage, I had problems with all the noise and the lack of space. Now, I've changed so much that I can barely recall how that felt - that annoyance of being too crowded, of needing a certain level of silence.

And so I wait. Alex will be back next week (yay) and everything will be back to normal (I hope). I just have to survive several sleepless nights and quiet mornings while waiting for his return.

Get Hostile

2007-08-08T09:09:00.001+08:00

I've been Hostile sober for at least 4 days now (counting the weekend) or 3 business days (coz weekends don't really count, since I have no net access) and while my productivity has improved (including having the time to set up a new blog, and finishing [not well] a story) I can't help but feel that my afternoons are strangely empty. The problem with the game, aside from the obvious addictive nature of it, is that, just like in any community, you find yourself being 'friends' with the virtual characters you meet. And since it is a game, it's inevitable that feelings will be involved. In my case, I met a guy who I actually liked and loved playing with, but due to a certain confluence of events, we ended up having a fairly nasty exchange in cyberspace.

It sounds dumb now, I know.

But it doesn't change the fact that me and guy are 'enemies' (and if you're wondering why I keep quoting these things, it's just coz I'm uncomfortable leaving it unquoted when I don't really know the guy beyond Hostile) and have avoided each other in the small little community. Which is why I stopped (oh, and yeah, I wanted to be more productive too). I care too much and theoretically, I know I shouldn't. It's just a game. And I don't really know him. And even the basis of our fight was really stupid.

So I left to cool off hoping to come back caring less. And while a part of me doesn't really see the need for me to do something drastic as leaving an entire community just because of one guy, I've realized it's been the hallmark of my life -when I reach a certain level of attachment I back off.

Now, whether this is a good thing or a bad thing, I don't know. Maybe when I'm less afraid to get hurt, I'll have the courage to figure out an answer.

Me and Story

2007-08-07T17:33:00.000+08:00

Right now, I'm trying not to feel ridiculous with posting things in the blog when I haven't really told anyone that I have a blog in the first place. I think it's because I'm giving myself a trial period of sorts - if I can somehow write posts consistently, it won't be as embarrassing to tell my loved ones I have one instead of the disappointing blog friends and family have come to know me for which is hardly ever updated.

So, here goes my trial post number 2.

___________

Me and story have had a love hate relationship for the past two months. At certain points, I love it, others moments, I feel it loves me, and still sometimes, we just hate each other with a passion. Right now we've hit a wall at the theoretical last chapter forcing me to do the unthinkable - I started editing the previous sections. Running currently at 4K++ words, I, in theory, should have just rammed through the stupid barrier before editing as, in the past, going back and worrying about the little details always succeeded in making me less interested in the story than I am with its tenses. Unfortunately, I really don't know what to do after the wall, and short of hurling a particularly heavy object in the literal sense, all my metaphorical ramming and hammering have not been the least bit successful. Times like these I can't help but wish I was more like Dean, who could see the end and a vague sense of how to get there, or like Nikki, who could make the ending work either way, or like Andrew, who could take a sablay ending that could leave a sophisticated reader reeling with the layers of interpretation.

I remember a time when I didn't have problems like these. Recently however, I've had major issues on almost all the endings I have in the not so distant past - which just goes to show that either I was just deluded before or I have a limited amount of endings in me and I've used it all up. For obvious reasons, I don't like considering both options. But with me almost done with my first editorial pass of story with still, no clear ending in sight, it seems like both options could equally be true. And if they are, what then?

Here's to hoping I somehow don't end up writing some trashy, trite, vaguely poetic (but not really) bunch of paragraphs as a short cut.

The Ending I Wrote For Now - An Update

It is trashy, trite and not even vaguely poetic. Aargghh.

In The Beginning

2007-08-06T15:10:00.001+08:00

All right, I'm back at blogging. For now, at least.

It started with me actually finding a nice blog skin with a color pattern I actually loved (yep, I'm a sucker for shades of green against white). It's not perfect though (the blog description is too right-sided and it affects my sense of well-being), and I suspect that I'm subconsciously trying to overwhelm the image of red roses in a vase with the phantasmagoria of page elements and images, simply because I'm not tech-savvy enough to delete the image from the html code.

Let's see if I can actually keep up with the blogging habit.