"Perhaps the body has its own memory system, like the invisible meridian lines those Chinese acupuncturists always talk about. Perhaps the body is unforgiving, perhaps every cell, every muscle and fragment of bone remembers each and every assault and attack. Maybe the pain of memory is encoded into our bone marrow and each remembered grievance swims in our bloodstream like a hard, black pebble. After all, the body, like God, moves in mysterious ways.

From the time she was in her teens, Sera has been fascinated by this paradox - how a body that we occupy, that we have worn like a coat from the moment of our birth - from before birth, even - is still a stranger to us. After all, almost everything we do in our lives is for the well-being of the body: we bathe daily, polish our teeth, groom our hair and fingernails; we work miserable jobs in order to feed and clothe it; we go to great lengths to protect it from pain and violence and harm. And yet the body remains a mystery, a book that we have never read. Sera plays with this irony, toys with it as if it were a puzzle: How, despite our lifelong preoccupation with our bodies, we have never met face-to-face with our kidneys, how we wouldn't recognize our own liver in a row of livers, how we have never seen our own heart or brain. We know more about the depths of the ocean, are more acquainted with the far corners of outer space than with our own organs and muscles and bones. So perhaps there are no phantom pains after all; perhaps all pain is real; perhaps each long ago blow lives on into eternity in some different permutation and shape; perhaps the body is this hypersensitive, revengeful entity, a ledger book, a warehouse of remembered slights and cruelties.

But if this is true, surely the body also remembers each kindness, each kiss, each act of compassion? Surely this is our salvation, our only hope - that joy and love are also woven into the fabric of the body, into each sinewy muscle, into the core of each pulsating cell?"

- Thrity Umrigar (The Space Between Us)

Allenated

Watching too many neurotic woody allen films consecutively can get very tiring. I'm glad my last session was a few months ago. Now I'm actually looking forward to this. Reviews say it's the best Woody Allen piece in a while. And a time travel movie featuring portrayals of Ernest hemingway, Gertrude Stein, Salvador Dali and Man Ray? C'mon, that augurs a riot!

Major Goran Relapse

Aren't you tired of having needs? I am. It's not so much being disappointed about not meeting them but having them in the first place. Egh.

If it's just work I'm supposed to do, I would have achieved way much than what I have now. But 50% of my time is spent on other obligations.

Just last month, I helped my brothers look for an apartment, move to that apartment, clean both the old and new apartments and settle them in as comfortably as possible. There were also dinners and lunches with relatives and friends on their return from other countries, their birthdays, and their going away parties. There was acting as travel agent for my parents who will be celebrating their anniversary for the first time out of town since their honeymoon 28 years ago, and the occasional calls and texts for buying stuff like merchandise for the drugstore. I'm in the middle of writing reports for a deadline yet I had to clean up the apartment last weekend for a college roommate who will be staying here for a few days to help settle her sister in her University's residence hall. Today, I accompanied them to ride the train, shop for supplies and arrange the sister's room.

This list reminds me that I still have to ask for my parents' marriage certificates from San Augustin, follow-up reimbursements for that stupid Pacific Educational Plans, renew my passport while filing my parent's passport application forms. My Tita Rosa hates it when I do this, mention things that needs to be done. She says it stresses her out to hear all these things. Which is why since a few months ago, I have stopped mentioning my activities to other people which was just my way of verbalizing these so I can remember better. It's usually not in the form of a rant but more like an enumeration for my purpose. Because really, more than any other time, I am happy to do things for other people now. I figured more than accomplishing things for myself, I feel better when I am useful to others. Or put another way, I hate myself more when I fail people I love than when I fail myself.

My Tita's flagging my toxic nature was timely. Aside from a very preoccupied, somewhat rude and always unavailable City Social Welfare and Development Officer that we my team and I met during fieldwork whom I swore not to be like EVER, it was one of the crucial things that helped me want to be more graceful under pressure. Composure matters especially when people depend on you. And although this was not a value instilled in our household while I was growing up (every little stressful thing is magnified there), I have decided I do not want to spread the negative vibe anymore because life is a handful as it is without people multiplying stress unnecessarily. I am relatively a chillax and jovial person but there is definitely room for improvement.

On Uncertainty

I slept a total of 24 hours these past couple of days and have been eating like a male teenager who's training for a barangay basketball league. I have consumed gallons and gallons of water and yet, I am always tired. Seems like long days on field have taken their toll on me. But another hunch is that something might be subconsciously bothering me. I have lived long enough not to ignore the trend. When I am all mopey, I eat and then sleep!

Today, because of a cancelled meeting I spent most of the day on the internet, napping, watching a Godard film and staring into space. Oh and I also fixed myself some pancakes twice--for breakfast and dinner (cheese and nutella flavors respectively) because the whole batter batch has to be consumed immediately lest it spoils.

I was ready to call it a sad day and prepare for another field interview tomorrow but just a few minutes ago, I came across this quote from my cousin in my news feed. She quotes a dude named Mark Batterson:

"Embrace relational uncertainty. It's called ROMANCE. Embrace spiritual uncertainty, it's called MYSTERY. Embrace occupational uncertainty. it's called DESTINY. Embrace emotional uncertainty. it's called JOY. Embrace intellectual uncertainty. it's called REVELATION."

And then a eureka moment washed over me. I have always been comfortable with intellectual uncertainty. That I don't know a lot of things don't bother me because I am sure I have the ability to learn things. That a lot of things in life cannot be reasoned and explained is also okay with me and I have deep respect for the mysteries of this world.

Lately, I have come to terms with my volatile emotions and accepted that people, including myself, would have to live with my intuitive and feeling nature. I will not change how I am just to make others feel less awkward. I am also in the midst of winging it occupationally and not mind too much if I am not shaping my career the way others shaped theirs, doggedly, single-tracked and with a five-year plan.

I am now convinced that like photographing, life is but a series of reactions and all we can do is react to grace. There is destiny and there is free will. The latter is how you react to the former. There is no "what if," there is only "how then." This is not to say that it is for me not to do anything and just wait for fruitious events to transpire. Like photography, to be able to take a photo, you need to go out there. To seek one's destiny, as it were. I believe that destiny and God's will is the same thing and God's will is most manifested in one's heart's desire. Therefore, I believe that to be able to fulfill one's destiny, a person must seek out that which he truly desires. And one can only do that if one actually dives right into work and reflect some. Not the other way around.

I think I get all those which this Batterson fellow has written in a novel somewhere. But there's one thing left to embrace. Ah yes, relational uncertainty. Romance. Someone tried to teach that to me before but I was still too much a control freak then to be comfortable with the hazy and the unsure. And I bailed even before I could ease myself into the hot and maybe weirdly relaxing pool of sulfur-smelling questions. And he didn't hang around long enough to try to get me in again. It might have looked like too much work.

I wonder how I would fare these days. Of all Batterson suggests, this may be the most difficult. Phhhbt! I am taking one hurdle at a time. For now, my occupational destiny awaits. But I am praying to react positively should the cosmos suggest a romantic clue one day. And I truly hope that I won't be stupid and scared shitless not to astutely pick apart the desires of my brain from the desires of my loins from the desires of my heart. The first two mess things up big time! But maybe please, in a teeny weenie little pleading voice, can i ask that they all point to one and the same person? Pretty please?

Time Check

i am not a watch person. while growing up, i had many watches gifted to me but never grew fond of any of them. so naturally, either i forgot about them when the straps came undone or the batteries gave out or after i decided to not wear them for a time because i always had a watch strap tan line and i had to have my skin tone evened out. also, i hated that my skin got moist from perspiration just below the strap all the time.

anyway, lately, i got myself a cheap disposable watch and found it very handy while conducting FGDs, interviews and presentations. it kinda keeps me on track knowing every now and then how much time i have left to do my work without checking my cell phone which would be distracting. also, lately, i am less prone to being late to appointments. it's a refreshing change in my scurry-happy routine. kinda makes me think of investing in a good watch.

i want a watch that tells the time, that's it. even on other people, i was never really a fan of watches that double as fancy jewelry. i want a simple clean watch with a simple uncluttered face. something like these perhaps

uniform wares 100 from dezeen watchstore

 muji watches 

achille castiliogni

extra normal by ross mcbride

om1 by ole mathiesen

now i just have to decide which font i liked, whether i'd get an all black model or a white-faced one (so difficult), oh and the when, where and how to get it, considering the last, and to me the most beautiful entry in this list costs USD 1200 or PhP 53,000! 

Haphazard Morning Notes

...or the i-just-woke-up-and-am-too-lazy-to-get-my-notebook-downstairs-and-i-just-scribble-in-here-because-the-laptop-is-beside-me post. 


Possibility is more intriguing than reality...


Quoting Kierekegaard: "If I were to wish for anything, I should not wish for wealth and power, but for the passionate sense of the potential, for the eye which, ever young and ardent, sees the possible. Pleasure disappoints, possibility never. And what wine is so sparkling, what so fragrant, what so intoxicating, as possibility!" 


The foolish longing for the asymptotic. The romantic's pining of that which he can almost have. 


The cowardly inclination to be an appreciator not a practitioner. 


But how long does possibility entice? Dreams deferred "dry up like a raisin in the sun." 

Building a Mystery

Still no definite plans but my daily activities tell me I'm in the middle of something important, like I only have to do what I do and Time, the Universe or God will make things fall into place. It's a peaceful feeling and even if sometimes little worries creep in, overall, I am not afraid.

“I need you to go because I am in some wrestling match with myself here. I can’t trust myself not to manipulate you! I don’t know if I’m doing it now…I think I am.” 

-  Jack Nicholson as Charles in "How Do You Know" 

Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know its normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.

— Ira Glass

USkPH

My colleague from IPC, Janiel, who is an architect and a watercolorist, has just created Urban Sketchers Philippines. Pretty exciting stuff, if you ask me. Basically, an informal group of artists meet every so often to have sketch sessions in a chosen area within the city. This is part of a global effort to document the living world one drawing at a time. The USK manifesto:

1. We draw on location, indoors or out, capturing what we see from direct observation. 2. Our drawings tell the story of our surroundings, the places we live and where we travel. 3. Our drawings are a record of time and place. 4. We are truthful to the scenes we witness. 5. We use any kind of media and cherish our individual styles. 6. We support each other and draw together. 7. We share our drawings online. 8. We show the world, one drawing at a time.

I am no artist but I do appreciate these kinds of efforts. And look, Janeil painted my favorite building of all time!

Peeping with God Eyes

My mom and me, circa 1984. I was maybe a year old, her first baby at age 26. I wonder what she was thinking at this time. Did she have it all figured out? Has she kept it all together by then? Did she actually know the best temperature in which to bathe an infant? Did she not cringe while washing up my soiled lampin? Did she set aside enough money to buy me what I needed or was she up all night to figure out where she can get the extra bucks? When I was convulsing out of high fever, did she have the doctor's number ready? When I looked bored and restless, did she master a technique to make me laugh or shut me up? Despite having to cram a day job and taking care of me into her 24 hours, did she still have the energy and the enthusiasm to enjoy her one-on-one time with Dad? Mommy may not have the same spirited personality as Tina Fey, but something tells me that her prayers ran the same themes everyday. Especially because I grew up alright, I haven't lain with drummers (haha), I haven't fallen off any balcony and because she almost always suddenly called when I was just about to realize that at that moment, it was her i needed the most. 

A Mother's Prayer
by Tina Fey  

First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.  

May she be beautiful but not damaged, for it’s the damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the beauty. When the crystal meth is offered may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half and stick with beer. 

Guide her, protect her: when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age. 

Lead her away from acting but not all the way to finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes and not have to wear high heels.  

What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit. 

May she play the drums to the fiery rhythm of her own heart with the sinewy strength of her own arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers. 

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a tiger flower blooming magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.  

O Lord, break the Internet forever, that she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers and the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed. 

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, for I will not have that shit. I will not have it. 

And should she choose to be a mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back. 

“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a mental note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

Summoning the Female Spunk for 27 Consecutive Days of Fieldwork. Yeow!

A royal wedding, a beatification, a resignation and an important death. As if the world isn't interesting enough, they made me research associate for a project today. I am no longer documenting the Post-Ondoy SIM FGDs and interviews. I will direct and conduct them and, along with other associates, i will write the final output for publication. What's up with May?