Mother Studies: Traveling Adults.

Being a workaholic, my mother was always on the go. She couldn't seem to keep still, always going to places in our little island of Panay. When i left the house at 13 for high school i also acquired her restlessness, more so until my post-baccalaureate when i began to work as a research assistant. Unlike most of my friends, i never lied to my mother about my small time travelling pursuits because she seemed to understand my thirst for new experiences. she clearly understood that climbing mountains with male friends didn't mean a whole night of romping and i pitched tents in mountain peaks with a clear conscience.

Despite our common restlessness we never had the chance to travel together except when the need arises, most of them concerned family matters. Lately I have been shrugging off invitations to family weddings and family gatherings not within 4 bus hours away, and the chances to travel with my mother even to family gatherings became even slimmer.

In late October, days after her hectic schedule of iloilo-manila-dumaguete-tacloban-manila-iloilo she decided to join me and my friends to our, say, academic pursuits. We were set to go to Kabankalan to present a paper we are to write on history and development of muscovado in my small, sleepy and unprogressive hometown of Belison, in Antique.

Kabankalan is a newly declared City in the province of cities Negros Occidental. Say, only 2 or 3 more towns haven’t been declared a city, thanks to their large contribution to sugar production. But take extra caution; the cities in Negros Occidental aren’t what you think the cities are. Some are sleepy like my hometown, cordoned, bounded, bordered by vast expanse of sugarcane as far as your eyes can see: rolling hills of sugarcane stalks, flat plains of sugar cane stalks, river banks of sugar cane stalks – a sea of sugarcane stalks!!!

Kabankalan sits in the central part of Negros Occidental, about 3 hours away from the main city of Bacolod. It’s rather clean not because it’s still basically rural but because the RA 9003 has been well-implemented for almost 10 years already. The streets are also wide, as majority of the streets in Negros Occidental and much of the lands are yet to be developed. It seemed a good place to spend some quiet time. I have been there several times, for work, apparently but I didn’t know anybody nor do I have any close relatives in that part of the world that it’s a little unnecessary to linger there for a long time. I would have liked to go there for an adventure if I were still single but since becoming a parent 3 years ago it’s a rare opportunity to even get myself to spend a night away from home. Majority of my friends have also been too busy with work they would rather go to Boracay for vacation than to some unknown, non-tourism-marketed spots.

And sometimes I feel I have lost the ability to travel with no plans at all since I began traveling for work. I take the joy in traveling in knowing the community, in living amongst the people of the community, eating the food they eat, learning the work they do, hearing their stories. Those things are a little difficult to get if you’re just a tourist and I feel I have totally lost the tourist in me. Which I think is kinda good, don’t you think?

We left Iloilo late afternoon as most of us still have work to do. Joyce, a history professor, Rene unofficially a historian (when do you exactly label a historian, historian? When he finally publishes a book on history?), and I met at our university. We met my mother at the seaport.

Funny but it seems that with all these progresses around us, the seaports seem to be deteriorating. The Iloilo-Bacolod seaport was way way better 10, 15 years ago. I would like to avoid discussing about THOSE things here. It’s pretty tiring to be constantly bombarded of the transport issues in this part of the world 5 days a week.

With a slow ferry we finally got to Bacolod, 1.5 hours after. If you see in tourist guides that getting to Bacolod from Iloilo is only 45-60 minutes, you’re sure that that information is outdated for more than 10 years. Or maybe the writer has his own yacht.

Fish market in pala-pala bacolod where they sell fresh seafood.

Buyers can bring it to the restaurant just across this market to be cooked and voila, you'll have a ready seafood dinner.

I purposely stayed in Bacolod for a night to meet a friend and give some free radical counseling. I hope he is doing well now and I hope he is happy with his decisions. I hope he and his wife are able to settle things amicably and I hope they remain friends. I have met too many unhappily married people that I have turned cynical in the idea of marriage. It was one my reasons for not wanting to marry but I was afraid my son wouldn’t be able to get to a good school having unmarried parents. Philippine’s basic and primary education after all is set by, first and foremost, financial capability, religious affiliation, and connections. If you don’t have that then you can allow your kid’s brain to rot in public school and be a criminal later on in life. I hope our government realizes that -- SOON.

This is the pack of peanuts that we ate while drinking beer and talking about politics, career, love life. beer. and that bad serving of chicken.

Coming from one maboteng usapan – well I only took 2 bottles, i stayed up much later revising the slides because it was the only time I could review the presentation in peace; no toddler around constantly nagging and calling out my name.

We set off to Kabankalan at 630 in the morning to catch the 7 am bus. Bacolod’s Ceres buses are unlike the Panay Ceres buses: they have choices: non-stop, limited stop, economy and it seems that the dangerous colorum vans is almost non-existent in Negros. At least there's civilization in this part of the Philippines.

We got to Kabankalan in once piece; I was able to sleep for an hour in the cool, comfortable bus. I missed the bus rides in Negros. Almost 5 years ago, when I was still a lowly paid RA, I traveled to Negros Occidental on my own, hopping from one city to another, talking to LGU officers, informing them that for a week or so this stranger will be going around your town, asking permission and fervently hoping that they remember my face so in case something happens to me they will know that I did enter their area of jurisdiction with consent – and so at least they can also identify me properly. Some areas do not have pension houses (actually, my transportation allowance barely covered for my accommodation so I mostly begged from the Barangay officials to allow me to stay in their houses for a very affordable fee) but at least I have insurance that covers broken bones, severed fingers or toes and cuts and gashes that need medical attention. Most officials are friendly and I am usually provided a bed space of the friendliest member of their family.

It’s amazing I still remember the crossroads and the landmarks of the places I have been to; of the places where I stayed. Somewhere in Binalbagan, Rene pointed to me the community that housed them during their survey. Then we talked of our travels as field researchers. Then we dozed off. Or I think it was just me.

My mother and I barely talked in the bus. She often catches sleep in lull, idle times. Actually be barely talked at all. And I didn’t feel like listening about my father’s latest philandering moves. I’m glad my mother understood it in absence of a direct request and we shared the comfortable silence between us.

I wanted my mother to come because I want her to find things for herself. I want her to realize that she still has new things to learn and discover and that a failed marriage is not the end to her good times. I want her to realize that even on her own, with a failed marriage, a philandering husband, and a family who doesn’t seem to believe in religion and God, she can pursue new things and re-invent herself. I want her to feel that being a frustrated middle aged soon-to-be-former-wife of a philandering husband and mother to 3 of 5 children who do not believe in religion and God, also mother to 1 of 4 daughters who does not believe in marriage and publicized weddings/engangements, should not limit her to discovering new things especially that money is not a problem anymore. I want her to know that it is never too late to go back to school or make new friends and maybe even discover new love. There are so many things that I want for her for this trip but most of all, I just want her to find peace.

We planned to go back to Iloilo that day, after our presentation but due to unforeseen events, the 1^st session stretched way past 5pm and we were left with no choice but to stay in Kabankalan for 1 more night. I also had unplanned shopping spree of books courtesy of Booksale Gaisano Kabankalan and like an overzealous fan I rummaged through their book collection to find more architectural books that I wanted to buy. After an hour of intense rummaging and contemplating on what to buy and what not buy, I forced myself out of the shop and waited in the lobby for Joyce, who was out there somewhere in the labyrinths of the small mall, Rene who was also out there somewhere finding things to amuse him in the mall and my mother who has yet to find things she need somewhere in the department store of the mall. I waited patiently with an almost dead phone and excitement I couldn’t contain I ended up calling Keith to tell him about the books and draining my phone's battery subsequently.

hoarding architecture books in this part of town. that visible one is H.I.P hotels.

Joyce, Rene and my Mother.

Walking along quiet Kabankalan streets

At the dinner table my mom says she wants to study history having been with this history and culture enthusiasts/advocates/workers, to which I immediately responded with a resounding YES! And added: when do you plan to enroll?

Courtyard of the guesthouse in Kabankalan where we stayed for a night. homey and quiet and nice. but the water heater for the shower is busted though.

Lobby of the guesthouse. At least there's a better looking guesthouse at this part of town. When i was an RA i had a horrible accommodation, i swore it traumatized me. I didn't even think of coming back to this place. But lookie here i liked this.

The next day my mother and I left at 3am to catch the earliest ferry trip home. We were told the earliest bus leaves at 2 am but were told by the people at the terminal that the earliest trip is at 3:45, leaving from Kabankalan. The next trip is at 430, coming from Dumaguete. I had books to comfort me while waiting while my mother went on to do her facial rituals and make up – now that’s what I call real busy lady.

"3am i'm coming home...stumbling staggering alone..felt so tired all at once...sensing something must be wrong..." says a popsicle song in my mind. 4am. still sleeping market of binalbagan.

We arrived in Bacolod to find near-deserted streets. The traffic condition is so unbelievable. Is it because the streets were so wide or is it because school’s out for semestral break? Whatever the reasons were it made me think it’s wise to get some property in Bacolod, y’know so I could escape to some place if Iloilo gets too crowded.

a bus here an suv there. and really wide roads. i can make an easy count of the number of vehicles that pass by. maybe i should move to bacolod?

My mother and I ran like hell, form one counter to another hoping to get seats because its also 6:15 and they said the ferry leaves at 6:15 but look there are still 20 people lining up to get their boarding pass and I told my self and my mother that maybe we should calm down because the ferry won’t be leaving in 20 minutes. But instead of calming down she asked me to find her food to eat.

I like that its late because we’ll be able to get in but I hate that it’s late because I’ll be late for my 9:00 meeting at Iloilo City.

I didn’t buy her food. She doesn’t like sandwiches with too much mayonnaise and that’s the only thing they have at the ferry terminal kiosk. She also doesn’t want any hotdogs. But at least she calmed down and we walked to the ferry unhurriedly. She got herself some crackers inside the mobile vendor inside the ferry. And ate. Drank water. And slept. In the ferry. My mother always sleeps in idle times. She falls asleep 30 seconds after she has settled down. It’s like she has this button in her that she just pushes for automatic shut off. Which I kinda like because I’m no fan of talking inside the already noisy ferry.

Next year we’ll be doing it again. This for me, a never-ending journey to be re-acquainted with the place where I was born and for her…for her, I hope she finally finds new purpose.

parents. but childless...(for 2 days!)

Last November 2, we opted to leave the 33-month old gogol at my parents house because we thought farm life would do good for his curiosity and his fondness for beds with thick mattresses that he can use in lieu of a good trampoline, which, unfortunately, our house in jaro does not have: no farm life, no 10-inch thick mattresses.

he's also gotten very very fond of getting around with the 6-wheeled (if i recall correctly) truck my parents use for mill operations -- hauling sugarcane stalks form the farm to the mill and hauling muscovado from the mill to our house. Keith was quite unhappy of the latest developments in my parents' house: the den/tv room and living room now converted to a packaging and storage area, because the packaging center has yet to be built and partly because no one "lives" in the house anymore.

after about an hour of waiting at the waiting (how appropriate!!) shed under the burning heat of the 2pm sun and after refusals from 2 ceres buses we decided to flag for the jeepney.

So.

Keith and i bravely fought (and succeeded) the bus seats with the rabid college students because we have no hyper-active toddler to focus our attention to, just our 2 computers and a bag full of adobong baboy that my mother gave us to take to Iloilo for my meat-eating brother. keith was assigned to chase the bus so he can get ahead the rabid students and i was supposed to go up the bus once the coast has been cleared in order to protect the bag full of adobong baboy.

with my computer bag, the adobong baboy bag and the laundry backpack, i had to be assisted by the bus attendant up the bus. it took me 2-minutes to find Keith and settle down with some stranger because the seat which was built to carry 2.5 persons had to contain 3 heads.

i was planning to eat that apple inside my bag but it was too cramped i can't even move to reach for it.

so we traveled fine, moving at about 40 kph and stopping every 10 meters to pick up passengers. but that's not the worst of it because when we went home to Antique 3 days before, the COLORUM van (plate number ZKZ 641) owned by some guy named Aladdin who resides in Bugasong, Antique, crammed TWENTY -- yes that is right 2-0: t-w-e-n-t-y, people, 19 excluding the driver inside. it's a little difficult to visualize but if you imagine 5 people sharing a seat good for 3 then you know what i mean. gogol was with us but he was already asleep before we reached arevalo so he doesn't know a bit of what's happening in the van and how angry i was.

(Mas expert pa sila sa Fisheries-major-in-fish-processing mag-canning ba!)

i won't even mentioned that the colorum van driver even tried to race with the susie star van with plate number FWT 394 somewhere in the mountains. it happened at 7:00 in the evening. if you have traveled to Antique you'll know how dangerous it is. I yelled at the driver to stop racing but i still feel i haven't done anything to stop this hazardous public transport services.

(Keith said one way is to postpone travelling beyond 4pm but i really had to be home that weekend. it's that or the 3am bus. but i think i'll take the 3am bus next time.)

without the gogol around there's also no household help because the help goes wherever gogol goes so our first night as childless parents was celebrated with reheated adobong baboy, rice and cold water. we went up to our room early tired from traveling. Keith went on to play the remaining levels of Plants vs. Zombies; i forgot what i did, i think i tried to reclaim my reading habit because reading has suddenly become a leisure with a toddler around.

(the remaining discussion will focus on Plants vs. Zombies so don't tell me you have not been warned.)

so Keith went on and on playing plants and zombies. when i left for office the next day i saw him with his computer on with the autocad open only to be told in the evening of that day that he practically spent his whole day playing plants vs. zombies. he kinda regretted i introduced him to it but was, at the same time, felt so delighted of his new found hobby.

well, at least even if he doesn't know how to plant he has experienced (virtual) planting, even if it's just in plants vs. zombies. Out first night sans gogol we spent with both our computers open, playing plants vs. zombies for 2 hours. keith tells me, "we have to take this opportunity because we can't do this anymore after gogol's back. "

it's a weird scene, you see: we're as if single, again, and living together but instead of going out for dates or cuddling together or having sex (like we would surely do if we weren't married...eehhh) we stayed in our room, not talking except for very few exchanges, sat a meter away and allowed to be absorbed by plants vs. zombies.

what's weirder is we kinda enjoyed it.

welcome to modern life of childless parenthood.

***gogol came home 2 days after. for 2 days, our house rested, was still, quite and had been very low maintenance. when he arrived together with his grandmother and grandfather, our house was again turned into a playpen cum storeroom, with a turning-deaf grandfather watching tv at maximum volume, a grandmother who turned our house into a muscovado stockroom and gogol whose blocks and miniature cars and trucks scattered around and i thought this must what it feels like to live in Duran area of Iloilo, the biggest dens of squats in the city (eeh...informal settlers). eeeehhh.

history of some sort. PART DEUX.

So we found Rock and Rhythm and we found BJ and his Wendy Says and found the inspiration to start a fanzine. And start we did. Then us 3 girls – Bles, Joy and I -- started spending every weekends together, leading us to some realization that we’re not as homogenous as we thought and that Bles should do the reviews for the Pinoy bands and I should do the review for the indie music – if we could get hold of one, or of what Rofer’s could offer us. I bought a Quicksand cassette from Rofers and Dambuilders and some more I can’t remember. They are as indie as we can get here in Iloilo City. She said she also wanted to write about Frank Zappa. Frank Zappa, for chrissakes!! And I didn’t even have a musical culture prior to Nirvana and so I had to grope my way around for some history. She even listened (with an s??) to Grateful Dead! I only knew Grateful Dead because of the tie-dye fashion and hippies, of course, but nothing beyond that, really. If anybody thought I did, then I might have really acted so well I was able to fool you. But believe me I wasn’t really trying to appear so musically conversant and those were the days of daze…err, identity crisis in music.

Joy…well Joy liked a lot of things and she played some instruments as well. All I can recall was that in my senior year her mother made her burn all her cassettes and fanzines and she was left to listen to nothing but Christian rock. I still have her DC Talk cassette. I recall her talking about this Christian rock band Petra of which I have never heard of. We didn’t talk much about that around their place but their place was memories of sleepover and popcorn and movies…Man on the moon – because one of us had a huge crush on Jason London; Mallrats and Chasing Amy because we liked Jay and Silent bob. I wasn’t able to see Clerks 1 with them anymore. I think I have left for college when they did. But I got to see it last year, now on DVD-convert shit I downloaded from somewhere. I got to see Dogma in a moviehouse because Kevin Smith already went big time. And Joy’s is the room where all day is night and it was always us scrambling out of bed every time, late for some appointment because we overslept. When you turn the lights on and off, the glow in the darks would just light up regardless of the time of the day. It’s always pitch dark in her room.

It took along time for Jenny to return the Disintegration cassette which originally belonged to Fritz. Fritz is the guy who up to this day still hates me for calling him a trust fund baby. I wish he would enlighten me. I think it was Bles who borrowed it and then I borrowed it and then Jenny borrowed it from me and then I think it was Bles who took it from her and returned it to Fritz, who was leaving for Davao then, perhaps 5 or 8 years after this robert smith-haired fritz guy with black rimmed glasses lent it to her. I was with Bles when she met with him, carrying this medium-sized black garbage bag with all his things in it. But I still have his magazines: the very small booklet type Rock and Rhythm with lots of hair band guys on the cover. See, Bles even listens to the cure and I only knew the cure for their Friday I’m in love. I like to HOPE I didn’t hear it first from the baylehans in Antique. God, I hope. Or else we’re not giving any justice to Robert Smith. Or are we?

I’m a little lost on Aiza but she did have a brother who was some kind of a band member. His brother played drums for some local band. She would be the person we would later on beg for the interviews with the local bands. She just disappeared and I also left Iloilo so nothing follows.

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more to come!

history of some sort.

I’ve mostly found my friends through music.

I’d like to think I met Blesela during a Sigabong (clash number I dunno but I first watched it in 1994) in UP Visayas. I’d like to think that my memory serves me right; I seem to recall a scrawny girl in tie-dyed shirt with a backpack slung over her shoulders. if my memory serves me right I may be in my 2^ndyear then because it couldn’t be third year since Sigabong in my 3^rd year. Neither could it be on my senior year because Noreen, the one who introduced me to Bles would have gone to Diliman by then.

Noreen was my petite roommate, a math wizard. Her room was across mine and spent her time reading and listening to metal. Noreen influenced me a lot musically, although I sort of went the other branch of the music tree, eventually. I tried listening to Morbid Angel and Sepultura and Napalm Death and the likes but they didn’t stick, really and I had to give up. But I think it’s what you get for being a well-read rock fan because despite being a metal maniac you remain open to other sub-genres of rock. Noreen also listens to sonic youth and nine inch nails and some really popular bands like nirvana and pearl jam so that spells so much commonality between us. We also both tried so hard to learn guitar but being tone deaf really is an obstacle you need to overcome. I don't think she ever really did master guitar playing and neither did I.

Noreen left for college on my 3^rd year to high school so I was left alone to discover what kind of music really suited my ears. If we stayed together longer I may have developed liking for death metal also. With her gone, I started hanging out with Bles, who introduced me to Joy and Aiza and some other more…there was Jenny and Vanessa and this girl from assumption who’s kind ofstand-offish but in fact is a nice girl when you get to know her, fond of wearing weird earrings. There was no way to spend the day not talking about the bands and the music. We can’t play instruments so we turned to where we’re best at: writing and talking. And there was Blesela’s father who, I learned knew my father, and who also lent me1984when I came to visit Blesela one time. I hope I DID return it.

Rock and Rhythm wave invaded our group just before I left for college. Noreen was also the one who introduced me to the magazine back in high school; she was just 2 years ahead of me. She constantly checked Eddie-Mar newsstand in Delgado St., the one located near the Metrobank and Veterans bank. The place where you’d find people selling puppies and sometimes fishes and fruits some other odd things. Sometimes there’d be a blind man playing guitar with his chord inventions. It used to be a sunny, lively place but veterans fenced the whole area and Raul Gonzales, then a congressman, built a overhead walkway and now it’s not just the nicest place to stroll at.

Rock and rhythm was an underground magazine to us, read: early 90’s. Underground because here, in Iloilo City, it was a little hard to find and very few knew about it. Noreen was so rad she was reading it. And when I did, too, I became the rad girl also. It’s no surprise, Rn’R being an underground magazine inIloilo, because at that time Spin was almost a novelty that only rich kids can afford to buy. You can only find them, Spin, I mean, in IBAM. IBAM also sold porn magazines and rented out pocketbooks and imported magazines as well. You just have to ask the girl at the counter for the porns though, but I only knew about that much later, in my early 20’s when Keith told me. He said maybe the same trick still applies today although I think IBAM greatly suffered from the influx of malls and the National Bookstore, a store posing as a bookstore when it’s actually just a school supplies store and you’re not allowed to touch, more so scan, any fucking book on display. Early 90’s in Iloilo City was when Jollibee was the only national fastfood store andFilbar’s was the comic store, IBAMwas the magazine store, China Artswas the arts supply store, D’Topswas the bookstore and St. Vincent's was the textbook store, Sams was the shoe store, moviehouses were not inside the malls and you’d have to get home before 7pm or else you’d have to walk your way then. Alfredo Diaz was not teaching then because he begun his teaching career as journalism teacher for our elective course in 4^th year high school. in 1996. GaisanoCitywas already standing and the first mall to have a built-in movie house when Alfredo made the historical shriek to our class: “Frogs stop croaking!” . Yes, in 1996. Yes I am digressing.

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okay that ends the first part of my litany. i'll add more when i find time to wake at at 4:30 in the morning to write and finish some paperworks while listening to music and sometimes breaking my heart. but that's just really okay. hate makes us human. anger and aggression, too. also taking sides. too much sweetness and kindness and general lack of opinion for anything is just too boring; too good to be true.

ehhh...they have never had their bubbles burst yet.

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for noreen, bles, joy, vanessa, rn'r gang of idiots...the friends that i dearly miss.

Because

Because long bus rides are lonely and sad and heartbreaking
Because listening to this song breaks my heart
Because I want it to be 1994. or 1995. 1996. 98 99 again. But not the now. Not the last year or the immediate years before that.
Because lasted you haunted me in my dreams
Because it was heartbreaking and I just wanted it to be over.
Because it will give me the satisfaction I wanted, the conviction I wanted when it finally ends.
Because this, for me is redemption.
Because this for me is what I deserved.
Conviction and truth in my words.

NOW THIS REALLY REALLY MAKES ME WANNA LAUGH MY ASS OUT.

i'm giving this 2 thumbs up.

Time out

My friend's birthday party was set at 7:00 in the evening that day and I was out of the office by 5:00. i am left with nothing to do for 2 hours at my most un-creative moment and with a very uncooperative weather.

I would have gone straight to our watering hole or some place to eat, splurge my week’s allowance but I haven’t done that in the last 4 years it's almost seem alien to me. The last time I splurged was on a pair of hiking shoes and it was even on sale. Money really is harder to let go when you’re the one earning it.

After 5pm, I just don’t know where to go to kill time for the 7pm appointment.

Our watering hole would be filled with kids 15 or so years younger than me and it’d be too uncomfortable partaking the ice cold beer while thinking if my 2 year old son had dinner already. Weirder even because I haven’t drank alone in public for the last 5 years of my life. It kinda leaves an uncomfortable thought to me…what would they say? Never have I imagined I would even care about what they'd say. I’ve embarrassed myself puking in public, at my friends' apartments when I was young and risky, at the restrooms of my university, most memorable was at the wet lab while supposedly accompanying a friend for an overnight observation of her fishes, which ended with her mopping up the mess I made at the wet lab female restroom.

Your perspectives do change once a kid comes along. You at least want to prove you’re deserving of him. (Yet that doesn’t make us not want to teach him tricks to becoming a really out of this world kid.)

My phone died half an hour to 5pm so I can’t call the party people and ask who among them I can meet early or at least give me things to do before the party. I’m not a party person and these people know that very well so in the last 15 years of our lives they give me very little participation in party planning as possible. I could hardly even plan for the 1^st birthday party of our son, which we celebrated with a lot of beer and pulutan at a more respectable watering hole, and his father suffering from sore throat from too much puking and terrible hang over the next day.

little boy asking for beer and pulutan on his first birthday.

We do try to be model parents, really.

little boy on his first birthday looking so drunk.

Trusting my intuition I went straight from office to the house we’ve partied on, puked on, slept over, converted to a locker room, storage area, cried, scared ourselves to death, fought, and screamed, among others for the last 15 years, not to mention being banned from the whole community for being to rowdy and noisy during lunch. We were banned because our noise woke up the babies of the neighbors. What can you expect from 10 puberty-ing girls put together in one small house? A lot of noise, that is.

My friend’s mother was already there when I arrived, thank god. Otherwise I might really have to send myself to that drinking station and arrive at the party drunk.

Now that won’t really be a good example to the future parents, will it?

on misplaced frugality

I need to have my hair done. They also said I need a change of wardrobe…maybe a blouse with ruffles of girly things because I dress like a boy and it’s a waste for my beautiful face.

I’ve dressed like this for as long as I can remember.

But I can’t. I really can’t. The last time i got tired of tying my hair i cut it real short -- wash and wear. I can’t possibly imagine myself dishing out 200 bucks for a cheap hair relax or a 20-minute hot oil and I think 5000 bucks for hair rebonding is insanity, just as spending a good 2-5 hours of a beautiful in the salon just to get a hair done. my! I could finish 2 good movies with that. i could even train kilometers and kilometers in running with that luxury of time so I could never imagine being holed out in a salon for 2-5 hours? Are you crazy??

They say we all need shrinks so maybe these salon goers trust their hairstylists could give them their well-needed self confidence just as psychotics trust their shrinks. Ahh. I’ve been through that and rarely—I mean never, never--did I give mine my trust.

So what’s with this war against vanity? I cared less about it until I was stood up and left empty handed by such madness, which happened a handful of times, and still bitter about it but well, what can you say about somebody trading you for a good hair makeover? A bitter laugh and life goes on. Or maybe a bottle of red horse with alfredo b. diaz…who last night took back his offer—AT THE LAST MINUTE, ARGGGGG!!!---for a bottle of tanduay ice; the houseboss has given his permission!! i can escape!! I will escape!!! But what the F. he took it back anyway and I’m back to doing THE list for a possible mix cd again. Damn. (Now liz phair’s F*** and Run is playing in my head again. AND IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT.)

Making a mix tape than going to a salon…hmmm?? (now really. I should stop this.)

What my acquaintances don’t understand is why I could readily dish out 5000 bucks for a pair typical hiking shoes. In fact, if I had the money I would anytime dish out 100k or even 200k for a good tent, or a good bike. I wouldn’t mind spending 10k for a pair of running shoes. I also wouldn’t mind spending 5-6 figures for a good camping bag. Or dslr. Or the same figure for really good food and good time with friends. But hey, do you have to pay friends to spend time with you…uhhh… so maybe that is why I was stood up before…because I didn’t have money to pay for their time…? Hmmm… Maybe I’m not given chance to get this kind of money because I’m crazy enough to spend it on things people don’t think is essential.

Well…hair rebonding isn’t essential. I don’t think it is.

If I had the luxury of time I wouldn’t mind spending the whole day on volleyball or spending the entire morning running. i wouldn’t mind spending the entire weekend on movie marathons and I don’t mind staying up late with friends for a conversation or two. And with you. I also wouldn’t mind spending my entire adulthood learning, constantly going back to school; or reading books. I haven’t had the luxury of reading a good novel or a good story since I got out of college, it’s mostly reading done while waiting for the dentist, waiting for the obstetrician, waiting for my number to be called, waiting for a delayed flight, a latecomer boyfriend, waiting for the test results, waiting, waiting, waiting. When the waiting is done I close the book even if I’m in the middle of a good conversation or narrative and the thought ends.

This weekend we’re going to have Teeth and YPF (I’m not gonna tell you what that means). I’m done with Run Fat Boy Run but I found out it was the movie we saw just last weekend also, at Movie Magic so no use watching it again although I’d say I enjoyed it pretty much especially since it’s about running (you exercise bulimic! – NO I’m not!).

Certainly there's no salon (or say, parlor) visits in sight. But lemme check my diary – NO!!! I’m just kidding.

school

Last night when i made Gogol choose his sleepwear he insisted on wearing his long-sleeved spiderman shirt. i tried to trick him into wearing the usual tanktop but when i put it on him he shouted "'man! 'man! 'man!".

he slept well with his spiderman shirt on, sans pajamas, but not with the usual scream of wanting more milk.

today we woke up early to prepare for a big day. there's a much bigger day to come but that won't be until next week and requires more intensive preparation. he was half asleep when i carried him downstairs but not without his permission. i carefully told him what i will do...i will put him on the mattress downstairs with lots of pillows on and a bottle of milk and he must go back to sleep while i cook breakfast. he, of course tried diligently to follow my instructions but when he saw me opening the fridge and putting the vegetables on the table, knives, chopping board and all, he got up and asked to sit on my lap.

maybe someday he'll be a chef.

when i finished he helped gather the bits and pieces meant for the trash so i carefully taught him how to do it. he also insisted i put a chair for him to stand on in the kitchen so he can see what i was cooking. i was cooking some chinese stir-fried noodles with scarmbled eggs for breakfast. he loves noodles...all kinds, egg, vermicelli, pasta...name it he'll eat it.

now why are we up early again?

ahh...

i heated some water for bath and asked gogol to bathe with me...at 6:30 in the morning.

this could be one of the earliest bathing time he had, the first was last december 29, 2008, at PGH. it was difficult for me to wake him up at 5:30 and ask him to take a bath. i didn't know what was coming all i knew was that i have to bathe him hours before his 9:00 am operation. it was sad recalling that. i told him a story while i washing his small hands and feet. i told him that it will be the first and only operation he'll ever go through. it turned out okay but a fistula developed 2 months after the operation. we have to have it repaired again. he still didn't know that.

today i bathe him early because at 8:30 he'll visit his playschool. today is his enrollment day. today he'll meet his teacher and see his classroom and familiarize himself with the university environment. his playschool is a child-minding center for the university employees but they can also accept kids of non-university employees (i.e., alumni????) for as long as the parents can threatened some UP employee to be their co-maker. nah, i was only kidding.

today gogol made his presence known by visiting tita ira at the gender office before proceeding to the senator miriam santiago 12M building adjacent to the footbal field.

unfortunately, his mother failed to change the slot reservation to morning from afternoon. gogol won't have to take early morning baths after all.

pondering on things

Babies, they said, should be thought the rhythms and patterns of daily life so they will be less confused and less afraid of the things around them. They said that babies need to learn these patterns to make life more predictable for them; the more predictable life is, the easier it is to deal with, the less stressful. Therefore happier babies.

Babies who are allowed to explore and learn these patterns on their own grow up to be more confident individuals while those who were forced to learn the patterns and structures end up mama’s boys…but that is another story.

But I guess the learning never stop when an individual stops becoming a baby.

it is almost the same as in planning. a place that shows more or less a pattern in the, say, in its citizens’ activities are easier to understand, therefore easier to control. Meanwhile places who show sporadic and varied activities here and there require more effort to predict and therefore harder to plan. In the first world cities you can almost predict the rush hour because you know that at that certain hour almost all people go to work. In third world cities there could be no rush hour because very few people go to work. Oh, I almost forgot; there can be rush hour too: SM sale. But that doesn’t happen everyday.

I guess in a way, this predictability is easier seen in developed countries where unemployment rate is significantly lower and where citizens know where their hard earned money go and the rights that go with those hard earned money.

With a predictable environment, it is harder to get lost or should that happen, it is almost easier to find your way back than ask somebody for directions. One acquaintance said that if you get lost in their city (yes, it’s a first world city), you can always find your way back without asking a soul since there are phonebooths in almost every corner. These phonebooths are equipped with maps and all. If you get lost in their city and can’t find your way back that will only mean you have an IQ of the platypus (sorry, platypi, but this is just a joke stolen from k. smith). in a predictable environment the consequence of your action is easier known as in a predictable environment, 1+1 would always equal to 2.

But 1+1 could equal to just about anything in the philippines. It is very apparent by the way the loading/unloading signs change positions week after week as if they grow feet of their own when nobody's looking. you get off at this station today and by tomorrow it's already illegal to get off in the same station. in a predictable environment you can always ask somebody to explain those kind of things to you because you know who to get answers from but in the philippines, you just scratch your head and let it go. everything can be answered by the 8-hour sleep.

very few people enjoy these unpredictability. tourists hate it. Except maybe for that first-world-citizen acquaintance of mine. powerful countries send their experts and consultants to provide counter measures against these inconvenience; to help erase the fluidity and the unpredictability in the lives of the filipino. they teach the filipinos how to do this and that so it would result into something less confusing and easier to understand. Easier to conquer.

I hated these inconveniences before because I wanted so much a predictable world. a world or pattern. I would like a world that would tell me the consequence of my action but I realized in the end how boring that world is. I don’t want to live in a clockwork world. Diaz wouldn’t want to live in a clockwork, predictable world and without Diaz, the world would be a sad sad sad one. I perhaps wouldn’t be able to read the BIR experience post from a blog. I don’t think joyce colon would wack her brains out deciphering the ineptitude that is GSIS.

Now, that’s what I call nationalism.

mix tapes...este MIX CD

in the tradition of latest late night and earliest early morning writing spree: 11:54 pm. 2009.03.26. (happy 26 months gogol!!)

BREAK UP MIX CD FOR VANESSA

This has been a favorite activity of mine long before playlists in digital players existed. This is how you make a playlist before: you get a blank cassette and fill it up with the music of your choice, different cassette for different mood.

And sometimes you give it to a friend who can relate or somebody you want to make a good impression to.

Right now I am helping a friend go through some tumbles so I promised to make a mix CD for her.

It began during our few exchanges through a social networking site of sad sad song lines so (INSERT SOME LIGHT BULB HERE, a 10-watt, tungsten lamp, maybe) I decided to make one: a mix cd of break up songs.

In 2005, keith and I (well, he arranged the song orders after I gave him a bunch of songs form my own roster and that somehow makes him the actual author of the mix cd, and insisted I abide by that code of ethics of proper recognition) made a mix CD for our friend to give to a girl he was courting. Unfortunately, it didn’t turn out to be so exclusive to him or the girl since we, after a while, made a similar record of that mix cd and gave it to alfredo diaz. Alfredo Diaz is a lovable person suffering from alopecia. But he has a long curly goatee, which is not alopecia-c somehow. His goatee amazes our 2-year old boy. It tickles him touching it, I guess. It feels like pubic hair, only that the hair grows on his chin and not on some crotch. Feel it to believe it. Touch it when you see him.

That 2005 mix cd was called BIG GAY HEART, after a lemonhead’s song. Personally I think keith chose the title because our friend was so TORPE, it’s almost gay. In alfredo’s case, the whole phrase fit him really well. He is gay and he has a big heart – I MEAN HIS HEART IS BIG AND GAY, or to put it properly, HE’S JUST A PERSON WITH A BIG HEART AND ALWAYS GAY. Or something like that. It’s a little confusing but let me know if it confuses you in more than one way.

In 2007, we again decided to make one mix cd for alfredo. I didn’t intend to give it on his birthday but there wasn’t much time and we only got to meet on his birthday. It doubled as birthday gift and a ritual offering to him. LIFE IS MELANCHOLY was the title of the mix cd. You see, judging by the title alone it really wouldn’t fit as a birthday gift. Remember, alfredo has a big gay heart. Although if you ask him, he’d always say he is sad. He loves to feel sad for other people to the point of being funny. It’s a mannerism of some sort that he can’t shake off. And that actually makes him the BIG GAY HEART.

We ate some really sweet cake on his birthday, played some songs, were introduced to some bunch of friends, mingled in small groups: there’s the dining table group, the porch group, the living room set group, the near-the-book-case-group, the small near-the-piano-group (which was my group), and the even smaller late-comers group. Then at 10 pm it was time to go home because I had to feed the 1 year old gogol.

Keith and I said we would make it a ritual to annually give alfredo a mix cd until we get tired of making one or until this cd technology disappears into oblivion but because alfredo got caught up in being a zarzuela director, I, being a japayuki mother to gogol, and keith being a major plumber I was only able to make a shortlist of about 10 songs to the next installment, supposed to be a 2008 mix CD, still left un-arranged and un-burned. So unready for reproduction. The set was supposed to be called LIFE IS PRETTY and would contain happier tracks. But the august (and everything after) activities were never repeated, as very usual of alfredo because he’s just plain ABNORMAL and doesn’t want any activity to come in regular intervals, more so this one group turn into some crazed cult-y clique. So it stopped and he never replied to my SMS and never answered my calls more so return them.

I would bump into him from time to time and he would scowl at me. That’s just him.

But I know he continues to adore me.

The third of the series of 3 was supposed to be like LIFE IS SO FUCKING AWESOME that sort of collection but up to now I still haven’t thought of any decent title or made any decent list of the possible songs to be included in the ONE HELL OF A MIX CD he’ll remember for the rest of his alopecia-c life. (Somebody once made a mix cd of me and entitled it JERILEE MASSIVE MUSIC MIX. It’s 12 gig worth of songs if it’s not really massive I don’t know what is).

So on the Lenten holiday I will make Vanessa a mix cd she’ll also remember for the rest of her life. Because that’s the only thing I’m really good at. One thing that I really mastered:

Making people feel good about themselves.

(Which I believe makes me a God then. Now, I should really stop doing this to myself).