tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21985728263928325052024-02-02T16:54:07.606+08:00House on the Beacha new lease on bliss :)taraftseringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13547209359004155941noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2198572826392832505.post-16261415090857893392011-01-29T13:00:00.007+08:002011-03-07T14:12:15.988+08:00"To Map-making!"<span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" >There's a scene in Anthony Minghella's visually exquisite "The English Patient", based on Michael Ondaatje's book of the same title, that I can't forget.<br /><br />Katherine, played by Kristin Scott Thomas, is with the crew of men made rugged and even cuter by the desert: the would-be patient played by Ralph Fiennes; her husband, played by Colin Firth; and a few others. They're all gathered by the campfire, wrapped in blankets to keep warm against the desert's nighttime chill, and passing the time with wine (or maybe whiskey) and telling each other stories. After some round of speculative fiction they come to tales of adventure and daring into unmapped territories — it may have been their jobs were to the map the North African region and its nearby deserts. This is all so hazy as its been a while since I'd seen that movie but I remember vividly that towards the end of that scene, they all make a toast: "To map-making!" someone says, raising a glass. And in the darkness, their faces glowing by the light of the campfire, the rest echo him, "To map-making!" and raise their glasses as well.<br /><br />At a time and place when so much was to be discovered, and that the only thing you were guaranteed on any attempt to do so was that there would be danger, this strikes me as a beautiful and romantic statement to make. A seemingly throwaway toast with a world of pioneering adventure and history-in-the-making attached to it. I would have loved to be around that desert campfire somewhere in the North African Sahara, in the closing month of World War II, taking a break from literally mapping a place otherwise relatively unknown to the rest of the world.<br /><br />I'm remembering it today because in two hours I'm going to make a different kind of map, one better suited to my life and times and circumstances: I am me, I live in a city, and these days most of my hourly challenges aren't about whether not a lion will leap at me from a bush (not that I ever really had to worry about that, even in the old days).<br /><br />In two hours I'm going to make a map of the year ahead with two girls, Luz and Pinky, both of whom I deeply admire for their sense of daring and adventure. I can't share their stories because those are theirs to tell, but I will say this: they've dared travel far and wide, and dug deep wherever they went.<br /><br />Instead of a desert we will be in the cool confines of a coffee shop in Burgos Circle, The Fort. And instead of campfire, maybe a little afternoon fondue. But there will be coffee and there will be tales to tale. And places and lives to be mapped out.<br /><br />Another drawing/mapping/visualizing day. These are the things that make me really happy. Happy Saturday, world!<br /></span>taraftseringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13547209359004155941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2198572826392832505.post-14998139927851293822011-01-28T10:43:00.002+08:002011-01-28T11:05:50.168+08:00Another Night, Another Dream<span style="font-size:85%;">Woke up several times in the night after what seemed like episodes of a dream.<br /><br />At 3:30 I woke up from a somewhat stressful one — there had been an earthquake, a very strong one and long one, that started to bring down the buildings across the park. Then all of a sudden, the ceiling above me began to cave in. There were two sisters with me in the apartment, and I grabbed them both towards the balcony so we could escape. I pushed one out, but a slab of cement blocked me when I tried to make my exit. She then had to slip a hand through the crack so the other sister and I could emerge. When it was over, we were relieved to have survived, and saw that the earthquake had damaged only four floors — the 14th to the 19th — of one side of the building. The other side was not as lucky. While the skeleton still stood, everything had been gutted. It seemed like the aftermath of a fire more than an earthquake.<br /><br />Then was another dream, a completely different one, and all I remember of it is one scene. I was drawing on a large table inside a warehouse and across me was a friend. She was busy doing something as well. Then in came through the large doors a person for whom I've been angry with for the better part of last year but for whom I'd been feeling a bit magnanimous towards lately, as though in my bones he's been forgiven. He came in and started to apologize; but the friend I was with started mouthing off a litany of his transgressions and calling him names. It was then that he started to back off and leave, and it was then that I started to suspect that if he hadn't been interrupted with a landslide of accusations, I would have been satisfied with the closing of that chapter. I stared wide-eyed at the friend who was still talking, half-wanting to yell, "Shut up now!"<br /><br />I'm going to have to do something to keep up with all these dreams loaded with meaning. My subconscious seems to be working overtime, delivering messages to my conscious brain.<br /><br />And there's the physical aspect. Before hitting the sack last night I was still reeling from overeating. Rissa treated me and R to a steak dinner at the Highlands Steakhouse in Mall of Asia. Rissa and I had halved a serving of a rib-eye, but still, with the soup, salad and side dishes, plus a bottle of beer, it was a bit too much. We had to have a round of coffee before going home and even then I felt stuffed to near-vomit point. This is really no way to eat and I was reluctant to sleep feeling that round. I dozed off close to midnight anyway and the dreams began.<br /><br />It's common knowledge that stuffing your face bears down heavily on your liver and pancreas, and that lots of men starting in their thirties die of pancreatitis, their deaths chalked up as bangungot. And once in Siquijor, a faith healer/masseur named Junel told me that, judging from my muscles and joints, I had to pay more attention to my pancreas.<br /><br />Warning bells? Note to self: heed them, please.<br /><br /><br /></span>taraftseringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13547209359004155941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2198572826392832505.post-13967849795837461092011-01-27T17:18:00.002+08:002011-01-27T17:24:48.683+08:00What Drives You?<span style="font-size:85%;">More from the dream world:<br /><br />Some nights ago I dreamt that I was driving a Hummer, or something that looked and felt like one, big and bulky and occupying too much space on the road. When it came time to park, I couldn't do it, simply because the hulk of metal couldn't fit into any of the available spaces. I tried and tried to find the spot where I could fit, to no success. And I felt frustrated; frustrated that my vehicle was too big and thus I couldn't finally stop and get on with my business.<br /><br />My dream discussion partner was quick to google and report back with: driving a car or a vehicle in dreams is related to how much control you are able to exercise over the direction of your life.<br /><br />Then last night I had another dream. This time it was my sister who announced that she was going to drive us somewhere, and I yelled, "Shotgun!" My brother, therefore, had to climb into the back. And I was surprised that my sister could drive confidently and with ease, deftly maneuvering the steering wheel as we backed out of a driveway. Suitably awed, I asked her with a small voice, "Is it scary to drive?" And she said, "No, as long as you know what you're doing."<br /><br />Sige, interpret. Process. Kape.<br /></span>taraftseringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13547209359004155941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2198572826392832505.post-79881934571904054932011-01-27T13:02:00.005+08:002011-01-27T14:06:18.271+08:00Think Big<span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" >But of course, right? I've been advised many times by as many people to think big, imagine the larger picture, and to work with that frame of mind, but never has it been so concretely demonstrated as by the unlikely group of people I've been talking to lately.<br /><br />I've been working on a writing project that requires me to sit and chat with a group of Chinese-Filipino businessmen all belonging to the same family on a regular basis. The subject of our interviews have little to do with business, but because they are all entrepreneurs, the codes the live by at work are the same that they keep to in general.<br /><br />While the father's aura teems with the magnanimity and cheerfulness of having lived a full life, the two sons are rather soft-spoken and more circumspect but no less charming. All of them are incredibly successful entrepreneurs in their own right — and I say this not by the size of their enterprise (so vast it's crazy and I would not be surprised if they own the building where I live, and maybe the entire block, among many others), but by the way their employees regard them with googly eyes. The employees appear to all be half-in-love with their bosses, and every word said about the top honchos is uttered with fondness.<br /><br />And here's one of the things all three of them keep repeating, along with "invest in the right people". Each of them has said with the same degree of conviction that the key to business success is to "think big", "see the flow of your work down line", "imagine how much it will grow and in what direction".<br /><br />"It's the same effort you put in," said one son. "Work is work. You're going to throw yourself into your passion anyway you must as well go for the big thing. Otherwise you'll just be wasting your time." This, they tell me, should be the mentality of your gut.<br /><br />You can start small but never downsize your ultimate goal. Sometimes, no matter how much I seem to run away from it, I am drawn to the entrepreneurial world, and the conduct of business strikes me as a dance, a kind of salsa, mixing calculated actions with instinctive moves.<br /><br />It's one thing to read this dictum in books, it's quite another to hear it from those whose lives have been made even large by adhering to it. It's one way of being. I'm beginning to really get it now.<br /></span>taraftseringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13547209359004155941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2198572826392832505.post-14496925396419745012011-01-24T17:10:00.009+08:002011-03-01T12:32:00.564+08:00Confronting Monsters Part I: It's Starting<span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" >Sunday morning I woke up with the memory of dream still clear in my head.<br /><br />I was in a church, and it seemed that there was a service going on because the pews were full, when in came flying sugbins, swirling overhead and making high-pitched screeching sounds, their mouths with small sharp and jagged teeth randomly snatching people by the head and throwing them away. I remember their burnt red and leathery skin, the long snout and the bat-like wings.<br /><br />I was scared, but not too scared I think. I had time to run for cover. I folded myself onto one of the steps of stairs so that my back was parallel to one step — that way I didn't stick out and thus couldn't be snatched away by the head. Later on, the blood-curdling pandemonium died down, with the demon dogs having been put to sleep (for some reason, they were laid on the cold marble floor and they were snoring, while everyone tiptoed quietly around them).<br /><br />So I googled this: demon dogs in dreams. Specifically, demon dogs in church in dreams. Remarkably, again, things came up. Apparently these symbolize fears and stresses, things that antagonize and wear you out. The fact that it happened in Church means that there's a moral dimension to these stresses, and that I've sought refuge in what I have faith in (congratulations, me, that's a call I really like).<br /><br />My dreams are certainly becoming more and more interesting, but first to address the fears that are haunting me like evil rabid dogs. They are there, and I know what they are, though I've not studied them and their full nature. But I know what they are, which is probably why, in the dream, I was fearful but not completely frightened. I had time to think and hide.<br /><br />So I decided to confront some of them, and taking R's advice to take on challenges in small manageable doses, I began to clean my home. Start with one thing, he says, or one corner. Good plan, yes?<br /><br />Sunday night, 11.30 PM, with five cups of coffee in me I began cleaning the coffee table — more specifically, the heap of things that doubled as a coffee table. Then I moved to my closet and cleared more drawers Then I moved to the floor. Wiped it clean with disinfectant, the whole of it. I moved furniture. I cleaned the bed. Dusted off the balcony. Worked on the bathroom. Cleared the countertops of the kitchen. It was 5 AM, and only then, when I was finally confronted with the mountain that could make a molehill of what I had cleaned and organized so far — my notoriously disorganized files — did I stop to think: This can't be what he meant by small doses, could it?<br /><br />I went to bed, happy that I had, at the very least, showed my inner sugbins some teeth. I slept a deep, dreamless sleep. And I woke up to a clean apartment, the cleanest it's ever been. Monsters: 0. Tara: 1. Yey!</span>taraftseringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13547209359004155941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2198572826392832505.post-59538483461057647372011-01-18T20:15:00.003+08:002011-01-18T20:22:29.260+08:00Starting Out Cold<div style="text-align: left;">It’s been very cold the past few days that I’ve gone through four or five light scarves and must now resort to jackets. I’m not the sort of person who can think in terms of degrees Celsius (and that’s something to remedy, I know), so by cold I mean that I now sleep without air-conditioning, and on some nights, if you can believe this, without the fan.<br /><br />I know from fifth grade science class that this is a Siberian wind, blowing across the planet and into the tropics. It’s not expected to last long and pretty soon, thanks to global warming, summer will be here with a vengeance. But there are conflicting reports: the local weather bureau predicts it will be a rainy summer although I’m hoping there will be some corner in this country that will be bright and sunny. There always is.<br /><br />For now my alone times have been spent sitting and typing away on my balcony with scarf around my neck and a hot cup of coffee beside my computer. I keep trying to get started on the things I’ve been meaning to write, especially since last Saturday’s lunch with Paolo, during which he explained his dissertation to me. The first chapter deals with developing an autotelic personality (my apologies to Pao if I may have inadvertently miscomprehended some parts). From what I understood, people with autotelic personalities enjoy the process of doing more than the end result of their work. This is what I think I do understand on an instinctive or primal level but cannot seem to realize in my brain, which is hardwired to produce things following a certain schedule.<br /><br />My head tells me that by middle of this year I should be done with my book, the one I’ve been meaning to complete for years. I've drawn up a plan, hammered out a schedule, and dug large dusty notebooks filled with notes and accumulated over the years. I have a habit of starting most pages with the date and place, and some reveal notebooks to be from as far back as ten years ago, written in random places such as...Davao...Boracay...Singapore.<br /><br />But I’m too preoccupied with other things that I can’t even clear out space in my day, or in my mind, to get to work. And in the end: curled up on couch, feet with cold toes tucked under me, DVD. Is procrastination part of the process (because I’m super enjoying that), or is it just the mental breakdown of a brain that can see the goal but not the way to it?</div>taraftseringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13547209359004155941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2198572826392832505.post-6521165036424650452011-01-17T00:26:00.003+08:002011-01-17T00:56:39.214+08:00Sunday Beside the Park<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTn8JhbvKVF52xHrNJblWqPfQKKc_jb9OYqmQ3dVHon_kd1iEb8cr7wdlQN_YGFNCuizSa-1iuNtWzGY37h6QLP1biD_M2WetHK9bffVM2NWrg0PqkWwTnzVLdlzlRPUorTqhZatCceMCL/s1600/Photo+86.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTn8JhbvKVF52xHrNJblWqPfQKKc_jb9OYqmQ3dVHon_kd1iEb8cr7wdlQN_YGFNCuizSa-1iuNtWzGY37h6QLP1biD_M2WetHK9bffVM2NWrg0PqkWwTnzVLdlzlRPUorTqhZatCceMCL/s320/Photo+86.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562822247819994050" border="0" /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></a><br />I live beside a small city park, 16 floors up. And about three weeks ago, after a year of living in this unit (coming to four years now in the same building) I finally cleaned up the balcony and set up a multi-purpose corner: for reading, writing, meditating. This morning it was for eating pasta and drinking coffee.<br /><br />I've been walking around the neighborhood hunting for new pockets of neighborhood bliss—a nice restaurant, a quiet coffee shop with a wonderful ambiance, a new deli with foodie finds, a day spa, or some kooky little school and office supplies store (who doesn't love Little Town? Plastic envelopes! Generic receipts! Carbon paper! Dragon paste!).<br /><br />And I've made some new and not-so-new discoveries. There's Upper East on Tordesillas St, a hop-skip from the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, the cutest restaurant on the block with weird operating hours. If I catch it open, will take photos and you'll see why. Then there's the FedEx along San Agustin St in a somewhat rundown building that screams Who Knew There Was a FedEx Here?! (this matters to people like me, who rarely mail out parcels but highly appreciate the idea of being near a place that can do it in the unlikely event that I may need to do it).<br /><br />But the best discovery is the one that's been sitting under my nose this whole time. My amazing balcony. I haven't really hung out much in it so am making up for lost time. The only time I extracted my ass from the balcony chair was for about two hours towards the end of the day when I walked to Greenbelt, shopped at Watson's, then headed back.<br /><br />I go to sleep now a happy girl from having had a nice Sunday beside the park, 16 floors up.<br /><br />Goofy night to everyone!<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH8onwiEPiujI__dPuqqc8fLYasM4gOXv7q1IBr1hPEhHzKG4ZkzbUBvhKbDcV3dTFjdoTshf1prac9Qch4O2OuxGNHO1X1gywuxM3izUpxWQS7WFEr_43XyMa6s5WtG1eR8GY1C0RBQeT/s1600/Photo+81.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH8onwiEPiujI__dPuqqc8fLYasM4gOXv7q1IBr1hPEhHzKG4ZkzbUBvhKbDcV3dTFjdoTshf1prac9Qch4O2OuxGNHO1X1gywuxM3izUpxWQS7WFEr_43XyMa6s5WtG1eR8GY1C0RBQeT/s320/Photo+81.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562822242826860370" border="0" /></a><br />And this is me signing off. Really.taraftseringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13547209359004155941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2198572826392832505.post-53623014690088751132011-01-12T14:21:00.007+08:002011-01-12T14:55:58.187+08:00Thanks, and Thanks Again<div style="text-align: right;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" >I've received a load of loving from the Universe these past few days, and I'm giggling and giddy from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes.</span><br /><br /><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" >I'm pretty sure there are other little things I ought to be saying "Thanks" for but that I'm overlooking, but because the big things are truly big, let me clue you in on one of them.</span><br /><br /><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" >Shall we play a round of Guess What? Here goes: Guess what...I'm going somewhere far in July. Like, Google-what-the-weather-would-be-like-there-in-July <span style="font-style: italic;">far</span>.</span><br /><br /><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" >And guess what? I'll be traveling with a good friend with whom I've been spending a lot of fun times lately. As in, drink-two-bottles-of-wine-and-laugh-your-head-off-in-the-balcony-until-five-am <span style="font-style: italic;">fun</span>.</span><br /><br /><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" >You don't get many opportunities like this one, travel to an intriguing destination and have someone there to process the paradigm-shift of a culture exposure with. So thanks, and thanks, and super thanks!</span><br /><br /><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" >Oh and guess what...the trip? It's free. And from what I hear, it's going to be all style from arrival to departure.</span><br /><br /><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" >Huuuuuggggs Universe!!!</span><br /></div><br /></div>taraftseringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13547209359004155941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2198572826392832505.post-73986842513799033992011-01-07T02:43:00.001+08:002011-01-07T02:51:44.747+08:00I Heart Eddie Vedder"Better Days"<br /><br />I feel part of the universe open up to meet me<br />My emotion so submerged, broken down to kneel in<br />Once listening, the voices they came<br />Had to somehow greet myself, read myself<br />Heard vibrations within my cells, in my cells<br />Singing, "Ah-la-ah-ah, ah-la-ah-ah"<br /><br />My love is safe for the universe<br />See me now, I'm bursting<br />On one planet, so many turns<br />Different worlds<br />Singing, "Ah-la-ah-ah, ah-ah-ah-ah, ah"<br /><br />Fill my heart with discipline<br />Put there for the teaching<br />In my head see clouds of stairs<br />Help me as I'm reaching<br />The future's paved with better days<br /><br />Not running from something<br />I'm running towards the day<br />Wide awake<br /><br /><object width="330" height="273"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/qqIVSdTG4vE&hl=en&rel=0"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/qqIVSdTG4vE&hl=en&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="330" height="273"></embed></object><br /><object width="330" height="200"><embed src="http://lyrics.stlyrics.com/lyrscroll.swf?page=http%3A//www%2Estlyrics%2Ecom/lyrics/eatpraylove/betterdays%2Ehtm" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" width="330" height="200" name="lyrscroll" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="never" allownetworking="all"></embed></object><br /><a href="http://www.stlyrics.com" target="_blank">Lyrics</a> | <a href="http://www.stlyrics.com/lyrics/eatpraylove/betterdays.htm" target="_blank">Eddie Vedder - Better Days lyrics</a>taraftseringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13547209359004155941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2198572826392832505.post-88897926006894028642011-01-01T13:56:00.003+08:002011-01-01T15:08:28.757+08:00Restart, Reboot :)<span style="font-size:85%;">I love New Year's. As much as anyone who might kneel in gratitude over a much-needed second chance and clean slate.<br /><br />But I think I'm finally done with mental lists of resolutions I always just forget about three months in.<br /><br />Instead, I'm looking forward to drawing and visualizing, although perhaps today not with my usual drawing partners, most of whom live elsewhere. Maya lives in Singapore but is in New Zealand for the holidays; Apol, Ms Provenciana, lives in the south of France with her hubby and little one-year-old tornado also known as Lilou. Will try to get a hold of Tony, who might be busy with holiday DJ duties.<br /><br />Today I have my large sketchbook and colored pens and will plan to draw with R. I've never drawn with him, and sharing a first session with someone is always the most thrilling. You never know what people will draw, what they will reveal about themselves, or what they will choose to share about their aspirations, and am looking forward to being surprised.<br /><br />As for myself I'm going to try to think harder about my drawing and see what should change. For the past several years, since Maya, Apol and I started this drawing tradition (at a corner table in 90 Proof along Emerald Avenue in Ortigas), I've been drawing the same elements representing beachside bliss, bounty in all areas of life, lots of travel, and chart-busting books to my name. There is also of course the figure of the beloved: years ago, the stick figure lounged on a beach chair with the name of his company stuck to his head (so the universe can make no mistake about it); then he started appearing on the balcony of my beach house. Let's see where he ends up in this year.<br /><br />We've gotten much of what we've imagined we would receive, and for that I am truly grateful to the winking humor and the outright generosity of the universe. Today I am ready for more. Bring it, 2011!<br /><br /><br /></span>taraftseringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13547209359004155941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2198572826392832505.post-89134041461057359922010-08-20T18:34:00.005+08:002010-08-20T22:05:30.283+08:00Bondat Ka 'Day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIejMrFgQAMnxoKof3_Qq1fqR6ruvb8iUpwuRuENjTCZHe8vS-pbMWJ_-BqT9Rvu7RJUnfjD15NyXot7BsGYnV5m80nJYtqJIii6AdgwocbSijuHBEEwgREmLSY4l4j_KXe1csXpz4hTDz/s1600/IMG_3125.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIejMrFgQAMnxoKof3_Qq1fqR6ruvb8iUpwuRuENjTCZHe8vS-pbMWJ_-BqT9Rvu7RJUnfjD15NyXot7BsGYnV5m80nJYtqJIii6AdgwocbSijuHBEEwgREmLSY4l4j_KXe1csXpz4hTDz/s320/IMG_3125.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507492154750420674" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-VDrMCy2zMPtHjihOrw93BIMyrBF3tc0IVdItEXA30PpSkzMan6xne0wtDE0IdNQ0n2Vwqye8kBeYpE46NgiIgSvXeAkcjXRnl9Yp4tvqLb6e9kwrhTMYTZ5OQ4Op-86yGS7bA_ooGNzg/s1600/IMG_3117.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-VDrMCy2zMPtHjihOrw93BIMyrBF3tc0IVdItEXA30PpSkzMan6xne0wtDE0IdNQ0n2Vwqye8kBeYpE46NgiIgSvXeAkcjXRnl9Yp4tvqLb6e9kwrhTMYTZ5OQ4Op-86yGS7bA_ooGNzg/s320/IMG_3117.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507492143202162322" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7bGaAH97ngRqLtBsJbU50tqqoclVkEdnZH9eqh1ey3igWc1Q6rshj4GWwWC80W2GWkyut-Od3JBW9jvGgWUD6-XFRs92pvMTR7AOC4lmnXjwTewnYVNmvTiMnNW4ff8_Pkcrd3K2OHPmn/s1600/IMG_3109.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7bGaAH97ngRqLtBsJbU50tqqoclVkEdnZH9eqh1ey3igWc1Q6rshj4GWwWC80W2GWkyut-Od3JBW9jvGgWUD6-XFRs92pvMTR7AOC4lmnXjwTewnYVNmvTiMnNW4ff8_Pkcrd3K2OHPmn/s320/IMG_3109.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507492136297778850" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEJoee_sESID9Cz0jgUN7FGrEJ-dL3hgc0-xK7TcIbSFHcaRKFInwy4ED4u5YUY6_TPnnxYFraNqgV82mbBOHXPd-N5SJLBE6K2-1WrctUEbT5ai7iblFlacBkUkKDr6_061QZK1eQE6iF/s1600/IMG_3103.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEJoee_sESID9Cz0jgUN7FGrEJ-dL3hgc0-xK7TcIbSFHcaRKFInwy4ED4u5YUY6_TPnnxYFraNqgV82mbBOHXPd-N5SJLBE6K2-1WrctUEbT5ai7iblFlacBkUkKDr6_061QZK1eQE6iF/s320/IMG_3103.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507492134041128722" /></a><br />The last time Mabi and I hung out, we polished off two bottles of alcohol — a Sauvignon Blanc and a bottle of Champagne. It was no one's birthday and no one's anniversary, just another random day of the week, and still, because we were living it, it deserved Champagne. <br /><br />And again, last night, celebrating nothing at all, we popped open a bottle of Two Oceans Shiraz and over the course of the evening loaded up on a lovely chilled salsa that I whipped up (pat on the back, yes), wafer crackers loaded with tuna pate (from Madrid, courtesy of Mabi) and topped with capers, Spanish sardines (also from Madrid) and black rice. <br /><br />Also on the table: Gouda cheese and cream cheese.<br /><br />We discovered that wine and words courtesy of the Dalai Lama are a good mix. Wine opens the heart, and the wisdom of the universe by way of the Dalai Lama speak to it.<br /><br />Busog on many levels :)taraftseringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13547209359004155941noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2198572826392832505.post-23401637469361551242010-08-17T03:01:00.006+08:002010-08-17T03:12:24.997+08:00In Bed with Oprah<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigA26jZehtb_vlVpmCezGpifOWsg4LWMCTLAzDN6IL6gCB6AK0D5_HxCHMLjNoMoxSJQZ9cH5bE1HPyzKf4q4xWo5INVSKgUv7xVEWo8jf44xNBpY7ijvh75wfY4hHwEiIRNhjd8NilVLh/s1600/Photo+87.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigA26jZehtb_vlVpmCezGpifOWsg4LWMCTLAzDN6IL6gCB6AK0D5_HxCHMLjNoMoxSJQZ9cH5bE1HPyzKf4q4xWo5INVSKgUv7xVEWo8jf44xNBpY7ijvh75wfY4hHwEiIRNhjd8NilVLh/s320/Photo+87.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506086832994604658" /></a><br />It's official: I am a blog-aholic. <br /><br />It's 3:02 am on my computer clock and here I am, blogging, eager to share my latest small triumph (no triumph is too small to ignore in this beach house!).<br /><br />I have put on fresh sheets on my bed and they feel and smell wonderfully clean. It's almost too good to fall asleep in right away, and after savoring the clean by making imaginary angel wings with my arms and legs on the fabric, I've piled on the reading.<br /><br />First stop, Oprah's O Magazine, the 10th anniversary edition, May 2010. Picked it up on my way home from Singapore last May (I always need to just buy something, anything, at the Changi Newslink), rifled through it on the plane, but never actually got to sink into the couch and enjoy reading it. <br /><br />So here I go, headlong into special section called "What's Next for You?" Yey! How appropriate ;)taraftseringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13547209359004155941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2198572826392832505.post-22796675291757250412010-08-16T17:52:00.004+08:002010-08-16T18:04:39.655+08:00Available Light<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP93s62wvuuWGu5uU2_OnAgr5VpXLmg0DOUWZolSTiN68la09yO1t1IxAcTvnKdBJmD6HqQYc3r-qvpb9XIPEv_3LQlH8sb_jOSj-jut8EEyXBXZkn-ugOmqHCpgeQh9NQ9z_KepFZjv41/s1600/IMG_2549.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; <br />text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP93s62wvuuWGu5uU2_OnAgr5VpXLmg0DOUWZolSTiN68la09yO1t1IxAcTvnKdBJmD6HqQYc3r-qvpb9XIPEv_3LQlH8sb_jOSj-jut8EEyXBXZkn-ugOmqHCpgeQh9NQ9z_KepFZjv41/s320/IMG_2549.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505945684852346722" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ZIr44NcMYEjZK256agL-aSgi56OH2PspOwfCkCJQlUkBmlCk827bAZnAWhavSx5Ct-gY1KT60_rRbz9a9pmsRcv7obWe7YCMZWt5NmElgUR51aWxcUQJn1L1TiaTBJk5ejmSC1NL2MOK/s1600/IMG_2548.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ZIr44NcMYEjZK256agL-aSgi56OH2PspOwfCkCJQlUkBmlCk827bAZnAWhavSx5Ct-gY1KT60_rRbz9a9pmsRcv7obWe7YCMZWt5NmElgUR51aWxcUQJn1L1TiaTBJk5ejmSC1NL2MOK/s320/IMG_2548.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505945676647234226" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiITTZ36h63hLzVa3_-LA_19ub-bcWTNH4X9z5DcY9Zq51C-H0X_A0fyANq1Ogvhj4p8OsOKBGVssTeyDBI3rQrbKZqlhvtUVead6jvxB2cSZ5ZCqgZvTM1_3gYyFC4VdWhJv_70AKazrti/s1600/IMG_2527.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiITTZ36h63hLzVa3_-LA_19ub-bcWTNH4X9z5DcY9Zq51C-H0X_A0fyANq1Ogvhj4p8OsOKBGVssTeyDBI3rQrbKZqlhvtUVead6jvxB2cSZ5ZCqgZvTM1_3gYyFC4VdWhJv_70AKazrti/s320/IMG_2527.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505945671687402898" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDzXrCts401qDsV3JPMm7l3uqVikQejtZd0LXGFs-HpGaSDRQqZQe1OtGh6RlxOK6MgDjhCrTvmHEMCxEDOfI3nBtKqSNbhPjC5WyyBfJsfK36i8zPklJRk8e7IPzRlNyRx6Irn-dxKUW7/s1600/IMG_2501.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDzXrCts401qDsV3JPMm7l3uqVikQejtZd0LXGFs-HpGaSDRQqZQe1OtGh6RlxOK6MgDjhCrTvmHEMCxEDOfI3nBtKqSNbhPjC5WyyBfJsfK36i8zPklJRk8e7IPzRlNyRx6Irn-dxKUW7/s320/IMG_2501.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505945665219213010" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigJpKhN_5DGRiV4bE6jNTX0jl_UyWWkYxjOQGOmCMrNNSqPl7ziJu97-_3Kj_KaPqK-JfIxsZ40vQjS3PTodnYJrNvON8girGUTF3Jpqgc50ks5dI_I9SAAJsAlKPIRgAVynaHvcVBXwwc/s1600/IMG_2498.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigJpKhN_5DGRiV4bE6jNTX0jl_UyWWkYxjOQGOmCMrNNSqPl7ziJu97-_3Kj_KaPqK-JfIxsZ40vQjS3PTodnYJrNvON8girGUTF3Jpqgc50ks5dI_I9SAAJsAlKPIRgAVynaHvcVBXwwc/s320/IMG_2498.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505945657598123570" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSpp9-TKmjXvWIhoIX8fJKfUdsXij94BDjn4go6f_HrOg27WaLoYPKETgQyBtbK6KbvN5YaOG3fEaVfuzmkuMe4DFTgKulxIuU3B8v9xf1IvhW9n590e054mcFnHoH7yvABBsoh9uepzWw/s1600/IMG_2553.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSpp9-TKmjXvWIhoIX8fJKfUdsXij94BDjn4go6f_HrOg27WaLoYPKETgQyBtbK6KbvN5YaOG3fEaVfuzmkuMe4DFTgKulxIuU3B8v9xf1IvhW9n590e054mcFnHoH7yvABBsoh9uepzWw/s320/IMG_2553.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505943702797343522" /></a><br /><br />The self-portrait above was taken in the bathroom of the adjoining studios of artists Plet Bolipata and Elmer Borlongan in Casa San Miguel, Pundaquit, Zambales. <br /><br />It was sometime in late February this year and I had stolen away to the seaside town with fellow Baguio Workshop GROs (Girls of Room One), Rica and Mookie. As the rest of the photos show, it was a cozy weekend of comfort food and great conversations.taraftseringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13547209359004155941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2198572826392832505.post-44687981784483989672010-08-16T00:30:00.008+08:002010-08-16T22:14:39.450+08:00Retail Therapy Part 564, a.k.a. A Break from Deep Thinking<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhllcuz3E-bw7hzFnxARxwImJclsHw0_82MAzi_2rnm_MV_6kZvbuZT5jyx1c_S5Bf9gCqOkerQw6HRJJ21fm5e3m0oOfl7Ul65RY2mfgx-50zgxkejWxF16qr-5M3Xf1l-pXb1VRGFSp5-/s1600/IMG_3064.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhllcuz3E-bw7hzFnxARxwImJclsHw0_82MAzi_2rnm_MV_6kZvbuZT5jyx1c_S5Bf9gCqOkerQw6HRJJ21fm5e3m0oOfl7Ul65RY2mfgx-50zgxkejWxF16qr-5M3Xf1l-pXb1VRGFSp5-/s200/IMG_3064.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505941410269398898" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSyR7MeOjLHn3Ci8fLYPL30yvvecTC9zUCT3816_YIgzuf9PP0xgP2K0IEB13HaiR4Kh3g_1RTD3yBqlr316uAMiEbUTU1X2GQ4pfS1iYLzgY83jFidG5cqwax2smAE0cjGES3xlnAIGKr/s1600/IMG_3062.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSyR7MeOjLHn3Ci8fLYPL30yvvecTC9zUCT3816_YIgzuf9PP0xgP2K0IEB13HaiR4Kh3g_1RTD3yBqlr316uAMiEbUTU1X2GQ4pfS1iYLzgY83jFidG5cqwax2smAE0cjGES3xlnAIGKr/s200/IMG_3062.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505941402954798258" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGroqPXJ-jVVWCF8PCkybbM7ryu2ztEIAvx-jdgHoMSIDYT0GMW-vUhqdEIUgt9Hzv4IYCCN83OA1SJdoZuLe5tDNN8ZQcCYr65_hAHAiU4jlp7hSMRKFs30vRJW-6Xp-gZYXRai73rQsv/s1600/IMG_3077.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGroqPXJ-jVVWCF8PCkybbM7ryu2ztEIAvx-jdgHoMSIDYT0GMW-vUhqdEIUgt9Hzv4IYCCN83OA1SJdoZuLe5tDNN8ZQcCYr65_hAHAiU4jlp7hSMRKFs30vRJW-6Xp-gZYXRai73rQsv/s200/IMG_3077.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505940494625515666" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlaSW9gNTmAdlqHvuU9dGS29QLtU0G3LIZ0FkcPKVwAgmbMpsUfummFZmlwi54A9svE8oLZcmbGaxAdpECrVzZpiROLL1LozsmcN-loOp_-z9Iqmydz7cfAqV-o0UtJX-mSy35lQsEqyDt/s1600/IMG_3076.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlaSW9gNTmAdlqHvuU9dGS29QLtU0G3LIZ0FkcPKVwAgmbMpsUfummFZmlwi54A9svE8oLZcmbGaxAdpECrVzZpiROLL1LozsmcN-loOp_-z9Iqmydz7cfAqV-o0UtJX-mSy35lQsEqyDt/s200/IMG_3076.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505938999461157810" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3OSrDz1gDGyBT70EtcEb5VfpzHy7MqKhtMcTEfQwyS3cYxnubG57bBnrGwpw4fYEkaoTXBz0UAdquiOdddBQdBM0tJak0lMrq25D47dfzhECppoqxJQzkBBY2erZuVlSr0kHGRsrvw2Xf/s1600/IMG_3076.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; /IMG_3068.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5hPd9B9qEi-6gbW3w_f3d-bYf9bXwsIDQGSCiBMYyQBy3TJvEvYex-cc3aJbdwYnpDLSBzRhaAz8kVxr7v_i2dpaeZZz7kTgKCkn3VVXW9fSp3l_4ZwcVCJmGn_IW2JSvPBG4dL4SRC_N/s200/IMG_3068.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505938043517598562" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Top to bottom: Aah, lovely new books! The covers were so cute I had to photograph them against my yellow wall. Dory in white wine and herbes de Provence, with a lovely bottle called Gossips (yezzz). Cumpletos recados in my kitchenette :) </span><br /><br /><br /><br />Because the afternoon was overcast yet again, and because I’d been procrastinating all day, I felt an itch to go somewhere and buy something to rev up my energy. So when my friend Paolo, all the way from Scotland, told me to buy myself a book called <span style="font-style:italic;">The Elegance of the Hedgehog</span> by Muriel Barbery and bill him for it (thanks, Pao!), I very happily said, “Game!”<br /><br />So I hopped over to Fully Booked in Greenbelt 5 where I found the book, a lovely paperback edition with a striking blue and yellow cover. I also found two other pretty looking things on the sale table: Barbara Kingsolver’s <span style="font-style:italic;">Animal, Vegetable, Miracle </span>(about a year of eating only what’s been raised in the local neighborhood or what her family could grow), and Jennifer Haigh’s <span style="font-style:italic;">The Condition</span>. The sum of both books: P299! <br /><br />So that gave me a bit of a high. Having bought mind food, I decided to get something for my body. I left the mall’s boutique row with a basic striped sleeveless top from Warehouse, a pair of full-length leggings from Promod, and a bra from Calvin Klein. <br /><br />At this point, my appetite for buying had been suitably worked up. As with most satisfying activities, the more you shop, the more you can’t stop.<br />And the thing with having watched <span style="font-style:italic;">Julie and Julia</span> over and over (at least seven times in the past few days) is that it had built up my literal appetite. <br /><br />I entered Rustan’s with only a bunch of red tomatoes, ripe mangoes and sprigs of cilantro for a nice salsa in mind. Instead, I stumbled out of the grocery a bill that made my eyes flash and more plastic bags than I could handle. I had enough food to feed a family of five for a week, and then I remembered the reason why I had stopped shopping in Rustan's: inevitably, I would always buy more than I could chew. The bag boy had to hang them on to me. If, by some weird twist of events, I had stumbled over a bridge with those bags I would have sunk straight to the bottom of the sea. <br /><br />To make myself feel better, I decided to make a nice meal for myself with all the things I had bought. A year ago, in late July, I visited Apol in Provence and tasted what ranks among the best-tasting dishes I have ever had in my entire life. <br /><br />In a large pot, over an outdoor brick oven, Apol’s in-laws cooked mussels in a stew of butter, cream, white wine, olive oil, onions, garlic, rosemary and packets of herbes de Provence (I’m sure I’m missing some other key ingredients). I brought home some packets of that wonderful herbes de Provence to replicate the dish in Manila but have never gotten around to it until tonight.<br /><br />Instead of mussels, I cooked three filleted Dory fish with a glass of white wine and made a bowl of the stew. The rest of the wine I drank while leafing through the first few pages of my new book, wearing my new top (cheers, Pao!)<br /><br />Now I feel absolutely great ☺taraftseringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13547209359004155941noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2198572826392832505.post-13583914666345529812010-08-15T14:48:00.010+08:002010-08-16T15:32:19.023+08:00Decluttering and Declogging are De-lovely!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_W52a07-Ky7adunrbrDZYSlDdbcMoFc82KCLe520mdJBLhZGzLT4m7MngJL765MAyoj9cqfzTMx-kP_pPX48ze-qTuC5MLjLte8gZ10h3r3sRQI0sNIFEQbTH4Y_cFb2rlEYH_eVvJpYT/s1600/IMG_5942.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_W52a07-Ky7adunrbrDZYSlDdbcMoFc82KCLe520mdJBLhZGzLT4m7MngJL765MAyoj9cqfzTMx-kP_pPX48ze-qTuC5MLjLte8gZ10h3r3sRQI0sNIFEQbTH4Y_cFb2rlEYH_eVvJpYT/s200/IMG_5942.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505901013326979250" /></a><br />I suppose it's true — your surroundings reflect the state of your mind. For the past few years, my surroundings have always been a tumble of books, papers set aside to be sorted out one day, suitcases that have yet to be unpacked from some trip or other, and even more files that need to be organized.<br /><br />So I made a lazy Sunday list to make sure I don't enter a new week with my head still in a tangle.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">1. Organize computer desktop</span>. Every time someone sneaks a peek at my computer desktop they always let out an involuntary gasp. No fail. The second they see all file icons one on top of the other covering the entire screen, they wonder how I can I live and think this way, or how I can get anything done at all.<br /><br />I have always treated my computer desktop like a real table top. And in files as in life, out of sight is always out of mind, so I make sure I see what needs to be done so I don't forget about them. This is, I realize, counter-intuitive. If I see them all at the same time I feel overwhelmed and end up procrastinating. Not a good way to live.<br /><br />I made a little progress last night and now my screen is beautiful and spare, with blue folders neatly lined up on either side. What's in those folders is another story, but one thing at a time. Baby steps.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">2. Organize real desk.</span> My real desk these days is a glass half-moon with a metal stand that's a bit wobbly. It's not very inspiring to work on so I do most of my work on the kitchen table. This is also not good because that puts me within arm's reach of the small refrigerator, and I've been going through chocolate bars at an unusual speed. <br /><br />Now would have thought that a messy desk would lead to added poundage? Going by that logic, that everything IS interconnected (the principle behind karma), I could conceivably lose the chocolate-weight I've gained by decluttering and clearing up my desk and working there, away from the ref.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">3. Organize closet.</span> Now this I've done in as logical a manner as I could think of. Clothes for going out, clothes for staying home, clothes for exercising, clothes for work. I'm not the sort of person who can manage having a lot of clothes; most of my life I've had to live with very limited closet space, so I've learned to keep my wardrobe hardworking and lean. <br /><br />Here's the downside of a lean wardrobe: every time I need to go somewhere, I have to think hard if I'd worn the same outfit many times before. The usual answer is yes, and then I would have to get creative about mixing and matching or jazzing it up. Then I up pulling clothes out of the closet and tossing them on the bed, and returning home tired and ready to crash, and so make space for myself I inevitably scoop everything up and dump them in the closet.<br /><br />The upside is this: I am traveling light, as I've always imagined I would. I don't know why I feel this is a necessary thing, to be able to pack all my clothes in three large suitcases and no more, but it's a comforting thought.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"> 4. Organize books.</span> I've moved around so much and lost more than half of the books I've ever owned to the four winds. Once, when I was living in Singapore, I kept a neat row of my favorite titles at that time by my bedroom window in Pearl Bank. And then I left the window open and stepped out during which it rained and I returned home to find them all soaked and beyond saving. <br /><br />The lesson for me has always been to invest in something that would keep what you hold dear in a safe place. For books that means sturdy shelves, the ones that look nice, the ones that won't pepper the bottoms of upright books with yellow-orange spots. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">5. Organize kitchen.</span> Few people know this about me, but I like to cook (but cannot follow a recipe). I love cookbooks and actually own several good-looking ones, but the minute my eyes scan over to the recipes my lids become heavy with sleep and my mind wanders. It must be all the measurements and the numbers but yes I have to one day face this aversion. <br /><br />In any case, I own the essentials: pots and pans, spatulas, a good corkscrew, plates, mugs, silver, a French press and a coffee pot, a few sharp knives, a peeler that is also a fruit scrubber. <br /><br />I also own a few non-essentials that are nice to have anyway: a set of six demitasse with matching saucers that my mom gave me years ago, a metallic tea drain for loose leaf teas (but I don't really drink tea), and some large Pyrex trays that have no oven to go into.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">5. File papers.</span> This is by far the most challenging thing I might have to do. I have years and years worth of files and scraps of paper accumulated over the various incarnations of my life. The other day I found boarding pass stubs to and from Langkawi, Malaysia, for a trip I took in 2002. Weeks ago I was thrilled to discover that I've kept a stack of the original printouts of my first book, <span style="font-style:italic;">Getting Better</span>, with scribbled notes on the margins. <br /><br />Now the moment of truth has arrived: some of these bits and pieces of papers and CDs will just have to go and some can stay, but only after much deliberation.<br /><br />Do I still need them? Will I ever need them again?<br /><br />Are these pictures I want to see again? Ever?<br /><br />Are these really important? How important are they? And what does important mean, exactly?<br /><br />So yes, tonight I will be sleeping at 5 am. Wish me luck. <br /><br />There's so much work ahead but thinking that I have every intention of wading through it is getting me excited. It's like living with a clogged nose and head for years, and finally getting to breathe properly again. As Cole Porter once sang, "It's De-lovely".taraftseringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13547209359004155941noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2198572826392832505.post-8644424516714685912010-08-05T14:25:00.006+08:002010-08-05T18:08:11.311+08:00Thursday, 2 pm, M Cafe<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNjI78XCTgtfcbm8-40FPUymEzmTUHiq04qtKqm19Tpfs7ieQW5HHk1xONvLapMykIv-VGb1vu2WmFUYwxo7ka10Eqd9ZrUr8WzSBQvksctEhCGnUCXEMnUMq_zuUvOgP4DiGFi5H4OujE/s1600/Photo+89.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNjI78XCTgtfcbm8-40FPUymEzmTUHiq04qtKqm19Tpfs7ieQW5HHk1xONvLapMykIv-VGb1vu2WmFUYwxo7ka10Eqd9ZrUr8WzSBQvksctEhCGnUCXEMnUMq_zuUvOgP4DiGFi5H4OujE/s320/Photo+89.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501847957828364850" /></a><br />So the first casualty of the new construction — things that absolutely cannot go into my new sanctuary — are these large pillars of guilt that have crowded my old house. One of those large pillars around which the rest of my life used to revolve was marked WORK.<br /><br />Thus today I parked myself at a table at M Cafe with a laptop and a notepad and got some "work" done: I sat, plowed through a yummy Hainan Chicken Rice meal, gulped down two cups of rich, dark coffee, and drew. <br /><br />Nice way to spend a Thursday afternoon.taraftseringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13547209359004155941noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2198572826392832505.post-3176860585735687542010-08-03T02:38:00.008+08:002010-08-03T17:31:13.151+08:00The Dreaming Lives OnLast year I blogged about my dream bed, the one which I used to sleep in last year and the one that I blamed for many strange dreams. But I left it at that. <br /><br />Lately I’ve decided to pay more attention to my dreams. I wish I had done it sooner — looking back, it’s staggering how much my subconscious or unconscious was trying to tell me through dreams that were sometimes nightmares. I’ve found myself staring wide-eyed and horrified into space — while eating, while paying for my coffee at Starbucks (this alarms cashiers apparently), while in bed, waiting for sleep to come — whenever the memory of a dream returns. <br /><br />Needless to say I am on it, scouring sites and buying books (including Carl Jung’s “Dreams, Memories, Reflections"), but that’s another blog entry.<br /><br />For now, here’s a quick sampling of those dreams that I distinctly remember from last year:<br /><br />One night, I dreamt I had married someone and regretted it deeply. We lived in an apartment that was almost a literal box. As we sat down for a meal, I could feel my head graze the ceiling. And as I ate with my husband, I mentally drop-kicked myself for having done what I told myself I would never do. Then the air went thin and I couldn’t breathe. Then I woke up.<br /><br />Another night I dreamt that I wanted to say something but couldn’t. I tried to scream and yell but still nothing would come out. In frustration, I scratched my throat until it bled. Then I woke up (with my throat feeling scratchy).<br /><br />Still another night I dreamt of multi-colored flying snakes. They were flying through rooms and I, armed with a butterfly net, tried to catch them. I don’t remember netting any, but I still remember the feeling of excitement and determination in my bones.<br /><br />And yet another night, late last year, I dreamt an entire story. I was living in an island and all the animals in it got sick and so they had to be sent to the neighboring island for treatment. But one day the bears washed ashore, dead. The beach was littered with hundreds or maybe thousands of lifeless black rubber bears (think blackberry gummy bears), their flat noses crusty with the dry, yellowish traces of disease. <br /><br />I turn away and see that the tiger has returned, standing majestically on all fours aboard a bamboo raft, fur windblown. On another raft was the doctor, clad in a black trench coat. It was someone I knew. He stepped onto the edge of the pier and I, happy to see him, started to make my way towards him. But coming from behind me, running, was another girl in what I remember was a knee-length white floral skirt straight out of Laura Ashley’s sugar-sweet line. She sped past me, straight towards the doctor, and they hugged. And I thought to myself, “Oh. So it’s them.”<br /><br />These dreams have proven to be not so random and of course they are coded messages. The quick interpretations on websites have brought on a barrage of "Ohhhh...of course!" So here’s a rather fragmented one I had last Friday night, in my sisters’ room at my parents’ house. <br /><br />I am crossing the street tentatively because I know it is dangerous. Then out of nowhere, someone shoots a tiny bullet that hits my left cheek. The wound is barely perceptible but blood keeps oozing out of it like bright-red beads out of a pin-prick. Someone comes to help me onto a plush chair of a hotel lounge.<br /><br />Then in another scene I am on the first deck of a three-storey luxury cruise liner sailing through the sea. It’s nighttime and I am watching waves splash onto the wooden floor of the first deck that is now half-submerged. I ask my companion, the doctor in the old dream, “Is it supposed to do that?”<br /><br />Finally the cruise liner docks at a place called Thimpoo. “Thimpoo in Scandinavia” a local on the street tells me. I remember being amazed and feeling extremely happy, certain that it was where I truly belonged. I thought to myself, “This looks like a smaller, more quaint, and cleaner version of Prague” although I’d never been to Prague. It was a kind of wintry European scene and I remember being amazed at the technology of city cable cars. <br /><br />After strolling around town, I walk into a portside deli (and through the window I see the ship in the dock) and I realize that the clerk is Pinay. I tell her I love Thimpoo. With a good-natured wink, she tells me, “Masaya talaga dito sa Thimpoo” and throws in extra pastries and cheese in to my bag of purchases. <br /><br />I woke up thinking: Thimpoo. <br /><br />On Dang’s advice I’ve looked it up. Searching “Thimpoo+Scandinavia”, three links come up. Apparently it is some kind of a tool in Scandinavia, but the links don’t lead to anything that resonates.<br /><br />But Thimpoo, or Thimphu, is also the capital of Bhutan, a country I’ve always wanted to visit and live in. I'm almost certain that after I'd done what I've always wanted to do in the country, I'll have found something very precious. Call me crazy but this dream has revived an old dream of one day making the trip to Bhutan. <br /><br />Before the year is out, I promise you, I will have a plan for Bhutan. Thimpoo here I come.<br /><br />I've also looked up what sailing, ships and travel mean in dreams. "An emotional journey through the unconscious," says one site. "A journey to the next stage in life" says another. Still another says travel means that I am broadening my horizons and moving out of my comfort zone. Any which way it seems just about right, like all my past dreams have been.taraftseringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13547209359004155941noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2198572826392832505.post-7509408981947375862010-07-24T14:58:00.007+08:002010-07-29T00:41:19.480+08:00My New Beach House, My SelfIf you find yourself in this page, you are most likely a friend who's been here before, but not quite. <br /><br />Welcome to my new blog-home. I have a new address and a completed renovated site, leaving the old one — with its leaks, cracks, broken appliances, bad choices in furniture, and even worse choices in long-staying guests — to some cyberspace archive, to be revisited by me only when absolutely necessary (really stretching a metaphor here, so please bear with me).<br /><br />So I found this new home when the old one fell hopelessly apart (we are still in the metaphor, where we will be for quite some time :D). Thankfully, with the help of a lot of friends, family, real home-moving pros, and do-it-yourself books, I've learned to vacate that house that was no longer serving me well: windows and doors had become barred shut, leaving rooms to darkness and gloom, the garden untended, and the beach and the sea left out of sight. The rusty defenseless fence let all manner of barbarians through the gate to wreak more havoc on an already rickety structure. But thanks to them, it's become clear how truly inhospitable the old place was. <br /><br />And so: no longer a good place to live happily, no longer a place in which to grow freely. The old blueprint, while it no longer works, will serve as a benchmark of the ways of building and being that are worth keeping, and of those that need to be thrown away. <br /><br />This new house on the beach is still in the process of being built, and I do so with more care and mindfulness than ever before. It's a kind of eyes-wide-open construction project. Slower, more deliberate, lots of iced tea breaks along the way, and hopefully more soulful. <br /><br />The windows are high and wide, offering perfect views of sand, sea and sky, and the doors are left open to the good elements. The airy rooms are bathed in light throughout the day, and in my favorite sitting room some moments are more golden than others. Here, on coffee tables and shelves, most of my handiwork will sit on display for me to see and celebrate. The house follows an open layout plan so that no room stays locked away from the other and the breeze can flow freely within. The deck is a place reserved for meaningful connections, with lounge chairs, mats and fluffy throw pillows, for carefully selected guests. It leads down to the fine-sand beach and the azure sea, perfect for dancing and skinny dipping.<br /><br />As for what goes into the house and what stays out, the process of hitting and missing and learning along the way is the destination. Building and decorating are never-ending activities after all, and knowing what didn't work in the past might be a good starting point. <br /><br />The gate, meanwhile, is fortified with a security system that will hopefully become more sophisticated with time. It has learned what it has in spotting unwanted visitors, but more improvements can be made. (The end of the metaphor is near). <br /><br />So welcome to my new blog, a chronicle of my new adventures in happy beach house homemaking. This is where I'm supposed to be.taraftseringhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13547209359004155941noreply@blogger.com6