Eversince I came up with my phlog site, I have received very encouraging feedback from my friends who knew about it in every way possible, as a text message, email, phone call, or over coffee. And they never fail to get me pumped up.
This morning, I got an email from my New York-based friend Mavic who took pains in writing good words about me and my site. Because of her and her excitement about showing the pictures to her workmates at the United Nations, another friend says I can now rightfully claim I have conquered the world.
I don't know, I have never considered myself as a photographer. Well, I would during the few times that I attend parties and family gatherings only because I don't want to stretch facial muscles to smile. Maybe that was the start of my newfound love for photography. That should land me in a book of funny stories: Because I abhorred smiling in front of camera, I was forced to take up the camera and be the one to take everyone's pictures.
The real passion about my love for photography is my desire to give importance to what otherwise would have been overlooked everyday things. I don't subscribe to the idea that photos are called great only when you pull in all the technical gadgets and gizmos together and you wheel in lights and make-up artists and a boxful of lens. For me, what makes a good photo is to capture unguarded moments when defenses are held down and just a pure spirit overflows.
Thank you for your kind words. They inspire me.
2.17.2004
Bigtime fantasy
Whenever I pass by tall hotel buildings, my thoughts are filled unconsciously with one, in fact the only one, sexual fantasy I have grown and groaned to like over the years. I then start to do a run-through of what it will likely be just in case it will happen.
I imagine the sun has set by then and, one after another, the city lights come to life. All imaginable neon colors surround people who, by this time, will be out to enjoy dinner in any one of the restaurants lined up along the commercial center nearby. Parents will be with kids, boyfriends will be with girlfriends, friends will be with friends. The whole sea of people outside the hotel teems with excitement and glee looking forward for night of fun. The winds blow softly.
Thirty floors up from where the people are, I come to life. Only the lamp lights are switched on in my room as I draw the curtains open. I imagine that my room is slowly transformed into a stage where I perform fluently before the world down below who becomes my audience. It's dark outside and I don't have a clue if I get them glued to me. But nevertheless, I'll do my moves by the window. I will have no qualms about being naked and figure in a role where I become a dominant sexual partner. The whole world will be treated into a lovely sight of two naked figures up in the sky who get lost in themselves as they celebrate love and intimacy and adventure.
Thoughts like this convince me that I might actually have a flare for flesh display. But then again, prudence dictates otherwise. Unless I want to hear and see people puke before me. Which I have never fantasized about.
I imagine the sun has set by then and, one after another, the city lights come to life. All imaginable neon colors surround people who, by this time, will be out to enjoy dinner in any one of the restaurants lined up along the commercial center nearby. Parents will be with kids, boyfriends will be with girlfriends, friends will be with friends. The whole sea of people outside the hotel teems with excitement and glee looking forward for night of fun. The winds blow softly.
Thirty floors up from where the people are, I come to life. Only the lamp lights are switched on in my room as I draw the curtains open. I imagine that my room is slowly transformed into a stage where I perform fluently before the world down below who becomes my audience. It's dark outside and I don't have a clue if I get them glued to me. But nevertheless, I'll do my moves by the window. I will have no qualms about being naked and figure in a role where I become a dominant sexual partner. The whole world will be treated into a lovely sight of two naked figures up in the sky who get lost in themselves as they celebrate love and intimacy and adventure.
Thoughts like this convince me that I might actually have a flare for flesh display. But then again, prudence dictates otherwise. Unless I want to hear and see people puke before me. Which I have never fantasized about.
2.16.2004
Meeting with ex's
I have come across some people who found it very weird that I would accept dinner invitations from my ex who would be coming along with the new boyfriend. Thay say either I am dreadfully desperate or I haven't gotten over everything yet or I have an insatiable appetite for masochism. Nothing, not one remark affects me, fortunately or unfortunately. The idea is as attractive as welcoming a new child into a home.
The first time I went out with a duly accompanied ex was several years ago. It was your typical steak restaurant setting -- neutral, not too romantic, not too intimidating. I didn't find it very difficult to accept the invitation. It didn't matter to me too that the whole idea behind it was to introduce me to the new person who took my place. :-) Maybe I have grown to a certain level of confidence that introductions such as that do not make me cringe in self-pity or stupid inferiority complex. Or maybe I have a huge trust on my ex's maturity in choice and decision. Just as I wouldn't settle for anyone not worth my while, I'd like to believe that the same holds true for my ex.
I came to restaurant a few minutes behind them. We said our usual hellos and got settled. The whole evening turned out to be very meaningful and pleasant, not just on how we dealt with each other but on the topics we talked about as well. The three of us behaved like long-time friends who talked about familiar things and familiar people. It was heartwarming and very enriching. For one thing, there were no awkward moments of one trying to size up another. Maybe I spent a minute or two trying to notice how tall he stands or his haircut or his smile. But for sure, it was just that, so fleeting. I don't feel bad if the new guy is taller or has bigger biceps or is a gifted size 10.
For me, the whole experience celebrates love that has evolved from romance to something that's higher and more noble. And that's what makes such events really meaningful. I don't look at it as comparing previouses with presents nor is it an attempt to pulldown anyone. The intent is to ensure that your loved ones are really in good hands. You go out there and meet the new person and offer a sincere friendship. The new person almost always honors you and your place as an ex. After all, of the two, you are likely to know more.
The only drawback of such meetings is when the new person turns out to be less mature, inferior, possessive, suspicious, and downright malicious. Nothing, no amount of explanation can ever be adequately convincing for them. In my case, I'm happy I have never come across such people. This means two things: my ex made a good choice; and secondly, is in good hands.
And that makes me happy.
The first time I went out with a duly accompanied ex was several years ago. It was your typical steak restaurant setting -- neutral, not too romantic, not too intimidating. I didn't find it very difficult to accept the invitation. It didn't matter to me too that the whole idea behind it was to introduce me to the new person who took my place. :-) Maybe I have grown to a certain level of confidence that introductions such as that do not make me cringe in self-pity or stupid inferiority complex. Or maybe I have a huge trust on my ex's maturity in choice and decision. Just as I wouldn't settle for anyone not worth my while, I'd like to believe that the same holds true for my ex.
I came to restaurant a few minutes behind them. We said our usual hellos and got settled. The whole evening turned out to be very meaningful and pleasant, not just on how we dealt with each other but on the topics we talked about as well. The three of us behaved like long-time friends who talked about familiar things and familiar people. It was heartwarming and very enriching. For one thing, there were no awkward moments of one trying to size up another. Maybe I spent a minute or two trying to notice how tall he stands or his haircut or his smile. But for sure, it was just that, so fleeting. I don't feel bad if the new guy is taller or has bigger biceps or is a gifted size 10.
For me, the whole experience celebrates love that has evolved from romance to something that's higher and more noble. And that's what makes such events really meaningful. I don't look at it as comparing previouses with presents nor is it an attempt to pulldown anyone. The intent is to ensure that your loved ones are really in good hands. You go out there and meet the new person and offer a sincere friendship. The new person almost always honors you and your place as an ex. After all, of the two, you are likely to know more.
The only drawback of such meetings is when the new person turns out to be less mature, inferior, possessive, suspicious, and downright malicious. Nothing, no amount of explanation can ever be adequately convincing for them. In my case, I'm happy I have never come across such people. This means two things: my ex made a good choice; and secondly, is in good hands.
And that makes me happy.
2.10.2004
Surviving the city
I can never drive in Metro Manila. I have short temper. I don't have patience. I don't forgive stupidity. I hate to see drivers putting one over another. I abhor undisciplined pedestrian. I loathe at increasing car sales without corresponding improvement in road length and conditions. I cringe at the mere thought of daylight holdups. I detest endless search for parking space in public places. And I despise rip-off parking rates.
So for most of the time, I have decided to live near my place of work where walking to and from work is always an option. It's a lot more expensive than having to choose the outskirts of Makati, but I'm happy here. I can afford to sleep late watching TV knowing that I can extend my wake-up call when morning comes since my office is just few minutes away. I don't have to worry about going home during the rainy season even when the whole city is flooded since I can walk home. I have the country's premier malls just a few minutes away. Since Makati is a business district, there's always a cab coming along. I have a whole lot menu of fastfoods, groceries, restaurants, gyms, moviehouses, museums, spas, and bookstores to choose from. More importantly, living in Makati ensures you of prompt service from your utility companies (like phone and cable) since they always have ready technicians to do the job.
But Makati has its downsides too. At least for me. When you make Makati your home, the sight of concrete is something you have to learn to live with everyday all the time. The first thing you see when you wake up and the last one you glimpse before retiring at night would likely be buildings, whether they are office skyscrapers or residential condominiums. The landscape of manicured gardens or vast orchid collections is out of the question. This is one reality I have learned to live with fortunately. I have learned to look at buildings as if they were the Great Wall and the narrow asphalt roads as mountain trails.
That's why on weekends, I try to go out of town and get my dose of the greens. It's actually my form of praying and renewing my spirit. There would be months when I'd be in the city for only one weekend. The rest I spend backpacking to the hinterlands of the Cordilleras or to unexplored places never before swarmed by tourists. I love the experience. I'm more relaxed, I'm always in my best elements, I feel closer to God, I become more thankful of God's blessings, I smile more sweetly, and I eat vegetables and more vegetables.
Try it one time. You'll see what I mean.
So for most of the time, I have decided to live near my place of work where walking to and from work is always an option. It's a lot more expensive than having to choose the outskirts of Makati, but I'm happy here. I can afford to sleep late watching TV knowing that I can extend my wake-up call when morning comes since my office is just few minutes away. I don't have to worry about going home during the rainy season even when the whole city is flooded since I can walk home. I have the country's premier malls just a few minutes away. Since Makati is a business district, there's always a cab coming along. I have a whole lot menu of fastfoods, groceries, restaurants, gyms, moviehouses, museums, spas, and bookstores to choose from. More importantly, living in Makati ensures you of prompt service from your utility companies (like phone and cable) since they always have ready technicians to do the job.
But Makati has its downsides too. At least for me. When you make Makati your home, the sight of concrete is something you have to learn to live with everyday all the time. The first thing you see when you wake up and the last one you glimpse before retiring at night would likely be buildings, whether they are office skyscrapers or residential condominiums. The landscape of manicured gardens or vast orchid collections is out of the question. This is one reality I have learned to live with fortunately. I have learned to look at buildings as if they were the Great Wall and the narrow asphalt roads as mountain trails.
That's why on weekends, I try to go out of town and get my dose of the greens. It's actually my form of praying and renewing my spirit. There would be months when I'd be in the city for only one weekend. The rest I spend backpacking to the hinterlands of the Cordilleras or to unexplored places never before swarmed by tourists. I love the experience. I'm more relaxed, I'm always in my best elements, I feel closer to God, I become more thankful of God's blessings, I smile more sweetly, and I eat vegetables and more vegetables.
Try it one time. You'll see what I mean.
2.09.2004
Playing Ate Helen
All it took was one email to make me feel wanted. I received it over the weekend. The sender, a public nurse from my hometown, wrote asking for my thoughts about sex and marriage as she prepares for her talk this Friday before a group called Couples for Christ where she's a member. I wrote her back "despising" her for thinking about me of all people. I said, first, I'm not married. I'm neither living in with somebody. And secondly, and more importantly, I'm sure her sex life is infinitely more active than mine. But nevertheless I said, I was going to give it a shot. I'll leave it to her to pick which ones she thinks would be useful and which ones better ignored.
I strongly suggested that she uses the occasion to lead a campaign to break the myths regarding sex (and sexuality for that matter) prevailing mostly among provincial couples. It's sad but the place where we came from is not one where topics like sex are openly discussed among married couples or between parents and children. We grew up learning about sex from friends or from porn materials. Naturally, the idea that sex is supposed to be meaningful and sacred never really gained ground. That has to be stopped. Children should obtain their first lessons about sex and sexuality from parents. This is to make sure that the information filtered to them are correct and sound.
But I cautioned my friend not to come out too imposing lest she will antagonize the audience. The best way was to invite her audience to be open about the idea that there's another way to look at the issue. The way to make them more appreciative I think was to cite the significant implications it will have regarding lowering unwanted pregnancy rates and enhancing parenting skills of their children who will be parents themselves in the future.
Secondly, and lastly, I told my friend that I think it would be wise to reinforce the idea that sex within marriage really means communication. I think she should emphasize the need for couples to communicate meaningfully. Both sides should attempt to hear each other's needs so each one knows how exactly they're met. Sex for most couples has virtually transformed most women as either sex objects or comfort women. The men lay down there in deep slumber after contact. The women, on the other hand, spend the rest of the time, staring at the ceiling wondering what exactly happened. It is high time that sex should start to regain meaning among couples where each one equally finds meaning and satisfaction, and where bonds are renewed.
I hope my friend finds use of my two cents worth.
I strongly suggested that she uses the occasion to lead a campaign to break the myths regarding sex (and sexuality for that matter) prevailing mostly among provincial couples. It's sad but the place where we came from is not one where topics like sex are openly discussed among married couples or between parents and children. We grew up learning about sex from friends or from porn materials. Naturally, the idea that sex is supposed to be meaningful and sacred never really gained ground. That has to be stopped. Children should obtain their first lessons about sex and sexuality from parents. This is to make sure that the information filtered to them are correct and sound.
But I cautioned my friend not to come out too imposing lest she will antagonize the audience. The best way was to invite her audience to be open about the idea that there's another way to look at the issue. The way to make them more appreciative I think was to cite the significant implications it will have regarding lowering unwanted pregnancy rates and enhancing parenting skills of their children who will be parents themselves in the future.
Secondly, and lastly, I told my friend that I think it would be wise to reinforce the idea that sex within marriage really means communication. I think she should emphasize the need for couples to communicate meaningfully. Both sides should attempt to hear each other's needs so each one knows how exactly they're met. Sex for most couples has virtually transformed most women as either sex objects or comfort women. The men lay down there in deep slumber after contact. The women, on the other hand, spend the rest of the time, staring at the ceiling wondering what exactly happened. It is high time that sex should start to regain meaning among couples where each one equally finds meaning and satisfaction, and where bonds are renewed.
I hope my friend finds use of my two cents worth.
2.05.2004
Prelude to Hearts Day
By this time next week, most restaurants have been booked for dinner for two's. And while flower shop owners would have a grand time marking up their prices, laundry shops would then think about operating for 24 hours at least for two days to be at the beck and call of motel operators who would need help to wash their linens as they certainly smile on their way to the bank.
Funny, but it's only during Valentine's Day when I turn to be bigtime cynic. I have and continue to hate how restaurant owners and shopkeepers have conspired to make single people feel miserable on this day, as if only couples are entitled to life's treats and those in the singledom are banished. That's why either I go out of town on this day to shield myself from too much valentine commercialism or I deliberately make reservations in a restaurant for two, and then arrive alone.
A few years ago on Valentine's, I tagged along another single friend to Puerto Princesa in Palawan. For three days, we had a grand time island hopping and living tourist's lives. We would down wine at night as we regale ourselves with our lifestories and, when morning came, we would slip on our shorts and head straight to the port for more exploration. On Hearts Day itself, I don't know what got to us but we made reservations for two at a local restaurant called Kalui. We decided on this because we wanted to snoop around people who would be out on dates that night. Only a few couples, most of them visiting tourists like us, came. There were not much lifeless heart decors or any heart-wrenching lovesong that night. The only sign that it was Valentine's were the single red roses the doorman-host-owner gave to every lady guest. We didn't find that repulsive at all.
More recently, I headed to the rice terraces on Valentine's day since it fell on a weekend and it was fullmoon. It turned out to be a perfect venue for hide from it all. The natives were oblivious of the occasion. There were no deafening radio plugs from opportunist establishments or mushy greetings professing endless love to certain people. It was just a grand peaceful time.
Those kind of trips have made me master the art of being unaffected during Hearts Day. I only want to breathe fire on those people who use the occasion to put one over other people. That's about the only reason why one would find me spitting stinging remarks. I only begin to keep my mouth shut when I start amusing myself trying to find out who's more wise yet silly, those one's who succumb to commercial valentine celebration or flowershop owners who fill their shelves with flowers and ornaments, pray to the gods they will sell even at stupid prices, and then, with no other choice left, just agree on bargain prices the day after for all those unsold.
Funny, but it's only during Valentine's Day when I turn to be bigtime cynic. I have and continue to hate how restaurant owners and shopkeepers have conspired to make single people feel miserable on this day, as if only couples are entitled to life's treats and those in the singledom are banished. That's why either I go out of town on this day to shield myself from too much valentine commercialism or I deliberately make reservations in a restaurant for two, and then arrive alone.
A few years ago on Valentine's, I tagged along another single friend to Puerto Princesa in Palawan. For three days, we had a grand time island hopping and living tourist's lives. We would down wine at night as we regale ourselves with our lifestories and, when morning came, we would slip on our shorts and head straight to the port for more exploration. On Hearts Day itself, I don't know what got to us but we made reservations for two at a local restaurant called Kalui. We decided on this because we wanted to snoop around people who would be out on dates that night. Only a few couples, most of them visiting tourists like us, came. There were not much lifeless heart decors or any heart-wrenching lovesong that night. The only sign that it was Valentine's were the single red roses the doorman-host-owner gave to every lady guest. We didn't find that repulsive at all.
More recently, I headed to the rice terraces on Valentine's day since it fell on a weekend and it was fullmoon. It turned out to be a perfect venue for hide from it all. The natives were oblivious of the occasion. There were no deafening radio plugs from opportunist establishments or mushy greetings professing endless love to certain people. It was just a grand peaceful time.
Those kind of trips have made me master the art of being unaffected during Hearts Day. I only want to breathe fire on those people who use the occasion to put one over other people. That's about the only reason why one would find me spitting stinging remarks. I only begin to keep my mouth shut when I start amusing myself trying to find out who's more wise yet silly, those one's who succumb to commercial valentine celebration or flowershop owners who fill their shelves with flowers and ornaments, pray to the gods they will sell even at stupid prices, and then, with no other choice left, just agree on bargain prices the day after for all those unsold.
2.04.2004
Oooppss..Sorry
I've been having a great time uploading my pics to my phlog site making it a bit difficult for me to actually sit down and write. I feel bad, but when I think about it, you'll likely enjoy the pics since you're sure to feel the same passion I have on every shot I took.
But I will continue to write. Definitely. I have lots of things to share. But for today, please enjoy my photos.
But I will continue to write. Definitely. I have lots of things to share. But for today, please enjoy my photos.
2.01.2004
Misimpressions
If there's one word that I'd be delighted to describe myself, it would be that I'm an advocate. I feel strongly about many things and pretty much I speak my mind very well on these things. These strong beliefs did not come from an overnight reading of Oprah's recommended self-help books or a single session with the religious or building my library of Dalai Lama books. They are, instead, products of long nights of deep thinking and self-introspection as well as meaningful conversations with elders whom I deeply respect.
Apparently, I was giving out a completely different picture to people, so different that I would certainly rate abysmally low when they're made to think of people they find nice and approachable. I was seen to be bigtime aloof.
The first time I heard of this impression about me was in college. One girl classmate whispered to me how everyone in class feared getting close to me or at least start a conversation with me since they have, wittingly or unwittingly, associated my name with another four-letter word, snob. I was shocked. I tried to understand why, and only came to this: It was likely that they formed that opinion since they don't usually find me lingering around in the building or along corridors after class. I would come to class on time, sit in front, listen and participate, and, after class, I would leave quietly and head home or to the gym. Worse, I purposely didn't join any academic organization so virtually, I wasn't really circulating much around campus the whole time I was in college.
What most of my classmates didn't know then was I didn't have enough extra money from my allowance to go join their fun. My parents would send me my allowance for the month through bank transfers at the end of the preceding month. That would be it for me for the next 30 days. Under no circumstances were they expected to send more than that. There are no second servings so to speak. I would have to learn to live with what was sent to me.
That's why it disheartened me when people thought I came out aloof and overbearing. I just try very hard to stretch my lips to smile and console myself that they probably have weird way of understanding and accepting people who have managed to shape their opinions on many things and issues. The misimpression saddened me, but it didn't kill my spirit.
Several years later today, I still have that firm and valiant spirit. Idealism hasn't died at all. Hope overflows all the more. Prayer is said with more passion. Love is felt with more meaning. Friendship is offered more openly. Lifestory is willfully shared. Risks are taken. Relationships are mended. Life is lived.
Apparently, I was giving out a completely different picture to people, so different that I would certainly rate abysmally low when they're made to think of people they find nice and approachable. I was seen to be bigtime aloof.
The first time I heard of this impression about me was in college. One girl classmate whispered to me how everyone in class feared getting close to me or at least start a conversation with me since they have, wittingly or unwittingly, associated my name with another four-letter word, snob. I was shocked. I tried to understand why, and only came to this: It was likely that they formed that opinion since they don't usually find me lingering around in the building or along corridors after class. I would come to class on time, sit in front, listen and participate, and, after class, I would leave quietly and head home or to the gym. Worse, I purposely didn't join any academic organization so virtually, I wasn't really circulating much around campus the whole time I was in college.
What most of my classmates didn't know then was I didn't have enough extra money from my allowance to go join their fun. My parents would send me my allowance for the month through bank transfers at the end of the preceding month. That would be it for me for the next 30 days. Under no circumstances were they expected to send more than that. There are no second servings so to speak. I would have to learn to live with what was sent to me.
That's why it disheartened me when people thought I came out aloof and overbearing. I just try very hard to stretch my lips to smile and console myself that they probably have weird way of understanding and accepting people who have managed to shape their opinions on many things and issues. The misimpression saddened me, but it didn't kill my spirit.
Several years later today, I still have that firm and valiant spirit. Idealism hasn't died at all. Hope overflows all the more. Prayer is said with more passion. Love is felt with more meaning. Friendship is offered more openly. Lifestory is willfully shared. Risks are taken. Relationships are mended. Life is lived.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)