MOONLIGHT

To post or not to post the whole poem?

It's but seldom that I complete one in Filipino so I consider these instances rather rare and, well, special. Writing in your native language can be tricky, but the message more often than not comes across as more heartfelt. Although when I go back to reading my poems to myself one more time, it sometimes awfully sound either too mushy, formal, oldie, or all of the above. For this particular one though, I'm particularly saving it to be read personally to someone. :) 

But I'm sharing part of the piece though, one of the last few lines. Apologies for the weird graphics and borders. Still trying my luck on them.

I guess everyone has this person in their lives/lifetime who particularly shines the most, despite many other bright stars that surround you. Just like the moon though, sometimes they appear within our reach, but in reality, they're too far away to hold. Do you let that moonlight leave you in awe? Or do you choose to close your eyes and wish you've never seen it at all? #

OMENS

Writers are often stereotyped with manual typewriters, even in the age of computers and printers. Maybe because there's something classic about this machine --- the vintage look, the sound it produces with every hit, the smell of ink, and the way the letters proudly stand after you accomplished a page of your work. Ah, the letters. It's no surprise that the Old Typewriter font has been one of the oldest in the MS Word family, and a personal favorite too. 

But though it looks really simple, this has undoubtedly been the most challenging piece I've done so far. Even the use of a calligraphy pen or brush would never render it easier. The Old Typewriter font has a charm that exudes from inconsistency --- each letter is unique, as every hit on the typewriter produces a different texture depending on the ink on the ribbon. Thus, print-out templates and tools will never replace these beautiful strokes. 

In an attempt to reproduce a work from a classic typewriter, I used a simple black 0.4mm fineliner, similar to the previous posts. However, the work was as intricate as replacing a ribbon in a manual typewriter. First, I wrote down the whole text, just the text itself, using a standard Typewriter font template. Second step was to thicken the lines, but making sure I don't follow the straight lines so as not to produce an MS Word-looking font. This is the most challenging part, but it gives you the freedom to create a unique texture for each letter at this stage. The natural blotting of the pen helps achieve the look, but for me I used a combination of natural and artificial "pamamasma" of my hand (not kidding - it was hard to control the shaking after I finished!). Last is to put additional "graining" or some imperfections around the letters.

I know this is not perfect, but I'm sharing it anyway. It's simple but tricky, just as some people we know appear calm and easy on the outside, but have actually struggled or are struggling a lot inside. Maybe they listen to their omens, and they know that despite the pain today, things will always be alright. #

AGAIN

A few months ago, a friend of a friend made me try this calligraphy thing. I have heard of it years ago and I remember seeing a wave of social media posts of quotes or verses written in pretty, cursive fonts. Apparently it has become a household trend, and some genius thought about making it more accessible to ordinary people (i.e. non-artists like me) by using a special calligraphy pen which has an effect similar to a calligraphy brush (which is a bit expensive to maintain and requires a high level of technique). So I tried, and it turns out to be way more challenging than I thought! You have to have that delicate control over your hand muscles and temporarily forget about your natural penmanship --- emphasizing on that because I ended up forgetting everything she taught me on her 3-minute crash course and I just went about writing something totally different from the expected output! But anyway, the activity is cool, it's therapeutic, it increases your focus, and I personally love the fact that people don't find art, at least this kind, as alienating and as intimidating compared to before anymore. If you're interested, there are a lot of video tutorials in YouTube and downloadable text templates which you can practice from. If you're in the SG area, it would be nice to check out my friend's workshops by visiting Coffee + Calligraphy. Shameless plug. :P

As for me though, I still go old school. I'd consider myself more of an accidental 'creative' who practically uses just whatever scrap is available and whatever comes from heaven --- because I'm stingy like that. But maybe someday I'll invest on quality brushes and ink, and learn to write in Mandarin. :P For now, I'll make the most of what I have. :)

Leaving you tonight with a reminder to make good use of your second chances --- in life, in love, in everything that you do. Not everyone is graced with it. And it's devastatingly painful to lose something you value so much the second time around. #

SMALLER

As I pulled up my notebook again tonight and reviewed last night's output, I almost cringed with what I saw and was so embarassed how dare I share that to you. I realized I overestimated the first strokes and merely kept up with the whopping size of the letters. For the second attempt, therefore, I tried increasing the upper space to reduce the overall text size. After all, I've always been comfortable working on smaller letters, as I feel I have more control on both the heaviness and the speed of my writing. Not to mention the economic value of saving some ink. My classmates back in my school years hated borrowing my notes, since they're microscopic and incomprehensible altogether. That was unintentional, by the way. 

Tonight I leave everybody with some words from Jeanette Winterson, a writer who you probably haven't heard of because yeah, she's a woman. And oh, greeting you all a "Happy" International Women's Day (?). All over the world, a lot of women perceive themselves as already "priveleged" in terms of equal and unbiased treatment in the society relative to the opposite gender. I challenge every woman today, however, to reassess their position in this "modern" society. It's dangerous to feel comfortable at a time when the real problems are hidden. How many of us actually believe in this cause and value our equal footing so much so that we take that dreadful risk to be unheard and dismissed?

P.S. Penny (yes, that's the name of my pen) is tired tonight so he didn't want to join the snapshot. But he's happy to celebrate Women's Day with us. So much so that he didn't mind me giving him a rather feminine name. :)

STAYING

Ever since I was a kid I've always been fascinated by the Old English font type. It gives a classy and old school mood in the text, not to mention the rich emphasis of the bold lines and the balance that the fine lines give. Back in the days of no internet (and printing is too expensive), I would rummage through my dad's files and "borrow" his college diploma to look for letters that I could copy. I'd practice them in pencil, then overwrite with black Panda ballpen. After so many years, I have not parted with my love affair with Old English. Practicing without pencil and using a fineliner straightaway, I know my lines are pretty bad and my spacing, really awful.  I also just used a simplified version because otherwise the whole text would be too heavy. I'm nevertheless sharing them, using a couple of lines that popped out of my head today. I didn't manage to write a whole poem out of it though because, thesis. 

P.S. The pen felt sad yesterday so I included him in the snapshot today. :) #

DISTANCE

It's the last but most challenging semester, the "make or break" of it all. Tough, yes, but as usual, there's no other choice for us but to "make" it anyway. My buddy recently gifted me a set of pens and a little notebook to jot down important ideas for my thesis. Instead of jotting my fieldwork plans, however, I kind of "baptized" them by writing down something not related to thesis at all. Apparently most people here use blue ink more often (at home the only blue pens that I have are giveaways from somewhere lol). It was a standard store-bought 0.4mm fineliner with a durable tip, and though it blots quickly, the ink doesn't penetrate the other side of the paper no matter how thin it is. It amazed me, alright, so here's a couple of lines I managed to scribble tonight, an excerpt from a rather longer composition:

Hmm, these pens are a bit dangerous. But I'm old school and still enjoy using conventional pen and paper for writing. And maybe for some other types of experimenting. :) #

TO MY PEOPLE: MOVE ON

Although they say it's not always true that "History is written by the victors", it is undeniable that there is a high degree of truth in it. The better question perhaps, however, is who are the "victors"? Those who win wars through military or ideological strategies? Those who possess the capacity to move the state through financial and political capital resources? Those who are considered to be the 'majority'? Or simply those who have the highest authority and control over the state? 

To answer this question, one would need to look at different points of time and events in history. Historians for instance argue on the cultural homogenization of the Filipino people, with the Americans putting forward Jose Rizal as a heroic symbol during their occupation. One of the most divisive events in more recent years is probably the 2016 elections. Prior to the May polls and even long after, it has been evident that two sides have started to draw the sketches in our history books once more. The division must have been there since long ago, but has been more pronounced through several factors: the fast dissemination of information through web-based sharing and social media, the worsening cases of poverty and human injustice, and the grave abuses and corruption that is now far from hidden from the public eye, above many. 

This year, the administration settled with a simple commemoration of the 31st anniversary of the EDSA People Power Revolution. There's nothing wrong with doing away with fancy celebrations at all. After all, these do not define how we look back to one of the important events in our modern history, one that most of the older generation still has a firm memory of. What I personally find inappropriate, however, are the words "move on," saying that "we should not get stuck in the past." As much as I want to give the benefit of the doubt and choose to understand where the statements are coming from, one could not dismiss the political color put into it. It was not surprising at all, however. From the time when former president Marcos was inconspicuously buried at the Libingan ng mga Bayani, a personal position has publicly been made, and an obvious one. The sad thing is, this personal position was forced upon the whole nation of a hundred million individuals. It appears therefore that the 'past' that most of us know is a 'past' separate from what others perceive to be true.

We Filipinos are prone to the poison of our own ignorance. In extreme cases, we wait to be directly hit by something, or wait to get to know someone to be directly hit by something before we believe that something is true. If we cannot relate to something at a personal level, then there's no use caring. "Hindi naman ako apektado" or "Wala naman akong kilalang naganyan" are the most common and most dangerous words that we unconsciously speak. For years and years, history has been written from different sides, from the colonial period, to the Martial Law years, down to the war on drugs for which our country has once again sought global attention (and which deserves a separate in-depth analysis altogether). Our denial of the truth and in turn the inability to act accordingly is utterly frustrating. One need not be a victim or know a victim to admit or deny a situation. Belief systems are created and should continuously evolve through a process of critical learning, both inside and outside of what we already know. 

Perhaps the most chilling reality I have been opened up to from last year's polls was the near win of Bongbong Marcos in the vice-presidential race. In this divide, we have seen a simultaneous rise and a fall --- the rise of the flagrant display of disrespect and apathy, and the fall of vigilance and sense of history. I will not say that the division caused by the Bongbong-Leni battle was a war between good and evil. Who's to say who is what, when there are and will always be two sides of the story? What I am most concerned of, however, is the lack of judgment and critical thought to current events. The ability to acquire and share information is a power that most of us are privileged with. But that doesn't mean that personal affiliation and the comfort of our own skins should define our belief systems.

Although the nation is called upon to a "moving on" ceremony, those who hold on to the fight for justice and democracy will never be silenced. I was going through old photos of the 1986 EDSA Revolution a few days ago as one of my favorite personal commemoration. Although I was a year short of being born that time and none of my family members were victims of human rights violation during Martial Law (although of course the fear imposed upon them as private citizens was intensely traumatic), this is probably one of the events that I know define me as a Filipino. As I was looking at the massive number of people that filled the EDSA, lined up in front of tanks and big guns and military airplanes that could shoot them all dead anytime, anytime the go signal is received from their commander-in-chief. But Marcos NEVER did. At the height of the uprising, then AFP Chief-of-Staff General Fabian Ver was insisting on the airstrike, but FM said "My order is not to attack... My order is to disperse without shooting them." If I were General Ver, that to me would be the most ridiculous order. How do I disperse half a million protesters without shooting them? 

The bloodless revolution that the world admired, therefore, is a victory won not only by the people who stood up to halt the dictatorship, but by the self-limiting action of the dictator himself. We have all the speculations we can make with regards to why he refused to (under the table negotiations with the Americans, threats, political motives, desperate measures, who knows?), and I will definitely not absolve the Marcoses from the injustices for which they are accountable for merely because of this "humanitarian" angle. Learning from the past is only one of the steps to know how to face the challenges for our country's future. Unfortunately, the good and the just usually fail to recognize how immense the power in their hands really is. The abusive, however, knows this very well, and eats up the share of the power that the other side holds to pursue a balanced society. The administration is right, that "we should not get stuck in the past" and "move on." We should indeed not get stuck in our past of abusive and corrupt behavior, and move on from violence and authoritarianism as a strategy to achieve peace and order for the nation. #

BONI

"Kuya, dalawa pong Cubao."

"Huy, ano ka ba?"

"Bakit, tama naman 'di ba? Cubao ka rin bababa?"

"Oo, pero di naman ako nagpapalibre."

"Bakit, kailangan ko magpaalam?"

"Eh kanina ka pa sa tricycle eh..."

"Walang pakialamanan. Saan ka nga ulit umuuwi?"

I met her in the Fall of 2010 back when I was one of the few new employees in a small office on the other side of Boni. I don't actually recall the first time I saw her, and I honestly can't remember her from the tide of faces I have been introduced to on my first day of work. But I do see her every morning jump from the IT Department, to Accounting, to Marketing, then to Admin. I have no idea what she does but she seemed to be well acquainted with everybody. I, however, am not someone who would hang out and smoke cigarettes on coffee breaks to hear the latest gossip. I'd rather sleep most of my lunch breaks, if possible.

The nature of our jobs are very different, but we happened to take the same route going home. Since I'm quite allergic to crowds and small talk, I let the wave of 'honda' employees finish their time-out before I punch mine. Why rush? Everybody's going to get stuck in traffic anyway. I see her standing outside of the gate sometimes waiting for people who would take the tricycle with her going to EDSA. Unfortunately, I was the victim that evening and was even forced to take the same bus ride too. I didn't want to embarrass her so I just said okay. That was the first time we actually "talked." It was so traumatic that I could not ride buses today without remembering that first encounter. 

"Gusto ko yung pangalan mo. Hindi maintindihan kung panlalaki o pambabae. Astig."

"Ayoko ng second name ko though."

"As if naman mapapalitan mo pa. Pwede pero magastos. Tsaka hindi naman degrading. Anyway, 'di ka naman nabuburyong sa trabaho mo?" 

"Okay pa naman. Bakit?" 

"Wala lang. Feeling ko lang ikaw yung tipong mabo-bore sa corporate eh. Second job mo na 'to diba?"

"Yup."

"'Yup.' Tipid neto sumagot. Matulog ka na nga."

"Hindi naman ako inaantok."

"Magpanggap ka na lang. 'Pag di ka natulog marami pa 'kong itatanong."

"Go lang."

"Nakabasa ka na ng Khaled Hosseini?"

That was the day I managed to gracefully tell her not to pay for my fare, as usually she would strongly insist despite my protests. I thought blood would spill all over, but she peacefully obliged. I paid for hers instead to return the favor somehow. By the way she shyly smiled and thanked me, I could see she's not used to someone doing favors for or treating her. I don't think nobody offers, but maybe because she can just be a little too domineering most of the time. She'd take the wheel when she can. It didn't help that I was a year younger too.

She's already been in that company for two years when I came in. Her CV was quite decorated for a fresh grad, so I don't know why she chose a relatively small and unknown company for a first job (and actually stayed) when she could have taken better offers. I never dared to ask, but I know she has her reasons. I'd say I know, because after a few chance tricycle and bus rides together I began to realize she can actually make a lot of sense. Yet I don't understand why she asks me too many personal questions. I'm not anybody who's interesting at all. All of these thoughts came hurling in my mind as she enthusiastically rendered her review of Hosseini's "A Thousand Splendid Suns", from a feminist point-of-view.

After a couple more months, the chance rides suddenly ceased. I never saw her again standing outside the gate in the evenings. I tried getting in queue ahead of other employees at the time-keeping machine just to see if she's going home earlier than usual. She's not, and she doesn't seem to be rendering OT either. I would purposely stay long at the terminal on mornings but no sight of her still. I would see her every now and then in the office, but coming up to her to casually ask her "what's up?" was not something I was comfortable doing. I couldn't. I just couldn't. I just gave up. 

Early one Wednesday morning, someone from her department came knocking in our room. "Hey, sino gusto sumulat ng farewell note? Last day niya this Friday. Tago niyo ah, surprise dapat yan. Balikan ko mamayang lunch. Or basta before Friday. Thanks!" Before we could even ask who was leaving, she was already heading to the Sales room beside ours. Inside the brown envelope that was handed to me were colorful pieces of square-cut construction paper. Farewell notes and scrapbooks are the signature tokens there for people who are resigning. That time, however, I was surprised to see her name written outside the envelope. So she's leaving, I told myself. I took a green one and placed it under my mouse pad so I won't forget. I tried thinking of what to write the whole day. I regret knowing that she's leaving, and at the same time I felt a little tinge of guilt thinking about how I've been trying to avoid talking to her over the past few months. Is this the best time to apologize? What can I say when I couldn't explain it to myself either? What if she didn't even notice anyway? I thought, and overthought. Friday came. I never handed the paper. For the second time, I just gave up. 

"One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs

And the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls"

Being brave is a process. I'll see you outside Kabul, Tariq.

Laila

I read the short note over and over to make sure it was indeed for me. I called the guard at the gate. "Kuya, sure kang para sa 'kin 'tong package?" I asked, wondering if she just made a mistake. "Yes po, kumpleto naman pong pangalan yung nakalagay." I did not argue further. I know it was for me because inside the package was a paperback copy of Hosseini's "A Thousand Splendid Suns". It's just that, my name is not 'Tariq,' hers is not 'Laila,' and we are neither in Kabul. When I read the novel that evening, it was then that I realized that the letter was an encrypted message that she wanted me to decipher. I hurriedly rummaged for the DHL packaging that contained the book, where I know I'd find her return address. Perhaps that's the address of her new office. I feel stupid because I can just send her a message on Facebook, but I'm not brave enough to do that. At least not yet. But what I do know is that this time, I'm not giving up on her. #

OHNE DICH

Meine liebe Freundin,

ich konnte nicht glauben, dass ich in einer Sprache schreibe, die dir und mir nicht vertraut ist. Aber ich habe kein wahl. Ich weiß nicht mehr, wie ich das sagen soll. Vergib mir. Ich was zu sagen immer nicht wissen. Immer.

Jetzt höre ich Lieder, die die Schwere in mir wegnehmen können. Ich kann nicht in der Stille denken. Es ist zu laut. Es taubt mich und bricht mich in eine millione Stücke. Nee, nicht in millionen, weil das zu viele ist. Vielleicht nur in tausende. Oder in hunderte. Oder nur in zwei. Ich kann nur in Teile brechen, die ich weiß --- ein Teil mit dir und ein Teil ohne dich.

Vergib mir. Ich war machtlos in einer Welt, in der ich noch nie mal. Ich habe keine Stimme in einer Schlacht, die ich nie versucht habe zu kämpfen. Vergib mir. Ich weiß nicht, was zu tun. Ich war unempfindlich. Ich war selbstsüchtig. Ich habe nie Zeit verbracht zu verstehen, was du meinst. Ich habe nur an mich, mich und mich gedacht. Ich kann nichts mehr fühlen. Es tut mir leid. Es tut mir sehr leid.

Aber ich will nicht traurig sein. Wir haben gute Zeiten verbracht. Wir haben zusammen gelacht. Wir haben uns zugehört. Wir waren schon an Orten. Wir waren für einander da. Ich werde mich nur an die guten Zeiten erinnern. Ich hoffe, dass du glücklich gewesen hast, auch nur einmal. 

Diese ist nicht auf Wiedersehen. Ich war und werde immer für dich da sein, und ich kann niemals auf Wiedersehen sagen. Vielleicht nur gute Nacht. Und Pass auf Dich auf. Und ich werde auf Ihre Antwort warten. Bis ich sterbe.

Immer mit Liebe,

xxx

P.S. Google Übersetzer sucks. Bitte vergib es auch.

NOODLES VS NUGGETS

The average Filipino household today still consists of young adults, if any, living with their parents. Typically, children don't leave the household unless they get married or find work that calls for relocation. With marriage statistics getting less and less in the last decade, this has all the more held true. There's also a segment called "boomerang" kids, or those who return home after having left. Reasons vary greatly but for most Filipinos, tradition simply holds.

Being away from home for more than a year now has been a tough ride. Someone up there heard my introvert prayers and granted me a single-apartment type room in the student dormitories when I first came in. It was just a walk away from the university, and I had the small kitchen all to myself. I don't have a car, of course, and most of my food shopping would be just by foot since transportation is not exactly cheap. I can if I opt to, but seriously, I would not spend 2 Euros for a 2-km ride. Social conditions are not perfect, and the student dorms only granted us non-Europeans a one-year contract --- we had to search for housing in the private market once that gets terminated in the summer. I had all the factors leading to a bumpy search for housing --- I'm a non-white student who comes from a developing country and who doesn't speak very good (not even good) German. Even the locals here compete for a decent private housing that would not cut their budgets largely. Not only once did I bid against locals and of course, we all know who got the deal. And the university did not help at all either. Angels are all over, however. I was able to move to a town about 11 kilometers away from the university, which is basically the stretch from Pasig to Pasay City. I obviously need to take buses now, and I need to wake up earlier and earlier as, similar to the worsening traffic in Metro Manila, the jam has been worsening in the highways too. Sometimes, buses don't come at all. When they declare a transport strike here, lines really get paralyzed. The weather sucks of course. Nobody ever gets used to winter, not even the natives (that's probably parallel to us never getting used to hot summers too). Budgeting is a challenge because of high rents and transportation costs. Food prices are surprisingly the same with Manila in general, which hurts me. Imagine we pay the same price as a developed country when our wages are f*cked up? But I must say that for someone who has never been away from home ever in her life, it's not exactly the budgeting nor the social conditions that has been most challenging for me --- it's taking care of myself.

I may be emotional at times, but I'm not the homesick-y type of person. I'm not a princess, either. I can cook (something edible, at least lol) and I know my way around house chores too (though I would give the crown to a good friend who's like the queen of dish-washing and house chores 😁). The problem is, I have been with my family quite too long that in my mind, the only time I would do all these things is when I will do it for them. Or for other people. It's not a bad thing per se, but in my case I just cannot do it when I know I'm not doing it for someone else. Yes, even cooking. A few months after overcoming the first hurdles, it has become a big deal for me to feed myself that I sometimes just did not eat at all. My psychological state went pretty bad, and academic pressure just worsened things. A lot of you would probably advise, just buy instant noodles or a take-away! Well, my strict adherence to the diet that I have been used to was another thing. I can NOT just eat anything, any processed thing, that I'd rather just not eat at all! Some might suggest, invite friends over and cook lunch together! Well, sometimes people drain the hell out of me so I fear that instead of eating lunch with them, I might end up eating them instead. Obviously, my bad choices recoiled. I developed a condition that is just one strand away from ulcer. That was the time I told myself, no, this is enough.

It was only then that I understood what "charity begins at home," in its most nuclear sense, really meant. Some people say that self-love is appreciating yourself more often, knowing your worth, acknowledging your strengths and working on your weaknesses, buying yourself some nice stuff from time to time, and rewarding yourself for your accomplishments. But for me, it probably goes several steps further back. It's nice to do things for other people, but I had to remind myself that I am as important as they are. As the Buddha said, compassion includes the self. For how can we actually consider other people's welfare when we are weak and literally dying? The thing is, you have to be stronger than your mind. It's so easy and convenient to stay where it's comfortable, but really, comfort is a huge temptation. Every single time it crosses my mind to skip meals, I say no, I will make a nice and fresh meal for myself today. It sounds quite embarrassing to be writing about all this, telling the world that I'm only realizing a fundamental lesson very late in life. But I guess I've also stopped thinking about what the world would say anyway.

Today, I have turned cooking from an obligatory task to more of a creative diversion. I rarely struggle now with the choice between cooking for myself or not. The struggle now is planning my meals in the most cost- and time-efficient ways, a task which a good friend back home helps me with. Perhaps it's preparing me to run a household in the future? 😆 Whatever it is, I'm just glad to have one big monkey off my back now. #

Hand-made chicken nuggets for lunch today. 

Not so healthy as it's fried, but it's fresh 

and preservative-free!