Downtime

Brace yourself, the long weekends are coming.

And after weeks of overtime brought on by innumerable deadlines, the long weekend is a godsend.

But with little budget and no plans (and no time to plan with), the long weekend is relegated to staying at home and reading my books.  Or maybe watching cable tv.  And sleeping the whole day off.

My body clock is all but ruined.

But with nothing to do and the bed so inviting, there is no reason to not sleep more than my usual 4 hours daily.

I'm no longer used to staying at home, unlike before, but with little else to do, I might as well enjoy my stay.

It is a plus, though, that most of the people here are out, obviously enjoying the long weekend somewhere else, that I am afforded my quiet time.  I get to hog the tv and the kitchen, and that is always a good thing.

Snatched

Jess is a snatcher.  He specializes in cell phones.  Being poor, he has resigned himself to the reality that he will be suspected of stealing even if he wouldn't actually do it.  So to save everyone the trouble, he learned to embrace the stereotype.

Grace is a call center agent, and a modern woman with a secret.  And she would do anything to retrieve that secret from her stolen cell phone even if it meant scouring the streets of Quiapo for the snatcher with the help of the police.

In an interesting and very realistic turn, Posas (Shackles) tackles the twists and turns of police procedures, and the lives of the people embroiled in it:  victim, perpretrator, and the enforcers themselves.  In the end, as Jess' handcuffs were removed, he finally and palpably felt the shackles latched on to him.

Beautifully shot and subtly acted, it was a joy to watch.  Having heard nothing about the film prior to viewing, I had no expectations whatsoever, and I was happily rewarded for my gamble.  The scene with Susan Africa is easily a favorite.

Posas and four other films are in competition under the Director's Showcase of Cinemalaya.  Ten more films are also competing in the New Breed category for budding directors.

I'm looking forward to seeing a good number of these, and no storm signal will deter me from going to the CCP to buy tickets.  For a couple of years now, I have organized marathon screenings of select movies for me and my friends.  The raging weekend storm almost prevented me from being able to procure tickets.  Experience has told me to buy them on the first weekend because most movies will sell out by the next week of screenings. 

So brave the rains, I did, thankful for the few minutes' respite from rain while travelling on foot.  It felt good having reserved those tickets for our weekend marathon.  It meant one less detail to worry about.

I'm going to watch a quite few movies

photo credit

Addictions: Cinemalaya

It's once again time to head over to CCP for the ten days of Cinemalaya. Film enthusiasts, social butterflies, and yes, students with imposed reaction papers, and bandwagoneers will flood the various viewing rooms to partake of this year's finalists.

Twenty five films have been announced as part of the three main competitions in the festival.  But as in other years, my main focus is with the New Breed Full-Length competition:

Emmanuel Palo’s “Santa Nina”
Gino Santos and Jeff Stelton’s “The Animals”
Vincent Sandoval’s “Aparisyon”
Mes de Guzman’s “Diablo”
Lemuel Lorca and Jerry Gracio’s “Intoy Syokoy ng Kalye Marino”
Alfred Aloysius Adlawan’s “Ang Katiwala”
Marietta Jamora’s “Ang Nawawala”
Paul Sta. Ana’s “Oros”
Julius Sotomayor Cena’s “Mga Dayo”
Loy Arcenas’ “Requieme”

Earlier in the year, the Cinemalaya board was embroiled in its own scandal what with one competition film being disqualified for not adhering to the casting demands of the Board.  Others have called for the boycott of the Cinemalaya for its apparent disregard for its own mantra of being the haven for truly independent cinema.  But though I share the sentiment of keeping Cinemalaya truly malaya, I don't adhere to the idea of punishing the other competitors just to get the message across.

Last year, Cinemalaya increased its clout by tapping Greenbelt Cinemas to feature the films in competition; the first time their movies were shown outside of the CCP grounds.  This year, the competition reaches more ground with the help of Ayala Cinemas.  Aside from CCP, the movies will be shown in Greenbelt and Trinoma.

I am planning to watch as much as I can, maybe sneak as much weeknight viewing after work, as well as organize a weekend marathon among friends.

See you in Greenbelt and CCP!  :-)

Gourmand Travels: I Need a Project

One of the earliest books I recall pouring through was a cookbook.  I even had to compete with Gremlyn for the book.  Sadly, after countless moves and countless relatives moving in with us, that book, along with some other things (toys, clothes, appliances... you know the drill) have become lost.  It didn't diminish my fascination with cooking though.  Cooking shows abound, even then, and the most popular, Wok With Yan, was a weekly family affair.

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Night Swim

It is no understatement when I say that work is stressful.  What with the long hours, the unavoidable interruptions, the impossible deadlines, we're beat.  And even though we're in the middle of our busy season, our manager saw it fit to grant us this one night's respite from all the madness.

Never mind that it was just an overnight affair, and that we had to pool our money to finance it.  It was well worth the two or so hours to get to Pansol to enjoy the waters.

And the hot springs did not disappoint.  The company did not disappoint.  I was at first thinking of ditching the outing in favor of other personal matters, imagined or otherwise, but thankfully people persuaded me to come.  It was a nice bonding experience, and I got to see my officemates in an environment outside of work.

In my former work, I was one of young ones.  The same isn't applicable here, and I got to appreciate it now.  I still don't know all of their names, though.  :-)

Offline

I'm going offline for four days.  It may probably include twitter. 


I have an early morning flight, but I've yet to pack my things.


I need the vacation.  Specially the change in scenery. 


I think I'll try defying gravity.  :-)

Accidental Bartenders Compete!

The day started like the usual food trip weekend, with Lostboy and WanderingWonder meeting me for lunch.  Over the course of the meal, the two told me of the food event they were going to.  Wanderlust that I am, I agreed to go with, and probably sample some more food featured at the event.  Using a bloggers’ pass, we got in without a hitch and without paying the walk-in registration fee.  In there we met other blogger friends of Lostboy.

Being a food and beverage expo, I was expecting various foods from all over and me sampling everything I might get my hands on.  It later became evident that the Horeca-partnered event featured not food, but mostly food service equipment.  There were foodstuffs there as well, but mostly the kind that you have to shell out money for.  Still, it was fun sampling the food produced by the various equipment innovations.

Having met up with other bloggers, we were quite a handful, asking booth after booth about their wares, when ChaSy, the friendly lady from our group was approached by the organizer and was asked, whether we were her students, and whether we would please like to join their cocktail mixing contest.  ChaSy, being game and all, succeeded in persuading WanderingWonder and I to join; after all, it would be fun to join a contest, rather than just covering it.

The mechanics are as follows:  we would mix three drinks, a Pre-dinner cocktail, an After-dinner cocktail, and a Shot of the Night, to be served to the three judges, and prepared within fifteen minutes.  The cocktails should also incorporate the spirits provided for by the sponsor.  We get to use Tanduay products on hand, including their Rum and Boracay variants.

The catch, though, is that we have to provide for our own ingredients.  And glasses.  And cocktail shakers. And garnishes.  And we have two hours before the competition starts.

I enjoy watching Top Chef and the other cooking reality shows whenever I get the urge to watch TV.  I especially enjoy those episodes where they are given a theme and have to come up with a dish in a limited time.  Now I know how they feel.  Like Amazing Race contestants, Lostboy, WanderingWander and I circled the booths buying ingredients for our cocktails, and borrowing utensils, where possible.  We were advised that we will be able to borrow glasses and shakers from the other contestants, which was good.

We realized, though, that the other contestants are HRM students who had ample time to prepare, partake, and perfect their drinks and practice their performance, which was bad.  For us.

It was also at this time that we realized that what we signed up for was a cocktail AND FLARING competition.  Immediately, my mind flashed back to the various TGI Friday’s Bar Competitions I’ve attended, and realized that I will never have the hand-eye coordination to fake this.

Still, the competition went on and we were wowed by the presentation and skill of the other contestants as they created and served one drink after the other.  After their drinks were presented, judged, and put away, I proceeded to drink a couple, or six, of their cocktails.  In order to borrow the glasses, of course; I’m not an alcoholic, after all.

Our pair was called and we had to prepare our drinks.  Talk about going through the motions!  Not wanting to make further fools of ourselves, we had to forgo the flaring part.

We did not win, of course.  But with just three pairs of contestants, they had no choice but to award us third place, which I guess is recompense for our troubles, if not our shame.

2nd Place: Datamex

1st Place: Lyceum University

I’ve made some realizations after this harrowing experience: firstly, to read the fine print before signing on to anything.  The next time, it may not just be our dignity that is at stake.

Secondly, though in contrast to the first: Spontaneity is fun!  And sometimes, there are freebies.

Thirdly: I can still be creative enough when pressured, but without ample resources, though fit for the purpose, the results may not be pretty.

Finally, and most importantly:  I can still pass myself off as a college student.  Ha!  Beat that!

Deja vu

I accompanied a friend to Cavite one Saturday to visit another friend whose ward passed on, and to offer support and condolences.  It was a lazy day, and though we planed on going early, it was already late afternoon when we got there.  It was no easy feat getting there, what with the distance involved and the number of towns you have to pass through.  It was such a favor then that there were minimal traffic at the time.

We spent a considerable amount of time there, just eating and hanging out, and a bit of touring on the side.  And it wasn't until way past midnight when we decided to leave.  Unfortunately, the buses don't start their service until 2am, so we decided to wait a couple more hours.

Going to the bus station was a bit of a walk, but the night was comfortably cold and there weren't too many vehicles running about, so it was alright.  At first sight of the station, I felt a sudden loss of balance.  "I've been here before," I murmured to myself.  Chance, whom I accompanied there was looking for the restroom, and almost automatically, I pointed to where it is.  Or where it should be located.  And I was right.

The sense of deja vu was palpable, and I was reeling, trying to remember when I had been here before.  There were a few changes, of course, from the height of the seats, and the mini-store set up up front, but the rest of the area, the permanent structures at least, was where I remember -- or thought I remember -- it was.

Now, I've been a bit of a wanderlust ever since, but I cannot, for the life of me, remember going to that part of Cavite City.  Sure, I've been to the city with my mom and siblings, but it was a different part of the city we always visited then.  I do not remember officemates who are from that parts as well; most of them were from north of Manila.

I do remember some college friends who were from Cavite, but Bacoor and Tanza were very far from where we were at the moment.  I remember commuting to Island Cove to and fro before, but it wouldn't justify going to Cavite City just for the bus homeward, as the bus would pass the resort after all.  

For the life of me, I still couldn't remember when, how and why I have been to that bus station before, and it boggles the mind trying to recall.  So maybe for now, I'll just put it on my folder of unexplained occurrences.

A Little Pick-Me-Up

Sometimes, when you're particularly down, the universe decides to give you a pick-me-up; give you some answer to your needs.  I've been needing an ego-boost for some time and I got it.  But not in a way I particularly wanted.

After a slow Friday night, Chase and I decided to just call it in early, for a change.  My friend just got a snub from the first taxi we just hailed when a dark car stopped in front of us.  From the open passenger window, a middle-aged chinito asked us where we would be heading, and was offering to drive us there.  Good Samaritan, maybe, but the manner of his offer sent a different message to us.

We were being picked up.

Right in front of the mall, just a few meters from the entrance ramp to the parking -- a middle-aged man was trying to pick my friend and I up.

At first, I thought he was merely asking for directions, but when I realized what he was offering, I moved away from his vantage point.  I couldn't stop laughing!  I couldn't help it; it was happening right in my backyard (the mall, I mean) and because the guy was trying to make the moves on the TWO of us.

Right after that incident, we couldn't just go home; we were too flabbergasted, we needed coffee to calm us down.

I am quite aware that these these things happen.  Just last October, something of the sort did happen, but the driver merely rolled his window down and nodded to me to come hither.  I just bowed my head down and continued walking.  What made this encounter different was the forward attitude of the ... ummm...  picker... and that he was trying to do a two-for-one deal.

Composing ourselves after that ordeal, we decided to finally call it a night; we've had excitement one too many already.  Given that it was later in the night, we had an easier time getting a cab.  I hitched a ride going to Makati Avenue.  From there, it would be easier getting home.  But the ride was quite short, and I still had more adrenaline to burn, so I decided to walk the remainder of the way, instead of riding the jeep.

I am very fond of walking along JP Rizal; during the few times that I decided to walk the Panata on Holy Thursday, that stretch of street going to Edsa is one of the easiest to traverse, thanks to the sidewalks.  But the street has, for some time, accumulated a bit of a bad rep for being, well, a pick-up spot.  And no sooner than a few minutes of walking did I notice an SUV on the opposite side of the road, with windows down, and its lone passenger, giving me the eye.  Once more, my usual tactics was in order:  ignore, look away, and move along.

It was smooth sailing after that, until midway my trek, when nearing the Municipal Office, I glanced to my right and lo and behold! the same SUV is rolling slowly along the street and the driver is once more looking at my direction.  I quickened my pace and looked straight ahead, lest he think I'm toying with any ideas.  Thankfully, he sped away after a few minutes.  The rest of the walk going home was peaceful after that affair, thank the heavens.

Things like that doesn't always happen, and for that, I am grateful.  But I have to admit that it does perk up one's ego to know that somehow, someone still finds you palatable. 

I Lost My Phone

I lost my phone last night.  I only had it for six months. 


I was drunk; I was careless; and I didn't really care.  The moment I realized I lost the phone, it took me two minutes to get over the fact and resume drinking and dancing.


I am, of course, sad that I lost it, particularly with the loss of numbers and photos and messages stored therein.  But I have gone past any compulsion to grieve over lost things, unlike before when my phones were almost surgically attached to my hand that losing it causes actual physical pain.


Suffering a love-hate relationship with the phone also helps in shortening the grieving process.  I'm also more concerned over the inconveniences the loss is causing compared to the loss itself.  I have requested for a replacement sim and am using my spare -- and that is the easy part.  Rebuilding my lost contacts, now, that would be the hard part.


And such is the reason for this post.  I have the same number, so if you're up for reconnecting, message me with your name, so I can save your number.  Yeah, posting this is easier than asking everybody I know for everybody else's number.  I know, I'm lazy like that.  ;-)

Addictions: Wine

I've been craving for wine for some time now, and it's such happy coincidence that I some bottles at my disposal.  But seeing as I am out of the house most times, I haven't had the time to enjoy my reds as they should be.  And the times when I am in, I am unable to find my corkscrew.


Some two Christmases ago, a former officemate gave me a multi-tool (okay, a faux Swiss Army knife) as a gift.  I seldom use it but deemed its usefulness to come in handy sometime, so I kept it.  The funny thing with my stuff, I keep it, knowing it will come in handy, but it gets lost the moment I need it.  And for about a week, I've been looking for that damned corkscrew, well cursory searches, that is, I've very little time spent in the house these days, and most of those times are spent sleeping. 


Today though, I am happily without weekend plans and my corkscrew search was a success!  So with corkscrew in hand, I slowly twisted my way onto the cork, my mouth already watering at the anticipation of that acidic earthiness the bottle promised.  But no matter how much I tugged, the cork stayed firmly in place, as if in silent mocking at my apparent lack of strength.


After a few more tries, I checked the bottle and found out the problem:

  
My fake Swiss knife couldn't handle the cork and the wine bottle.  Silly of me to think that it would open, really.


So, until I find a good enough corkscrew, that bottle of wine will continue to mock me night after night.


Damn.

Addictions: Playing and Watching

Last Tuesday, I played volleyball for the first time in more than two years, maybe almost three. I never had any formal training on the sport; I was a novice back then, I felt even more so that night. Worse, I felt heavy. I couldn't run as fast, couldn't jump as high, couldn't reach as far. Not that my prowess were marvelous then, but that night, I felt more inadequate than the first times I played the sport.

I was sweating profusely. I was grasping for breath. I was straining to keep up. I was drawing on every bit of energy I had. I liked it; I missed it. It has been far too long since I exerted myself physically, and the quickened beat of my heart was a welcome disruption to my lethargic state.  


I knew, even while playing, that I was in for a lot of hurt the next day; I embraced it. My friends advised me to take painkillers before going to sleep, as they were sure, as I was, that I will be in a lot of pain the next day. I also know that I must keep my muscles warm and to raise my legs higher that my heart in order to avoid cramps. I accepted those measures to be helpful but promptly threw them out of the window. I was too tired to buy medicine, too lazy to prepare my bed for the raises, too stifled not to use the AC.  


I woke up to pain like I have never experienced before, and got reacquainted with muscles I've forgotten I had. My whole body, from my neck to the soles of my feet, was sore. Every muscle was resonating different intensities of hurt; sinews singing discomfort with every move. It was like an orchestra of ailments afflicting my body with every move. I loved it; I never felt so alive and aware of my body.  


I tried to assume normalcy even through the pain but my body wont hear of it. I couldn't move without experiencing pins and needles running through by body; my usual stride therefore, was out of the question. I was moving at a third of my usual speeds, and I was furious about it. Coming from someone who sprints from one area of the office to another because it's boring to just walk, being hindered like such was a nightmare. The slow speed, the inability to quicken one's pace - both of which I detest in other people - I am now suffering.  


The physical pain, however, did not deter me from going to Shangri-la to watch the Cine Europa offerings. Thanks to Friday being declared as holiday, I was able to spend the whole day watching movies. Never mind that I was painfully aware of each of the sixty nine steps from my room to the ground floor, and almost the same number of steps leading to the Magallanes terminal; I had to reach Shang in time for the movies.

And it was like a trip to Europe as I queued first for Bulgaria, then the Czech Republic, then Denmark. And never mind that in my weakened condition, I was travelling alone. I only got to meet up with fellow travelers as we closed the day with a trip to Finland.  


There are 22 films to be enjoyed this season of Cine Europa, and I plan to make the most of it.  


But Tuesday is again at hand and I may want to subject myself to more physical torment.  


We'll see.

Clean Room

I used to be overly critical about my room.  Not two weeks will go by that I will not have the urge to pick up broom and mop and clean my room from walls to floor.  I became so obsessed with my room that I would not let anyone else even attempt to clean it; even when it seems disorganized, I know where everything was, and a different pair of hands touching my stuff would mean loosing track of where my things are.


Then my workload suddenly multiplied exponentially and I was left with little time under my domain.  It didn't help as well that I kept changing rooms, or rather, Matriarch kept moving me from room to room.  There even came a point that I transfered rooms thrice in the same year.  I lost track of some of my stuff because of that, and my drive to clean wavered.  After all, why should I exert too much effort in cleaning room when I am not even assured of my permanence in that place.


Over time the zealous urge to clean was lost, and my room became a seeming jungle of books and knick-knacks piled to one place or another with no logic or organization.  The old twice a week purging was lost until it became a chore to be done only on the bluest of moons.


And today was one of those rare celestial occurrences. 


The day started out lazily, but thankfully, I was able to pick up enough steam and start my erstwhile favorite activity.  More than just moving dirt around, cleaning my room also involves moving the furnitures around.  The purging isn't complete when I am not able to move stuff about.  And therein lies the heart of my problem:  my stuff are too bulky, or too large to move around.  For a long time, I've been trying out in my head different permutations of how to rearrange the furnitures, but I was stuck with the old one I used to have.  It did serve its purpose, but it left me with too little floor space to move about that you have no other choice but lie in the bed once inside the room.  For month after month, I have been lethargic while within my domain because its arrangement left nothing else to do inside.


Finally, after months of merely thinking about it, I decided to clean, and to move my things about.  And there were some...things... that gave me quite a stir.  I do love our pets; they even sleep with me on the bed sometimes, but those rascals have turned the space under my bed into their personal cesspool, taking care to do their business on the farthest side, out of reach and out of sight of my previous cursory cleanings.  No wonder my room smells like dog!  Further cleaning also revealed a bunch of papers remnants from my old job.  I confess, it gave me a certain amount of vindictive glee throwing those papers out.


Finally, I have a clean room, or at least clean enough to be comfortable with.  I still have some more things to do, which will be done over the next weekends to come, but at least I have made considerable headstart today.


photo credit

Pag-ibig Pa Rin

O musang marikit at kaakit-akit
Ibahagi sa akin mga katagang ninanais
Diwa kong hapo ay 'wag bigyang pasakit
Sa paghanap, paghalaw ay naghihinagpis.

Sa pagkamangha sa nasilayang komediya
Na halaw sa likha ng Dakilang Makata
Tuloy ay naisip na tumipa sa letra
At magpugay sa dula sa lengua Tagala.

Sayaw at galaw ay kagilagilalas
Sa halaw ng himig na buhay at wagas
Puso'y napako sa aking namalas
Na siyang dahilan at nagbabalagtas.

Pag-ibig, pag-ibig at pag-ibig pa rin
Kasumpa-sumapang pag-ibig, salarin
Tatlong kaharia'y napailalim
Sa dusa at dugo at waging malagim.

Salamat sa aking mga katoto
Na nag-imbitang manood ng teatro
Orosman at Zafira, aking ginusto
At nagbigay kulay sa aking Linggo.

Ngayon ako, sa inyo'y nag-aanyaya
Huwag palampasin yaring naturang dula
Inyo itong antabayanan
Sa kuta ng mga Iskolar ng Bayan.

Muna'y lubayan ang banyagang produkto
At ang pilak na tabing na ating gusto
Kayo ay magmadali ng husto
Ang dula ay lamang hanggang dulo ng Agosto.

Beaching About Anawangin

Suffering from insomnia before an out of town trip can really cause havoc on your system, and that is just what transpired on the day of the trip.  It was nearing 4am when the drowsies hit me and before I was even halfway to REM-land, I can hear knocking at my door, telling me to get up and prepare for the trip.  I was in a state of half-consciousness for most of the travel to Zambales, and being situated in the middle seat with no hand rests to grasp on wasn't doing me any good.  The presence of two pets didn't make matters any easier either, but at least they gave some mild distraction.

Four hours, a flat tire, and several top load repacking later, we finally reached our destination.  I was mildly amused that the place we would be staying at was a stone's throw away from where my friends and I stayed while waiting for our boat from the last two times that I've been at the place.

The very same windmill that we use as our landmark now greeted me from the right side of the fence.  I laugh inwardly.

Pundaquit is a nice place in itself, but the presence of the fishing village and the myriad boats along the shore does not make for a promising swim.  Compared to other seaside settlements though, its waters are relatively clean and does not stink of fish.  It also boasts of a good view of the island of Capones and its neighbors.

Come nightfall, there was little much to do but eat and wait for the following morning for our boat ride to Anawangin.  Provided that we were thirty in the group and would surely need plenty of food to keep everybody satiated, there was still a ridiculously large quantity of seafood waiting to be consumed.  Clearly, someone went overboard with the fish.

That was dinner.  A similar quantity of seafood was consumed by the group during the few hours between lunch and dinner, including a yellow fin tuna that met its demise over various bottles of booze.  Said booze, by the way, didn't even survive till dinner and no one had the heart to buy additional bottles which the resort was selling at more than twice the normal retail price.  Which is good in a way; no one wants to care for inebriated people who can't handle their drink, especially not me.

Come morning, the group stirs to prepare for the boat ride to Anawangin.  This will be my third visit to the place in three years, and I was mildly excited at the prospect of returning.

A bigger boat meant a slower ride to the Cove.  It also meant better opportunities to take photos along the way.

At last, we finally made it to the cove.  But this reunion was more bitter than sweet.  You see, the two times that I have been to Anawangin, it was peaceful, tranquil, and every bit the paradise you are seeking away from the hustle and bustle of city living.  It is that place where you can really be at peace with yourself and at one with nature, hearing the wave, listening to the wind, and smelling the clean air.  With no electricity, no amenities and no cell phone signals, Anawangin provides the ultimate detox from civilization.

This is Anawangin from my memory of a year before:

This was what greeted me that day:

Ugh!  Crowds!  The horror!  I have never been to Puerto Gallera before but this is what I pictured Gallera was:  a small beach fair teeming with hoards upon hoards of people.  It wasn't right that this secret cove should be this crowded!

From my two previous visits of Anawangin, there were two areas at the left most corner of the beach that was made into a camping ground, and cordoned off to make a sort of compound.  Those two areas had an entrance fee, for the use of the water pump and wash rooms; the rest of the cove was free, and the free area away from the crowd is where we usually park our tents.  Upon descent of the boat, a person greeted our group and promptly billed us for 50 pesos apiece.  Apparently, the whole cove is now private property and they are charging visitors for use of and for the maintenance of the beach.

I don't really have problems with the fees, but had I expected there to be fees, I would have led the group to the left side of the cove, where there are ample trees to provide cover.

The other problem I had with the imposition of the fees is that the attitude of some people change for the worse when they are paying.  some people find it justifiable to leave their trash everywhere just because they paid for the service and are expecting other people to clean up after them.  Sure enough, all around us are evidence of people's neglect:  a circle of cooking fire that was left unattended, tables full of trash, litter everywhere!  What's worse is there are ample garbage receptacles scattered all around, but these lazy people do not even have the concern to use them!  I even saw a table being bussed by the cove's caretakers after the wake of it's previous users.  Imagine, a picnic table being bussed, what is this, a restaurant?!

To be fair, Anawangin Cove is still beautiful, I do have some shots to prove it.  But at the rate things are going, two years and it will become another wasted beach, to suffer the same fate as those beaches of old from Cavite.  Does anyone even remember Puerto Azul?

If you would look closely at the photo above, you would notice the presence of a backhoe parked idly at the back of the cove.  This thing boded ill for me.  The presence of that giant hunk of metal signaled the encroaching of civilisation against this nature paradise.  What would happen to this place in the next months to come, I fear to know.

Beaching Around Zambales

Over breakfast the other day, I was informed that we are going on a trip to Pundaquit for the weekend.  It was not a suggestion, and like it or not, I am coming with them for this outing. 


This will be the first time in at least five years that I will be going on a trip along with the whole family.  For the longest time, I have been able to beg off of any family activity due to carefully tweaked scheduling overlaps or due to unavoidable need for overtime work.  I have no such excuses this time.


I must admit that I am very wary of the possible outcome of this trip, as I cannot recall any recent activity involving the whole cast that didn't end up in heated arguments.  But, as one friend on mine said:  There is no limiting family contact; it's but an illusion.  So maybe, I'll just have to tough this one out and try to enjoy it while it lasts.  After all, I can always bury myself in a book if shit hits the fan.

Letters to John and Savannah

Dear John,

Thanks for showing off at the pier by making that jump from 20 feet up, I would have never noticed you otherwise. Since I am near-perfect and chaste, your broad shoulders and near-zero body-fat index would have done nothing to attract me to you. By the way, thank you again for getting my bag from the water, it's my life, you know. How it is that way remains a mystery, but just trust me that I'd die if that bag got lost. Write me letters everyday, I want to know everything.

Savannah.


Dear Savannah,

It rains here everyday. There are big rains, small rains, rain that goes sideways, rain that goes up instead of down. I'm missing you everyday.

John.


Dear John,

The next time you feel the urge to quote Forrest Gump, don't. I've seen the movie. Four times. You don't fool me.

Savannah.


Dear Savannah,

What do you expect I'd write? I hope you're aware that everything we write would first be inspected by the US Army before it reaches the intended party. So don't be surpried if those panties you sent through your last letter have made the rounds of some army base before it ever got to me. And don't be fooled too much about the moon metaphor, for we probably aren't in the same time zones to be able to see the same full moon at night. It's more likely that you'd be hiding from the sun while I'm gazing at the moon.

John.


Dear John,

Let's not write letters anymore. I'm getting tired of the socio-political relevance our love story is trying to force through other people's throats (hi there, US Army letter inspectors). Anyway, you've made me wait one year already, and you'd be gone for two more. That's 24 more months of chastity you're forcing me to endure. That's why I've decided to trap myself into a life of misery and regret. Remember our neighbor from next door? Well he's a divorcee with cancer and an autistic child and I've decided to marry him. I wont even bother telling you any reason or show you any redeeming quality of his, just know that I'd be spending years and years wallowing in depression and burning my family's fortune to extend my husband's life. I hope you will be happy for me.

Savannah.

P.S. When your father dies, can you please sell his coin collection and give me the proceeds so I can spend it all on my husband's cancer? That would be a godsend.

Savannah.


Dear Savannah,

I'm burning all your letters and will try to forget you. But after your husband dies, call me.

John.

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Went out Friday night with my buds to watch a movie; I don't think I need to tell you which. I enjoyed the company and the film. Talking about the film was fun as well. I enjoy being a popcorn critic, maybe too much at times.

Attention Deficit: Filmfests

September and October were a whirlwind of some of the best movies the world has to offer. With the German, European, Korean, Spanish and Italian film festivals set almost just one week apart from each other, it could only be described as a viewing frenzy for me and some friends.

Then October ended and there were no more news about any other movies to follow. I felt like an addict suffering from withdrawal symptoms.

Thankfully, I chanced upon a website announcing the Australian Film Festival held at the Greenbelt. The news was such a shining beacon of hope that I gleefully hoarded up info as to the movie dates. It seems to me that this event has been set without any fanfare that it didn't even register upon my radars until it's release. Apparently the Festival started last November 5 and will end at the 15th.

Unfortunately, the 2nd week of the Festival will be held, not at Greenbelt, but in Ayala Center Cebu, so this weekend would be my only opportunity to enjoy these movies.

So now, I'm off to the cinemas.

And wait for another bout of withdrawal symptoms after this festival is over, as this might be the absolute last for the year.

And no, the one held annually during December does not count in my books.

24 Hours

Dahil lamang sa biruang opisina ay naatasan akong pumunta sa Cebu para sa buwanang pagbibilang. Hindi ko ito hinahangad, ngunit dahil narito na rin ay tinanggap ko na. Madalas ko na ring sinasabi sa aking sarili na tatanggapin ko ano man ang ibigay sa akin dito sa opisinang ito; kung ayaw ko naman ay madali lamang tumanggi. Alam ko rin na mas mahirap papayagin ang karamihan sa mga kasamahan ko na pumunta roon.

Hindi pa ako nakararating ng Cebu. Ang biyaheng ito ang magiging unang beses na mapapadpad ako sa yaong lugar. Kung isasama ang pagpunta ko noon sa Boracay kasama ang ilang kaibigan, ang paglipad na ito ang pangalawa pa lamang na pagkakataon na mapapadpad ako ng Visayas. Masayang isipin ang pagkakaroon ng bagong karanasang katulad nito.

Trabaho pa rin ang ipinunta ko roon. Aalis ako ng Manila sa katapusan ng 12 ng tanghali, at aalis ng Cebu ng 12 ng tanghali ng susunod na araw. Kasama ang paglipad at pagtulog, nasa Cebu lamang ako ng hindi hihigit sa 24 oras. Ito ang paunang mga oras na ibinigay sa aking ng aming manager at kahit maaari ko itong baguhin ay hindi ko na rin ginawa. Kahit marami na ang nagsabi na dapat ay pinabago ko ang mga oras para magkaroon ako ng oras sa paglilibot, para sa akin ay akma na rin na wala akong masyadong maraming oras na gugugulin doon. Nangangamba ako na kahit damihan ko ang oras ko roon ay wala rin akong malibot, bagkus ay magtrabaho lamang ng mas mahabang panahon.

Sa susunod na lamang ako maglilibot sa Cebu, kapag hindi na trabaho ang sadya ko roon.

Playing Hookie

I was everywhere last weekend. Everywhere but the office, that is.

When wanderlust kicks in, you really have no choice but to comply.

Saturday:

Mandarin Oriental, Gateway

Belini's, Marikina Shoe Exchange

Future Bar; Marikina Shoe Exchange

The wanderlust didn't end that night, though. It continued on til Sunday:

John & Yoko's, Greenbelt 5

Gelatone, Greenbelt 3

All in all, it was a filling and fulfilling weekend. No doubt, I went over-budget, but a $20,000 dinner, it ain't.