Updates and gibberish

- Just watched History Boys. Brilliant storyline, excellent cast. My only beef about it is that there was just a bit too much homosexuality going on towards the latter parts of the film (not that I'm a homophobe or anything), but nonetheless it still made for a good plot. I really wish I had their smarts...I mean, those guys could quote Auden, Byron and Keats at the drop of a hat.

- Handed in three papers and delivered an oral presentation yesterday. At least part of my academic ordeal is already over. Two final exams, two presentations, one ginormous paper and three weeks of internship to go.

- It's almost officially winter; the chilly nights and 10 degree mornings are heralding its arrival. Guess that explains my extra huge appetite as of late.

- I'm in a real adultsy-type dilemma right now, but I just spoke to a friend and we both agreed that we will take a big leap of faith on this one (even if we run the risk of moving in with strangers or being homeless in the process). It's a calculated risk and we've drawn up a list of contingency plans. I've always believed that you should do at least one stupid/brave/rash thing (or a combination of all three) in your lifetime anyway. Besides, if everything works according to plan, the benefits would be really worth it.

- Really looking forward to the winter break. One whole month of reading and watching movies and basically just lazing around. That would be really sweet :-) If it's not too cold, maybe I can go explore the city and check out the other free museums I still haven't been to.

- Free TV over here is worse than free TV back home. But out of the six or so channels they have, the most decent one is SBS, since they air South Park episodes and a handful of good arthouse stuff (they have Bandila as well!). I checked this week's TV Guide and Goya en Bordeaux is on this Thursday, plus Run Lola Run this Saturday. The first season of Big Love will also premiere this Sunday. Last week I was able to catch Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress, one of my favorite, favorite films in the world. Two good scenes:

Ma Jianling sucking out venom from the finger of the Little Seamstress, who was bitten by a snake. Unbeknownst to the girl, he is madly in love with her. She asks him: Why are you shaking? It didn't bite you.

The ending (a flashback sequence), where all the three of them were underwater, and the Little Seamstress' head was on Luo Ming's shoulder as he reads her a book (presumably Balzac). Ma Jianling was behind them, playing his violin. The bottle of perfume which he bought for the Little Seamstress in France was floating in the background.

I read somewhere (it was on amazon.com, I believe) that the flooding of the Yangtze River (which submerged the town where the story was set) was a metaphor for the loss of innocence of the three characters. In effect, the water drowned all the memories of their youth, which the two boys basically spent reading Dostoevsky and Balzac to the girl. Sadly the Little Seamstress was radically changed by the ideas of these European writers, and she abandons the two boys who absolutely adored her so she can try her luck in the city.
This is one of the few films that are just so heartbreakingly beautiful and it still remains as magnificent no matter how many times I watch it. Curiously, it was based on the semi-autobiographical novel (written in French) of Dai Sijie, who also directed the film.

The Science of Sleep

Saw this movie last night. It was a real charming gem of a film. I adore anything remotely surrealist, and that explains why Buñuel and Medem are among my favorite filmmakers (I love Miró's and Dalí's artwork as well). Michel Gondry is now one of my new favorite directors (he did Eternal Sunshine a few years back), and this movie has now secured a slot in my desert-island top films list.

Gael's character and myself are very much alike, in many respects (except the artistic part...I can't draw to save my life), but the fact that we are both big narcoleptics who can't reconcile real life from reveries takes the cake. His saccharine yet childish antics moved me to pieces. Case in point, he gave Charlotte Gainsbourg a cool time machine he invented as a no-particular-occasion present, and when asked why, he sweetly muttered, "on the occasion that you're pretty".

Some have commented that the film left them monumentally bored, but surprisingly the montage of beautiful images and colors engaged my eyes and really left me in a dream-like state for almost two hours. Sheer genius. And Gael and his quirky officemates even performed a slow, jazzy and cutesy song called "If You Rescue Me" (which apparently is a pseudo-cover of a Velvet Underground song) while they were in cat costumes. Such cuteness...

One of the best opening sequences in a movie. Check it out:

[youtube=http://youtube.com/watch?v=-78pDIEFZoE]

A Work of Pure Genius

This was written years ago by my one of my uber bestest friends in the world, Noel (I kept your stuff in my hard drive!). I was totally blown away by this story, and apparently, it took him a grand total of just five minutes to write it. Dude, you're on your way to perfecting the art of flash fiction. And hey, you should send me your new sketches. I wish you the best of luck in becoming the ultimate Renaissance Man :-)

Here's to all the liters of Red Horse which defined our friendship, all the lazy hours  swapping the corniest jokes at Oz Cafe/Brothers'/the Main Lib/Watering Hole, all the conversations laced with absolutely wicked humor (The Impregnator! Soon to be a graphic novel!), all the crazy afternoons spent at arcades trying to whip each other's asses at racing games, hoops and air hockey...basta! Miss ya supah mucho! Send my love to Angeli :-)

******************************************************************************

A Poor Count Dracula Story

It was the 1920s. Dracula was afraid of spires. Dracula was afraid of other buildings atop other hilltops, obstructing his view of the great Transylvanian scenery all around. At night he would rise from his crypt and his heart would sink, looking at the other houses, some that blocked even the sanguine shape of the full moon. More and more houses were being built by more and more people. Peasants were building houses, villagers were building houses, mountains were being peppered with houses. Houses were everywhere. Dracula was afraid of houses. Dracula was afraid of architecture. He could turn himself into mist, bat, wolf, decay, any form of insect and he was afraid of architecture. He was afraid of building plans. He was afraid of the population encroaching his territory. And they were building. He could suck their blood and filch the souls off their bodies and these were all powerless to stop him yet he was afraid of cement and bricks and mortar. Dracula cried tears of blood and he shivered thinking of chimneys and windows and the compactness of stone. He was wary of hitting his head against stone. Dracula would stare at his own castle’s walls and over and over again ram his own body, inhuman, bat or wolf again and again against the hard stone. He did not wish to imagine the pain of hitting the stone from other people’s houses and so he began breaking his bones against his castle’s walls so that he may be made infirm and incapable of traveling out. But the houses were still waiting for him. He had never felt that much fear before.

One night, he stabbed his own heart and jumped from atop his castle’s walls. One by one, the villagers came out to stare at his body. Their laughs echoed throughout the night and a feast was held in the morn. Their houses laughed and ate the Count’s bones.

Si tú me olvidas

Quiero que sepas
una cosa.

Tú sabes cómo es esto:
si miro
la luna de cristal, la rama roja
del lento otoño en mi ventana,
si toco
junto al fuego
la impalpable ceniza
o el arrugado cuerpo de la leña,
todo me lleva a ti,
como si todo lo que existe,
aromas, luz, metales,
fueran pequeños barcos que navegan
hacia las islas tuyas que me aguardan.

Ahora bien,
si poco a poco dejas de quererme
dejaré de quererte poco a poco.

Si de pronto
me olvidas
no me busques,
que ya te habré olvidado.

Si consideras largo y loco
el viento de banderas
que pasa por mi vida
y te decides
a dejarme a la orilla
del corazón en que tengo raíces,
piensa
que en ese día,
a esa hora
levantaré los brazos
y saldrán mis raíces
a buscar otra tierra.

Pero
si cada día,
cada hora
sientes que a mí estás destinada
con dulzura implacable.
Si cada día sube
una flor a tus labios a buscarme,
ay amor mío, ay mía,
en mí todo ese fuego se repite,
en mí nada se apaga ni se olvida,
mi amor se nutre de tu amor, amada,
y mientras vivas estará en tus brazos
sin salir de los míos.

Apathy is a distorted form of kindness

The messages were few and far between, the tenderness in his voice has receded. In due course, correspondence was left unanswered, and he was washed away by the swift ebb of time.

She was shrouded in a plethora of doubts. To her mind, it was the most heinous crime of betrayal.

Years into the future, when she finally acquired the wisdom of sages, she had an enlightened awakening. His deeds were certainly no affront to her person, she acknowledged. In some peculiar way, it was a disguised gift of supreme compassion, for there is no offense more wicked than imparting false hopes to a heart which continues to love sightlessly.

*******************************************************************************

A conversation with L. was my inspiration for this

Double celebration

The parental units are celebrating their 33rd (33rd!) wedding anniversary today. That's certainly no small feat. They're in Tagaytay Highlands right now with my two kuyas and their families. The other brothers had an earlier celebration with them last Monday. Sigh. The travails of a big family with weird schedules :-)

Today is also the birthday of one of my dearest friends, Allan. ¡Feliz cumpleaños, macho! You are very much missed. You don't know how much I appreciate your efforts to google-talk with me every once in a while. It has really helped keep loneliness at bay. I'm putting together your dibidees, don't worry...Un abrazo muy fuerte...

Swamped with work!

Currently inundated with academic shite. Between now and the end of June, I have to work on these things:

1. 3 big papers, 1 relatively short proposal and 1 750-word "mini" paper

2. 3 oral presentations

3. 2 killer exams

4. a 3-week intensive internship

To make matters worse, I seemed to have lost my studying mojo. Waaaah! Can't afford to be kicked out of Macq. Help me, God!

Can't sleep...

...too cold. Bad recurring dreams. I wish I can just undergo that procedure in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

Out of nowhere, this old Sinatra song starts playing in my head. At 4:18 am.

In the wee small hours of the morning
While the whole wide world is fast asleep
You lie awake and think about the girl
And never ever think of counting sheep

When your lonely heart has learned its lesson
Youd be hers if only she would call
In the wee small hours of the morning
Thats the time you miss her most of all

Memory Differentials

She called him one cold night in winter.

“Hey. How are you?,” he asked in a voice permeating with icy indifference.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“It’s been a while since I last heard from you. So, why’d you call?”

“I just wanted to ask…do you still remember the 4^th of July, in 2005?” Her question was loaded with undertones of hope that somehow, he might still remember.

“What are you talking about?” There was a glaring dryness and annoyance in his timbre.

“Don’t you remember? The fireworks…the slots in the wall ---”

“You called me just to ask if I remember some random night two years ago?” He was visibly irritated.

“Yes…I…I just wanted to ask if you---”

“No, I’m sorry but I don’t recall anything special about that date.” His words sliced like daggers.

“You don’t really remember anything?,” she inquired, in a tone pregnant with sad exasperation.

“4^th of July…independence day, right?”

“Yeah, and they had a fireworks display and we---,”

“Well, I’m really sorry but I don’t recall anything. All I know is that the US Embassy sets off fireworks every year to celebrate independence day. I may have seen some of the 4^th of July fireworks on TV, or when I was a kid or whatever, but two years ago I don’t really remember if I saw them or not. I mean, that was ages ago already”. His voice betrayed such frost. “What’s it to you, anyway?”

At that point in time, it would have meant the world to her if he had even the slightest recollection of that exquisite evening. “But how could he have forgotten?” she thought to herself. It was just about the most resplendent event they had witnessed together. That night, their fingers were interlocked, and her heart rhythmically erupted with affection for the boy in synchrony with each glorious explosion of pyrotechnics in the sky.

Was the boy afflicted with such profound memory loss for him not to have recalled an otherwise significant event? Or could it be selective amnesia? Did he deliberately forget? Or maybe that night might not have been as momentous as she imagined it to be after all. Maybe it was just a night of meaningless noise and drab multi-colored sparklers. Maybe all along she was concocting memories unilaterally. Or did that incident even occur at all?

The girl was still plagued by questions, but she deemed it best to just surrender. Maybe there really was a sliver of truth to the boy’s statements. In the end, she just resolved to create the same memory, in the distant future, with a boy who would remember.

Lonesome Traveller quote

No man should go through life without once experiencing healthy, even bored solitude in the wilderness, finding himself depending solely on himself and thereby learning his true and hidden strength. - Jack Kerouac


My "true and hidden strength". Oooh. Hope I find it soon.

Trees

Chow Mo-wan: In the old days, if someone had a secret they didn't want to share... you know what they did?
Ah Ping: Have no idea.
Chow Mo-wan: They went up a mountain, found a tree, carved a hole in it, and whispered the secret into the hole. Then they covered it with mud. And leave the secret there forever.
Ah Ping: What a pain! I'd just go to get laid.
Chow Mo-wan: Not everyone's like you.

*******************************************************************************

One particularly unforgettable scene from In the Mood for Love was the part where Tony Leung treks all the way to Angkor Wat to confess how fiercely he loved Maggie Cheung to a hole he carved in a solitary tree. He then covered up the hole with mud to protect this fragile secret.

So moving was this scene that it compelled me to make a personal sojourn to Cambodia late last year. While other tourists were traipsing around in more glamorous locales, I was eager to discover the mystique of exotic Angkor Wat. More than anything, I was keenly enthusiastic to take in the sight of hundreds of trees in Siem Reap which guarded a host of ancient secrets.

In this lifetime, a limited few would have the privilege to entrust their most intimate sentiments to other humans. There is an unspoken understanding for the confidante to take these secrets to their grave. But in the course of things, one may lose such human trees. Kindred friends part ways to become trees to other people, while holding on to vestiges of past confessions and revelations. Separately, they bury these shreds of each other's souls in layers of mud and struggle to relegate them to the deep abyss of oblivion, hoping to make way for new secrets.

On seeing the 100% perfect girl one beautiful April morning

One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo's fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.

Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.

Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.

But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird.

"Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone.

"Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?"

"Not really."

"Your favorite type, then?"

"I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts."

"Strange."

"Yeah. Strange."

"So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?"

"Nah. Just passed her on the street."

She's walking east to west, and I west to east. It's a really nice April morning.

Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I'd really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.

After talking, we'd have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.

Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.

Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.

How can I approach her? What should I say?

"Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?"

Ridiculous. I'd sound like an insurance salesman.

"Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?"

No, this is just as ridiculous. I'm not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who's going to buy a line like that?

Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me."

No, she wouldn't believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you're not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I'd probably go to pieces. I'd never recover from the shock. I'm thirty-two, and that's what growing older is all about.

We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can't bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She's written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she's ever had.

I take a few more strides and turn: She's lost in the crowd.

Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical.

Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, don't you think?"

Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened.

One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street.

"This is amazing," he said. "I've been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you're the 100% perfect girl for me."

"And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I'd pictured you in every detail. It's like a dream."

They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It's a miracle, a cosmic miracle.

As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one's dreams to come true so easily?

And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, "Let's test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other's 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we'll marry then and there. What do you think?"

"Yes," she said, "that is exactly what we should do."

And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west.

The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other's 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully.

One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season's terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence's piggy bank.

They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.

Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.

One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:

She is the 100% perfect girl for me.

He is the 100% perfect boy for me.

But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fourteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.

A sad story, don't you think?

Yes, that's it, that is what I should have said to her.

*From Haruki Murakami's The Elephant Vanishes, a collection of short stories

Am I right side up or upside down?

Dave came to Sydney! Waah! Like I told Roanne, Joy and Edwin last night:
I can die now.

Highlights of the DMB Concert:

- The first song they played was Crush, my all-time, desert-island favorite song. It was probably their longest rendition ever since it went well over 12 minutes, and I patiently recorded the whole song on my digicam (though at one point my hands and arms were beginning to shake involuntarily...and my nose started to itch!). God really knows how to balance the universe. After a particularly bad week and the recent series of unfortunate events which befell me, He decided to compensate for it with this!

- Dave kept doing his cute "monster voice" in between songs (Thank you for coming!). Think Cookie Monster.

- Dave's dance moves throughout the night were basically a combination of "scissors" and an LA-walk sort of move. Haha!

- At one point though, I started to get annoyed by the fact that it was taking them forever to end a song, due to the requisite "solos" each band member had to have so they could display their wicked guitar/saxophone/drum/violin/piano/trumpet playing skills.

- Unfortunately, they didn't play my other faves like Space Between, Crash into Me, Satellite and Lover Lay Down. Good thing they performed their other hits Stay (Wasting Time), Jimi Thing, Ants Marching and Tripping Billies.

- They were selling DMB merchandise at the venue and I set my sights on this gray hoodie which had a "Dave Matthews Band" print, though it cost $80 and I had second thoughts about the price. Some people who bought the exact same hoodie were already wearing it after the concert, and upon closer inspection the material didn't seem that thick (wouldn't keep me that warm in winter). I mentioned this to Roanne, and I told her that maybe I can just order other DMB stuff online. Haha, what a way to console myself. Sucks to be a cheapskate.

- One of the burly security guards at Hordern approached us and ordered (ordered!) us to empty our bags. He then confiscated our water bottles and my half-finished bottle of iced tea and proceeded to dump them straight into the bin. The rationale behind the no-food, no-drinks inside the venue policy was to coerce people to buy stuff from the vendors inside. And wow, they really jacked up the prices of everything. Poor Roanne was forced to buy a teeny tiny cap-less bottle of water for $3.

- The lady guard allowed me to bring in my jumungous shoulder bag while Roanne had to leave her significantly smaller-sized backpack in the cloakroom. Weird. Note to self, always bring feminine-looking bags to concerts in Sydney, regardless of size.

- We decided to sit at the back row of the middle section since Roanne and I were scared of stampedes and rowdy people in the standing area. Because of the Wowowee tragedy, I will now perpetually fear stampedes. I mean, I love Dave and all, but he's just not worth dying for.

Overall, it was an excellent concert. Thanks, DMB.

Death Cab for Cutie, I am waiting for you guys.

Prayer for Serenity

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

the courage to change the things that I can,

and the wisdom to know the difference.

Snippets

Here are fragments of songs, poems and movies (even advice!) which have been reverberating in my head for the past few days. Just a disclaimer, there is no coherent theme binding them all together. For some inexplicable (or explicable hehe) reason they have just been tormenting me, creating a totally bizarre cornucopia of melodies, images and dialogue in my head. Oh, and some of them are just frighteningly sappy, and I apologize. My tastes can't be discriminating all the time, and my mind apparently has a mind of its own...

1. Smashing Pumpkins' Try, Try, Try (along with its hauntingly beautiful music video)

2. MJ telling Spidey "We have to forgive each other or everything we ever were will mean nothing" (the trailer keeps playing on TV)

3. Neruda's "Es tan corto el amor, y tan largo el olvido" from Puedo Escribir Los Versos Mas Triste Esta Noche

4. Go West's King of Wishful Thinking (haha!)

5. Sylvia Plath's Mad Girl's Love Song

6. That Neil Gaiman quote which starts with "Have you ever been in love..."

7. Rilke's You Who Never Arrived

8. Karen Kunawicz's Sound of One Heart Breaking

9. That awful theme song from Neighbours: "Neighbours should be there for one another...that's when good neighbours become good friends..." (I'd really love to explain why, but I don't want to jinx anything yet. All I can say is that it's this little project that's been making me and someone else so excited as of late. I think I'm gonna call it Operation N.H. hehe. Will divulge everything when the time is right.)


10. Charlie reminding me the other day that I once told her back in college that she will just laugh at *everything that happened* in the future (I'm nearing that stage now, Charlie...!)

11. K's Choice's Almost Happy

12. The plot of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind