Jaunts

Yesterday I watched in DVD “Just Like Heaven” and “50 First Dates.” Both main characters were in a car accident before they met their “destined” partner. I guess for a love story to be worth making a film for, you have to fill the story with every single scenario why the couple couldn’t be together – she’s in a coma, he’s alive; she has short-term memory, he wants to have a long term relationship with her… you get the picture.

In “Just Like Heaven” David (Mark Ruffalo) meets the nagging spirit of Elizabeth (Reese Witherspoon) who pops up everytime he makes a mess in her former apartment. The conflict was built nicely… he was dead inside because of the loss of his wife.. she, a spirit who doesn’t know if she’s dead or not, needs to learn to rely on another person other than herself to find out who she is. They bicker as they go along the mystery solving, which leads them to finally finding where Elizabeth’s body is… in life support inside a hospital. I foresaw what the cliché ending would be: David would have to kiss Elizabeth’s comatose body for her to come life again. And so he did. What I didn’t foresee was that when Elizabeth’s spirit returns to her body, she wouldn’t remember David.



I found the movie mildly entertaining, and yes I rooted for David to save Elizabeth, but the middle part while they were bickering and supposedly falling in love… I didn’t “feel” that they were falling. It’s just like “oh you nagging spirit, I’m gonna help you find your body to get rid of you but wait, on second thought, I kinda love you.”

I enjoyed 50 First Dates more (what do you expect if you put in Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore together). But Henry Roth (Sandler’s character) had to go through heartwrenching obstacles just to get Lucy Whitaker (Barrymore) meet him and know him again and again… because after Lucy sleeps, she wakes up not remembering anything recent, thinking that it is still October last year… the day she had the car accident. It was really persistent, devoted love on Henry’s part. Though there were corny sequences (Rob Schnieder suddenly appearing in Henry’s aquarium while Henry makes out with Lucy; Seals vomiting copiously) the love of Henry for Lucy made up for it. After watching the film you’d wish you’d find someone like Henry Roth who will never ever give up on you even if everyone else has given up on you. Imagine, the day before Lucy agrees to marry Henry and make love after more than 50 First Dates, the next morning she wakes up next to Henry – a stranger for her – and whacks him with a huge stick. It’s not easy to love someone like Lucy but Henry makes it look easy because he loves her everyday as if it’s the first day they met.

My Dad and Mum (who has not read the book but enjoyed the previous
Harry movies)thought the movie Goblet of Fire was just all about games without a story. I was about to retort a defense for Mike Newell's constraints of squeazing in a 700-page book in two hours and a half, when I thought, hey, maybe the movie does confuse the non-readers a bit.

Maybe that's the prupose of Ludo Bagman, to explain the tasks and what is expected of the Champion. I dont know if my parents were being obtuse, but they thought Ron and Hermione were captured by the
mermaids and are real hostages Harry had to save. They really looked eerie underwater.

Though I enjoyed the action scenes, I think it was a wee bit too fast-paced, there was no pause for breath and letting the audience drink it in. The non-readers weren't able to appreciate that Harry went through a
lot of practice and struggles before facing the dragon and entering the maze (like everyone said, the lack of creatures is a bit disappointing). And though the movie is centered on the tri-wizard tournament, it failed to show the main conflict of the story... which is Voldermort's masterplan to kill Harry, cleverly guised as a tournament.

Also, the fear that there is a Death Eater inside Hogwarts isn't that emphasized. Though in the movie, Sirius in the fire said Harry should be careful for the one who is trying to kill him is inside the
walls,it is not enough to set the atmosphere that there is a thicker plot than the tournament.

I guess that's my main comment, there was no proper build-up to the main conflict, which is Voldemort's return. I understand it is impossible to include everything, even the plot which only good story-telling can convey. Maybe they can stretch the movie to 3 hours or 3 hours and a half if it means good story telling?

Ralph Fiennes become Voldemort in this film and I liked Gleeson's rendition of Mad Eye. I'm happy to see the bouncing Malfoy-Ferret as well as the Yule ball, and I was moved to tears over Harry's grief
when he got out of the maze with Cedric's dead body... but I'm missing the story.

Back to the books then.

This is a work of fiction. My work of fiction. If plagiarists steal this story. I'll ask Lucifer to escort you to your Suite Under the Earth.



The Last Person
By Vanessa Suquila

Something strange happened on the sixteenth of September, or what was believed to be the sixteenth of September. The clocks simply stopped working. The denizens glared at the watches on their wrists, tapped the glass (or plastic) covering the face of the watch, and asked the person nearest them for the time. But to their dismay, nobody knew what time it was. Not a single soul inhabiting the Island of Manila.

At that moment, Pedring the farmer and Peter the PR writer both squinted at the calendar and scratched their heads. They were sure that their calendar was there were it used to hang before, but it wasn’t there anymore.

Seemingly, in the vast space that is one second, all the calendars that bedeck their walls vanished. Even appointment books, diaries, and planners became blank pages, its cover without a year stared dully back at anyone who looked.

But something more peculiar happened on that day besides the absence of time and the vanishing calendars. On that precise moment the watches stopped working, a baby girl was born. And she was the last baby born in the history of Island Manila.

Because after her birth, every woman became suddenly barren.

***

The tall ones are peering at me again, pinching pinching, kneading. When will they stop?

“Oh, look, her eyes are the color of summer sky!”

“She’s a cherub. Did you see her yawn? Awww.”

“That’s enough, that’s enough,” my mother would admonish the childless mothers. She had a musical voice that even I can’t tell when she is angry. “This baby needs to sleep. Now she can’t do that if you keep gawking at her.”

“Why do you keep calling her ‘this baby,’ doesn’t she have a name?” A nosy neighbor asked.

I felt cool fingertips brush my temples, and mother’s voice washed over my face when she said, “She was born at the exact time when there was no time, no day. That is why she will have no name.”

But that’s not true. I have a name. But I don’t think the tall ones are ready to know my name yet. They are already scared enough as it is. I like mother. I think I will tell her my name one day.

**
“Curious, curious,” said a man under his breath as he watched the baby girl from afar. A mudbrown cap covered most of his eyes. His lips are a thin slash of a knife. He dropped a burning cigarette to the ground, and crushed it into ashes with the heel of his silver-tipped leather shoe. He took a compact camera from the inside pocket of his jacket, and it gleamed a sinister red.

**
The Leader of Manila sat, pensive, on his leather chair. His barong was winkled, and the creases of his face seemed more pronounced than usual. He leafed through several brown file folders with unseeing eyes, knowing already what the hospital reports say. It has been 30 suns now and no child has been born. At first, this was no cause for alarm. After all the Islands, fertility rate had been rather alarming at 2.7%, but it is most unusual, just as unusual as the clocks stopped working and calendars vanishing, that no child follows the birth of a nameless baby girl born in a rural clinic.

The media has been awash with stories of the coming end of the world. Dire warnings to repent and change the ways of the wicked were seen on posters and billboards on the subways and ferries. But the media did not know that no child has been born since the loss of time except for the girl. They did not know the gravity of what this means to the continuation of their species.

They did not know, yet.

The Leader rose from his seat, a slow reptilian movement not unlike an iguana’s. He faced his window, and peered glumly at the view of the Manila Bay -- a vast gray body of water with shimmering whites sprinkled by the late afternoon sun.

What was he to do, the chosen leader to steer the Island towards economic development, social progress, and end of poverty? Did he dare say that there are more pressing issues than the oil price hike and the terrorist attacks? Did he dare give flesh to the fear of the people that, as of this time, were nothing but cobwebs of speculations that can be banished with a few encouraging words? After all, it has been 30 suns, who’s to say there will never be another child born in 5 suns time?

“Sir,” His Secretary peeked his head tentatively into the room. “All of the networks and broadsheets we invited have arrived. They’re expecting your statement in 10 minutes.”

The Leader nodded his head once, letting the Secretary know he understood. He squared his sloping shoulders, and turned away from the window.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Top things you shouldn't do in the office:

1) Blog surrpetitiously during office hours
2) Enjoy free DSL connection the office provides
3) Do nothing but stare at the computer screen, but at the approach of the boss, feverishly tap the keyboard as if you are punished to beat a deadline.

Anyway, the superior is not here so...SQUEEEEE! :-) Blog blog blog! :-)

It's been one year since I made that maiden journey to Siquijor and Dumaguete. August of last year, I quit my job, along with the current Secretary of a must-not-be-mentioned government agency. So I took my seperation pay, my last salary and headed south of Visayas by myself. It was the first time I travelled completely alone to a far far far (not in the Luzon Island) away place. The freedom it brought was exhilirating, I didn't have to wait for nobody to move their butt, all I need to do was look out for myself and not to try to run into strange strangers. I heard they had queer folk in Siquijor, covert witches and shamans that might hurl a hex at you should you look at them the wrong way.

Anyway since I was on a budget (not too tight, not loose), I Superferried it from Manila to Dumaguete. Damn straight 28 hours of being cooped up in the ship. I walked some to stretch my legs. I shared a bunk with this old lady who kept looking at my luggage. I had to haul my backpack and all my belongings in the shower rooms coz i didnt trust my bunk mate. Well there were actually around 100 of us, dormitory style, sharing the whole floor, but it was the old lady with the shifty eyes that uneased me.

Getting off track, I amused myself in the Ferry by escaping to the business class where they have a lounge. I got to sit on a comfy sofa and write and write and...finally, Dumaguete. :-) The land of motorcycles. Nanays, tatays, lolas, gradeschoolers, all of them were riding motorcycles, it was the family car! I saw a family of four riding it. So cool! I got to ride one, and when it's not polluted and the traffic is light, motorbiking is one of the most enjoyable rides ever. Theres no steel metal covering you as you go, its just you, the air whipping your face, the road almost grazing your feet, and the motorbike engine vibrating your butt. :-)

Then, after a few days in Dumaguete, I took a ferry to Siquijor. (To be continued)


Pagudpud sunset. Another amazing place I'll write about.

See also www.vanessarocks.blogpsot.com

Saw this funny avatar in the Pinoy Harry Potter website, credit goes to Angel Ruse. :-)

***

The day I sat down on top of the world, I realized how small my worries were...

These were thoughts that flitted through my mind as I observed from my desk with a window view in Raffles Corporate Center two years ago. The only time I was truly free was when I wrote mindless childrens books and romantic erotica. How can I balance this with my desire to make a contribution in the community?

After the work, at the end of the day, and when they chuck soil to my face as they lower me to my grave, all I really have is me. The world will probably be just as sick, just as poor, just as negative as when I entered it and left...

or maybe not. Instead of the world I have this small bubble, my sphere of influence, and I know in my sphere of influence I have made something not sick, not poor, not negative. It is just a sphere. Unattached, bobbing happily without judgement or purpose to hurt. purpose is just to exist.

***

This is a story about a dot. Miniscule. Little point of black. Could be a period, could be a pinprick of the derma in your face. The dot is just a dot. It is a blackhole to someone, even light could not escape its hungry open mouth, it could be a peeping hole for the creator to see what is up with the creatures lately.

For me that dot is an ink mark. My hunger to leave something to be read outshines my hunger for Yellow Cab Tri-Becca pizza. You know if you have met someone who has discovered their purpose...they attract people and things, and they pull you to their vision, make you see it. People who have not yet discovered what they want grope in the dark, fumbling and tumbling, their gaze hesitant to lock in yours. Figuring, tinkering, with the soul and body that was given to them. Ready to use.

I stuffed myself with Brazilian barbecue last night and until now I feel like I burp barbecue and exhale barbecue.

Karen and I tried out this Brazilian resto in Metrowalk Meralco ave (Free parking!) WE got in, chose a table and started gabbing, when the menu was offered I noticed there was no ala carte. There is only buffet worth Php545. Now that seemed a bit steep, but when I sampled all the inclusions of the buffet, it was all worth it.

Their specialty is barbecue. If you are a meat lover, a voracious carnivore, you cannot go wrong here. The have all the cuts in pork (tenderloin, rib, ribe eye, bellu). Thick grade A beef, tangy in every fiber (theres tenderloin, rib, belly, finger, etc). They have the fattest and juciest frankfurts and the grilled pineapple was so sweet it hardly tasted like the pineapples I know.

I thick my belly is now rotund. Boing boing boing.

Oh Hi Lander O HI LAnder
Why did you conk out on me O Hilander?

Twice this week. One on a damp tuesday early morn, when I tried to elude the coding scheme, I was steering the wheel to enter the parking lot in front of the office. Happy to arrive at 7AM without the neon hand of the MMDA stopping me, only to find the comforting chugging sound of the engine stop.

And now today, Thursday morning, when the traffic in Greenhills is about to move. The RPM hand dipped to zero and I had to revive you with a panicky pressing of the gas pedal.

Please dont die on me Hi-Lander. I know you have seen better days. And I'd sooner skip dinner (I', growing fat so some say) just to pool my resources to fix you.

And now as you sit at Caltex Meralco ave for the second time, I hope you feel alive again under the care of Monching and Romy the mechanics.

Work with me now O Hi-Lander. Let me hear your engine rumble to life.

(me shipping Karen, Weena, Mela, Jude, and Andy to the book destinations of Manila)

Here’s the driver’s point of view of the bookhunt last Saturday, August 6, 2005

Booktopia

Parking space in Booktopia Libis is limited (maybe good for five cars or so), but I was lucky that it was a semi-stormy day so no one in their right minds would venture out like we did, ergo I was able to get a parking slot (which is for free).

What caught my eye in the shop is the hardbound Coraline book of Neil Gaiman (which is at Php500 or so, Powerbooks would have it pegged at Php800 most likely). They have a chockfull of good poetry books (well in my opinion if they have Neruda or Rilke, they can’t be that bad). Pablo Neruda’s Love Poems and a Song of Despair is slim and handy, interspersed with pages of another Pablo’s artwork (Picasso’s), an interesting combination, with a reasonable price of Php400 or so. There’s a couch in the center of the book shop, and a tray of porcelain cups where you can fill in free coffee from a coffee maker which was empty when we got there.

Oh! Jude and I had fun swishing wands, riding brooms, and stuffing the Sorting Hat unto our heads (it whispered to me...Slytherin! Gasp!)Booktopia has a lot of Harry Potter paraphernalia,so should you find the books uninteresting, you might want to have a go on the Firebolt.



Aeon Bookstore
This is the hardest bookstore to find a parking space for (i think there is only one slot for parking in front of the shop, the rest are parking spaces for the customers of the adjacent shops). As Jude mentioned in his blog, there were a lot of cerebral books in Aeon (philosophy, prose philosophy), a lot of religion and spirituality (Zen, Buddhism, Dharma) and the technical side of literature (literary criticisms etc.). Oh for those of you looking for Sandra Cisnero's notable "House on the Mango Street" they have it (around Php400). The price range is pretty lofty (for me at least),their Coraline Neil Gaiman book fetches Php900.

We drove to UP Balay Kalinaw after a few of us peyups Grads debated on where it is actually located.(I miss Chocolate Kiss at Bahay ng Alumni). We passed by good old Molave, where I used to dorm. Oh memories of hospital-like beds, roomates, and sounds of cavorting cats at night. Sigh.

Popular Bookstore
I have been here before, and it is indeed funny to find the Sex books right smack with the Spiritual books. However, when you think about it, sex is indeed a spiritual joining. Price range here is Php400 and above. There are five peso books (mostly old reference books), cook books, Filipiniana, american, latin, and hispanic literature. Upstairs are the textbooks, medical encyclopedias and other thick tomes you only keep for show (or to go with your mahogany book case).

Bound
I was sleepy when I got there, and the erotica collection they were supposedly famous for was woefully disappointing. Oh, but there were a few books on historical romances starring two muscular men (yep gay books are here).

Books for Less (Main Branch, Roces)
At last, I've stopped browsing and started bookshopping! here is a place where you can find second hand (or old surplus books) in mint condition. I wanted to read something light and nostalgic so I bought a hard bound classic Nancy Drew book (the Crossword Cipher). When I showed this to mom and she said I was regressing. But the truth is, classics never die. I love the phase of boundless possibility and adventure in children's adolescent books.

I've been to a lot of places in the Philippines, several in Luzon (Pangasinan, Lucban, Pampanga, Tagaytay, Laguna, CAR, etc.) a few in Visayas (Ilo-ilo, Boracay, Dumaguete, Siquijor), and once in Mindanao (Davao City).

But I didnt know that a little piece of tamed jungle could be found in Lipa, Batangas, where Charlie the peacock runs free, the moody black swan elongates its neck to peck its feathers underneath, and bottle-green ponds divide the pieces of land with cloistered cottages and bungalows.

Some say the San Benito Farm is too expensive. The cheapest overnight accommodation you could get there is for the Sulu Terraces which is at Php8,000 per night, inclusive of buffet breakfast. But I have to say every cent was worth it.



The silence is never oppresive. Trees are thick but not the Sleepy-Hollow type. It is serenity given shape by nature. There are 49 hectares but only 9 are developed. Guests could drop in the daily activities on guided meditation, yoga, or Tibetan exercise. I'm not much for yoga (I never did get the hang of the cobra pose) but it was satisfying to hear the sounds of my joints stretching (or maybe bones breaking?).

We were given a map of the Farm, but I'm the type who wants to explore uknown terrains by myself. So I happily ignored the squiggles of directions in the paper and set forth into paths hidden between thick foiliages. One of my finest finds is the Santolan Library, located in the inner part of the farm. It looked like a den from one of those rooms in Clue-do (a gameboard), fat cushioned sofas, leather tables convertible to chess boards, dvds, tv, and lots of books on art. One day would not be enough to explore the whole farm.

(more soon)

This is a painting by Marrion Boddy - Evans. Her website at About.com gives helpful tips for making abstract paintings.

I like painting in the abstract. Instead of explaining, i just want to leave images that just came out from my hands, i do not necessarily know what it means, but it may mean something else for another. Some people find open ended sentences, paintings, films disconcerting. I find open-ended complete.

I've recently taken to work while my windows media player tunes into new age music. Sometimes I hear the sound of waterfalling as I pound my keyboard, sometimes I hear a sound between the hooting of nocturnal birds and a bamboo flute. Of course, Gregorian chants echoing in the cavernouse cathedral and Enya's timeless spaceless Orinoco flow would filter in my radio waves everynow and then.

Does it alleviate my stress level? Not really. But these days I find myself a placid pond staring dully back at whoever peers into my depths. The music I'm listening to actually is the state I'm in. for now.

WARNIG! IF YOU HAVEN'T FINISHED READING HALF BLOOD PRINCE DO NOT CONTINUE UNLESS YOU WANT TO KNOW THE ENDING!

I knew it was gonna happen. My sister and my bro have discussed it countless of times. Dumbledore will have to die in Book 6 for Harry to finally become a man, shoulder the responsibility of vanquishing Voldemort, and not expect anyone to come to the rescue.

But still there was shock. When Dumbledore pleaded for his life to Snape, I was unconsciously holding on to a shred of hope that Snape will prove me wrong and he is indeed good after all. But he is not. and Dumbledore was murdered. This is the only book where Harry had the most number of interactions with Dumbledore. Increasingly becoming close to Harry is like getting an Avada Kedavra-sentence. I knew he was doomed.

The scene that most touched me was when Harry and Dumbledore just got the Horcrux. Weakened by the feat, Dumbledore leans heavily on Harry for support, and Harry reassures Dumbledore not to worry and Dumbledore said...

"I'm not worried. You're here."

I almost cried. My heart almost broke when I looked at the chapter drawing on the "Phoenix Lament." The seat of the Headmaster, the wooden chair with a moon and a star on the head rest, was empty. There really is no Dumbledore. His burial, the white tomb, made me hold back my tears. It is hard to be attached to characters. This is JK rolwing's doing.

The Half-Blood Prince has less action and school boy wizard adventure than the other Harry books. But I have no doubt it is the most hearltfelt and emotionally involving of all.

Now I face another year of two, of awaiting the final book in the Harry series. And I do hope all these deaths will have helped Harry in someway, in defeating the darkness and fear, in the form of Voldemort.

Oh, there were love-stuff there too. Interspersed with the real story. Made life for Harry, Ron, and Hermione a little more complex but interesting.

I tend to think that places far away from manila are called provinces. I know Davao is a city, and honestly when we rode in the shuttle service from the airport to Waterfront hotel, and later at night we taxied to Al Dibingco (or something spelled like that) I couldn't tell the difference between Davao and Sta. Cruz, Manila (well a slightly cleaner Sta. Cruz) What do I expect? It is an urban city (except for the lack of malls, but wait, there is an SM in Davao)

Photo below was taken not at the front of the Waterfront hotel, but at the back. I like how light dances on the creases of water, carbon balck water at that. If you see a human face in this photo, it must be a ghost. Lights play tricks, but spirits can be seen as lights. So there you are. By the way if you use any of these photos in this blog ask permission first from me. I took these with my Mum's Php25k digi-cam, so I feel highly indebted to her.

Am I a travel writer yet? Well I travel. And I write. But the tag of travel writer slips in and out like an extra soggy rug. I'm in another coordinative body, this time instead of government, a group of foundations. Sometimes I dont know if a paved my own path (imagine me revving an machine with giant rollers smoothening concrete) or that the path revealed itself to me (suddenly the curtains of grass and tree branches part to reveal stone steps). Regardless, I chose where I am now, and I am eager to discover the travels within that will expand outside.

This photo was taken inside PAL as I was heading home to Manila from a workshop in Davao. I will put more images of Davao later on. For now, the plane.

Truth comes at 3AM. It is cobalt blue, blending into the tips of the night. Being is truth living. Shadow and light playing to give depth in our flat world.

a curl of a handle
invites my finger
touch hook
earthen connection