scotch mist

Sometimes, nature gives you a sick sense of humor for a realization.

There's this guyabano outside of my room bearing several ripening fruits. 'Ignorable' guyabano is to me (I still go for mangoes when fruits) but I was drawn into stocktaking one day. There's this particular one that just got me: it is not the biggest (which would typically be the favored one) neither the most plump of the bunch (which would make for a pulpy shake) but I knew this tiny piece would just be right to 'satisfy' a craving in me. This one got me into daily morning visits and my anticipation was building for the 'right time' for this piece to finally ripen in the care of nature's elements. As they say, "masarap ang hindi hinog sa pilit" (what's ripened by time is more delightful).

Then the day finally came when I figured it's the right time for picking. I haven't climbed a tree in quite a time to note that the guyabano branch is not as sturdy to carry my weight and 'hantiks' (big red ants) had been guarding the trunk where 'my' fruit was hinged on. Quite a gamble for one 'ignorable' guyabano, but I was driven into letting loose of some defenses for this one glory - to my terms at least.

So how would you feel when you got out that morning mustering all hopes and find a flock of 'kulansyangs' (red-eyed black birds) pecking into 'your' fruit? Only the seeds which fell to the earth knew how long they had been devouring it.

A raging sense was all over you twinged with the eroding feeling of regret: I should have picked it 'yesterday'. Yet it was funny why looking at the birds cannot make you feel the audacity to drive them away. It's no longer of any use because even after you succeed in shooing them away and reclaim 'your' fruit, it might no longer serve its purpose since its flesh were already among the birds. What is there left for your planned guyabano shake?

Then you learn to take things as they are, maybe in the way they were intended to be. And finally, when you steered clear of things, you realize that you had no right to claim 'that' guyabano as yours: looking by the window you knew that the 'kulansyangs' owned the entire tree. They always did and never really left it. While my eyes were fixed on 'that' fruit, I did not notice that on a far branch, they had built nests. I couldn't know for how long they had been humming melodies for that guyabano to ripen.

What better thing to do but to retreat to your own confines. You cannot continue wallowing on that wee bit feeling of loss over that 'thing' that cannot become, had never been yours in the first place. What better thing to believe is to be persuaded in the thought that somewhere, other 'guyabanos' will soon come into bloom that no birds own. What better thing to realize is that you have the capacity to 'nurture' and have hope.

Outside, the rain slowly drip and I noticed that there are new buds coming into bloom. I hope in time, the birds will give me 'this' one piece.

thank God for Coelho

Funny how little things can make your day. Like say, a little comment to a post which appeared awkward at first but as you re-read it, it gives you some tingling effect like some sense of euphoria.Then it makes you realize that in life, there's always something to look forward to, that a fall is not entirely a damnation but a profound act of love, more like a necessary tool for a masterpiece in progress.

We are all a masterpiece in progress. No one should be saying you are a 'bad' art, not even after the job has been completed. That act of decreeing is not among our privileges. Ours is only the act of understanding and pardon. We all have tumbled in one way or another, the depths of which vary to some extent. Like what's been written countless times before, it's how we rise after the fall that matters and the lessons we get from the scratches or deep wounds. Cliche it may be but this gives me another refreshing feeling somehow.

***
Two weeks ago, I had my latest addition to my collection of hospital kits. My sisters see this weird. Forming and peeing stones appeared a bit weird to me at first but before I realized that I just got a sore taste of my own obstinacy. I have come into terms with the prognosis that I may be a stonemill (I certainly could still use a third opinion for this) but this is not conceding to the condition. My point is I no longer find any use for whining. I am thankful to doctors and nurses. I am thankful for the easy access to medical attention that is among my employment benefits. I am thankful for the makers of Acalka and the benevolent wi-fi provider outside my hospital room.

***

After many months of hiatus, I'm skimming through a book again. I'm on my third Coelho (this makes me an unfashionably late follower of the sage); The Alchemist and The Zahir both left indelible prints somewhere within. A Coelho is always a powerhouse. There's always something good to be picked in between the lines. His works are brimming with useful insights for the pilgrims in us, his adages a constant guide in my own trip.

***
Finally, my MEG shares are on the rebound (I hope FGEN will follow suit). My sister hurdled the recent NLE...you see, there's never a dearth of things that we should be grateful for, even in the most unpleasant (weirdest) of situations. I just need to see past the grimes to perceive the good. I should be learning this fast.

story of a name

Overheard: a kolehiyala on a trike complaining about how her parents gave her a 'not-so-good-to-hear' name. In a way that she's sees appropriate, they should have given her a handle other than Maria Capra. Ok, I was kidding.

The chat with her collaborator on the front row of the trike did not divulge what her name was for my decree if it is at all ill-sounding but I heard similar stories; even a colleague once commented she didn't 'like' her name that much. (Personally, I think it's somewhat uncorrupted).

Each name is brought into life with a story. In my brood, it's almost about a combination of other names. Our eldest and youngest are combined names of our parents. My name and ditse's are from our grandparents; mines from my mother side, hers from our paternal old folks. Another sister's an ode to her birth month and a queen. My only brother is a namesake of a prince who only my father knows. (He says by the way that he doesn't like this name too).

This scheme appears to me as a sense of self-esteem, honoring forebears and those people we look up to.

More than what has been put in our records of birth, our entire being is reduced to that jumble of letters. How we walk through our waking days spells out the letters that will identify us; what we do is a character that will soon build up to a word. So how good or rotten a name may sound is not something that was given to us. It is something that we spawn ourselves.

There are many ways to create a 'better-sounding' name, one of them acting better than being snotty. It's still not too late. A friend aptly puts it: a name is all that we can truly have. I hope you got that Maria!

changes and nostalgia

The late afternoon air unusually wafts a sudden stream of melancholy as we go off to Nang Beny's garden for some fresh picks. I have trekked these tracks between ricefield and irrigation many times before but with two sisters, scenes of early years on this place somewhat flash in random.

We passed by the pond where we used to pick kangkong for food. One sister suddenly recalled the time when we had nothing else as ulam but this green thing three meals a day. I said, "at least now we get to have a choice between kangkong and ginamus" to which the three of us giggled. Silently, I recalled how I used to sigh about this being served in the table like, "again?". Yet unknowingly, this has become a favorite.

The turod (Ilocano for hill) had a different look now. One of its sides was ripped off a few years ago to fill a collapsed side of a river and now, it lost some of its crowns as well. They cut down some of the trees, including the mangga and salumagi (tamarind) where I held posts in childhood camp games. It was climbing on these trees that I negated the branding of being lampa; even as a kid you have to prove some strength to be deemed acceptable. But one buddy, igso and demi-brother constantly took on my side. Jojo and I would pastol carabaos together by the side of this turod, him teaching me how to tame my beast. In time, I had my own carabao budge at one slight tap on the side and my "ho!'s" were obeyed. On the salumagi, Jojo and I also owned branches as our distinct domains where we would camp while looking after our flocks of ducks after every harvest. We were masters of own territories, thing that may be impossible in the real world. But one thing remains true: I realized that proving your worth is really a way of life.

From Nang Beny's garden, I can already see the highway. Bamboos used to hide this from view but they were all gone now. The tale of constant taking without replenishing took its toll on the riverbanks (bamboos hold the banks from collapsing during floods).

Between the garden and the row of houses on the east, the vast field is green. This has always been a refreshing sight even as a kid. Now, more than appreciating the sight is its purpose and meaning in our lives and in the lives of many of my folks. On these fields is where we are rooted. We owe everything to these tracts.

After we picked camote tops, okras and patola, we crossed the wobbly bamboo bridge unto the other bank of the irrigation. I remember enjoying the swim in these muddy waters. "Burarog", they call it which denotes swimming the indulgent type. We didn't care about getting kagid (skin disease) back then. We simply had fun.

As we were heading back home, a flock of birds make a 'V' formation while hovering the power lines above. In the distance, they made a 'W'. Good that we still see things like these. Many don't get this opportunity.

Going home had its usual effects on me. I hope next time, I'd be able to see more of the spots and the memories they will rekindle.

a short letter to a little sister

I reckon that we haven't really talked for a long time. By talk, I meant having those conversations about little things – your assignments in school, side comments on shows we watch on TV, the jokes we caught up with in texts from silly pals, our ambitions and plans for ourselves (though it might have not appeared that I was trying to address this more to you). I may not look like it, but I miss those exchanges.

I suppose many things have changed since a few years ago. I became too rigid, unforgiving and I shut you off too easily.

Everybody makes mistakes. That is one painful fact that we have to live with. Some of my friends committed the same mistake that you did but I felt them. To counsel had been so easy then. In your case, I didn't get it. I put all the blame on you. You had been so reckless, headstrong and plain pointless. You were not content in just inflicting wound - you even rubbed salt on it.

You may have not realized but I was as shaterred as you were. I lost not only my tall dreams for you. I lost all hopes that one day you'd gather your acts together and take that one step forward without taking two steps backward. I started to doubt every word that you say and your actions became a constant disheartening stroke.

Over time, my sanctimony sank you down further. The distance between us became too wide it had been hard for you to reach me. I even waited for another catastrophe before I tried to drift into squaring off. That should be the greatest lesson to us both. But maybe now, it's more directed to me.

I have long forgiven you. More than I care to show, I'm slowly re-building my hopes for you. I hope you do not waste this one last chance. Get up and start walking again.

Do not do this for me neither for your own sake. Do this for your son. From now on, do not lose sight that you no longer live just for your own impulses. You are responsible for the life you brought to this earth.

I will try to bend a little further. I'll pull the belt tighter to make both ends meet. I promise I won't be expecting much just as I did before. Now, I only ask that you do what's right.

I apologize for the times that I kept my distance. I know now you suffered more than I cared to understand. This time, I will try to be more present and within reach. I will try to be a better kuya.

I know saying these things to you personally is very unlikely. We are not used to these melodramas. But I hope we can pick up where we left off. How about talk to me about school?

By the way, those adjusting entries that you didn't quite understand, I will still have to re-read them. It's been long since I prepared one of those. I should already be doing so but I'm driven into writing this. I don't know but somehow, I feel a little lighter.

i write like... cory doctorow?

There's this one website which 'analyzes' your writing style and compares it with some of the known writers. At a friend's suggestion, I tried it.

I pasted some entries of my blog and got varied responses: from American horror and fantasy writer H.P. Lovecraft to Irish author James Joyce (whose writings can give you a headache. Some claimed they had blood oozing from their noses while reading Ulysses. I did not attempt.) One blog entry was hooked-up to Dan Brown. (Of course you know Dan Brown!) I read only two of his works so far – Angels and Demons and his major break, The Da Vinci Code which I read a few years ago.

But one name keeps coming out: Cory Doctorow. I got this badge on four of my blogs:

I write like
Cory Doctorow

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

I am unfamiliar so I searched him in Wikipedia.

Cory Doctorow is a Canadian blogger and journalist/ activist and author of science fiction. He maintains two sites boingboing.net and craphound.com, both heavy on tech and digital stuff. A college dropout (he went to four universities but did not earn a degree), he is an author of several novels and short stories and has been lauded in some of his works including two John W. Campbell's (sponsored by Dell Magazines for science fiction and fantasy writing) and two Sunburst Awards (annual Canadian awards for 'speculative'(?) fiction writing).

He believes in more liberal copyright laws to allow free sharing of digital media which must be his most likable advocacy on a personal note.

He quips: “If I am going to be a writer, earning a living in the era of digital text, I need to understand where the opportunities are. They won't disappear, they'll just be different, and need to be recognised. In the last days of Vaudeville Theatre, they sued Marconi because radio was killing Vaudeville, where you had to pay to go into a relatively small room to listen to music and voice. But it didn't kill music, the outcome was a thousand times more music, making a thousand times more money, reaching a thousand times more people. But in the short term, there was panic. If digital text will result in hundreds more authors, with hundreds more novels, I need to be in the middle of eBooks. I need to be heavily engaged. All those people downloading my text is good news.”

I am far from writing-to-earn-a-living but think I just found a hero.

(Blogger friends, try this out. Your discoveries can be a great fun! Here's a link.)

things i need to know i learned from kuya ferdie's word challenge

One: You need to 'start' before anything can happen.

Two: You can play 'solo' and still have fun but life gets more exciting when there are multiple players ('multiplayer'). (No puns intended here).

Three: When you cannot see into your present view, 'rotate' and shift your focus.

Four: Don't let the 'claps' intimidate you. They're only distractions. In this life, there will never be a dearth of these.

Five: Some players will annoy you. Just keep your cool and concentrate on the game. Patience will always be a good virtue.

Six: Don't feel small when you cannot find words. Ponder on item #3. Maybe, this is not your thing. How about mastering soduku? Blogging can be fun too.

Seven: Sometimes, when you are not certain about some words, gamble. Good 'points' may come out of it. A former co-worker puts it aptly: the reckless may not live long but the cautious may not live at all.

Eight: Keep on the game even if the 'tiles' that come out are a bit odd. Great things can come out from nothing. Look at that guy Edison. It's never a waste of time making sense out of a garble. Later you'll realize that it will make you an expert at squinting those eyes which you may find useful in the next 'rounds'.

Nine: Winning while checking on a dictionary is less honorable. In any game, cheating is one bad cheetah. At any instance, avoid it. When you've been lured once, don't make it double. That's already bad-assery.

Ten: After a 'round', check on those words that come out that you don't know. It pays to learn something new each time. In the future, when in want of words, they can come out handy.

Eleven: Don't be devastated if you lose. In every game, somebody wins. It may be you in the next round.

Twelve: Don't pound that chest after winning a 'round'. I read somewhere that only insecure people brag about their little accomplishments. Surely, you are not one. And I may add, it feels better to think of your accomplishments, no matter how grand they are as little. There's some goodwill in this.

Thirteen: More than the winning, it is the learning that matters.

Lastly: More than the learning should be the relationships.

Here's another last. I've been nudging Kuya Ferdie to register the stuff and sell it. I'd be happy to help in marketing (with the commission, of course). He declined smilingly. Now, I am not that magnanimous.

('Word Challenge' is a game which is essentially like boggle, only digitized and customized with options like having multiple players via network connection (bluetooth is very handy here). The view shifts at set intervals but you can click on the 'rotate' button if you want another view. Minimum number of letters can also be set (we play at a minimum of 5, that's before you add the 's' but my sister insists on the additional points for finding the longest word). For words with at least 7 letters, you'll hear a very encouraging clap. After every round, you can search for words that the computer finds based on its embedded dictionary so prepare to be dismayed as there can be a lot too many. Recently, I played the GameHouse version of it but I'd say that Word Challenge is a lot better. Looks like the perfect lazy Sunday diversion to me. Want to install one on your PC now? Just give me your USB. We'll talk about the charge later.)