Before and After

Street Art Along Chandler Bike Path

Every time I sit in front of this computer to write, I can’t. The thing is, I’ve been blocked, writer-blocked, creativity-blocked, wonder-blocked for a long time now. I have these ideas floating around in my head– great ideas that I could get behind you know? But somehow the spark escapes me. Daily life runs me down, tackles me , and most days I feel like I’ve got my face in the dirt, and I’m too tired to turn over to look at the stars and dream of something better.

Don’t worry about me though– I am quietly happy. I guess. Well, there’s a part of me that is. The lazy slacker me who wants to read books under the covers and watch TV ad nauseaum is happy. The avoidant couch-potato part of me, is infinitely happy. The homebody quietly puttering around in her pajamas and slippers is happy.

It’s not even like I’m taking joy in the little things. I mean I am, sort of, kind of. I think I may be a bit jaded. Coming out on the other side of things, my viewpoint feels a little bit tarnished. Which doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing– it could add a certain texture, and nuance to my artwork. Perhaps.

The truth is I don’t know. I feel like– I’m just waiting things out. The way that I’ve been thinking about my life lately is in terms of Before and After. If I sit down and be honest though– I don’t think I was much happier in the Before. I thought I was. Maybe it was more exciting, higher highs, and lower lows (or is that the After?) but I think I’ve just traded in one set of trials and triumphs for another set.

Maybe– what I’m trying to say is, we expect that the events, the circumstances, and the trapping of our lives to elevate us somehow, but maybe all that external doesn’t really matter in the first place, what matters is the landscape of one’s soul, the spirit with which one’s life is lived. Or maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about.

Elizabeth Gilbert on nurturing creativity | Video on TED.com

We got cable the other week, and now I’m bombarded by news of sex offenders, arsonists, missing people, and craptastic shows like Jerry Springer and COPS. This video from one of my favorite authors was a breath of fresh air.

more about “Elizabeth Gilbert on nurturing creati…“, posted with vodpod

The Obligatory Birthday Post

Chandler Bikepath. Picture courtesy of The Boy.

I spent my 26th birthday in PJ’s chilling with my family. It was low-key in a good way. No hullabaloo. A lazy morning, some cleaning… and then an afternoon walk to the dollar store to pick up some essentials, and slowly wound down to the Chandler Bike Path. This street is pretty awesome– tons of street murals, little sneak-peeks into quiet cul-de-sacs with small houses and overgrown gardens. It runs between Noho and Burbank, but the real goldmine is The Iliad Bookshop, a used bookstore, newly expanded with tons of titles. I treated myself to a book, and then back to Noho for a big dinner and chocolate cake.

So now, I’m 26. Twenty-six. Huh. Twenty-five was a blur of life changes. Deep, profound life changes. Stuff I wasn’t necessarily ready for– but as a friend told me once– “we are only given as much as we can bear.” Can I say that I’ve changed much? Sometimes I feel much younger that I am and that I am totally out of my element. But I’m learning. Learning, learning, learning.

There are times, I will admit that I look back on my time in NYC with longing. Nights of partying, hanging out, shopping sprees. No responsibilities whatsoever. That life, in comparison to my life now, was decadent. Even if my usual hangout were dive bars. Life has become simplified and distilled. I’m learning to appreciate the tiny delights and joys that permeate daily existence.

I’m hoping in my 26th year, that I’ll make more progress. Try to be more authentic, reconnect with creativity, and maybe learn to let go of the girl I used to be, and step into the shoes of the woman I’ve become.

Lagalag Redux Part II

Spread Two- New York & Baguio, originally uploaded by RadMadHatter.

A couple year’s back, I took part in a travelling Moleskine project started by Wilfredo Pascual. Twenty Filipinoes living abroad, twenty Filipinoes living at home all sharing their perspectives, including Daphne Osena-Paez. I recently found this article by the Inquirer covering the whole thing.

Lagalag Redux Part I

Spread One: Wings & Roots, originally uploaded by RadMadHatter.

Gossamer

{image from  Carol Hummel}

you find that you live your life on the edges.
sometimes this means the periphary
sometimes this means the knife edges between freefalling and control.
you find that you have made your way alone through this world
even if you are holding on to someone else’s hand as you walk.
even if you are carrying someone else.

you find that you use to not think like this,
you, who peer through blinds and turn the lights down low,
no one home.
you who curl in on yourself pile of blankets and pillows for camouflage.
you who used to see the gossamer spiderweb connections between things:
fragile.
but oh so beautiful:
especially when sunlight hit it.

Mornings (A Vignette)

these days, she thinks of mornings elsewhere, in some other time. that time of day when the day hadn’t hit its stride in terms of heat, but there was sunshine aplenty. there was always bustle– her grandmother sweeping anything and everything with a walis ting-ting– before she headed out to market. Grandpa up and showered, biking off to some town meeting or other.

Breakfast was churned out en masse from the kitchen— fried rice, scrambled eggs, tomatoes, fried banana fritters, or fresh hot pandesal with Star Margarine. And instant coffee– Nescafe– with Carnation milk and lots of sugar served in hefty brown mugs. The chickens would still be crowing, and the dogs and cats would weave between legs underfoot in hopes of being fed.

Her cousins had time to bathe, bucket bath style– coming out smelling effusively of fruity shampoo and baby powder to keep the heat at bay. They all had hankerchiefs, and umbrellas– the hankerchiefs to stanch the flow of sweat and preserve their immaculate school uniforms, and umbrellas used as portable shade from relentless sun and the occasional afternoon shower.  But before the bathing and the grooming– there were the chores, the rolling up banigs, the folding of blankets, the stowing away of pillows. The polishing of wooden floors with half a husk of coconut.

While the older schoolchildren were away, their mothers took the time to do the endless mountains of laundry. The women would take up their posts by the pump– pouring a trickle back into it– a little superstitious magic trick to get it started. And they would begin, armed with metal basins, bottles of bleach, and corrugated bars of laundry soap. For the youngsters it was a game, as they dallied around the womenfolk– attempting to play with any water that came their way, blowing bubbles, sailing tiny boats, and generally getting soaked. Finally, resigned– after a load of laundry had been soaked, and soaped and rinsed– the women would give in and fill up their tubs with fresh clean water and haul in their children to be bathed.

those morning  would end with the onslaught of heat, and her grandmother’s return from the market– towing a basket usually carrying a couple chickens, and mangoes amongst other things. It was a ritual– to hear the thrum of a tricycle, and the children running to the gate to see what treats lay in store for them.

She wonders if she will be able to bring her own children back, back to this point of origin– a pilgrimage to a fast dying way of life. For even in this dusty town of Cuyapo, seemingly crystallized in on itself– progress infiltrates. Noveau-riche manses sprout up, cars trundle past, and even real estate developments begin to encroach. The woven mats (banig) are replaced by real matresses, the rusting pump by showerheads, the laundry has been given over to a washing machine– grandmother’s prized posession after her sewing machine.

A treat.

A photo! Something worth posting. A glimpse at my creative space at the moment. Wish I could post a work in progress but I haven’t hit my stride yet.

Transition

I know that I’ve been a quiet blogger– that there haven’t been many posts at all about film school, or living in LA, or missing home or little pipe dreams. Really, I haven’t been on the internet much these days at all. So that’s one reason– I no longer live in NY or Baguio where I don’t have to worry about paying internet bills. In Los Angeles, I do.

I think I’m also at a crossroads with this blog– I know my readership has dwindled to a loyal few, and since migrating to wordpress– they probably don’t even know where I blog (when I blog) these days.

I have stories to tell– about eating Pho at the latrine pink place in Chinatown exclusively run by elderly Vietnamese men. One who happened to spend formative years in the Philippines. So he spouts random Tagalog words at me with a voice as scratchy a sandpaper. Or trying on a Steadicam rig and failing miserably at it– but still in awe that I could play with something cool like that. Or how fun it is to decorate my very own apartment with cast-offs found in the streets, and falling completely in love with the IKEA store the one time I get a chance to go over there. Or how I’ve learnt to thread a sewing machine, and work an expresso machine, and take wheatgrass shots (yech!). Or how every day from school– I walk past the Studios where they shoot ELLEN, and I always see the audience members coming out with all their freebies just for sitting in the audience.

These are some details in my life that I want to share with you, but somehow the urgency to do so has lessened. I can go on and on about how NICE people are here, or how the sun is always shining– but most days I retreat into myself. I am still getting my bearings. I am still in transition. And maybe that’s why– I feel like this– I am just passing through– this is just another pesky layover at a tiny airport in the middle of nowhere with no Duty Free Shopping, no Starbucks even. Just rows and rows of chairs filled with tired people on their way somewhere else.

Apologies– I know that this blog hasn’t been upbeat lately. I used to be so much better at finding that stray little ray of sunshine, so much better at screaming my defiance at the top of my lungs. These days, I’m just tired. But that’s because I’m in the midst of a project that is pretty all-consuming. I wish I could say more, but you know how it is when things are still percolating– I’d rather sit on it, until all my ducks are lined up in a row.

I do hope that I will be able to share more with you in the future.

Audacity

I’m sorta obsessed with the Obamas lately after finally getting my hands on The Audacity of Hope but more on that later….

Here’s a quote I found in an open letter from Alice Walker to Barack Obama.

“There must be no more crushing of whole communities, no more torture, no more dehumanizing as a means of ruling a people’s spirit. This has already happened to people of color, poor people, women, children. We see where this leads, where it has led.

A good model of how to “work with the enemy” internally is presented by the Dalai Lama, in his endless caretaking of his soul as he confronts the Chinese government that invaded Tibet. Because, finally, it is the soul that must be preserved, if one is to remain a credible leader. All else might be lost; but when the soul dies, the connection to earth, to peoples, to animals, to rivers, to mountain ranges, purple and majestic, also dies.”