Sikwate and Puto Maya

Two nights without getting a wink of sleep and I lapsed into a trance.  I loved it. I was stripped of all animal emotions (except fear and panic, which was what brought me to that state in the first place), but all in all, I was capable only of that and the higher emotions of love and longing for God to come and rescue me from my deadlines.  On the second day, when I finally saw the glimpse of a read back before the break of dawn, in between the unholy hours before the cock's crowing, I dragged Ja to the Bankerohan public market, where we had a hearty breakfast of sikwate and puto maya. 

What my desk looked like in November

 

I'll tell you all about it

 

But not tonight. Tonight, I still have to read, I still have to write, I still have to clean my copy of verbal flabs, garbage; I still have to clean my desk, I still have to untangle the tangled threads of my earphone. Threads because I could not remember the right word for it. I'm running out of words nowadays. Maybe, one day, I'll remember. I failed to take the picture of that tall ugly woman in a brown dress and with a bun hair-do, who thought she was young and pretty and she owned the world because she was a Filipina working for the Polish Embassy.  

Beautiful Balete at the Makati Circuit

Just to honor this old Balete tree inside the Makati Circuit where I used to jog every morning maybe five years or so ago because it's only recently that I recognised it to be a Balete tree.  I used to hover and stare at it when I went to take a look at the nearby Pasig river just a couple of steps away and those strange cargo boats passing by, I would turn around to find the tree, fascinated by its thick trunk that looked like roots or branches, wondering what it was, wanting to communicate to the tree because I, too, felt totally abandoned, cast off in that place. I wanted the tree to communicate to me and I never knew it was actually talking to me at that time and it's only now, years later, that I finally hear and understand.  I hope you thrive, beautiful Balete!

 

Old Baclaran Church

Where the tortured face of the crucified Christ hovering over devotees lighting candles  (not in the photo; I'm not supposed to photograph scenes like those) remind me of the face of my Pa as he was battling the advanced stage of adenocarcinoma. 

Then, it dawned on me that the Baclaran church was actually the church of the Mother of Perpetual Help, where part of the suffering humanity come to seek help in the midst of desperation. It was among the first churches in the country to speak up against ejk.

 

Stories old buildings tell

Ja and I were walking along Juna Subdivision on March 22, 2021 when we passed by this old SEC building which was abandoned since the series of quakes that hit this part of Mindanao in the last quarter of 2019. (I've been a sucker for abandoned buildings; the ghastlier they look, the better. Maybe, they remind me of myself, abandoned, neglected, forgotten). It felt like a long time ago when I first came here as a reporter wanting to interview the SEC director and thought this building a very imposing structure--with its white paint and all. 

But looking at its state as we emerged from the long pandemic lockdown, I thought it happened a century ago. 

Though, if you just study the timeline very closely, the series of quakes happened just a quarter before the discovery of a strange coronavirus in Wuhan, China. The news spread only in January 2020 although the disease already raged in that Chinese city in December 2019. So, in a sense, it was not that long ago.  The structure also looked like it was deserted for a hundred years instead of only two years or so. 

My desk during the pandemic

 

Myalgia

On October 13, Ja and I went round and round brisk walking at the Park that can't be named because I don't have the authority to speak its name. As usual, Ja wanted to be 12 steps ahead of me but I just happened to wear my best shoes at that time; so, he never succeeded. I always kept pace with him during the entirety of the walk. 

What made me like that particular walk was--Ja never talked. He was thinking deeply as our feet raced one after the other on the pavement, covering as much ground faster than my mind could perceive. I felt like the walk was a meditation of sort. 

The following week, we were back again at the park that can't be named, walking. But the next day, I woke up with a growing pain somewhere in my thighs that seemed to vanish everytime I moved. It was not pamaol. I developed a fever and was thinking, this might be how a fibromyalgia felt like (because I read about it months back and had no idea what it was). Then, Doc Jean told me, try if the paracetamol will take away the myalgia. Hah! Myalgia! Another Latin word to scare Ja! I used it as soon as I had the chance to talk to him.  After the doctor's visit, another Latin word to scare Ja with. The doctor said I had sciatica. What does it mean? Asked Ja. Just look it up, I said. I'm tired.

 

Love is a many splendored thing

I just came out of the coffee shop where I cracked my head over a story that refused to write when I happened to look up at the sky and see the colours. I never knew that it rained. I never knew that I already spent three hours on a story that refused to work. And when I looked up again, I caught a message on my phone, saying, Ma, I'm here, where are you?! 

It simply made my day.

 

Claveria Street when underground cabling was still in progress

This was what the Claveria Street (above and right), the Crooked Road (below, right) and that street that leads straight to City Hall (below) looked like on June 23, 2021.  They're already clean and orderly now.   

Late post for All Saints' Day

This afternoon, after mass, I happened to pass by the Anda building where the old Radyo ni Juan used to be and resisted the urge to go up, just like old times and see Dodong Solis there. We did not finish our last chat in June last year and before I knew it, he was already gone in October. Can you imagine the feeling? We promised to at least chat because he was about to tell me something but I did not make it, I had lots of stories to follow up that day and then days, weeks passed by and before you knew it, it was over! You could no longer turn back the clock, so they say!

Also last year, exactly on November 1, Orlando "Dondon" Dinoy, our ex-correspondent, became the Inquirer's banner headline. He was shot right inside his apartment by a gunman. I still refused to believe it when the picture circulated on the internet.  He was the type who really loved it when his story would land on the Inquirer's page.  In fact, we was among the very few who braved going out to visit hospitals even during the height of the Covid lockdown, no matter how you order him to stay put and just follow up his stories on the phone. He survived Covid but not the assassin's bullet.  There are so many dead now, friends who have gone away for good. Offering for them.

Of course, I miss my Pa and feel so bad that I could not physically go to visit his grave. I have to find a way. 

The Good Herb

 

In the last three days, my boy has agreed to take the Oregano tea to ease the soreness of his throat. 

We keep your memories alive, Dodong Solis

We heard about your passing yesterday.  I opened my picture files and remember that you told me once, when I was scrounging for stories about the early people in this city, that your folks used to own that piece of land where the new hotel was now standing.  

"That used to be the land where my Lolo's house once stood," you said.

"How rich you must have been by now, if your Lolo had not sold the land," I said.

You said something after this but I could no longer remember your reply. I wanted so badly to remember it now that it has fallen upon our shoulders to remember everything.  

Maybe, some other time, when my mind would be in a more relaxed state, maybe, it would work again and I would remember. 

Just like what the Crystal Woman told me once.  The memory will just come to you in the most unexpected time. It will not announce itself to you when it does, unlike what happens in the movies.  There would be no spectacle, no drama. But you will know when it happens.  The information from the crystals, stored for millennia under the earth, will just come to you and you will know it when it does.

I will remember what the Crystal Woman said to remember the stories in this city. 

I will remember everything. 

Whipping up the delicious dream!

This morning, I tried baking a banana cake with raisin inside my humble oven toaster which does not have temperature control. I don’t know why, but mixing the ingredients and pouring the batter into the pan simply relaxes me.

Work it out!

I finally started doing some writing today and organizing things in my room. This is such a very big deal to me because it will give me back the feeling that I am in control and so that I will not feel being lost anymore.  I hope this will bring back my momentum. I hope I don't get easily distracted but should instead work until it hardens into a habit.
I need to get some pleasure in doing this so that I keep coming back for more.

Dancing at Dusk at Makati Circuit

How to get to the National Museum

Sunset by the Bridge

Pam and I were on our way to Binondo that day--and were we on a jeepney or a taxi? I could no longer remember very clearly--when I pointed out to Pam this amazing sight as we were passing by the bridge. Suddenly, in a split of a second, Pam went haywire and immediately, I understood the urgency of our impulse. I  went haywire, too.
As if we were in panic, we told the driver to stop and as soon as our feet touched the ground, both of us ran to the edge of the bridge and went crazy snapping photos as soon as we got there, oblivious of all the rushing traffic, which I knew was dangerous.  I remember feeling the bridge shake and ramble every time a heavy truck or even a speeding car passed us by and there were just so many of them, passing us by. I feared that I would drop my camera and lost it forever but I continued snapping photos and did not stop.
I was also in constant fear of falling down--because Jones Bridge was a strange and unfamiliar bridge to me;  its height an unfamiliar height; its location, an unfamiliar place. I just arrived in the capital city that week and I still had to get to know the place and its madness, but there I was, beside Pam, and both of us sucked into that most pleasurable madness, both madwomen in our own right!

An afternoon at the Yuchenko Museum

Where I looked at the portrait of Jose Rizal painted by Felix Hidalgo, read the love letters of Leonor Rivera and was saddened to learn about their heartrending love story; contemplated upon some paintings by the masters Juan Luna, Ang Kiukok, Amorsolo and the contemporary exhibit of someone who appeared to be in a breakdown but had such an amazing art. (I'll tell you more about this later).

A chat with Lorrie