plain thoughts

frothing in melancholic deviations, missing both muse and pearl jam concerts held nearby at the wembley, not bothering to watch all the recorded er's on sky plus, i'm in desperate need of some soothing kicks. drawing inner strength and blighting my eyesights staring at the pc monitor, the web generates relief -- downloads and uploads, fascinating blogs. i've given up E! plus a profusion of other tv channels to wallow in tranquility.

watching golf is not a problem. the surreal links of the open heals the rift of my broken spirit. the scottish don't shout "get in the hole!" everytime a golfer (take note, not just tiger) tees off a par five unlike the cluster at the US PGA Tour. the tour de france is a colorful background amid all the chattering of advice i've been subjected to. work is therapy.

trawling the web, i've discovered a handful blog gems. nah, i'm not the only pinoy hooked on reading subtitles. my teacher's dutiful offspring is besotted as well. daniel, a subject matter in the previous blog is from the korean entertainment scene but he can't speak the native tongue of his maternal ancestors. not keen on travelling or flying intercontinental flights for that matter, i took on one of daniel's romcoms during the flight over and over and it helped a lot in rescuing me from the depths of tears.

as do pearl jam's music, i'm as enthralled on the band's lyrics as well as vedder's politics. if only i didn't miss the performance at wembley. a place so near yet so far.

ruminations

it's just relatively quiet contemplation. i've been trying to compose some poetry but it's mostly wishful ponderings. i worry more about the dusty carpet or the unwashed dishes in the sink. i have had no television except for a game and a half of the men's finals in wimbledon. i kept on downloading and downloading ysabella. JAS, in various manners, dissects my inner turmoil. i can't read a david sedaris in the new yorker as there's a father character. i did dip into a feature on e. buendia in that JAS cover and felt compelled to listen to pupil but ended up watching his "ages ago" interview on martin's show. i'll just request my bro to send me a CD or the likes. that's a better alternative to a compilation of the best of the sex bomb singers. thank goodness for you tube.

when the crowd hovering nearby says "move forward," i absorb it wholeheartedly but i still nudge back quite a lot. it's not about acceptance. when i see women parading their bumps, a mental image of painful afterthoughts flashes through the reels and i begin to bleed. there's a certain nuance on every individual. kindness and sensitivity are no ordinary traits. dousing in reticence, the preferred serenity is soothing my nerves. it's still the old me. though unruffled and hushed to reflection.

im back to old digs and bad habits and that includes trawling for korean stuff sans any tagalog dubbings. i read a lot of subtitles as part of my quirks. my mom used to read subtitles with me. dad watched all the tennis as i was hugging the tv. it's weird knowing i wouldn't be able to converse with dad. dad had his textures. his newsweek collection when i was 11 opened new vistas at odds with the preoccupation of present work associates. there's less complications in finding erudition in my school friends than the ones from the day job. there's more to life than gossips or james blunt's music. my snobbish side is in top speed when i check my site meter. i read verses from the good book as often as i could. it's kind of stinging when well-meaning acquaintances suddenly turn pious and lectures from convivial bliss or push me to bow me to the traditions of the housewife who never fails to prepare breakfast.

finishing up the docu on daniel, i can't understand a single word in the narration. daniel and his mom speaks english, so it's fine. learning a new language would require huge amount of effort.

with ikaruga on game cube in the background, it's time to tidy up the kitchen.

to my dad with love

(for reasons i can't explain, the phrases in the vernacular whether in tagalog or hiligaynon are not translated into english).

time seems to have stood still. i haven't accepted the fact that i'm without a father. dad was way too young to have left this world. he was the kindest person i know. maalwan. he had his share of idiosyncrasies. but he was my father.

for all the sanctimonous sermons i've heard in the last week. i'm left reeling and forever asking the inevitable question. why my dad? why not the bitch at work who cannot differentiate whose and who's even if her life depends on it? for all the romanticism associated with a nursing degree, it has only left me despondent. i should have worked extra hours but the strain of another aborted pregnancy rendered my earthly state thoroughly nauseated and weak.
no enhancements, no gingerbreads.

"pigaw abi ang dialysis."
"paano kasi uremic siya, minsan lang siya mag-dialysis."
words uttered as if i was daft. i know my concepts, people.

if only we were rich. growing up, money has never been overflowing. isang kahig, isang tuka. the wages were just enough for daily sustenance. a life devoid of private transport yet i didn't feel improverished. at university, rich and poor were on equal footing anyway.

it hurts to think that dad wouldn't be able to see his future grandchildren.
he wouldn't be able to participate in any of life's upliftments.
no more singing.

it hurts. we'd rather have our dad back.
he was in pain. i wasn't there. i was embedded in a foreign shore, not earning enough.
he was weak.
i didn't ring home and it's haunting me.
i wasn't able to say goodbye.
dad, hope you'll forgive me.