childhood grasp

june is the chosen month in our household. the hubby's birthday, my birthday, my dad's birthday and his death anniversary all fall in the month of june. my dad passed away three days before he turned fifty seven two years ago, a day before my birthday. i have questions, lots and lots of queries about the timing of his passing. if others have could have longer lives, why not my parents? our nuclear family may not be rich and privilege nor us, the children, grew up being driven to school in cool pajeros or a benz. but certainly despite being short of cash, we were not that bad. i could grasp the simplicity, the honesty of labor as inculcated to us when we were kids. our parents taught us the importance of values education. we simply knew how to behave in public and in any social situation. both our parents were very well-read and cerebral. it was a daily ritual of discussions on the issues of the day, flicking books, newspapers and magazines. my mom was good in crafts and used her acumen as a former teacher to teach us the basics of the three R's. one thing they frown upon i reckon was the art of facade. whether we admit it or not, generally in life, relatives or even friends compete in one-upmanships or comparisons. it shouldn't happen but underneath the goodwill, there's a brewing rivalry amongst siblings, cousins and even friends. i hated that concept and environment when they were alive. i could read between the lines of snobbery. they got hurt by the side comments. but the end product with us their kids is that we know how it is to be humble because our parents managed to keep their feet on the ground.

apex

after a beautiful, sunny weekend comes the undulating rain of tuesday. london's forecast in the summer is usually rain, shine or cloudy depending on the weather station report and since this is my favorite season, i will not shut up about the long days. i will write and write and talk and talk.

for the likes of us who were born in the pacific and work long hours in the grey corner of the planet, the long days are the ultimate bliss -- the dazzle of solstice, the sparkle of the sun! concerts, plays galore in the west end and even as far as manchester. due to my languid, listless spirit, i missed out on a doll's house with gillian anderson at the warehouse. early bird catches worm and all that crap permeate the air. truly, truly i'm not an early bird. the only chance i could get near jude law playing hamlet is to read the reviews in the periodicals and peruse the after-party photos in the entertainment pages. at least there's no missing out on vedder and pearl jam or a peek of the tempest at the park which is yet to book. but hope springs eternal and all its attached cliches.

cannes' best auteur

dante mendoza won best director for his film kinatay at the 2009 cannes film festival. kinatay (butchered) is a movie about police brutality, corruption and torture. roger ebert deemed it unwatchable. i for one would love to watch the film although i don't think it would be shown soon to a theater/cinema near me. hey, it's not every year a filipino wins a trophy at such prestigious event.

roger ebert, although well known, is not the only film critic in the world. every person has a different take on things, even with those schooled in the art of film criticism. we are always guided by our biases. a colleague for instance is a fan of world cinema -- italian, french, hongkong martial arts. some people carry some gripes against hollywood. for me, it's hollywood or judy ann santos. i used to watch korean films but the suicide of choi jin sil has slowed down my interest. if i have the time, i would try to play a few japanese dvd's from our shelf. what's scarier than the ring?

truth be told, the study of filth, squalor, violence, rotten corpses, corruption beyond repair are what attract festival circuit committees and not the ai-ai blockbusters the pinoys embrace with such fervor. i cannot watch the masterpiece insiang without flinching. the slums are not that picturesque. poverty is a colorful plot for movies but in reality, the lack of running water is not at all poetic and romantic.

gear shift

checking out our abode's staple sports forum recently has revealed some enlightening revelations about the moral fibre of the west. as a youngin, i was brought up in a highly-conservative environment where teenage girls who get knocked up are easily viewed with closeted derision. the tongues would be wagging if a young so and so gets pregnant out of wedlock. tongues would be wagging anyway if that certain young so and so had an active social life. good girls were and still are simply not expected to go clubbing, as if there was ever a decent nightspot in the city of smiles. after all these years, i still find the filipino gossip culture quite intimidating. the mill simply gets a high in shredding the object of their contempt into speckled granules. a sex tape in this time and age shouldn't be a canvass for advent moralists to parlay their discomfitures.

the west's attitudes towards sex particularly in my location in england is more liberal, no surprise there sherlock. but after a quick glance at the said forum and despite a more tolerant and progressive disposition towards sex, no matter the creed and culture, the westernly breeze also prefer charlotte over samantha. definitely, there are some who cherish dating and marrying playmates. but the norm seems to tilt towards virgin mary rather than mary magdalene. but beware thy immaculate exterior. there are times, the chaste, angelic image is merely a camouflage for a highly-calculative personality. the path to calmness is not concisely based on the symbol zero. there should be a broadening of opinion towards sexual decorum and chastity. besides between charlotte and samantha, miss jones is the more compelling character. not quite the slut as others have heartily labeled her.

the box of tunes

someday i'll manage to upload all the favorite tunes myself but since my proverbial bloody excuse is that i'm absolutely preoccupied with daily chores, i'll let the more euphonical member of our household peform the task. sleep is my greatest thrill and i always succumb to the ministrations of the circadian rhythm. swell, marriage has its perks and gratifications and the other half choosing the sounds is fine by me. it just means there would be no REM et al in the selection. but i quite like the romance part of domesticity in conjunction with compromise on the likes and dislikes, music included.

i'm sifting through the contents of humble my cd box at present and found surprises. do i really own a saturday night fever soundtrack? i have a few records of led zeppelin, jimi hendrix, rem, pearl jam, rhcp, greenday -- not too shabby. tlc was a talented act. i had mozart symphony number three. felicity, the tv show was one of the bright spots of the singapore experience, acquiring the soundtrack was a logical decision. reality bites soundtrack -- i simply can't remember what propelled me for that purchase. a certain song perhaps? for a few more items hovering outside the box, radiohead and nirvana are not merely discerning picks but quite superb choices. i have two aiza, one regine -- quite curtailed for original filipino music. now for the few apocryphal druthers -- notting hill soundtrack? avril lavigne, let go? i was probably too flaky during the time. the kind of person who was predisposed to hear gloria gaynor's i will survive again and again.

now it's the ipod time to reign, over the years i've been introduced to several acts outside the tabloid mainstream from lemon jelly to orbital to leftfield to optimus prime, odyssey, origin unknown and some garage bands not quite pop idol. the rockin dippers and avoiding sentimental eulogies have been the proverbial status quo. although the hope in utero has made the pain of losing babies and missing my parents a little bit bearable.

m and m

it's safe to concur that every eminem album is not for the fainthearted nor the prudish, timid souls who cringed when i was talking about photographs and nudity at the work table a while ago. confessing his flaws and frailties through tunes and word play for all the world to hear evokes copious amounts of bravery and resilience, provoking his hyper critics on a rampage. i'm still processing all the tracks at this juncture, absorbing a few last song syndromes.

i'm alternating relapse with vivaldi and mozart, just trying to balance all genres.

throe

being virtually out of shape, gaining loads and loads of weight and all the throbbing pains possible for a person my age, i'm trying to be disciplined in all sorts of endeavors. but sad to say, i'm failing big time. so i now look like a spongebob, rolling along in this world with all my unwanted fats. but despite the scary readings of the scale, i'm back to my old ways, reverting to the ningas cogon excuse of yore. however as the clothes keep gaining in size and the comments are getting harsher from naysayers, the idea of incorporating a few workout exercises in my circadian cycle is merely words. the otioseness hurts.

chirp fiction

to thread the pages quickly is my new maxim. it's a result of my being sluggish. i'm still such a slow reader that it has left me truly unsated. but then i also have the newspapers. people read in this country. utilizing public transport, walking along a populous london corner in late afternoons would provide our reading eyes with engaging free papers. the contents are quite useful. if ever i bump into my friend in the tube in the mornings, she would be flipping over a copy of the daily bread while i would read the paper. that is if i won't sit next to her or we would be just chirp, chirp, chirp on mindless office chatter. the establishment is no book club. i'm fine with that. we're in a highly-stressful environment, saturated in stress and mired in arctic politics. the stress is a strain in my digestive system and some other system not apparent in the physical symptoms. whilst the politics is fervently juvenile, it's occurs in every nook where other humans exist and communicate with each other.

but back in fiction avenue, atonement is remarkable. but i'm still celebrating my coup with ghosts of manila (hurray amazon!), aka the account and observations of james hamilton-paterson about the capital of the pearl of the orient seas translated into a novel. do foreigners have something nice to say about the RP? that begs the question. manila is not the philippines. from somebody very provincial in nature and predicament, that has been my proverbial view.

english summer

it's the month of may and the long days are extra sweet. it has been less wearying in the workplace. both contributing to an improved demeanor. although i still get annoyed by jerks in the lift or those pesky knobs or twats to lend more color to my affliction. a scream of complaints and grievances later, i've forgotten the platitudes. i got back to some literate prattles, if there ever such a thing.

in the gray corner of this world, the next four days would be light rain, light rain, light rain and sunny intervals. the weather is a fascinating topic in the northern hemisphere. so much for a sunny spring which is highly uplifting to the zest for symmetry.

a few words

to my reckoning i haven't connected with my friendster blog in what seems like forever. i might do so today, the decision is still hanging in the typing fingers. i don't check my social networking sites as often the past few weeks. when i tried to log into facebook and friendster today, friends' photographs of prenatal bumps and scans shattered my resolve into smithereens. i held back the tears.

the temperament is in boiling point. i was swearing here and there. the lakers should get their act together. but still the eternal optimist, though not in the same level as charlotte york's, i believe this is a minor aggravation. as for the ledley king news, i'm quite biased so i'm going to be silent. that from a recluse who cowers in trepidation when the word party is uttered.

by, george clooney

in no time i will wrap up all the ER mementos.
but once more with feeling.
doug and carol.

george clooney is a huge star. he doesn't merely act but he has considerably enhanced each of his screen performances commencing with a fine turn in out of sight opposite ms. lopez. in addition, he is also an auteur, an auteur with distinction. and to think he owes all these laurels from ER or did it start from the return of the killer tomatoes? in 1997, he was the only ER main cast member not nominated for an Emmy (though he was nominated in 1996). those were the days. but despite the mega-stature in hollywood, clooney didn't mind coming back for a little bit more than a tiny fleeting glance. for my heartfelt gratitude, i will try to watch Syriana, goodness knows, i need a bit of geopolitical enlightenment.

unyielding

don't let the blues get to you. my tita one's words exactly. i'm always stressed out, go figure. what did ofie say? try again?

taking matters into perspective, the deepest core of emotions are not that bad. so here i am -- stretching. learning the rudiments of the native dance subli. reading a novel. absorbing some new words. waking up early to catch the next episode in the lakers saga. jumping in glee for blur and studying green day. exhuming facts for assignments on processes and physiology. anathematized trying to write something useful.

it's that simple.

love, work, childcare

to escape the stew of immutable struggles, romantic comedies are the perfect genre for every bleeding, wounded affections. i limit myself when it comes to films per se. i don't gaze at that actress, nor that actor, nor that actress. just no. they would still be rich and famous and i would still indulge in a flurry of moving and handling activities to pay the bills. catherine zeta jones fit into that category of actresses i don't bother to watch at all in any medium. at this point, i can't recall the reasons behind my rebuff. although there's no total disdain towards mrs. douglas. but then comes a day when there's no bad tv around and the moment arrives to utilize the pricey movie channels for its marvelous purpose.

no reservations is not the usual. gorgeous girl meets dishy, tantalizing boy storyline. the selling point might be a blooming romance between an uptight head chef and a charming sous chef. but the movie's raw energy comes from the formidable hassles of maintaining a precise equipoise between work and parenthood. kate (zeta-jones), the chef who has held off marriage in favor of a career, unexpectedly becomes a mother to her niece, zoe (abigail breslin) when her single parent sister died in a car accident. processing a huge loss is hard enough. getting zoe to eat (and she's a chef) is another matter altogether. finding the right sitter has also provided a challenge. then comes nick (aaron eckhart), the replacement hired by the restaurant's owner while kate was away. nick, who's easygoing personality is a complete opposite of kate's, blares opera while directing the kitchen and learned the intricacies of cooking during his years backpacking in italy. zoe who has been invited to the restaurant's kitchen easily gravitates towards nick's easy exuberance. nick's inherent instincts in finding a balance between life and work also rubs off on kate. a few coquettish moments here and there between the leads created a spark plug for the dreamy sequences. albeit for a work related mandatory conflict, it's heartwarming to see the convolutions finding the right mixtures in the end.

a splintered union

broken marriage, a film starring vilma santos and christopher de leon and directed by ishmael bernal is a discourse of its self-explanatory title. sometimes a relationship works and threads on a fairy tale thread. sometimes it doesn't and in-between, there are the arguments, the drama behind the scenes, the interfering friends and in-laws and the children caught in the middle of the scuffle. it's a not a pretty scenario. it's not all lollipops and roses. like most pinoy cinematic pieces, the movie is not devoid of confrontational acting. that sort of shrieking and aggressive interplay has always been a conundrum with all its resounding features including the throwing of figurines, the turning over of furnitures, the breaking of plates and and the likes, in the squabble scenes. is it because as a people we are innately argumentative and dote on bickering at the highest decibel level? not to mention compounding clutter in a room and in our lives is something we love to do?

but despite a few perennial quirks, this is a resplendent film, gleaming with intense and brilliant performances, littered with profound quotes and with a cautionary and cluttered tableau that convulses the moviegoers to sit still and take notice.

samba with a champion gymnast

although i've been enjoying seeing her dancing, i can't wait to see shawn johnson perform the double back with double twist on the gymnastic floor once again.

side romp

as i'm being buried alive in a domestic landfill, i have made an excruciating decision to curtail my paper haul. before the advent of the web, i was an avid collector of broadsheets and mags. invigorating feature stories never failed to fill my day with phrenic vigor. a few folios with fascinating dissections of the current issues of the day were collated in a corner. eventually the jumble caught up with my very limited living space and i had to resort to pasting clippings in a drawing book. these days despite the internet, i still pile up the mags and the same problems continue to exist. but i no longer have the zest for scrapbooking. but with the presence of techie gadgets, i'll find a way somehow not to make as much mess as possible.

beauty mags are a different matter. unless my favorite slebs are on the cover, i hardly give them a glance in the supermarket or bookstore aisles. it's not like i hover in the soup of kathy griffin or drool on photos of a recent social swirl. a few hours ago, i had the pathetic task of anatomizing the list of london's best dressed. a few of them live across the pond and merely happened to be brit. while some non-residents purely visit the uk for days on end before hopping unto their private jets for yet another event in another american or european city, simply delineating the lifestyle of the utterly rich and privileged.

but for those forever struggling to earn their keep, there is this page, for a light read. nothing 's more practical than the charades of the down to earth.

a win for the country part 2

my homeside down £65. but i don't really mind. it's actually almost impossible to conjure words written on the day. pacquiao's no longer the same boxer who lost to 3K battery in 1999 or erik morales in 2004. i could remember writing the low blows in a draw with agapito sanchez in 2001.

it was quick. but i couldn't forget the fashion sense of the WAGs.

flux

the life of a blogger is an open book, the tears, the emotions, the delights, the sense of awe and every bit of tiny trickles are disclosed to ardent readers. but there are bits of fun and perturbations that are held back, simply too personal to share to other people. until now, it's still too painful to talk about my parents or read what i've written about their harrowing passing. despite all the travails and adversities (especially this latest one), like all the great souls made of sterner stuff, i should move on to the next phase of this arduous journey. i just don't want to hear speculations and suppositions. statements such as ano naman ba ang ginawa mo (what have you done?)?, is way too judgmental to utter in my presence. giving me advise on treatments and investigations, unless you have a background in obstetrics and gynaecology or a member of miscarriage association, is not very comforting. neither is talking about brangelina or their projects, or their babies. nah, you can talk about them, their faces are all over the news anyway. with that i rest my piece. time to move on.