stocking presents from Santa

aching heels

Wrapping presents is exhausting.  Add to that the stress and tension of going through the eternal cycle of the laborious routine, all I want to do is snooze.  But I couldn't.  

So as 2015 closes, after the noche buena, I reminisce my activities in 2015 like viewing a few Amalia Fuentes movies from half a century ago and hoping she'll be able to rehabilitate from her stroke.

There was also the Aldub phenomenon and the pair's refreshing concept of kilig. Hope they scale more heights but keep both feet on the ground as fame is certainly fleeting.  It's a competitive world out there.  

I want to find time.  It's hard, with the toddler mess and curiosity.  But there will be a way.

dec, dec the halls

I like that picture of Hyde Park.  Being the eternal recluse, I very seldom go out and enjoy the views. We dropped by Winter Wonderland on Wednesday.  It was just any other fair with rides and overpriced amenities and meals.  It's a treat for the little girl.  She had her fun.  She got on the kids rides even though she's so tiny.  Height is a requirement.  Then we traipsed to the Disney Store in Bond Street.  I love Disney Stores.  I can just stare and stare at the Frozen display or get to contemplate on a purchase of another Minnie Mouse soft toy.  If only Daisy Duck is not the double the price of Minnie, it would have been a more exciting venture.

A week before our sojourn in crowded London, I was bed-bound, very sick with a cold; coughing and spluttering.  Ah, the sadness.  I have to look after my blood pressure.  I have to eat only salads.  I haven't had a proper rice since the GP visit on Monday.  I eat here and there; bread, fried noodles, even the dreaded and fatal complex carb such as candy floss.  Ah, life.

Now I've got to sign my Christmas cards, we're so late this year.  Apologies to our intended.  

read, think, absorb

When it comes to light reading, London has a few free stuff.  They're mostly distributed at Tube stations.  And for the past six months I've not managed to read those that I've received.  I should be  reading. (Or baking).  But I couldn't find the time.  I've been tired.  I was doing this or tidying the clutter. I wonder if it really takes forever to make everything organised.  I don't know.

a:w

💗💗💗

If only the world is much, much kinder, there wouldn't be a lot of hatred in our midst.  Surely, we live in challenging and dangerous times.  We could always reflect and meditate.  

My little world sometimes seem off tangent from the bigger picture.  But it's nonetheless my world, with all its worries in craft and life.  There's hardly any time to snooze, to run after the little girl, attain the promises of the Christmas list.  I'll send my cards in time, crossing fingers.

shoulda, only

Time flies extra fast. I can't seem to get my bearings and explore and write. I've been watching available Amalia Fuentes early films in repeat. I've done loads of phone reading in procrastination. For archaic trivia from the primordial 60's, I should consult my mom and conduct an in-depth discussion of my discoveries. But she's not here. She's not been here for almost a decade. That hurts. My mom was a connoisseur of trivia on popular culture. Her mind could absorb a lot of facts and informations. I'm left to wander and bump into new discoveries on personalities she used to know well.

From the 80's onwards, I'm quite within my grasp. I know my Champoy and John en Marsha, even Duplex. If we could have just preserved all the periodicals from those moment of childhood.

Oh well, those skirts (pictured above) from then teens Sharon and Jackie still wouldn't look out of place in today's era.

this October

Just realised my October blog list is empty and my sked has been hectic all the time. I couldn't breathe, literally. My cough is such a hindrance to living life to the fullest. I have rest here and there but not thorough, cozy, complete bed rest.

As I navigate the month, I've been watching old Amalia Fuentes films from way, way back, almost 60 years ago, in dying to be restored black and white features. I've seen a few snapchats of them in the 80's and I grew up staring at her photographs in my mom's scrapbooks. But thirty years later, I just realised that her kind of beauty is truly and utterly stunning. And throughout a long lifetime and through studying her press and interviews, she is also authentic. She doesn't pretend. Of all the queens and superstars of the philippine movie industry, she has the sharpest business acumen and the enviable foresight that not only stars but people in general should emulate.

I watch Amalia Fuentes' kilig films in her teens. The dramas are kilig and I keep on watching. I can't find her later films, those released in the 60's, but technology will become even more high-tech, so let's see.

you know you're older when

you couldn't relate to Sarah Geronimo's movies. Which is kind of weird because I watched KC Concepcion films with Richard Gutierrez and I was able to sit through the awkward crying scenes, the beauty of Santorini and Palawan, simply looking at two beautiful people. A little less than two years before, I followed KC's character in Huwag Ka Lang Mawawala as an antagonist. Seeing her again in a sweet protagonist role is a step back in time but portraying black and white definitely makes an actor grow.

My rule is I don't really watch Pinoy films starring an actor born in the '80's. Thus Sharon, KC's mom. And her contemporaries or older, so si Nura, si Velma. I was into Flordeluna as a kid. So. I once explained the significance of Janice De Belen to Lovelyn, who's in her late twenties. Why she had all those cute guys as boyfriends when she was not even mestiza? Well, she was Flordeluna and she was in-demand, the perennial teenage daughter in Danny Zialcita films, a Regal Films staple.

Back to Miss Geronimo, the film was the one with Gerald Anderson. I usually like Sarah. She's huge on talent. But there was no spark for that particular midnight viewing. I couldn't connect with the lines in the movie, it's like a massive generation gap.

As Judy Ann is not doing any films. I don't have anything to watch. These days it's all about the young stars, those with the love teams. They dominate the teleseryes. They have a huge number of likes in their instagram accounts. They have tons of comments on gossip blogs. They have box office draw. They are money earners for entertainment companies.

While I'm the older audience and I like more mature stories, more mature actors. Or maybe I'm just content to go back in time and watch Sharon as a teenager. Or see Janice again as a 17 year old.

Sentence Structure

I was reading the first marker comments on the essays (was yakking on and on about them). I hated writing those stuff, the first marks were like, aargh! I could have written a different reflection and the markings would have been higher? Who knows. Maybe I should write more so that I wouldn't struggle on sentence construction (my critique). I would have to go in-depth into analysis and tackle the profundity of a variety of issues; the diurnal, the pedestrian, our consumer-driven lives, poverty, etc. The marker is a lawyer so I follow her lead. I read all the free papers and magazines yet I couldn't do sentences.

please summer, don't end

It's going to be cold soon. For all the warmth it has delivered, it has been a fab summer with every ray of sunshine. Compared to the cold months there are more people roaming the streets during summer. There's the catch, despite the warmth, it's claustrophobic. I never liked the shoulder to shoulder or skin to skin traffic in rock concerts or train stations I don't like crowds, there's more comfort to having less people.

This year, I've never been really outside North London. Unlike last year, there has been no plane rides anywhere and also unlike last year, the hubby and I no longer use a pram for the little girl. I find it hard to navigate anywhere pushing a pram. In the two and a half years, it was such a strain, especially when utilising public transport. It's still hard with sweetie walking next to me because she wants to run and run. She's a kid. They have so much energy. Unlike me, I find it hard to keep awake during the day after a night's work. I succumb to sleep if ever there's downtime. Like this Saturday, I couldn't keep awake, the hubby had somewhere to go and I have no choice but to persevere through the yawns and stay indoors for the safety of little one.

refrain, in a song

Ours is a society that is huge on physical appearances. The throng dwells too much on what is pleasing to the eyes. But for those with a sprinkle of insight know that beauty fades over time despite advents in make up and plastic surgery. If one is fortunate enough to be given a platform to utilise a set of skills and talent over a lifetime then there is a glimpse of joy and fulfilment. Hopefully. Sometimes human beings crave for more than what is presented on the buffet table.

If every single human has beauty, talent and intelligence then we wouldn't need to bash on social media (social media is another of those Trojan horses). We should advocate peace and good will to all mankind (I was raised riding on public utility jeepneys and reading their signs). I should really devour The Little Prince as this quote haunts, "what is essential is invisible to the naked eye." Twenty-two years since Ruffa's interview in Miss World and my reading book list is still bereft of The Little Prince.

But we cannot dictate our beliefs in others. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder is not the manta of ugly people. It's not.

cathartic writing

I have been tired since March, so I have not been exactly good company. I'll be snappy when you see me and would shower you with my personal judgments and biases. It's not good.

It's the schedule. It was harsh earlier in the year, it's harsher now. The essays took their toll, ruined the focus on the birthday dos. Now, my rota is extra mean. No chance in the next two weeks to just relax for a day. So if you see me now, I'm really extra bitchy. Beware.

happy birthday my dearest!

happy 3rd birthday, my sweetest!

life and flowers

Before June gives way to July, let's say I'm a brand new 41. The good thing in hindsight about embracing old age is that every one of my contemporaries are on the same fabulous boat. I'm as old as my classmates in high school.

At this age, my wrist joints are not that fab though. I have to see a doctor. And the essays showered a deflating annoyance on my birthday do, I wasn't able to prepare well. I'll try to be smiling in the next few days.

for the love of piaya

thanks gigi! bong-bong's.
taste of home.

wanna scream, really scream

It's just hard. No matter what I do it's just way too difficult. I couldn't find the strength and the skills to write my assignment. How do you analyse a simple task replete with all the references? To some it's easy-peasy. But I'm struggling.

June is my favourite month. My birthday falls on Saturday. So it's like the solstice birthday. Then it's all downhill after the 21st. It's going to be darker and darker until we're back to the winter solstice. But now, I can't bask on the glory of light, I have an assignment.

a sense of quiet for the collective words

Silence is the word. In order to write a paragraph of gravitas, I probably need silence. But since my kid is growing up, the focus is on her; her food, clothes, shoes, toys, lessons in manners, etc.

I want to read, no matter how crappy the subject or article. I want to write, despite not being alone. Solitude is my key to happiness. I want to cook and bake, just to be creative. I want to crochet to be crafty. It's all what I want, there's no giving back? I try to be kind and nice. I really do. I've never walked the path of bitchiness, the husband equates that to being a pushover. There are a lot of souls who have such huge barks. They speak in loudspeakers and the noise emanating is hollow and empty.

Nonetheless, we can choose. We can choose our friends. We can choose whom to invite into our lives, or to get-togethers. We can choose the people in our birthday card list. I have that list actually. Not all believe in Christmas but they believe in birthdays.

folding then essay

Essays. Essays. If only technology came much, much earlier than 1995. If only my parents had more insight into handling the family's finances better to nurture my affinity to write. By technology, I mean Windows '95 and its user interface for the mass market and I've already finished my formal education. It has been twenty years since graduation. I'm aware I rattle and I drool when talking about computers. But as a youngster, by merely thinking of typesetters or typewriters I was ecstatic. Even providing typewriters for their children's schoolwork, my parents could not afford or would rather use the money elsewhere. I was composing the harder, longer way. Now I'm writing this pice through my phone before even getting out of bed and I'll be writing my formal essays later on this medium as well, as I try to teach my little Chummy how to write her alphabet.

Essays are the way of life here in the Western Hemisphere. My schooling was more on rote memorisation, not constructing reflections and analyses. I would have relished the said process as an adolescent. Although I would entailed the use of eraser a lot (or use more paper) not utilising the very useful blinking cursor and ❎ key while deleting the previous thought, as I've been doing for almost a decade. Making mistakes with typewriters was even more time consuming and painful, think of broken nails and bleeding fingers.

Well, despite Course submissions and deadlines I still need to process my never-ending, back-breaking chores. Laundry here I come.

perk up, light up, get up

I love fresh flowers these days. They light up the room. They beautify my humdrum routine. I become dejected, profusely worried about the here and there and dark alleys but once I see a lovely arrangement, I could smile a little bit. I long of home, the majestic weather (super hot but exciting), the nature trails, the incomparable beaches.

I also adore writing on this blog. I don't manifest that at present but I hope to write more as the sweet kid is growing up to be adorable with her sulking, clashing eyelashes. She is still hard work, requiring attention, making a mess after mess and I hate mess. Now we're slowly pushing into writing her name and scribble her alphabet and numbers. Yes, I always end up into the description of the child, my child.

But the thing I still want to cure is my penchant for reading loads of crap on my phone. On the web, one link creates another link, it seems I have a hunger to read about an obscure website list of celebrities with plastic surgeries gone bad, or an update on the entertainment portal about people I don't really watch on my little screens.

be inspired

a lot less sugar?
thanks, miss jan!

hurts, from the outside

There have been a few disappointments this month. Manny Pacquiao was rendered the loser in the much-hyped bout with Mayweather. I don't like defensive boxing. I believe that hugging, running, choking, hitting on the belt should be automatically points deductions. Now I'm going back to review boxing matches of my childhood -- Hagler, Hearns, Roberto Duran, Sugar Ray Leonard. I wrote my Research paper on Muhammad Ali during my Research 3 subject on my Junior year. I'll write more about Pacquiao and boxing in the next posts.

The Tories also won the recent election. Cameron has the majority now and that majority is far harsher on the working class. My heart bleeds.

Not every person is born rich.
Some really have to work extra hard to at least eat three meals a day. Some have to travel to other countries to find jobs. Others have to be breadwinners for an entire clan. If there's a little bit of help from the government, just a tiny bit wouldn't hurt and would assist those who knows how to strive. But since, it's this government there would be a lot of cuts on subsidies. Politics matter a lot when it comes to policies.

a table in bloom

if only flowers don't wilt.

wreath

To every one who picked up the phone for me and texted me back, thanks. I needed just a voice on the other end -- my brother, Honey and Crissie. There were also a few who sends e-mails and texts me constantly, such blessed souls, I'm grateful. There are others whom I might not have returned the miss calls in the recent past, my apologies, I'll speak to you in earnest soon. Those who wouldn't even text me back on my miss calls during the past week, I understand, I have my share of self-loathing episodes for this week alone, I'm sure you have your reasons.

One of the nicest and hardworking guys is laid to rest. You are in our hearts forever, Papa Tom.

Volution

Going anywhere with a toddler is just hard. Maybe I don't have much of a mothering instinct or I would simply embrace the difficulties. I hate the sound of my screams, in public or in private. Others thrive balancing the chores -- keeping up with the laundry, ironing the pesky creases, waking up way too early. But my sweet child is adorable, our most wonderful treasure. She's the foremost love of our lives. She twirls and tumbles her way to the core of emotions.

building walls

I miss Papa Tom. He was very kind. While there are a few people in this universe that are simply selfish, incorrigible, irredeemable and I thought they were nice. But in times of great sadness, I've discovered some hard truths about so-called friends while labouring in pain. In plain terms, the family lost Papa Tom and I've decided to do away with one of my blog's regularly featured person. I sensed a reluctance in a little bit of help at the minefield. She did lend assistance but groaning and moaning on the side highlighted a reality that some people in essence are harsh and mean.

There should be simplicity in the natural order of things. I've decided to break bonds with those who don't deserve time and attention. Life as we know it is short. We should strengthen our affinity towards those who deserve our care and ministration.

sad

My father in law passed away last night in his sleep. Tears are falling.

somewhere

Before the onset of winter, the warmth of summer was foremost on my mind. That was September. Now it's almost April and it's still cold. I'm still wearing layers. I still wear a willy hat. I'm still enclosing my skin with heat- tech clothing innovations. Summer seems so far away.

The added heating expense also doesn't help my sanity. It wasn't like the year before when it was a bit warmer indoors. We haven't seen snow for a couple of years. It's just cold. As the clock moves forward, it's going to be longer days. Even for a short while, there's joy.

breathing jen

I almost caught an afternoon viewing of Cake at the nearest cinema two weeks ago. But because of circumstances too complicated to manoeuvre I had to forego the exercise, I'll catch it on the telly whether on Sky, DVD, PS4 and the likes. It's hard to find free time when one has a toddler. Jen Aniston would still do movies and Cake proved her range and she'll continue to traverse the sphere beyond her tabloid glamour. I viewed the SAG and the Golden Globe Awards online. I skipped the Bafta and the Oscars. All those who are going to win did win. There were no upsets. I enjoyed gazing at the gowns online and on the papers. I was basically time-wasting and it was good for my psyche.

I look at Judy Ann and Jennifer and I just follow how they are doing with their careers. By definition of the word, no idolisation involved, they didn't persevere in the academe (what's the point if you win the lottery?). So I'm just looking -- buying their magazine covers, watching their movies, catching their interviews, hoping they're being wise in their investments.

recovery

My cough is still here. I went to the GP but aside from checking my breath sounds, I left more perplexed as ever. Doctors should know how to enlighten. Maybe I'm coughing due to the chill and the stress of too much work. I should just cover myself in more fleece and knitwear during winter and concentrate on breathing, try to avoid red meat, dip into more fruits and vege.




But the highlight of my week is certainly the visit to the National Portrait Gallery just at the back of the National Gallery. The portrait paintings from the Tudor era are so well-restored, such talent in an era of beheadings and a monarch's absolute rule. I love looking at paintings. I love museums.

❤️💜💚 ❤️❤️💚 💜❤️💚



Fridge magnets from the museum's gift shop; I didn't notice they were both named Liz. And yes, what is a Warhol creation doing in an English gallery?

more practice

Baking is cathartic. My cupcakes are still crude and unpolished. But I'm practicing my frosting and piping. I'll get there.

love month

More like a huge Cough month.

I've never struggled as I struggle now with this relentless cough causing never before felt epigastric pain, waking me up in the middle of the night. I reckon it's the result of stress from the increased workload. It's just too much hard labour.

I blame the chill as well. I haven't ventured out in more than a month which bodes well for my unforgiving introverted self. Hell sometimes, is other people (and it feels right to quote Jean Paul Sartre). They judge. They judge. They judge. They compare, they compare some more and they never stop comparing.

Anyway, my tulips are such a fascination, we're still on love month.

despond

If only, the word contentment is easy to stew. But then there's little girl, so gorgeous, so cute, in an age where she's still exquisite, an emblem of hope. She makes a lot of mess. But she's two, you can still extend your patience a little if she makes a mess and she makes a lot of mess. The downside is I hate mess and it takes work to follow through her antics.

The comment.

Now somebody just pointed out to me that if you're not raising a brood (loads of kids) of your own (not nieces or nephews), you're an automatic failure. What the heck? I thought I've written about this subject time and time again. As I've observed through the years, the most wonderful persons (she just means women, i mean all the genders) in the world are those who do not crash and burn mulling over outgrown baby clothes, laundry, child care and addictive aspects of bachelorhood that would never be given up. Life in solitude is actually much more relaxing than being part of a duo. Although it's very nice when there's somebody who cooks for you. Such sweetness. Having to clean up afterwards in all its essence is not too bad. However the stubborn stains torture and maim especially when you're about to collapse from exhaustion, so by delaying the stocks of dishes, you're left with work and more work. Whilst in solitude, you don't wallow in servitude. You're free to write, free to read, free to travel.

In old age, it's not certain that the kid/kids would even talk to you, much more look after you. They'll tread their own path, make their way into the world. You, the parent could just be the afterthought.

great moan, circa '15

Ah, writing is my one enormous passion. The downside is only a very few single souls in my circle likes to write, go in depth with creativity on their free flow essays and describe their study of the human condition. They like to post pictures on Facebook or moan on shout outs, is that the same? Even one of the guys (a sleb) who illustrates in detail his hopes and frustrations on the state of politics and pop culture has abandoned his blog for more than a year and concentrates merely on his Twitter account. He should have continued dissecting the state of affairs, our lives and politics.

But those who write are those who read. Maybe I'm in the indifferent circle, those who are blasé about words and sentences but certainly enjoys judging visual arts or pictures of your child growing up and photos of your travels to places they've never been or never will be able to reach as well as photographs of  parties you were not included because you're not likeable.  Anyway, in this era of  innovation, a picture of food is already a moment.

In my view, nothing beats the blog or a book. We should write in any language. I couldn't find my book of Hiligaynon love stories written by my friend's grandfather. I couldn't find my friend's first story book for kids. She self-published, which was amazing. I shouldn't have lost my copy.

One of these days .... my friends will write a screenplay. Or a novel. Wish, wish, wish.

trinkets

As good persons, shouldn't we be all kind and generous?

In hindsight all those friends (and their kids) who showered my daughter with a profusion of presents during the holiday season are deeply kind and generous.

It's nice to be remembered. It feels wonderful to be included in the list of so-called friends and acquaintances.

During the winter season, it's dark and freezing, and despite the advent of texts and Facebook greetings, I still prefer tradition, the Christmas card, to behold, as an ornament for the tree, to display on the foyer.

All throughout the year as birthdays pass and as we get older and somebody sends a note through the post, isn't that better than just a mere Facebook post?

lured to crafts

My mom's birthday was on the 9th of January. I would have loved to blog on that day but I was besieged by a colossal series of coughing (until now). It's the cold weather. I miss my mother. I miss her insights.

Surrounded by haberdashery and crafts growing up, my mother could crochet. I remember her projects i. e. bedspreads and table covers. She also loved to cross stitch. Cross stitch is not that hard but a finished craft needs commitment and framing. I miss her framed works in Bacolod. It seems we have to starve ourselves to be able to go home this year.

Now, about crochet. I've been trying to learn since I was nine. Of course, there were always other stuff to do, in the past 30 years. There wasn't a gargantuan push to pick up any kind of craft for the sake of relieving stress. Life and earning one's keep takes precedence. Then here we are, in this decade, this millenium.

I remember learning about crochet tension from Lola Cel (my mom's maternal aunts were uber cool but I'm biased). There was my mom during those wide-eyed existence but guiding me now in my journey through the stitches and patterns is youtube, a saving grace, a very helpful, handful device.

I chose crochet over knitting as the influential personalities of my childhood were into crochet, as I've said. My lolas were also into embroidery, I was in awe of their work as I grow up, all I did as a kid was stare into their delicate creations, that in addition to being talented seamstresses.

Actually, I thought about crochet when I saw the fascination with looms on celebrity instagrams. I just concurred that crochet is more useful. So far, I have no complaints.

ever yet so again

It's another year. We're halfway through January and it's the first month in the Gregorian calendar although in the work calendar, there's still February and March to sort out the year and April is the month for beginnings and resolutions in real time. I can't wait for the sun shining in April. We're so dependent on artificial lights during January and it hurts the electric bill.

For some sort of trivial exfoliation of old, annoyingly archaic habit of procrastination, I've read somewhere that not a few have read a hundred books in 2015 alone and I haven't finished at least one, so embarrassing. I read so slow, one can't even laugh about the fact. I haven't been to the theatre to watch plays or the theatre to engage in new motion picture releases. I used to watch every Jennifer Aniston movie screenings whether it's at an Odeon nearby or all the way to Marble Arch, because it's the only cinema in the entire London that fits my schedule. But the past two years, I haven't even bothered on Sky Premiere.

I'll take stock and reflect, definitely. Read, learn, remember.
Eat more carrots. Cook (as befits the photo above, my daughter's toys). Move.

Let's check this list next week.