Archive for the 'thinking' Category

leaf through or scroll down

while i share with my favorite author jeanette winterson the same sentiments about books, roberto bolaño just might convince me to consider e-books.

let me explain.

winterson says in her column:

Why do I not like e-books?

   I am a romantic and prefer the full-strength version that you can drop in the bath. They have not made a water-proof e-book yet.
  And when you leave a book dropped in the bath on the side to dry, it has a survivor-feel to it. It has a history. Your e-book can never have a history because it can’t age as you do,

  As techies are freaked out by anything that isn’t ‘new’, the idea of a book ageing is probably horrible.
  But not to me.
  And you can’t write your name in the front. Or get your lover to write their favourite bit in the back.
  And so on.
   But hey, it’s progress I’m told.

that was something i just read yesterday, barely a week after the last online discussion i had with other avid readers about the subject, one where my final word was i don’t think i’d ever warm up to the idea of e-books.

until this afternoon. when i found roberto bolaño’s 2666 in the bookshop downstairs, all 912 pages of it. and i imagined carrying this book in my bag must feel like lugging around a terracotta tile sandwiched between two special edition dvd’s of moulin rouge. but i badly wanted to read the darn thing.

so this is the day i considered e-books. the day i also realized that i’m physically too decrepit to bear the weight of books over 550 pages.


people who baffle me no.2

these days, when i ask women how old they are, the most frequent answer i get is not in the form of a number. they often give me this cheesy smile that i have grown to loathe and say “guess” in a kind of playful tone that makes me want to knock my own head into a brick wall.

guess what? what are they making me guess for?

when people ask me how old i am, i automatically blurt out my age. whether they think i look younger or older than my age is a non-issue, really. i am not offended when someone says i look older, as neither am i proud when someone says i look younger. it’s plainly and simply not a big deal to me. not that i don’t care about appearance, i am admittedly quite vain, but for some reason, age (or should i say a particularly lower age) has never been something i try to aspire to.

but since i have learned in various annoying ways that women get offended when you think they look older than they really are, whenever someone asks me to guess her age, i deduct 5 from my actual estimate. that’s to preserve my ass.

like this one who looked 43 to me. she goes, guess. i say, 38. tee hee hee i’m already 42 she says with a schoolgirl lift of the right shoulder. i think, well, you look already 43.

sometimes people really do baffle me.

people who baffle me no.1

there’s a pinay here, a gp, looks over 50, who recently moved back after a rather unsuccessful stint in a developed country (unsuccessful meaning she didn’t get a pr). i’ve never seen her before, i wouldn’t have a clue how she looks like and frankly i’m not one of those who will feign interest for the sake of fellowship. for some reason unknown to the likes of me, she thinks i am obliged to come up to her, be chatty with her and all that unnecessary friendliness just because we are both pinays in a foreign land.

so i wonder, am i obliged??

in a small get-together that i didn’t attend, she goes up to another pinay and says i don’t even say hi to her and when she ran into me, i avoided her. motherfucker, i don’t even know her, i wouldn’t recognize her fuckface if it smashed into me.

one day last week, one of my colleagues pointed her out to me from a considerable distance. eventually after that, i came up to where she was having lunch with another pinay and introduced myself. then like a crazy weirdo, she gives me this haughty look and said “yes, i told (insert name here) that you don’t say hi to me and that you avoided me when i ran into you,” to which i said, “motherfucker, i don’t know you and i don’t know your face, how could i have avoided you?”

no, i didn’t really say that. my mind said it.

i said with a smirk and with all the respectful sarcasm i could muster, “sorry about that, but how could i have said hi to you or avoid you when i wouldn’t have recognized you? i didn’t know how you looked like until (insert name here) pointed you out today.” i must have scoffed because after that she wouldn’t even address me in the mini-conversation and couldn’t manage to look into my eyes.

sometimes people baffle me.

all of a sudden, here’s 2011

on the night of new year’s eve, i slept. slept like never in a long time. as soon as my head hit the pillow, i went out like a candle.

i went to sleep in 2010, woke up in 2011. like a hipster nonconformist, only on the losing spectrum of popular notions, i didn’t celebrate the new year in.

i could vaguely remember my husband lumbering into the room from the street party at dawn to wish me a happy new year before he himself collapsed into an unconscious mass.

looks like we are now well into the 21st century… happy new year, folks!

scrolling down hollow pages

a couple of days ago, i would have been a bottled-up tangle. now that i am in the cusp of weekend that promises to be a lenient one, i wouldn’t mind a little fugitive frustration to dapple the night.

there are just some nights when you think everything is ok with the world, though you know a few days later you would find a fracture in the order of the universe and make a fuss.

so now i am teetering with insomnia, i try to mount the blocks with some e-window shopping. it’s one of the best emotional self-mutilations you can subject your half-conscious self to. i do it because i am a member of this poor degenerate consumer society without complaints.

i think i will try to read something until my eyes get heavy. i doubt that will happen until maybe 3 in the morning.


i’m thinking — i’m always thinking — what i should aim for next. and i don’t mean these things staring back at me from ebay. since i have redirected my life, i wonder how i should envision the end of this road? hmm.

lost things

i think the biggest thing missing from my life now is a cat. not since fifth grade have i lived in a place without at least one cat. even when i asserted my independence in flats that did not allow pets, stray cats abound in the parking lots and alleys, all of the ones who weren’t frightened by human contact i would scratch on the chin even if i were running late. neighbors had a dozen of them domesticated and begging for food from even me, the aloof girl next door.

i married into a dog family, that’s why.


no one talks to me now about boxing and basketball. except for my boxing trainer, of course, but i’m not even the most rigorous of clients.

everybody talks about rugby. and it’s a sport that i just can’t get, even if i tried my very best.

i also married into a rugby-playing family.


no one even tries to psycho-analyze our neuroses. i didn’t know i would miss the creeps that try to shed light on our subconscious even if we didn’t ask them to. i used to think they were just annoying. now i realize they were good for the laughs.

what makes you recoil

for the first time since i put up this blog, i read all my past entries. yes, all of them. i am now officially fascinated by my old self. fascinated in a way that makes me wince in pain.

i found that i write most of the time when uninspired. isn’t that strange? most people write when inspired. and i don’t mean positively all the time; many gifted writers produce their best work under melancholy inspiration. like when they are jilted.

i guess this is why i can’t be a writer. i would only produce boring stuff.

to be shamefully honest, i used to dream about being a writer, but that aspiration fell by the wayside when at a young age someone important led me to discover this mystifying object called a “paycheck” and made me believe that the only way to survive is to have this come to you on a regular basis. so as soon as i reached legal working age… that’s history now.

over a decade of subsisting on the paycheck made me realize that it’s not worth dealing with monsters for.


i don’t know why i used to be so affected by things that didn’t matter. i blame it on hormones. or sleep deprivation. maybe both. or i could just blame it on the horror movies i used to watch as a child for instilling a morbid fear of everything in this wide world, even things unrelated to spirits and the occult.