Einstein's Dreams. A good read while contemplating time in an airport or while in transit.

In-Transit Reading

"The Aare bends to the east, is sprinkled with boats carrying potatoes and sugar beets. Arolla pines dot the foothills of the Alps, the trees' cone-laden branches curving upward like arms of a candelabrum. Three-storey houses with red-tiled roofs and dormer windows sit quietly on Aarstrasse, overlooking the river. shopkeepers on Marktgasse wave their arms at all passersby, hawking handkerchiefs, fine watches, tomatoes, sour bread, and fennel. The smell of smoked beef wafts down the avenues. A man and a woman stand on their small balcony on Kramgasse, arguing and smiling while they argue. A young girl walks slowly through the garden at the Kleine Schanze. The large red-wood door of the Post Bureau opens and closes, opens and closes. A dog barks." (Alan Lightman, Einstein's Dreams, 113)

I started reading "Einstein's Dreams" the other year during the long flights to and from L.A. Waiting and reading about time seemed to go together. Ironically, I never finished the book. While I was rummaging through my bedside books for a nice read while in transit to and from H.K. I rediscovered "Einstein's dreams." I realize that the prose was very heavy for me. The passages are the kind where one would like to linger and absorb the slanting sunlight through stained-glass windows. Poem-like, actually. I needed to be in a situation that would induce me to slow down. Breathe. Smell the coffee. So, before I dozed off out of sheer exhaustion in the hotel room I had the brief and sweet luxury of imagining time slowing down so that I could see raindrops suspended in the air, or lovers poignantly locked in an embrace in a world where they cannot fathom the future.

You have to be completely absorbed or you will give up on the book, entirely. It was a bliss to immerse myself in the hypothetical universes of "Einstein's Dreams." Now, time isn't something that I would want to cram into tiny spaces. I want to extend it, live every moment to its fullest. Enjoy it. Whether I like it or not... time in this universe moves forward. It is a dimension that cannot be seen but can be measured, whether through mechanical means or the color of the sky or the height of a child. It cannot be reversed (not yet, or not ever... who knows?). The book made me sit back and re-examine my own philosophy of time.

It's a beautiful book. A bit difficult if you're not in the mood. But worth the wait.

Word Quilt

I didn't have my "bag journal" with me since Wednesday so I've written down all my words on all sorts of paper: receipt, itinerary sheet, hotel stationery. So here it is. My word quilt.

Recorded on August 18, Wednesday on my itinerary sheet:
Left my journal at home and now I'm stuck with this itinerary sheet for my temporary journal.There's lots to do as soon as we reach H.K. It's going to be my first time there. According to Erwin, the airport is really nice.

V Took me to the airport. He was so sweet about it. We couldn't really talk much because he was driving fast. My fault, really. I woke up late. So, we just held each other's hand or arm in between clutch change. It speaks volumes of how we relate to each other. Touch is a big factor. It reassured me that even though we weren't speaking, all was well.

The road is long
the car is quiet
I wonder for a moment
if you mind
this early morning trip
but your hand touches
my arm
just for a moment
in between gears
answering all
my questions.

Recorded on August 18, Wednesday on hotel stationery:
Just had lunch at OVA in the Pacific Place mall. Just resting in my room and trying to take in the pace. The pace is actually frightening. I onlly have around 15 minutes left before we go off to another meeting.

Recorded on August 22, Saturday on my Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf receipt:
The words chased me through a hot night. Something about my mother and the waiting: here is where we have met (words in the margin). Lost time and the option of obliterating a memory -- memory of a failed love, perhaps. No never. Not even the worst of what I thought was a ghost of love. All of them deserve equal billing.

One or two will find a natural balance. But each have taught the heart a lesson or two. All worth knowing and remembering.

How could I resist a tea shot? This is me and my room for tea. In between frantic meetings... there is always room for things to steep.

Complimentary Jasmine tea and a basket of fruit go a long way for a weary traveller in busy, busy Hong Kong.

A room with a view: a lovely reading sofa at the Marriott, HK. With a really full schedule, though, I hardly got to sit in it. Sigh.

Addictions

My latest pulp addiction: The Best Science Fiction of 2003. Got it at a discount in National Bookstore (10-20% off, I think). What a buy! It's been my stress companion for the last week. One day, one story. You can't imagine what it feels like to know that there's a new story to go home to every day. Alas, those days are gone as I just finished the last story, "Bumpship," last night. I've officially devoured all the stories so I can't even take it with me to HK on my business trip.

Anyway, I digress. The stories are great. Highlights are "A Study in Emerald" by Neil Gaiman and "Confusions of Uni" by my favorite Sci-Fi author, Ursula Le Guin. "Cookie Monster," I forgot by whom, reminded me of my sis and her job in the call center. One word: Scary. Can you imagine being rebooted for the rest of your life so that you can be the perfect professional? I mean, you're totally motivated because it's always your first week at work at a job that pays you more than you bargained for. But imagine living the rest of your life in perpetual limbo. I can see that it's not an impossibility. That's what's so scary.

On a totally different topic: Why am I still at work? I don't know. I'm stress relieving again by blogging. This is my other addiction. I'm definitely hooked on it. Anyway, I have to go. Just needed to WRITE!!! So there. I've written. And I can't wait to do my next post.

At a Wedding

Also at Mandarin Oriental, Captain's Bar last August 14. Photo taken by Carlo Guerrero with my cam phone. Nice lighting.

Room for Tea

At Mandarin Oriental attending the wedding of Vier's fencing friend. Thought this would be the perfect profile picture for my blog. Photo taken by Vier.

Crunch Time

I am trying to get my bearings together. I have so much to do. I'm getting a headache just thinking about the sheer weight of responsibilities that have landed on my shoulders. I'm not turning away the responsibilities. I welcome them. It's just that I'm made of flesh and bone. Too much in one go can hurt me. All I can do is find a way to cope.

My coping mechanism is writing. This is proof. I mean, all I'm really saying here is that I'm under tremendous pressure. But I can't keep it inside. I have to write it down. As Nem wrote in her blog "it's not a story until it's told." So there. This is my story for today. I'm fatigued, harassed, gulping down coffee and writing on my blog out of sheer desperation.

And even if that's all I have to say, it has to be published. No less.

I'm counting on my inner resources, my resiliency and God. No cross is given me that I cannot bear. So I will bear it. I will bear it with gratitude. This is small compared to all the problems other people have to face. I am, in fact, luckier than most.

So there. I will stop whining and start working again. Logging out and praying for the best.

Gus-Gus

Today, in the States, is the birthday of my brother, Gus (or Gussie, Gusyong, Augusto, even Levi at one point in his life). Whenever I think of the name Gus, it always bring to mind that adorable mouse in the Disney version of Cinderella. When I think "Gus" I think "Gus-Gus." Not to say that Gus is anything like the adorable mouse. He can be a cross between Johnny Bravo and a brooding James Dean. Well, inside, I think he's still that cute, sometimes befuddled, but always kind-hearted Gus-Gus. He's been through a lot, though. That's for sure.

Gus' story is amazing. I thought he would be a hopeless case. But no. He proved everyone wrong. And now he's a responsible Dad, a successful professional and a loving husband. He's even an affectionate brother who calls me up every now and then. Wow.

Gus is my example of how there is always hope. I go back to our childhood and the times we shared escaping our yayas, reading the same books and talking about our Mom. Back to the time he left home. Missing him. Having him back in our lives. Hating him. Trying desperately to keep the family together. In between there have been a lot of struggles and painful times. But in the end, I love my brother very much. Nothing can take that love away.

I dedicate this post to him and to all our wonderful brothers (whether they're protective, strong, willful, funny, affectionate or bull-headed, they are a blessing in our lives).

Happy Birthday, Gus. Keep dreaming the dream. Keep being the inspiration that you are.

Through a glass, darkly

"For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known." 1 Corinthians 13: 12.

This passage reminds me of the recent correspondence shared among my college girlfriends (subject title: re: dinner last week), the Focal Toints. We coined our irreverent group name from the "pa-cute" term we used for our college crushes. It's been ten years. Ten years! Time really flies. But among us, girls, we always have a suspended golden moment when we are together. What Lissa calls a "Kodak moment." It's true. We laugh our hearts out, reminisce, and talk about the future without a thought to our age, to the distance between us. We are as we were and we know that we'll always be this candid way with each other.

The e-mails started out as reflections on the dinner we had last week. And then an outpouring of things in the past. Things that each of us can hide so well because we are happy people, the kind of people who hold other people up. In college, we all had our rose-colored glasses in place. And now... years and years later, those rose-colored glasses aren't exactly the same color... or might have disappeared entirely.

It's called growing up, I suppose. But not growing jaded, I would like to believe. We see through a glass darkly. I think we've gotten more mature, more reflective. I think we all know what we want. The sacrifices we make to pursue what matters in our lives. Seeing them, hearing them tell their stories, living with them a shared past, a treasured present and a glimpse of a purposeful future... reminds me to celebrate life. To celebrate friendship. We don't have a moment to lose. One day we will know as we are fully known. Today, let's cherish what has been, who we are.

Lissa, Angel, Ines, (Jen, you were with us in spirit).... you're wonderful, strong women. I'm so happy and proud to be your friend. FT forever!

The Murakami Bedside (and Bathroom) Companion

I'll start with a side story on the title: I thought "bathroom" would be a more realistic word, here. I mean, we don't say "loo" or "water closet" or even "toilet" we say "bathroom" even though, as my Tita Menchu so astutely pointed out, we don't take baths in the Philippines just showers (a real bath, she says, involves a bath tub).

A staple in my bathroom is a book that amuses me while I'm on the throne. Pardon the image. The piece of literature that I'm referring to could be as embarassing as a Judith McNaught paperback or, as the title of my post suggests, a gem like "The Elephant Vanishes" by Haruki Murakami. The length of the stories are just perfect for the bathroom or for before falling asleep. They're intriguing enough at the beginning, punchy enough to keep you going and short enough for a thought provoking moment before developing a leg cramp or yawning. Murakami's stories are refreshing, contemporary and quite jarring, actually. One particular story that I find very interesting is "Lederhosen." It's about how a woman suddenly left her husband without a word of warning because of a pair of "lederhosen" (suspenders from Germany). It's told from her daughter's perspective, so the absurdity of the situation is emphasized further. Of course, I won't spoil it for you by giving away the story.... but that's the gist of it. Imagine why a woman would up and leave her husband over a pair of suspenders. Wouldn't that be enough to keep you riveted for at least five minutes?

Well, the whole point of this passage is: I'm just someone who can't do without a book. If the book is good, then better. I panic if I have nothing to read and I'm stuck in a place where I have no choice but to wait. That's probably why I always have a journal with me (at home, at the office, in my bag, on the net...). If I can't read anything that someone else has written I review a passage from one of my old journals (and I have tons of them). I'd like to believe my being an incorrigible reader/ writer is a good thing, both for myself and for other people.

So, there. I recommend a good book by your side. New doors will open for you, I promise.

The cover of the exact Vintage edition I have at home.

You must change your life

Archaic Torso of Apollo
by R.M. Rilke
Trans. by H. Landman

We never knew his fantastic head,
where eyes like apples ripened. Yet
his torso, like a lamp, still glows
with his gaze which, although turned down low,

lingers and shines. Else the prow of his breast
couldn't dazzle you, nor in the slight twist
of his loins could a smile run free
through that center which held fertility.

Else this stone would stand defaced and squat
under the shoulders' diaphanous dive
and not glisten like a predator's coat;

and not from every edge explode
like starlight: for there's not one spot
that doesn't see you. You must change your life.


"Not one spot/that doesn't see you." Art confronts life. Life confronts art. In the end, there is the abrupt order: "You must change your life."

This poem has always intrigued me. It ends with very prosaic words of advice: you must change your life. I turn a new leaf this month. And it seems that at every major turn, I find myself looking at my life... perhaps like one would look at a sculpture or a painting. How did this nuance come about? What must I change? Does this have anything to do with what I want in life? What I have pledged my life to be? It's the same feeling I get when I read one of Jane Hirshfield's poems: you watch the lion and then you enter the lion, become the lion. Sometimes that's how one must view one's life sometimes. As an observer and also, at the same time, as the subject.

Lately, the important questions have been emerging again. Perhaps because I've just attended a pre-marriage seminar. Perhaps because so much has been happening at work. Perhaps because the changes are all merging and transforming me as I write this. I'm overwhelmed. Yet this life and what I've made of it must surely glow with something larger than myself, a purpose that fastens me to a greater end... else "this stone would stand defaced and squat."

I must change my life.

And survive it... at least this week.