yelle_in_outerspace's Xanga

Monday, August 01, 2005

Mon, 01 Aug 2005 01:37:11 GMT

New blog, hehe: http://www.yellerfour.blogspot.com

Sunday, June 12, 2005

Sun, 12 Jun 2005 01:47:56 GMT

We apologize the site you are attempting to visit has been blocked due to its content being inconsistent with the religious, cultural, political and moral values of the United Arab Emirates.

Oo, mga kapatid. Friendster is blocked in Dubai. The horror!

Saturday, June 11, 2005

Sat, 11 Jun 2005 03:32:15 GMT

This is how springwater is bottled. Mwehehehe. Photo courtesy of Le Bernini, taken I think, at the Jurong Bird Park in Singapore.

Hanapin si Bern sa picture.

*****

Happy thoughts: real mail, email.

I got a package earlier this week from the US. It was from my old prof, Sir Eli Africa! He sent a copy of his award-winning documentary, "Selling Songs of Leyte." Of course I was thrilled. Receiving packages (even university brochures from other countries) is a little joy of mine, and getting a copy of Sir Eli's docu is one nice happy thought in itself. I immediately watched it with my mum, and I appreciated it. It was a nice way of capturing a snippet of our culture. Though I would have liked to have more information about the origins of such traditions. Hmmm, maybe a little research for me...

Another happy thought is getting an email from Zhandos! Hello! Receiving letters by email, and I don't just mean brief messages, is a simple joy. I immediately thought of the entire ISWI 2003 group. Hmmm. Sana magkita-kita nga tayo ulit.

Monday, June 06, 2005

Mon, 06 Jun 2005 15:25:54 GMT

Touchstone

After so many deaths, I live and write;
I once more taste the dew and rain
and relish versing.
- George Herbert, "The Flower"

At La Guardia's touch-tone, charge-a-call phone
I dial your number,
missing you,
and over & above that loss,
minutes before boarding,
I discover
I've lost a word,
can't come up with it at all,
that awful blank in my head
I know so well
as if the whole necklace of sense had snapped--
the letters of our names tumbling
on the floor,
a random alphabet,
anonymous as the faces
that surround me here,
so far from you.
I brave the heavily instruction-plated phone,
insert my card,
hear buzzes, tones,
then ringing
I pray won't be
an operator scolding
that I did things wrong.
Your daughter answers,
then you come on,
and for hello
I have to laugh
it worked!
reaching you
minutes before taking off
into a night sky
blank
as a just-washed blackboard.
It's a bad connection, your voice
tinny with static,
tiny
as make-believe,
while all around me
the drone and babble of strangers.
You ask, Can you hear me?
Yes, I say,
and then, since death
could be so soon
and you're so far away,
I say the ache inside of me all day,
I miss you.
What's more, I've lost a word
and so feel even more
at odds.
And now--through the crackling wire--
I feel your interest sparkle
like the starry sky
I wished for flying,
your love of words as keen,
as quick,
as genuine as mine.
Is there a word for a stone
you hold things to
to see if they are genuine?
And instantly, as if you stood
beside me
in the echoing terminal
and brushed your hand,
your bookmaker's artist-fingers,
every one,
upon the palette of my upper back,
you say the word
that I was searching for,
touchstone?
Touchstone! I echo,
moved to find it
true to my recollection,
Touchstone,
brushed of its dusty muteness
by your voice.
My shoulders give,
my breath comes
easefully.
Touchstone, I keep saying it over,
touchstone,
touchstone,
feeling that tears are coming,
because I recognize
this ache again
for words, for love,
a man's tongue dumb
inside my mouth--
Name it! Name it!
you're always saying.
After a year of silence,
the words,
the words are surfacing,
wanting my recollecting,
my tongue,
my breath,
on account of your loving agency
(Name it! Name it!)
as now on the phone
you pleasure me
with the word I had on the tip
of my tongue,
touchstone!
as if we were together again
on the hotel bed,
finger to finger,
palms,
chests, bellies, hips,
thighs, legs,
feet to feet,
all of the length
of our absent
imagined bodies
genuinely touching.

- Julia Alvarez

Forgive me, I couldn't put the proper spacings in. With the waves of a flying scarf, the lines were originally written (sabi nga ni Yoda).

Sunday, June 05, 2005

Sun, 05 Jun 2005 13:03:24 GMT

This nineteen-year-old tennis hotshot is the reason why my parents are glued to the television set. Rafael Nadal, yesirreee. You could hear mum's yelps everytime his opponent scores and dad's shouts of encouragement as he gains headway through the match. He's the reason why no one from my immediate family wants to go out and watch a movie with me Sunday night. Rarrrrr.

Thursday, June 02, 2005

Thu, 02 Jun 2005 14:38:10 GMT

Glazed

Distance is what you speak of
with the length of your arm, bent--
from the palm of your hand
facing out in mid-thought,
fingers splayed in a fan,
sifting countless questions.

Your nose twitches.
Your eyes stare blankly, glazed--
like the forgotten honey doughnuts
that sit untouched before you
on an impeccably white plate,
the small, round table
garnished with doodled napkins.

*****

Observer

The warm, yellow light
illumines
the delicate majesty of your bearing
as you observe
a world turned upside down.

You sit, entranced
and become the center of gravity
as words fall into the air
and meld into the particles of your wings
becoming the dream dust
of patterns emerged
from enmeshed minds.

From a few lines written during the first Pinoy Poets workshop last November 2004.

Thursday, June 02, 2005

Thu, 02 Jun 2005 09:13:50 GMT

I'm back! Though for how long, I'm not too sure. Ang gulo ng buhay ko ngayon. Must fix. After 3 weeks of hopping from plane to plane, hotel to hotel--i've gained X number of pounds (our partner organizations treat us well!), some helpful mileage points, met a lot of interesting people, snapped a few hundred photos, learned and realized so much. I also had my share of firsts: I got to smuggle a dangerous weapon on the plane in my handcarry (it was a rather pointy thing with a sheath), I got to ride in a Beetle (thank you Mr. Joel Maramara) and I finished my first bottle of pilsen (with the two other Cotabato "kids," Jaime and Miggy).

I also got to snap some interesting signs...

"I must...we can do it." One of the inspirational signs found in the military camp where the airport is located.

"Japanese food at prices you can understand!" Puwede na sana eh...

"A peace loving Japanese says Boycott War - Patronize I love Sushi--Arigato!"

With Tausug, T'boli and B'laan youth. Sana puwedeng magpa-adopt sa isang tribu. Kung minsan pakiramdam ko, napakalusaw ng aking cultural identity. Laki sa siyudad kasi.

Thursday, May 26, 2005

Thu, 26 May 2005 12:58:18 GMT

Your Birthdate: March 12

Being born on the 12th day of the month (3 energy) is likely to add a good bit of vitality to your life.

The energy of 3 allows you bounce back rapidly from setbacks, physical or mental.

There is a restlessness in your nature, but you seem to be able to portray an easygoing, sometimes "couldn't care less" attitude.

You have a natural ability to express yourself in public, and you always make a very good impression.

Good with words, you excel in writing, speaking, and possibly singing.

You are energetic and always a good conversationalist.

You have a keen imagination, but you tend to scatter your energies and become involved with too may superficial matters.

Your mind is practical and rational despite this tendency to jump about.

You are affectionate and loving - but very sensitive.

You are subject to rapid ups and downs.

What Does Your Birth Date Mean?

Wednesday, May 25, 2005

Wed, 25 May 2005 12:03:37 GMT

Judging from people's reactions to my appearance, I think I can confirm the popularity of the koreanovela here in the Philippines.

I find Cagayan de Oro a much more exciting place than Cebu.

Sunday, May 22, 2005

Sun, 22 May 2005 11:57:52 GMT

Watching TV with mum and dad earlier this evening, we chanced upon the show YSpeak on Studio 23. The topic of the discussion went something like, "In a relationship, who should love the other more, the man or the woman?" Of course mum and dad were all ears. When one panelist jokingly said, "of course the woman should love more," dad laughingly agreed, while giving mum a pat on the knee. Mum's response: a gesture of the hand pointing to the neck repeatedly. It took a while for me to read what she was mouthing to dad at the same time: "Neck-neck mo."