Life So Far

Happy November, everyone!

October's been a pretty hectic month, and much of November is shaping up to be the same crazy month. While I was able to go home for the last long weekend of October - such a fine weekend that turned out to be, and Manila will always be the coziest spot in the world for me - I have many travel-y things to look forward to: a wintry trip to Seoul, Christmas back home, and the grandeur of Borobodur and Prambanan on my next birthday weekend (YAY for promo fares!). I'm so happy that though much of my travels plans for 2012 drastically changed in the last six months, it's brought on so many new adventures!

Today there was a bookstore expo sale, and in my effort to solidly and seriously invest in near-future travels, I bought five travel guide books. Now you know where I'm planning to go in the next year or so! :D

And just because the going there is as essential as the being there, here's a lovely quote from the Travel section of my new Quotations for Occasions book:

Cheers!

Some Things to Remember

Just some things to remember every now and then. 

I looked through my old planners today and pulled out quotes I wrote down that are tidbits of helpful advice and things to think about (sometimes).  

April Book List

Happy Easter, everyone! I hope your Sunday's been well as mine has been. 

Yesterday I bought two new books to add to my shelf. Local bookstores have happily been on sale since March, and we took advantage. I was given the opportunity by my dad to choose anything I wanted, and I naturally gravitated towards the architecture books sections, resisting the urge to grab a design book of houses for a roaring price of multiple thousands (because it sucks, y'know, that architecture books are just so darn expensive). In the first bookstore, I grabbed Why We Broke Up on the best-seller stand; in the next one, I took to the design shelves and pulled out this book on the Art Nouveau movement.

Today I'm somewhere in between a towel with coffee ringlets and an umbrella in Min's things and thoughts, and run-on sentences in a book have never been more beautiful.

The days were all day every day, get a grade, take a note, put something on, put somebody down, cut open a frog, and see if it's like this picture of a frog cut open. But at night, the nights were you, finally on the phone with you, Ed, my happy thing, the best part.

...And that may possibly be one of the happier things Min said in Why We Broke Up.

Love, Peanuts-style

I stumbled upon this very cute article on Brain Pickings (such a wonderful site!) where one of Charles Schulz's books was featured. I really just wanted to save it for future reference somewhere... which is why this is now here in my blog. Apparently these are scans from a book that is no longer printed, so I'm kind of happy I stumbled upon this post while at the same time feeling sad that it will be nearly impossible to get my own copy. Sigh. If you want to see all of the pages, click here.

Whether or not you agree with these notes, it's a lovely read. The point is that love comes in so many forms and is most seen in the simplest, tiniest, most basic of everyday things and feelings. And I think that's pretty incredible. :)

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The Reading List

Amidst thesis book-compiling and a paper/interview for one last major, I am so happy to finally brush the dust off the covers of some books I bought a while back for future reading. At last, said future is finally here and there is no more guilt in reading a couple of paragraphs to satiate this reader's thirst for pretty words strung together in equally pretty sentences.

I had the pleasure of stumbling upon Frances Mayes' A Year in the World one January evening. Good travel books are such a treat, and some of my favorite books fall under this category - Peter Mayle's A Year in Provence being one of them, what with his rich description of this region in France, of the people, of the season, of the food!

I cheated reading about three pages during thesis crunch time, and knew I had to stop once I came across this beautiful excerpt for fear of doing nothing else but reading the whole book:

Travel pushes my boundaries. Seemingly self-indulgent, travel paradoxically obliterates me-me-me, because very quickly - prestissimo - the own-little-self is unlocked from the present and released to move through layers of time. It is not 2006 all over the world. So who are you in a place where 1950 or 1920 is about to arrive? Or where the guide says, "We're not talking about A.D. today. Everything from now on is B.C." I remember the child who came out of a thatched shack deep in the back roads of Nicaragua. She ran to touch the car, her arms thrown up in wonder. She would have looked at the headlights turn on and off all night.

You are released also because you are insignificant to the life of the new place. When you travel, you become invisible, if you want. I do want. I like to be the observer. What makes these people who they are? Could I feel at home here? No one expects you to have the stacks of papers back by Tuesday, or to check messages, or to fertilize the geraniums, or to sit full of dread in the waiting room at the proctologist's office. When travelling, you have the delectable possibility of not understanding a word of what is said to you. Language becomes simply a musical background for watching bicycles zoom along a canal, calling for nothing from you. Even better, if you speak the language, you catch nuances and make more contact with people.

Travel releases spontaneity. You become a godlike creature full of choice, free to visit the stately pleasure domes, make love in the morning, sketch a bell tower, read a history of Byzantium, stare for one hour at the face of Leonardo da Vinci's Madonna dei fusi. You open, as in childhood, and - for a time - receive this world. There's the visceral aspect, too - the huntress who is free. Free to go, free to return home bringing memories to lay on the hearth. 

She's got it spot on, I think! This is one of those few moments when you're so happy that this writer gets you and has put what you feel (or would want to feel) into the perfect mix of words.

The other book on the list is David Levithan's The Lover's Dictionary, which I think I've mentioned before. As expensive as it had been, I'm happy I have it! The uniqueness in which it had been written is one of my favorite things - how a relationship between two people was described in the format of a dictionary is just lovely. One of my favorite words? Basis.

Cheers to a wonderful reading year!

Before Ever After and My Reading List this Week

I have to admit that I had my doubts about this book. It was slowly but surely gaining momentum as a local bestseller, and I surmised that it helped the sales a whole bunch that it was a book published abroad. But I have had my share of stories written by fellow countrymen, and while they were good in their own right, they... weren't just my cup of tea.

So when I decided to pull this out of our bookshelf, I really wasn't expecting much. My mom had written a note on the first page, reminding the reader that my brother had given her this book. I ran my finger against the rough, uneven edges of the pages, relishing this design detail in publishing the book. Half-heartedly, I turned the page to the beginning. Quietly, I hoped it wouldn't disappoint. This was to be my first book to finish in what seemed to be an eternity, and I really wanted to be satisfied, literary-wise.

Lo and behold, I actually quite enjoyed it! It was a breeze to read, and while I didn't really fancy Shelley (in my head, I thought she seemed too much like Isabella Swan, and I don't like her in the same degree as well), I loved the jumping back and forth from century to century. One chapter was spent in eighteenth century Paris, and the next chapter went back to the present day, and then it went further into the past into twelfth century Austria. I enjoyed every bit of it, if only for my love of history and places.

The plot somewhat reminded me of My Name is Memory by Ann Brashares (another good read, recommended by a friend), but that one dwelt on a reincarnating soul of a man always searching for his first love Sophia, while Before Ever After explores immortality and the life and love of a never-aging man with many names. This book was a delight to read, really, and worth the whole day of staying in bed and reading - something I've missed doing, and which I hope to do more in the future!

Just a bit of an excerpt, and it doesn't reveal anything, really, if you're worried about spoilers. :)
It's just an honest-to-goodness burst of honesty and vulnerability from an immortal man in love.

Meanwhile, while I do think I should spend a considerable amount of days this break for working on thesis, I thought to myself that I could give myself a bit of a break and challenge-of-sorts to finish books. I'd add more, but I thought these books would have to do for this break/week:

That's Lisa See's Peony in Love (as I adored her Shanghai Girls); George Martin's Game of Thrones;
and the recently finished book, Samantha Sotto's Before Ever After.

Next up is Game of Thrones. I'm in the third chapter already, and it helps that I've watched the series
because a part of me is smug that I'm at least familiar with the characters!

Here's to hoping I finish the next two books before Saturday. YAY for reading! I sorely missed you, hobby.

Hunger Games Trailer

OMG. The official trailer of Hunger Games is out, and it's PERFECT. I'm happy with the trailer - so happy it makes me wanna go back and read the books again just to feel the old rush of excitement! I hope 2012 comes sooner!

May the odds be ever in your favor!

The Birthday Post!

I'M TWENTY-TWO! 

For no reason at all, I love my birthday. I somehow end up being more hyper than on most days and generally happier. Like last year, I managed to stay up all night working on the resort plate and surviving on happy vibes, when I hadn't been able to pull off an all-nighter since third year and the resort plate was one that I hated the most. 

By 12AM today, the excitement basically consumed me and as I typed this, I was still resonating with a very positive aura. It eventually changed by the end of the day, but for the most part, I enjoyed my birthday.

My study table at around 12MN of my birthday. Jovi and Merri as we hung out in the lib during free-cut. The newspaper headline for 9/29/11. The everyday scene from the waiting shed.

Joseph came by today to treat me for birthday lunch and tea. YAY. I now know what pares is, and the teeny cupcakes from Moonleaf are yummy-yummy!

Waiting for the consultation that was cut short anyway. A sideline trip to Fully Booked before eating pasta for dinner solo. For long life, you know? :D

The day ended with a birthday mass (I do love my birthday masses; they're always about angels!), and I ate a solo dinner of awesomeness and tea latte. I only wish I brought Duccio (read: my camera) today, but alas, my birthdays always somehow end up in a week of extreme weather (there was Milenyo, Ondoy and, more recently, Pedring) or extreme stress from school work. That translates to bulky cameras as my least priority of the day, and, well, bad skin and eyebags. At least the trusty phone camera proved to be dependable!

My roommate left me a wonderful surprise birthday note on my desk before she went to bed. I was outside the room when she did, and it was such a lovely thing to find at 2:30 in the morning! She quoted Louisa May Alcott, and I find that it fits me and my dilemma at this point of fifth year:

Have regular hours for work and play;

Make each day both useful and pleasant;

And prove that you understand the worth of time by employing it well.

Then youth will be delightful,

Old age will bring few regrets,

And life will become a beautiful success.

It's a wonderfully beautiful quote from the awesome lady who wrote Little Women. Thank you, roomie!

With that, I end my birthday post. I am twenty-two, though I will always feel like the awkward fifteen year old. Feel young, think young, stay young. Hihi. These twenty-two years have been pretty awesome, and I can only wish for another great and memorable year! :)

Cities by Memory, Losing Places: On Cities and Love

It's halfway through July already, and no, I am no longer doing that salt center idea I had in the previous post. Instead, I'm doing a zoo of some sort... Meh, it's hard to explain.

Among other less stressful things, this morning I came across a particularly beautiful bit of writing, entitled "On Love and Cities". It's heartbreaking, and really just such a good piece to encounter on a dreary Wednesday morning in what shall probably be one of the worst semesters of college.

© Carla 2007.

On Love And Cities

JUL. 19, 2011 By TASHNY SUKUMARAN

What is it like knowing that a town doesn’t belong to you?

Me, I’ve never belonged to a town or city or country. I’m like that poem about the art of losing.

Even now, when I look at this town, I see you. The train station where you’d pick me up, the rundown little shack where we had soup, the frightfully expensive restaurant where you made me try all the stupid types of seafood you like, prepared in ways I hate and your very particular taste buds love.

We’ve got such massively different tastes, in fact – I like my crabs with masala and you like yours in salted egg whites.

And this bus is taking me across town, to the train station where you’d pick me up.

I’m okay now, but I still wish I had made this town mine. I wish that it didn’t resound with echoes of you and your bad habits and good ideas.

The taxi stand where I first waited for you, not realizing you were upstairs. You came down to get me, and I stared at you so blankly – it was akin to a blind date, not recognizing you with your hair suddenly long.

But I digress.

Why is it when we lose lovers, we lose places?

The city which you so boldly walked becomes infested, haunted by ghosts of that ever-living love. It’s no longer yours, no longer a whole – it’s formed by places you spent in those idle waking loving hours, grateful to have and be had.

The supermarket where he kissed you on the earlobe while you studied fruit, the pharmacy where he put his hand around your waist for the very first time and your heart skipped a beat, the second step of the shoplot next to the ATM where you waited while he bought chestnuts to share, the two gas stations which, after a sudden left turn, mark your entrance into upper-middle-class suburbia and you bring your hands together Namaste like that, just like that, greeting the Nepali neighborhood watch who knows where you are going and derives no small amusement from the fact that you turn up in different taxis each time and can never remember how to find his house.

These all interspersed with spaces and gaps of nothingness, gray places that have not yet been made part of the fabric of memory, you know they are there but you don’t look – or perhaps you look but you don’t see.

I sometimes wonder if towns don’t truly belong to us. They belong to memory and to the people we share them with.

The fingerprints and footsteps and tiny bits of soul we leave behind last, sustain, endure.

We build this city not with brick and mortar but with emotion and experience, only to lose it to the person we built it with.

My town. Your town. My things. Your things.

There is no more us, but the city reminds us. 

*tear*

Originally posted here.

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The Flaneur

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"In any event, the flaneur is in search of experience, not knowledge."

Walter Benjamin

If I ever come across this book here in Manila, I will definitely buy it, no matter what the cost. I think this book is as lovely as A.A. Milne's Winnie the Pooh series, even if, truth be told, I have yet to complete those books! 

This book gives off the same, comfortable, endearing aura as A Year in Provence, and if you were to go back, again and again, to the prettiest city in the world (for me, at least), I believe it is somewhat of a must that you read this, as it defines the true flaneur who wants to immerse himself in Paris, not in the person of a tourist, but in the person of a cross between a guest and a true blue Parisian in search of experience: 

THE EXACT NATURE OF A FLANEUR: He (or she) is not a foreign tourist eagerly tracing down the major sights and ticking them off a list of standard wonders. He (or she) is a Parisian in search of a private moment, not a lesson, and where as wonders can lead to edification, they are not likely to give the viewer gooseflesh. ~ Edmund White