This image was taken from the Mayo Clinic’s birth control guide. For the men out there, read it and weep. For the women, read, and never be fooled.

It’s funny how you listen or even sing along to a song for the longest time but never really pay attention to what it says. I’ve found this to be a typical reaction of mine to Indigo Girls’s songs. First the melody would catch my attention, then I would get familiar with the lyrics so I can sing along with it, and then sometimes, much later, the song’s meaning would just suddenly connect.

This morning, “Gone Again” was playing on my mind because Curlytop has, well, gone again. On a trip abroad. I played several Indigo Girls songs until I got to “Watershed”. I like this song but I don’t remember paying much attention to it until this morning when I heard the words, “Standing at the fork in the road/ You can stand there and agonize/ Till your agony’s your heaviest load…”

I looked up the lyrics, and when I read the words while listening to the song, maganda pala talaga. More than just a catchy tune and easy to recall lyrics, singing the song now felt like nodding in assent to what the song had been saying all along. It also feels like one of those “you know you’re getting old when…” moments.

Watershed

Thought I knew my mind
Like the back of my hand
The gold and the rainbow
But nothing panned out as I planned
And they say only milk and honeys
Gonna make your soul satisfied
Well I better learn how to swim
Cause the crossing is chilly and wide

Twisted guardrails on the highway
Broken glass on the cement
A ghost of someones tragedy
How recklessly my time has been spent
They say that its never too late
But you dont, you dont get any younger
Well I better learn how to starve the emptiness
And feed the hunger

Up on the watershed
Standing at the fork in the road
You can stand there and agonize
Till your agonys your heaviest load
Youll never fly as the crow flies
Get used to a country mile
When youre learning to face
The path at your pace
Every choice is worth your while

And theres always retrospect
(when youre looking back)
To light a clearer path
Every five years or so I look back on my life
And I have a good laugh
You start at the top
Go full circle round
Catch a breeze
Take a spill
But ending up where I started again
Makes me wanna stand still

Up on the watershed
Standing at the fork in the road
You can stand there and agonize
Till your agonys your heaviest load
Youll never fly as the crow flies
Get used to a country mile
When youre learning to face
The path at your pace
Every choice is worth your while

Stepping on a crack
Breaking up and looking back
Til every tree limb overhead just seems to sit and wait
Til every step you take becomes a twist of fate

Up on the watershed
Standing at the fork in the road
You can stand there and agonize
Till your agonys your heaviest load
Youll never fly as the crow flies
Get used to a country mile
When youre learning to face
The path at your pace
Every choice is worth your while

Up on the watershed
Standing at the fork in the road
You can stand there and agonize
Till your agonys your heaviest load
Youll never fly as the crow flies
Get used to a country mile
When youre learning to face
The path at your pace
Every choice is worth your while

And when youre learning to face
The path at your pace
Every choice is worth your while

The clutter we keep

A week from now, in this part of our galaxy, the planet mercury will initiate the universe’s way of including idleness in the natural scheme of things. If we know better, we would do well to take mercury’s retrograde as a cue to sit back, relax and try to sort out accumulated things. Around this time, whether consciously or not, lots of stuff will be disposed, closets decluttered, rooms, offices and homes reorganized.

When it comes to emotional closets though, I am not sure how it can be kept clean, efficient and clutter-free. Not even home improvement guru, Martha Stewart has come up with her version of the “easy steps” to get rid of emotional baggage. Perhaps she has too much of her own and is just as helpless as the rest of us.

Yesterday, I think I reluctantly returned this DVD which was lent to me. I realized, a bit too late, that I should have watched it one more time or burned a copy for myself.

This film which centers on a young Buddhist monk’s journey towards enlightenment, might remind you of Herman Hesse’s novel, Siddhartha. I loved this film and it’s slow, tranquil pace which featured breath-taking views of the Himalayas. One review even referred to its cinematography as zen-ematography — slow, silent and lingering shots of nature dominated much of the movie. Samsara even offers quite a different take on Buddhism, perhaps even religion in general, and for a change gives voice to the women who are left behind by men on spiritual journeys in hopes of trying to find themselves.

Best to watch this film with a friend, as the simply mind-blowing end would make you want to talk with somebody. I’m glad I got a reply (even at quite a late hour) when I sent a text message to somebody who had seen it. Just writing about it makes me want to watch it again.

A brief synopsis at Rotten Tomatoes and several interesting reviews here.

Stacked neatly inside INAM’s shelves along with all the other herbal medicine, were bars of soap called Mosbar. I have to admit I’ve never heard of this mosquito repellent before but nevertheless I purchased a bar to see if it would be a good alternative.

Dengue cases have surged in the past year, and what used to be a disease that was associated with the rainy season has now become an all-year-round public threat, according to the DOH. And quite recently the World Health Organization (WHO) even warned that climate change will increase the risk of dengue.

When all means of preventing mosquitoes from finding their way inside the house have failed, we usually resort to applying insect repellent lotion. I would often joke that the lotion’s stench, er, scent could repel not only biting insects but people as well. This type of repellent is quite thick, with the scent sticking to your skin for a few hours too. To wash the scent and stickiness (and the taste – blech ) off my hands, I discovered using dish washing liquid to be more effective than regular hand soap. I prepare our meals at home and wouldn’t want any of its residue getting into our food.

I’ve only used Mosbar once, and it’s a bit like Caladryl when it dries though not as thick and barely visible. Unlike organic soaps that use natural bug-repellent plants like citronella or cedarwood, Mosbar uses Deet, a chemical used in insect repellent products. The Environment Protection Agency (EPA), has given this chemical clearance as safe to use but still with all the necessary precautions. A recent Google search has also led me to a few more information about Mosbar. Apparently, it is being used, recommended even, in countries that have recorded high incidence rates of malaria. Its efficacy has been tested — and proven — in significantly reducing malaria cases in Afghanistan. Some travel guides also recommend using this soap when going to countries in Africa where malaria cases are also rampant.

At P35 per bar it is more economical than the commercially available insect repellent lotion that costs around P54 for a 50ml container. Our acupuncturist at INAM shares that she uses Mosbar as an insect spray by simply dissolving some of the soap in water, using a regular vegetable/cheese grater, before pouring it into a spray container. It is also quite odorless.

* * * * *

Lastly, a photo of the dreaded Aedes aegypti, dengue-carrying mosquito:

This past month, for a few days at least during the Holy Week, including the day the transport strike was held, Metro Manila air was given the briefest of respites from the pollutants that are emitted daily by vehicles.

Our home is not far from a major thoroughfare. While our little house may be ensconced inside a wee little subdivision, our roads are accessible to tricycles whose loud, sputtering engines just obliterate all sound as they pass (quite embarrassing when you’re on the phone, extremely annoying when watching a favorite tv program), leaving behind a cloud of smoke that hangs in the air for roughly a minute or so. Sadly, I notice many people have become accustomed to this, and a familiar sight would be people simply waving off the smoke and dust away from their faces. While others just resort to wrinkling their faces in disgust. I also see many who don’t even seem to mind, just stay where they are and let their kids do the same. No reminders to the children about covering their nose or moving away until the smoke clears. Though I am not sure if such gestures — waving away the smoke or covering one’s nose — even does much in terms of protecting one’s self from the toxic fumes.

My guess is, perhaps not much since Metro Manila was found as one of the Philippine cities that has the largest “health burden” due to air pollution. This is according to the Philippine Environment Monitor 2006 (PEM), a joint report of the World Bank and the DENR released late last year. Respiratory and cardiovascular diseases as a result of constant exposure to poor air quality accounts for an estimate of 4,968 premature deaths in Metro Manila each year, the PEM report says. This isn’t any wonder since the report also mentions that particulates are at unhealthy levels in Metro Manila with Valenzuela and Quezon City having the highest health risks from particulate pollution.

While the Clean Air Act may have helped improve the air quality or at least lower the amount of the more toxic substances like lead in the air, as usual, stricter enforcement and better monitoring facilities for the agencies concerned remains our greater challenge.

* * *

For globe trotters, here are some of the cities which landed in the most polluted list.

Statistics are available in the World Bank’s “The Little Green Data Book”.

(I’m paraphrasing) “Whoever the people, through People Power, installs to the presidency, as long as that somebody is not beholden to the oligarchs, even if that somebody is a chimp, then that chimp will be a good leader.” These words were somehow the essence of what former national security adviser Jose Almonte said in Brother Eddie Villanueva’s show, Diyos at Bayan.

In the event that Arroyo leaves her post, the presidency will fall on VP Noli de Castro’s constitutional lap, and nobody else’s. Yesterday’s Inquirer editorial asserts this and even warns that people should be “wary of messengers proclaiming the gospel of snap elections.” To be honest, accepting the fact that de Castro is the duly constituted person to assume the presidency is the bitterest of pills to swallow, without even a guarantee of it being part of the cure.

Despite recent pronouncements that he has always been prepared — not preparing — to do the job in the event that the need arises, de Castro still gives the impression that he is someone who needs to be coached (constantly tutored?) on what to do. Surely if people were to base his credibility on his performance as national housing head, specifically in the relocation of displaced residents for the North Rail-South Rail Linkage Project, it would be less than reassuring.

Back in 2005, a few months after the “Hello Garci” controversy, the PCIJ came up with the story, The Man Who Would Be President. The report provides us insights into de Castro’s character through statements from friends, colleagues and critics. Those who want to give de Castro the benefit of the doubt may find it difficult after reading the report.

It is no wonder that back then and until today, de Castro is still regarded with much ambivalence by the people. Everybody knows he’s vice president. Everybody knows he’s next in line. And yet most people still ask, “Sino ipapalit natin kay Arroyo?”

Noli de Castro is very much a reminder to all of us that removing Gloria Arroyo is only the beginning. There is so much more work to do.

* * *

Neither here nor there. That’s the impression I got after reading Jove Francisco’s blog entry today. While de Castro may insist that, “Nobody! Nobody, can dictate kung ano ang sasabihin ko!”, his actions suggest that he’s obviously still waiting for his cue.

In what could be an auspicious way of greeting the coming Chinese new year, on the same day we caught our first bubwit (on average, I think we catch 2 -3 a year), Curlytop brought home this stuffed rat and its litter. While as toys they may look cute, in reality rats simply repulse most of us.

You’d think that being born on a rat year I’d have a bit more affection for the creatures. That has never been the case for me. Rats of all shapes and sizes will never fail to get a shriek out of me. And the sight of one clearly unnerves me. I’m glad that in recent years we have only encountered an occasional mouse, and one that can be easily caught in glue traps. Just like this one-

Although I actually dread this part as much as seeing them scurrying around.

I’m still grateful though, that somehow no sewer rat has managed to find it’s way in the neighborhood (I hope). Or if one exists, surely the stray cats (Ser included) would deal with it.

Today I can breathe a huge sigh of relief as I put the final touches on a task which took nearly three months to finish. This is probably the hardest endeavor I had to accomplish this year. Much of the difficulty, I’m quite embarrassed to admit, comes from several days – even weeks – of inactivity. I had been, during that period, no different from this lazy feline -

Btw, this is our cat, this is not our cat. This stray cat that Curlytop named Ser, has found shelter at night or during lazy hours of the day in our home. Or it could be, that we humans have found his shelter which Ser so graciously allowed us to inhabit. Nearly two years of living together haven’t endeared us to Ser. Most times we are regarded with varying degrees of contempt, condescension (This silly humans) or treated with outright indifference.

Our pleasant greetings of, “Hi, Ser!” are never answered with any semblance of being heard or our presence acknowledged. Even repeatedly calling him, “Ser! Ser! SER!” will surely fall on deaf cat ears. Ser will simply continue what he is doing like licking himself, looking the other way, or keeping his eyes shut until we tire of trying to get his attention and simply leave. Rejected once again. By a cat!

Our frustration and dejection from this cat’s oooh so annoying behavior sometimes tempts us to maybe fling something at him — like an old slipper — but we can never quite bring ourselves to do anything more than cast angry glances at Ser. Our eldest child tells me Ser has some mysterious power that holds us back. I tell her, no, kindness stays our hands. Darn.

It’s eleven days till Christmas, I can sense our videoke-loving neighbors gearing up for the celebrations ahead. I don’t think I’ve encountered any other place where Extreme Magic-singing is taken very seriously. I mean, how else would you explain doing karaoke at high noon? While the singing may not be that bad (we even find ourselves singing along to some tunes from time to time), some of the oft-repeated songs are just grating to the nerves.

Ushering the new year with “singing” however, may seem to be a safer alternative. But sans a firecracker ban in Quezon City, karaoke and firecrackers are air and noise pollution at their worst. I remember close to midnight last New Year’s eve, some guy turned the darn videoke machine full blast and kept shouting “Boom tarat tarat!” over and over, his “song” and the barrage of firecrackers (something else our neighbors take very seriously) turning into a horrible crescendo. While it did drive away the evil spirits, the living nightmares are still around to haunt us this coming holidays.

I told Curlytop, if ever I pulled something like that, I wouldn’t know how to face anybody afterwards.

The other night, both of us dreading what would be in store for us come New Year’s eve, we started to consider holing up in a hotel room where the kids could watch some fireworks display from a safe distance (if going out of town wouldn’t push through). Seems a bit anti-social no? Unfortunately, I don’t know how turning this relatively peaceful neighborhood into a war zone come New Year’s eve could be a (welcome) community event.

How I envy Davao City residents who can stay in their homes and welcome the new year in peace.

I just suddenly remembered (without really knowing why) this Pablo Neruda poem. In my mind I hear the voice of Glenn Close as she reads this piece, included in the Il Postino (The Postman) soundtrack. I miss this CD which was borrowed from me a long time ago.

I Like for You to be Still

I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
and you hear me from far away and my voice does
not touch you.
It seems as though your eyes had flown away
and it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth.

As all things are filled with my soul
you emerge from the things, filled with my soul.
You are like my soul, a butterfly of dream,
and you are like the word Melancholy.

I like for you to be still, and you seem far away.
It sounds as though you were lamenting, a butterfly
cooing like a dove.
And you hear me from far away, and my voice does not
reach you:
Let me come to be still in your silence.

And let me talk to you with your silence
that is bright as a lamp, simple as a ring.
You are like the night, with its stillness and constellations.
Your silence is that of a star, as remote and candid.

I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
distant and full of sorrow as though you had died.
One word then, one smile, is enough.
And I am happy, happy that it’s not true.

Why is it that some people who work under a high-ranking official think that by professional affiliation, they are as important as the boss they work for? Take this little experience of mine as an example:

I wrote a letter addressed to the director of a hospital to approve my request for some documents from one of the hospital’s committees which is headed by another doctor. The letter was addressed to the director, with an “Attn:” to the head of the committee where the documents would come from. Unfortunately, I made the (simple) mistake of writing the other doctor’s name, not the director’s, at the start of the letter. So instead of Dear Director, I wrote Dear Other Doctor.

For some reason, the office staff who I assume is probably the director’s assistant or secretary found this too much of an offense that she thought she had the right to berate first the person who sent the fax for me, then later ako na mismo when I called to confirm if the fax was received. Granted that there was a mistake, surely she could have easily just asked me to resend it with the “proper” recipients in place? The way she was making a big fuss about it went this way: “E kasi naka address kay Director tapos nakalagay Dear Other Doctor, e kanino ko ba talaga ito ibibigay?” Wait, now that I am writing this I think I finally understand. This poor woman, when faced with my letter, brought upon her too much of a conundrum that she just blew her top. Who should indeed she forward the letter to- Director or Other Doctor? It must’ve been too much for her. The agonizing ordeal she went through— figuring out which doctor ought to receive the letter. Tsk, tsk. I have done this woman a tremendous wrong. This post should be rightfully hers pala.

Oh well.

Barely into the third and final mercury retrograde for this year and already I am steeped in all sorts of delays which this retrograde is known for. I am also inexplicably drawn to the tremendous amount of files we have accumulated, gathering dust at a corner in our house. I’m tempted to sit right beside it and sort through each file and pass judgment on the ones that should be bound for the next waste trading market. Normally such urges are easy to ignore but not during mercury retrogrades, where cosmic forces are compelling you to slow down and focus on the stuff you usually ignore (which is the reason why they pile up and gather dust).

* * *

Dust and cobwebs are as much part of our home’s decor, being the kind of people that we are — busy, that is. When asked to clean the house, Curlytop would even shamelessly proclaim, “kakawalis ko lang nung isang linggo.” But during retrogrades the house somehow gets into some semblance of order and cleanliness. Even Curlytop, who must often be coerced, just gets the broom one day and starts cleaning voluntarily. So if a mercury retrograde occurs three times in a year, it would be safe to say that our house, at the very least, gets a thorough cleaning thrice a year.

* * *

They say despite being wired and having access to all types of connectivity, people still find it hard to keep in touch. Often, we’re rushing and rarely find the time to just sit and talk. I’m glad there’s the retrograde where that precious time is found, and I get to talk — leisurely — with friends and family.

* * *

A previous post about mercury retrogrades.

So this is our “changed” man.

Last April, FG Mike Arroyo went through what was described as a life-threatening open heart surgery. After surviving the critical post-surgery period and being discharged weeks later with a large chance of fully recovering, Mike Arroyo instructs his lawyers to withdraw the libel suits he filed against more than 40 journalists. In his statement, Mike Arroyo said,

“I am determined to keep in touch with the God that has been magnanimous to me, and let His spirit of generosity steer me through any future conflicts…”

He may claim going through a life-altering experience, but it seems Mike A. is being haunted by old ghosts. In recent developments involving the anomalous NBN deal, the latest being today’s revelation by JDV’s son that the “mystery man” who told him to “back off” is no other than FG Arroyo himself. Perceived as an act of guilt, FG was spotted late last night as he slipped out of the country just as the Senate investigation on the ZTE deal started today.

I am just reminded of how, during the time he went under the knife until the critical period where his life was still in danger, even his harshest critics could only say that they wish him well and will pray for his recovery. I just wonder why when faced with an utterly despicable person, civility still dictates that we cannot wish him ill? Why is that?

* * *

(Update) Denials from the Arroyo, Abalos camps-

Arroyo hubby denies hand in ZTE broadband deal

Iggy defends Arroyo: He was not in Wack-Wack

Abalos denies March meeting with JDV son, Mike A.

The first time an angel heard the devil’s laughter, he was dumbfounded. That happened at a feast in a crowded room, where the devil’s laughter, which is terribly contagious, spread from one person to another. The angel clearly understood that such laughter was directed against God and against the dignity of his works. He knew that he must react swiftly somehow, but felt weak and defenseless. Unable to come up with anything of his own, he aped his adversary. Opening his mouth, he emitted broken, spasmodic sounds in the higher reaches of his vocal range, but giving them an opposite meaning: whereas the devil’s laughter denoted the absurdity of things, the angel on the contrary meant to rejoice over how well ordered, wisely conceived, good and meaningful everything here below was.

Thus the angel and the devil faced each other and, mouths wide open, emitted nearly the same sounds, but each one’s noise expressed the absolute opposite of the other’s. And seeing the angel laugh, the devil laughed all the more, all the harder, and all the more blatantly, because the laughing angel was infinitely comical.

Laughable laughter is disastrous. Even so, the angels have gained something from it. They have tricked us with a semantic imposture. Their imitation of laughter and (the devil’s) original laughter are both called by the same name. Nowadays we don’t even realize that the same external display serves two absolutely opposed internal attitudes. There are two laughters, and we have no word to tell one from the other.

-from Milan Kundera’s The Book of Laughter and Forgetting

I am, of course, rooting for the devil here. Heehee. I remember reading this book while waiting for some documents at the Securities and Exchange Commission some years ago. Conjuring the scene where the devil and the angel faced each other trying to out-laugh the other, in my mind, was so funny I laughed out loud —to the surprise of the people sitting beside me at that time. I could only gesture at the book but they weren’t interested in that, they simply considered me a nut.

Today this reminds me of Kronk in the animated movie, The Emperor’s New Groove. When faced with a dilemma, Kronk’s shoulder angel and shoulder devil appears and —this being a GP movie— the angel’s advice triumphs. But not without making the angel seem ridiculous, trite, and ultimately boring— first.

I don’t think anyone would readily admit it, but aren’t we really drawn more to the devil? Ok, not meaning to scare anyone (including myself), so think Gary Larson’s The Far Side and its humorous depiction of Hell, Satan, the nerds in Hell…makes so much better copy di ba? Or Neil Gaiman’s Season of Mists where Lucifer simply abdicates his reign over Hell. He was simply tired of it all, Lucifer tells Dream. He does quit and decides to be a beach bum. In a later story of The Sandman where this story is intricately weaved (The Sandman is a comic book series), Lucifer has become a nightclub pianist— “…the only good nightclub pianist I’ve ever heard.”, says one character. He won’t play the song, “Memories”, though. A song which Lucifer finds “entirely devoid of interest. The melody is trite, while the awkward paraphrases of lesser Eliot poems in the lyrics are grating in the extreme.” How’s that for a reply to a song request?

I’m starting to stray big time, but I do think you get my drift. (But do read The Sandman series, it’s one hell of an experience.)

Today I decided not to pick a fight with someone, and this decision has left a very bad taste in my mouth. This time it seems keeping my cool and letting diplomacy rule the day was going against my better judgment. Alas, the deed is done. And I have committed to a compromise. I hate it.

are people who refuse to say goodbye.

If only getting rid of troublesome people were as easy as deleting them from your phone directory, or contacts from YM or Gmail.

If only our memory was simply a list where we could choose which ones to remove completely. (pero may option pa rin to “recover” ala recycle bin, just in case.)

You know this scene: life is happening at its normal pace and then suddenly it slows down as all your senses simply focus on one particular thing, or event, or person—then zooms right back to reality.

On my way to meet my friend at the Edsa Shangri-la, I was navigating the unfamiliar lobby in search for the hotel phone when from out of nowhere I see Quentin Tarantino, a huge guy (I’m a small person) in black shirt and denims. For a second, I am out of the Matrix as time goes into slow motion as I watch him walk past me, and in the next second I am walking again, quite dumbfounded and starstruck. In that slow second my mouth must have hung open.

It wasn’t really my intention to blog about it until I read Conrad de Quiros’ Kewl column today. I have to agree that it’s film makers like Tarantino that make people want to make their own (short) film or even just dream of making one.

I particularly like the part where de Quiros said,

I myself think Tarantino has more lessons to impart to aspiring moviemakers than that, though the other lessons are more subtle.

Chief of them is something people who have become really good at what they do will always tell you: It takes hard work to make things look easy. It takes a lot of effort to make something look natural. The trick in art lies in hiding the hard work and the effort, or else it is neither art nor artifice, but that doesn’t mean the work or effort isn’t there.

I would like to dare say that I can relate and understand what de Quiros said completely. But I am too shy to explain further. And I don’t want to risk na magbuhat ng sariling bangko. I’m simply glad that I can always count on de Quiros to put into words what people lack the guts —or the intelligence or the talent— to say. To me, that makes him infinitely the kewl-est.

Interesting trivia: as Gloria Arroyo was giving her State of the Nation Address which was aired in almost all of the local free tv networks, QTV 11, a sister-company of GMA 7 was airing an episode of this—

the 1966 Batman tv series.

Little Kid started preschool this year.

What I initially feared as boring, staring into space, what am I going to do with myself while waiting for her two and a half hour class to end? time has become a much-anticipated, most promising, two and a half hours daily routine for me.

At first I worried about all the work I could have accomplished within that time, but then it struck me: Little Kid’s preschool is in UP. How can you be bored in UP?

Early this year I have been secretly complaining about not having enough time for myself, for my personal pursuits. And then this opportunity came and I almost didn’t recognize it. Now I could choose from:

• getting a lot of reading done
• exercise (walk, jog or swim)
• watch movies on our portable dvd player
• do volunteer work
• meet up with friends who wouldn’t mind meeting up that early or friends who don’t have to be at work that early.

Lately, it even seems that time is too short. During the first week of school, I decided to go to the nearest library. I had almost forgotten the experience of reading the newspaper (from reading it online most of the time) along with the accompanying smell of newsprint. These are little things that I’m glad I have the time once again to be reacquainted with.

Image from www.2dvalley.com/gallery/My-Snapz/ghosts

My sister has been working graveyard shifts – as call centers are known to operate – and just recently experienced what the witching hour truly meant.

During their break, my sister along with another co-worker trudged to their quarters (where bunk beds are provided for employees) to catch some much needed rest from their call center duties. Her companion almost instantly fell asleep as soon as she hit one of the beds. My sister, however, said she spent a few more minutes just sitting on the bed while exchanging text messages with her husband. She finally decided to lie on her side and catch some sleep. And that was when the nightmare began.

She remembers, as soon as her head touched her pillow something dark covered her like a blanket thrown over. The shroud-like darkness was bearing down on her making it difficult to move. She was shouting but no sound came from her mouth, she was struggling to move but it seemed like she had gone stiff all over. She started to pray, first the Our Father, and when it did not seem to work, she prayed the Apostles Creed. Through her struggle she could only hear the sound of laughter from many voices. It was taunting and jeering, like a group of bullies having their kind of fun on a helpless victim.

As she struggled and prayed, part of the darkness that covered her seemed to be pulled down, offering her a view of the room as if she was wide awake. What she saw were other employees sleeping soundly, but on the top of the bunk bed across her was a girl, dark as a silhouette, playing with a stuffed toy as dark as her – both of them faceless. My sister just continued to shout, pray and struggle and suddenly in a whoosh that seemed like it was pulled away from her gut, the dark veil disappeared, the laughter stopped.

My sister sat up, looked around, exhausted. Everyone in the room was fast asleep. Moments later she fell into a deep sleep. Her co-workers said it took them a good ten minutes of shaking her hard before she woke up.

She would learn later that her companion had experienced the very same thing, saw the very same girl, heard the very same laughter. In fact their story was no different from a bunch of others. Even at the male employee’s own quarters. The exact same story.

We hear a lot of tales like these – ghost sightings, lost souls, poltergeist, demons, malevolent spirits, elementals from our local folklore like the dwende (tiny men, dwarf-like) – that almost always prod us to recount our own experience with the supernatural.

I have several of my own and hope no more will be added to it.

One of my “favorites” involves a creature in our very own folklore. A tikbalang. Commonly defined as a creature that is half-man half-horse like a local version of the centaur, only ours is the other way round. This creature is said to have the body of a man but with the head and limbs of a horse. But what I saw doesn’t exactly fit this description.

What I saw was just a horse. Pitch black but as tall as a tree.

This was in the late seventies, I was probably 7 or 8 years old. The highway going to the north seemed like a really long stretch of road in front of you. On either side were vast, empty rice fields, save for some tall trees several meters away from each other. We were on our way home from my lola’s house in Pampanga. It was late and back then the highway was dark, with no street lamps to light the road. But that particular night, cloudless and moonlit, only the big old trees appeared as shadows. I sat by the window at the back seat, my older brother in front, and we were both just gazing outside. And then we saw it. A tall horse, galloping out of nowhere, as tall as the trees and just as quickly disappearing into another tree. My brother and I, both momentarily astounded started to exclaim at the same time, “Nakita nyo yun?” (“Did you see that?”) “Tikbalang!” Unfortunately, it was just the two of us making a ruckus of the whole thing, apparently, just the two minors in the car. My brother and I are both adults now and we both remember that night vividly. Nobody would confirm it, but we both knew what we saw.

As an adult, I was constantly plagued by nightmares which started when my sister got married and moved to a new home. I was left in the room we used to share. I would often experience nightmares where I thought I was awake but couldn’t move, I would see my room in half closed eyes and in the background I would hear a child’s voice, sometimes laughing. Usually, I would be too bothered and scared to fall back to sleep so I would usually go to my mom and dad and sleep with them. I was in college then.

What I consider the scariest was a “nightmare” where I knew I was awake, I could see my room but I couldn’t get up because a dark hand, gnarly and with long sharp nails, was holding my head down. The hand was covering half of my face but I could see between it’s fingers which were wide open. I tried to lift my head and saw, jumping up and down my tummy was a dwende. I don’t remember how long I struggled to wake up. But the memory of that gnarled hand has stayed with me.

Much study is being done about the spirits and the spirit world and how they connect or relate to us. Jaime Licauco, one of the more renowned authorities on psychic phenomena and the paranormal in the Philippines (the other being Madam Auring, I guess) once said in his column Inner Awareness, that right-brained people, being more intuitive are “prone” to seeing or encountering spirits than left-brained people who are more likely to rationalize things therefore shutting out their “third eye”. But Licauco nevertheless advises that when seeing an apparition, pulling your blanket over your head wouldn’t help much as the image is still in your head which means you’ll continue seeing it. What you should do, according to Licauco, is do something physical, like jump up and down. If I remember right, doing such an activity helps get your consciousness into what you’re doing (physically) and getting your mind off the vision. (I’ve been trying to look for that specific article, but couldn’t. Found a blog though, that contains his previous articles since 2003. The blog’s name is Inner Awareness.)

I must admit, despite regularly reminding my two daughters not to pick flowers, it’s still always a delight to receive a bunch of cut flowers from time to time.

Curlytop came home last Sunday with quite a big bouquet and some coffee cakes from a bakeshop. I was the one to open the gate for him and immediately saw the flowers as he stepped out of the cab. “This is bad,” I told him, smiling. “Happy Mother’s day!” said Curly, smiling. I took a few moments to just admire the flowers. Then we called the kids to take a look. The big white one in the middle was the eye-catcher and it was also very fragrant. Of course Curlytop forgot its name.

Out of the big bunch I was able to make three separate arrangements. The big white flower I placed in a teapot along with the other mums. How cute right? Mums on Mom’s day. The rest of the mums along with the colored talahib I gathered in another container. That would be the one on the left, in the pink drinking glass. The three roses I also put together in another tall drinking glass with the leftover baby’s breath and other weeds that came along with the whole bunch.

Three separate arrangements from one bouquet. That’s not so bad, I guess.

Unfortunately, that’s also a lot of plants cut.

from the diary of a disgruntled angel

dear boss charlie,

i am down with a bad case of disillusionment today. i’ve got a temperature of 101 degrees of feeling betrayed, duped and taken advantage of, all because of the CAUSE. i will be unable to work today and maybe the next few days after or until this feeling of nausea at the mere sight of you has subsided.

i know you will appear sympathetic but will nevertheless decide to email me more work that needs to be done. and as my condition worsens you will suggest remedies disguised as tonics to make me feel better, but with the intent of making me just well enough to get up and open my email and work.

you will tell me to take it easy every time you check on me. you will insist that i should rest, but not after subtly reminding me of deadlines.

my head is pounding, i will have to end this. see you on monday.

today like everyday, i logged into my yahoo messenger account as “invisible to everyone”. even to friends. i wonder, why is that? could it be that i’m the only one who does that?

strange how all the connectivity and being wired has only led to an increasing antisocial behavior for me. by letting people know that i have ym, i am simply conforming to a demand to be connected. keeping myself “invisible” though, allows me my freedom to be dis-connected.

that’s just my kind of thing. or like a grouchy green ogre once said, “i like my privacy.”