beginners
Posted: February 1, 2012 Filed under: Days, Writing Comments Off
Last night, I watched Beginners, a movie that was released in 2011. I didn’t expect to be so moved by it, but move me it did. It is the movie of my heart, my heart now, on this last day of January 2012.
Beginners is about Oliver (Ewan McGregor), a 38-year-old man, whose father Hal (Christopher Plummer) has just died from cancer. Several years before Hal’s death, his wife Georgia, Oliver’s mom, passed away—and her passing gave Hal the push to come out and tell his son and the world that he is gay. Hal takes out a singles ad, goes to a club and thrills in the thumping music, meets a much younger boyfriend named Andy, gets a whole new wardrobe. He likes to tie a thin silk scarf around his neck. While Oliver is grieving, he meets Anna (Melanie Laurent) at a party. Despite their costumes (he is Freud, she is Chaplin), she recognizes his sadness. Her recognition captures Oliver and they begin to date and fall in love. As Oliver falls for Anna, he comes to terms with how his parents’ relationship shaped the way he loves, the way he relates. It’s a movie about the room we make for those we love.
There’s a lot of hand-holding in Beginners, so much tenderness. Oliver holding his dad’s hands after treatment. Oliver and Anna holding hands while roller skating. Anna holding Oliver’s face in her hands. Oliver carrying Arthur, his father’s dog. Oliver gently shaving Hal’s face. Oliver is a caring son, taking his father shopping, reading to him in the hospital room, answering each of his questions patiently even the nonsensical ones, placing each of his pills and capsules in small sauce bowls and sitting with him as he drinks them. It’s a movie for all of us who love our parents and want to do better at caring for them. “You always wanted to hold my hand when you were little,” Hal tells Oliver after the hospital bed is installed in his home and they are sitting on it side by side. It is late at night. When Oliver holds Hal’s hand, I am reminded of the way my dad and I hold hands these days. I hold his hand more often now, hoping that when he can’t remember it anymore, he’ll know by that simple gesture that I am beside him and that he is loved.
wait, for now
Posted: August 19, 2011 Filed under: Poetry, Waiting Leave a comment »I stumbled upon this gem of a blog recently, and found so many poems to fall in love with. Here is one on waiting, perfectly suited to one of this blog’s favorite themes.
WAIT
Galway Kinnell
Wait, for now.
Distrust everything, if you have to.
But trust the hours. Haven’t they
Personal events will become interesting again.
Hair will become interesting.
Pain will become interesting.
Buds that open out of season will become lovely again.
Second-hand gloves will become lovely again,
their memories are what give them
the need for other hands. And the desolation
of lovers is the same: that enormous emptiness
carved out of such tiny beings as we are
asks to be filled; the need
for the new love is faithfulness to the old.
Wait.
Don’t go too early.
You’re tired. But everyone’s tired.
But no one is tired enough.
Only wait a while and listen.
Music of hair,
Music of pain,
music of looms weaving all our loves again.
Be there to hear it, it will be the only time,
most of all to hear,
the flute of your whole existence,
rehearsed by the sorrows, play itself into total exhaustion.
truth & beauty
Posted: April 12, 2011 Filed under: Poetry Leave a comment »
It’s Poetry Month! Whenever April rolls around, my email inbox is treated to a poem a day from the thoughtful folks at Knopf. If you haven’t signed up for this free service yet, please do so. Click here to subscribe, as well as to view a whimsical video they created that shows the delight poetry month brings.
I know the poem in the above photo is on the sad side. Delight?! Where’s the delight? But it’s one of my favorite group of lines and I think it’s a shining example of how poetry can leave us breathless with its truth and beauty.
making my bed
Posted: June 28, 2010 Filed under: Shelter Leave a comment »
One gentle art I happen to be diligent about is making my bed. I picked up this art on my first time out living on my own, in Singapore. There were mornings I found myself rushing like a headless chicken, making a mad dash to be in the office by 9am. Days I was tempted to just leave the pillows and beddings in disarray. When I had no choice but to do so, it didn’t sit well with me. I certainly didn’t enjoy coming home to an unmade bed. Then I read somewhere something Robert Frost (or possibly another person) said: “First you make up your bed, then you make up your mind.” And that’s what I’ve discovered over many mornings: That the simple act of putting my army of pillows in order and folding my blanket helps bring some small harmony to my psyche. If I’m lucky, it allows me to deal better with the larger messes and troubles that present themselves throughout the day. And at the absolute least, it gives me something to return home to, with gladness and relief, at the end of the day.
a habit of seeing
Posted: June 24, 2010 Filed under: Design, Inspiration, Shelter, Writing Leave a comment »This week, I’ve been reading The Gentle Art of Domesticity, a book I purchased in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. It’s a book about the “gentle arts” of baking, knitting, quilting, and other comforting home-based pursuits. Now I don’t practice these gentle arts, but I am most definitely a homebody. I was drawn to the book with its hardbound weight, rich printed scent, and inspired photography. I was curious about the title, curious about how it might speak to the way I am trying to live these days. Bonus, it was on sale! It was just the souvenir I wanted from our happy day in Rehoboth Beach.
I’m still in the early chapters, but I am totally enjoying the structure of the book. It’s made up of little essays on the various joys of the author’s life, particularly those that arise out of living an inspired home life. The structure made complete sense after I read that the author, Jane Brocket, is a blogger. So that’s why each page feels like a blog entry, with thoughtful words and intimate photographs working side by side.
In the essay “A habit of seeing,” Brocket talks about collecting inspiration, being receptive to it, such that it becomes a way of seeing. I’d like to think that’s how I see the world; or at least, I strive to. I write down sentences and passages that make me think or move me; read poetry I can hardly understand but find simply wrenching; bookmark pages and photographs that are particularly arresting; and take photographs—of signs, nature, children, my own two feet, all sorts of things—in ways that express my own estimation of the subject. Sometimes I just take photographs to remember a particular feeling or color, or to see how the light affects the subject. I’m a hoarder, I suppose, of inspiring designs and thoughts and patterns and words and moments. And I’ve never really known what to do with this collection, if I am supposed to make something of it to be able to call myself truly creative. I know it feeds my work—in fact, this habit was also cultivated by the work I do, trained as we are to keep an eye for ideas and pegs that can spur fresh ways of styling and writing and designing pages—but beyond that, is it useful for anything else? Will it, say, lead me to produce a novel or a book of photographs? Something tangibly creative?
Brocket is reminding me that inspiration is inspiration. “We shouldn’t diminish our creativity,” she writes, “by despising the results of our inspiration, but instead celebrate and exploit the wonderful feeling of elevated energy and enthusiasm we experience when we feel inspired.” She continues, “For the more willing you are to let yourself be inspired, the more you can store away in your creative resources. This way, you can call on them when you have the time and inclination to turn the personal stash of colors, details, patterns, textures into something tangible. And it will be all the richer in meaning as a result of this habitual and highly individual accumulation.”
So there’s my answer. Relax. Enjoy the inspirations!
breathing room
Posted: June 23, 2010 Filed under: Days, Waiting, Writing Leave a comment »
When did I become so productive?
As opposed to mellow, underachieving, and unengaged—all adjectives for the kid, teen, and young adult versions of me. Sure, I had some passions—Sanrio dollhouses, Bobbsey twins and other serial books, American soap operas, exchanging letters with friends—but nothing that really lit a fire and made me feel alive. Mostly, I floated through my days. I did not have anything I wanted to be and I did not have any clear, shining skills. What I did have was plenty of anxiety, shyness, and insecurity.
Eventually, I grew up and found my way into publishing. Even in all these years I’ve been writing and editing, the anxiety, shyness, and insecurity remain. But somehow, I’ve become productive. I’ve become output-oriented. I’m no longer as fast and nimble as my younger colleagues, but my body clock is set to work. I even, get this, feel guilty when I’m not at the office. Oh, the horror of that sentence. I suspect the Singapore years have something to do with this. As does the fact that, as my friend pointed out, work is all I have. There is no significant other, no business or craft, no advocacy or sport.
Maybe the world simply operates faster now, but I miss the days when my days had more breathing room and day and night were distinguishable. When I would sit in cafés. When I would take a writing assignment, conduct interviews and do research, and string words together to write a story. When I would hop from one bookstore to another and search for children’s books to add to my collection. When I would wonder if I would ever find my place in the grownup world. When I would search and search for answers. When failure was not yet a real, true thing.
*This was not the shape I intended for this post, but these are the sentiments that came out. Forgive the rant, it’s been a long day and it’s deadline week. What I really wanted to write about was the joy of lazy days and about enjoying inspiration without necessarily using it for output. I’ve been reading a book called The Gentle Art of Domesticity and I found the writer’s essay on finding inspiration simply wonderful. Wait for the next post!
angela
Posted: June 3, 2010 Filed under: Folks, Waiting, Yoga Journal Leave a comment »So there I was tonight on the mat, feeling crazy frustrated because I could not bend forward in Standing Head to Knee and catch my foot with my hands. My lower back simply would not budge. It wasn’t in pain, thank God, it was just stiff as can be. From that point on, my frustration just kept ballooning.
When we got to the floor poses and I was finally on my back, Teacher G began telling a story about a woman who used to come to 630am class. “Angela—you probably remember her, right, B?” Yup, Angela is an old lady who was practicing around the same time my dad was actively practicing. I remember her because she always had a caretaker with her in the locker room, helping her change. Teacher G continued the story, saying how Angela, who at 70something is the oldest student in our studio, would have a hard time in class but was never reliant on the teachers. She would just come and try her best and do what she could do. Apparently, she stopped coming to the studio last September because she couldn’t walk. Literally. Angela came back to practice just this Monday. “And now that she can walk again, she said she wanted to give yoga a try,” said Teacher G. So the teachers set her up near the post and the walls where she can use them for balance and support.
Imagine that. She couldn’t walk and she came back to yoga when she could. That gave me the boost I needed to suck it up and be present for the remainder of the class. It also gave me a lightbulb moment: That’s how I am now, that I am unable to walk—figuratively, emotionally—and I’m waiting for the day I can walk again.
return to practice
Posted: May 22, 2010 Filed under: Photography, Yoga Journal Leave a comment »
Last night was THE night. After a two-month break (because of a monthlong vacation in the US and the attendant pre- and post-trip monster workload), I returned to the yoga studio where I’ve been practicing Bikram yoga since October 2007.
I was scared. How unyielding would my muscles be? Would I still be able to stand high on my toes then go into a sitting pose? Would I still be able to go into my beloved standing bow? Would I find solace once again in the savasanas?
The answers: Stiff and heavy. Yes, but with great difficulty. Yes! Yes! I’m just grateful that there was no debilitating pain in any of my joints and muscles. There was plenty of tightness and heaviness, yes, but no serious pain thank God. Thankful also that A taught. His relaxed vibe was just what I needed.
The previous night, in an effort to psych myself, I reread my little yoga journal. Reread all the lows and the highs I recorded, how I stumbled, how I was battered by frustration, about the times I found peace, about the moments of breakthrough. Yoga has given me access to “a joyful joy and a peaceful peace” and I kept telling myself that whenever I thought about postponing my return to practice.
What I didn’t read or think so much about was the physical part. So as class unfolded, I found myself surprised again by the hard work it takes, what a serious workout Bikram yoga is. It was a real challenge to sit while standing and stick my butt out while reaching my arms forward, long and strong. Oh, how I wanted to drop my arms! I’d forgotten about that posture! And I did not feel in balance at all while doing the triangle. The camels sent my head into a dizzy spin. Fixed firm was a tight affair and I could not really bend back comfortably. But the standing bow didn’t let me down. It took a while to find balance but once I did, I felt that glorious merging of soft grace and firm strength.
So what’s next? I’m practicing tomorrow and just taking it one class at a time. I have great hopes, but for now, I simply want to return to practicing.
hits of inspiration
Posted: December 8, 2009 Filed under: Design, Inspiration, Shelter Leave a comment »All the design books teach you to look for inspiration when planning your space. That may come in the form of a roll of fabric, a sheet of stationery, a favorite summer dress, a vintage photograph—just about anything, really, that tugs at you and captures your imagination.
In designing my place, I’ve been getting a lot of inspiration from my favorite shelter magazines, namely Real Living, Blueprint (R.I.P.) and Domino (R.I.P.). I think the Domino sensibility really stuck to me, that of creating a space that makes you happy. So plain and true. And they made the whole process seem so accessible and affordable too. I really miss you, Domino.
I’ve also been combing through the multitude of design and style blogs online. There are just too many! Some of my favorites include Haus Maus (the main mood inspiration for my space! serene, calm, quiet); the massive Design*Sponge; and Twig & Thistle. At La la Lovely Things, I spotted and promptly fell in love with this pink-striped chaise.
How adorably cute and plush is that! Immediately, I knew I wanted something reminiscent of it in my flat. Which led to this:
Say hello to my flat roman shades! I was thrilled when Earl the curtain dude found this fabric. But now, truth be told, I am having second thoughts about it. It’s a little too little-girl pink, unlike the more grownup shade in the chaise, and the stripes a little too thin. (Plus, it doesn’t really lay completely flat against the wall, letting light filter in through the sides. Got any ideas how to fix that?)
Lesson learned: Wait! Wait for the perfect fabric, keep looking, keep searching for other ideas and inspirations. (Although I really need curtains pronto since I had to move in immediately.) I am applying the waiting lesson now to other things—taking time with my water heater (if you catch a headline about a woman freezing to death in her shower in Pasig City, you can pretty much bet the woman is me); my wall stickers (I really want some!); my additonal cabinetry and storage; my work desk; my coffee table; and my night table.
The couch though is arriving this Saturday. Please, God, let it be a perfect and pretty fit. I’ll keep ya posted.
on surfing & sleeping
Posted: December 1, 2009 Filed under: Days, Shelter 1 Comment »Since moving into my studio two and a half weeks ago, I have been on the Internet way less. Yes, I’ve lost my free wi-fi streak. A few years ago, when I was living abroad, I was lucky to get a free wireless hookup to the Internet courtesy of my neighbors. When I moved back home, I got the same deal—thanks to our generous next-door neighbors. Early this year, they even got two networks going so that I had a choice of which one to connect to. It was 24/7 Internet—ahhh, bliss. I was hoping I would have the same setup here, but it looks like the day has come for me to cough up dough to surf and upload and download and tweet and blog from home. It’s just wrong.
Anyway, that too long lead-in explains why this blog has not been updated more frequently. There’s a connection at the office, of course, but I haven’t had a chance to take a long enough break from work to sit and blog freely. So here I am on a Monday evening (it’s a holiday today), blogging offline. Tragic, right? But you gotta do what you gotta do.
Internet connection is just one item in a list of things I’m doing without. I don’t have a water heater either. I found out it’s quite costly (between Php6,000 to Php8,000, even higher for more “powerful” models) and I was just shelling out way too much for the initial move-in so I decided to put it on the list of things to follow. (So far, the water temperature has been pleasantly cool. No freezing and shivering—yet.) I also don’t have maid service anymore, which means I now go to a laundry shop once a week to drop off my clothes and towels, and I have one night of at-home handwashing on weekends for my delicates. I also don’t get to yell for my brother to come into my room and hang out with me or give me a hug. (So I just make sure he visits me at least once a week, even if I have to use lending him my car as bait.)
Otherwise, I give myself a B+. It’s been less than three weeks, but I think the adjustment is going well. Last week, in the middle of my second week, I started sleeping deeply again, the way I used to in my old bed. It started when I put my small white IKEA lamp up on the bed frame. (Look, it’s etched with a sweet cherry blossoms print!) I bought it for my work desk, but since I haven’t found a desk yet, it’s on night-lamp duty for now. I’ve been turning it on come bedtime. And since then, I’ve been back to my be-one-with-the-bed, surrounded-by-five-pillows, love-to-sleep-in-in-the-morning brand of slumber. Good night!
