Je veux cette montre.

A Midsummer Memoir

I haven't blogged since forever so to make up for all the lost posts, here's a quick rundown of my whereabouts and whatabouts (whut?) this hot and humid season. My silence may come across as busyness but in actuality, it is all an attempt at productivity which, mind you, isn't at all futile.

To start with, I am almost done with my third book this summer. You read that right: third, baby! And that's excluding the Hunger Games trilogy which I finished in like 2 days during the holy week. Guilty pleasure.

Currently reading this very, very dangerous book *wink*

I met up with high school buds Anjela and Jackie (who will soon be a Mrs come July!).  We were discussing marriage and home-building at dinner (I couldn't believe my ears!).  The last time I checked, we were just kids who thought marriage was a thing of the far future - the very faaaaaar future. That night made me realize I have been teleported to that "very far" future. 

We went to Jackie's and her fiance's humble abode, which was still under construction.  Man, the adult bug just totally hit me. And while we were touring their house, something caught our fancy: a go-kart we were too eager to drive! Good thing their subdivision's still a bit unoccupied since the roar of the engine could definitely disturb the snoozing majority at that wee hour.

I'm happy to say that I finally found my way back to the water this summer. In case you don't know, the only sport that's close to my heart is swimming, so I always look forward to some splash. I didn't get to surf though since the closest I got to the beach this summer is at a viewing deck. Heck it was nighttime so I didn't even get to see the glorious sun hovering above the waves of the sea. Plus, there are no giant waves here on our side of the planet.  Baler, which happens to be a must-go-and-see place in my list for some real surfing experience, is approximately a few hundred kilometers away from Bacolod. So, surfing's prolly not gonna happen this summer. Bummer. 

My cousin & yours truly with the stick-til-your-eyes-pop goggles

my dearest kafatid

my parents bringing cheese to the pool, yo. 

I also got to dance under the rain! I had been meaning to since the rain started pouring early this May but I couldn't bring myself to enjoy the downpour by my lonesome. Buti na lang umuwi ako sa lola ko! My cousin (Alexs) and I enjoyed nature's very own shower albeit we wished it got even stronger. I secretly wished the thunder roared louder and the lightning displayed its beauty while I reveled in the tears of heaven :) Aaaaaah, sweet life. 

And I finally got to meet this little cutie (who's my cousin's baby):

And I guess the highlight of this vacay so far is experiencing farm life at its finest. It deserves a separate entry and I just might have to do that but I'm too eager to compress everything here that I'll post snippets of our little country road adventure.

"Ang Manggahan ni Juan"

My mom workin' the coconut!

Literally, chicken feed.

My dad deep in the jungle...or rather, the backyard. 

Saccharum Officinarum a.k.a "tubo"

A rather innovative way to play during my dad's childhood days :)

a la Secret Garden

a local delicacy we call "bukayo"

It's more fun in the river!

throwing pebbles 

By the river Piedra (erm, Caduha-an), I sat down and ate

the best puto-cheese ever

That's all for now folks! I still have two weeks left before I fly back to Manila. I'm going to visit my sister in Iloilo  this week, spend quality time with the fam, finish reading all my books, reconnect with old friends and keep in touch with the church family I miss! :) 

Making the most of vacay and gearing up for the next adventure that is another school year,

Aiken with  lots of love from Negros

THIS

Spellbound

There are those that bore me, those that appeal for a little while, and those I am forced to swallow – like a daily dose of vitamin C.  But there are those that beguile effortlessly I lose myself in them.

The dilemma when I start reading a book that enthralls me is that I pay more than enough homage to it.  I get detached to reality that I force myself to make a mental note that it’s all fiction and a figment of another man’s imagination.   The characters don’t exist despite the longing that they do.  Some characters are as real as you want them to be, but there are those that you know are also the writer’s depiction of what she could only hope for. So I attribute the blame to the author – how she can create and frustrate at the same time, how much she builds up a character only to afflict the reader with its nonexistence.  Well, there could be some truth to its existence.  But only in another world that only the mind can contain – nowhere else.

I’ve had those moments of fascination when I find myself too engrossed to drop the book, too wrapped up to acknowledge my hunger but sentient enough of a looming headache I still reach out for the anti-radiation glasses when in front of my laptop, gulp a glass of water and munch on some bread.  I could trick my brain so easily when I’m in this state. 

It has been a while since I’ve actually gorged on plots and storylines, aware of my own feebleness to disengage and the penchant to drift off.  At some point, I thought I totally lost interest – that I’d never lose myself in any story again.  But I’m awfully good at second-guessing myself. 

The holy week has left me enough time to fritter away, left in the solitude of my dorm room.  The halls are dissonantly still and unforgiving with their constant reminder of this seclusion.  The rooms are almost empty save for some lit ones.  Almost all of the residents went home to their families leaving less than a quarter of us to ourselves.  And with a place to myself, there is further melancholy. But with this unwarranted privacy, my roommate left me with something to keep sane – or so she thought. 

She left me with a copy of The Hunger Games.  It was a split second decision to read it because I was too keen to find out what happened in the next two books. Watching the movie left me in a cliffhanger just when I’m too eager to move forward.  Not until you read the first installment. I can remember her eagerness and how much she’s exerted the effort to convince me I must set off at the inception as you would any other story. 

And so I did if only to comply with the minimum requirement of giving the book some justice.  And happy I did.  As always, the text was a far cry to the movie.  But I must remind myself that motion pictures can only do so much when it comes to accommodating every detail, every character and element.  I have them to thank for enhancing the mental images of the scenes and the settings of the account.

I couldn’t help my frustration, though.  They cut off a lot – and I mean a lot lot. No matter, my mind worked better envisioning, bringing the characters to life until I reach the end when I had to contend with the fact that they’re a fabrication with a thesis so close to reality and a post-apocalyptic setting that’s so far off.

I remind myself that, after failing to stop the tears from flowing.  The author worked wonders in reaching my heart – my heart that was once always enclosed with fences and walls.  I melted because I felt for Katniss when she achingly realized memories are somewhat an infinite container of love that when broken may be irreparable.  I hated the fact that she flipflopped on every emotion – no, that she wouldn’t admit to herself that she loved and that she had to choose.  I crumbled in the last page when it took her so long to give full access to her heart.  I crumbled because I liked Peeta.  I love his character so much I almost wish he was real. 

But I snap back to reality and he’s not.  He’s just a figment of Collins’ brilliant imagination – too good to be true.  But deep down, there’s this indubitable hope – almost ludicrous – that such a character exists, or fractions of him at least. 

I finished all three books in two days, only occasionally interrupted by a friend for dinner before I lunge back in my head.  I finish the trilogy with half a heart in admission that I am a hopeless romantic – that no matter how I puke at the very idea, I am and I’m as normal as any woman who finds the thought of security comforting, of love promising and the possibility of loss maddening.

I relate to the characters – of who I am, how much of them I am, and how much of them are the people around me.  As I detach myself gradually, I realize that this medium of writing has a magical touch to it, that in some part of the globe, there are those that feel like you and me.  I remember my frustration in travelling, or the lack thereof, and the consciousness of my limited worldview and that in travelling I know I could expand it to unthinkable lengths. 

But there is a cheaper alternative and an efficient one at that.  It’s not the interaction those social networking sites usher in. Nor is it the enforced commerce of the television.  It’s one begotten by words, how they expand one’s vision so simply even when it’s all in your head.   You can curl up under the oak tree or in a corner of your bed and find yourself some place else, your perspective of the world expanding word by word and page by page.   

I was reading Jane Eyre before I had Collins prescribed as a breather.  It was a good imposition though.   Even in classics, I find myself – in bits and pieces, sometimes in a lump.  They’re fiction and I keep reminding myself that – but when I cross the threshold, I let the current take me and allow myself the deluge.  But I’m careful to reach the surface and breathe in for some air.

All it took me was two days, three maybe, to infuse contemplation and regain equilibrium.  Of course, there’s more to this entry than just the beauty of literature.  It digs deep.  I find myself when I linger, afforded retreat, with a medium to sketch an identity. I come full circle, traversing a wider circle each time. #

I'm on a mission

After months of turning a blind eye to the reality that is my weight, I am finally admitting my guilt. I’ve probably snubbed it because I was enjoying myself too much carbo-loading and indulging my cravings.  No, I am not fat. I just gained.  Well, I was a happy gainer.  For once, I went home sans any parental sermon of how sickly I look.  I WAS happy until I found it quite a challenge fitting into my jeans – my jeans that normally and perfectly fit.  I thought my tees were shrinking and started blaming it on the fabric.  But they couldn’t all be shrinking at the same time, could they? And my arms looked twice their normal size in a picture.  My tummy began to form flaaaaabs. Noooooo.

That’s when it hit me. Growth, at this point, would be all horizontal for me.  I didn’t want to look like a cute little orb bouncing her way into the world (pun intended).  That was when I had to move on from the stage of denial and face this brutal fact of my life.  :)

But dieting was clearly out of the question.  I never really got into it – closest I did was pre-prom which was a total failure.  I ended up eating Jollibee burger yum after every school day instead.  Heck, I even chomped on pizza moments before putting on my prom dress.  That was how secure I was. Naks.

Actually, I do not know how to diet properly and I don’t think I need to. I was too secure with the fact that I never really ballooned in my entire life.  Sure I gain, but I also lose weight fast – as in furious fast. Give me a few days and I’d be back to normal. But apparently, a woman’s metabolism changes through the ages.  But, you’re too smart NOT to know that, Aiken! Well, sorry to disappoint.  I banked on this psychological backbone and convinced my brain I’d never really have a problem changing wardrobe sizes – at least not until I was thirty-something.  Well it proved effective – until now.

It started towards the last quarter of the year.  It was finals season and I was stocking up on all the edibles.  It' okay to do that, but it’s not okay when you’re eating and not moving.  The holidays came and my parents were glad to see me looking healthier than ever. Come January, a lot of people commented on my weight.  My, look at you! *Sabay squeeze sa arms* (Well thank you very much for rubbing that in.  Nagkasakit na ako sa lagay na ‘yan, ha.)

Normally, those punches would’ve set off an alarm. But fortunately for me, I was the girl who could not be moved. I refused to yield to the pressure! It was crazy. I was never an advocate of dieting, never a stickler for a nutritional regimen, and I never cut off on eating – ever! I love food! Those who often eat with me know this.  I love food and I find delight in eating good food. Now if you’re my crush, you’d probably find this odd. But of course darling, my tummy was probably filled with puke-inducing butterflies if I (ever) dined with you. Just so you know though, if I had my way, I wouldn’t even hold back.

So, I love food and this fondness was (and is) fueled with stress from law school.  I would crave for the unhealthiest stuff and satisfy this unhealthiness – este, cravings. I recall a week when all I ate were pasta and fries almost every day and cake almost every other day.  Blame the hormones and whatever gastrointestinal shiz there is that’s pushing me to gobble.

What adds salt to the wound is my lack of exercise or any significant physical activity for that matter.  The only “exercise” I do is walking from the dorm to the college and back.  That’s it.  Most of my time is spent sitting down or sprawling in my bed reading and writing, reading and writing. Welcome to law school.


So what brought about this sudden change of heart?

I still love food. I thank God I do.  And I don’t think I’d stop loving it soon.  But I hate it that I couldn’t wear the clothes I want and that would normally complement my frame just because I feel so discomfited.  The thought of having to spend unnecessarily just to change my wardrobe is a joke.  The fact that I’d run out of breath after just a few minutes of fast-paced walking is a jab at my ego.

Aaaah, yun pala yun eh. Egoooo. Pffft.

Well, not really but it was major epiphany for me right there. I was fit before. I had muscles. I jogged and swam without getting dizzy. I didn’t wheeze like some puny loser after a kilometer sprint.  I was fit, then. What happened to all the fitness? Apparently, it’s no eternal magical state. It takes effort to sustain.

And though sustenance is really not a major goal right now, at least I have mustered enough guilt to get my body back in shape.  Let’s get sexy – este, lean- back. Harhar.

So to jumpstart this endeavor, I started cutting on the big meals and started eating smaller meals more frequently.  And I hit the Orbit Track! With no warm-up! *major slap on forehead*

My roommate told me that 15 minutes of exercise would already leave me sweating mad. I brushed it off and thought it was too short a time for exercise.  I’d probably do 30. Major NAAAAAKS!

After what felt like a reasonable stretch working the machine, I checked the time: 2 minutes. 2 freakin’ minutes. Whuuuut.  The clock must be broken. Haha. But it wasn’t and I was just really out of it.  So I extended out of self-shame.

I probably lasted 10 minutes and had to stop because I was feeling lightheaded. So much for not taking my iron.  In a nutshell, if exercise was a measure of wealth, I’d probably be insolvent.

But because I love a good challenge, I will mount that thing again tomorrow, and definitely do better than 10 minutes. 11 perhaps. :)

And…there goes my mission.

Gotta bring leeeaaaan back.