what's it all about

curiouswao

The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao
Junot Diaz

It's been a week since I've finished this book and I'm still thinking about it. That's alwasy a good sign. It took me four passes on that first paragraph which is unusual in that usually if a book doesn't grab me by the first page, I would have given up on it, unless it was required reading. In the story, Oscar Wao, an overweight, socially awkward Dominican boy comes of age, narrated from the various voices of himself, his family and friends with each narration skillfully incorporating historical events that shaped the Dominican Republic, the horrors of slavery and colonization and the decades-long dictatorship of Trujillo. These and many other things make this book interesting and worth the read. I can tell you I've never seen sentences constructed the way Junot Diaz does them. There is a rough but natural quality to the movement of his words on a page. Writers like Jhumpa Lahiri write words as if it were water, flowing in an ebb and flow that seems to echo back to the most primal, womb-like existence we may not have cognitive memories of but lives in our instinct. Junot's is different. The writing is alive because it jumps right out the page and punches you in the nose for your prompt and quick attention. It doesn't rest. It doesn't let you wallow in the misery. It makes you look at it, at fuku, at loss, at sorrow, at misery, at love with the intent and ferocity that it demands. That's what is all about.

Thanks, Amanda, for this book recommendation.

a clever way to get over a break up

Heartbreaks are nothing new. There are hundreds occurring as we speak, each one significant in its own space. I was driving back to my family for Thanksgiving when I heard this piece on the radio and it made me laugh and made me cry in its cheeky but dead on account of the other-worldly quality that we suddenly see the world through heartbroken eyes. I seem to like things that are both clever and sad at the same time. That's always a winning combination for me. Anyway, this piece entitled Dr. Phil (USA) won the Best Radio Documentary for the Third Coast Festival and it will be available in its full version for a limited time so I hope my sketchy intro here has instigated you enough to hear it while you can.

The writer, Starlee Kine, writes for This American Life about herself, as a girl who on the wake of a break-up decides to write a love song, and not just any kind of love song, a torch song even, the most pathetic ones, the kinds that made careers for Dusty Springfield and the likes. With lyrics that will make your circle of confidante friends' eyes roll wide such as the following: you don't have to say you love me just be close at hand. Pl-ease! Stop!

The funny bits come in as Starlee, dead serious, attempts to do this despite having no musical ability at all and in fact enlists the help of an apt but improbable mentor---Phil Collins. Talk about against all odds. So, grip your hearts and have a listen. It will make you laugh, I promise.

A sneak peak

Everyday I ride the train and more often than not when not reading the paper or a book, people are usually in some sort of a trance and I wonder, always, what they are thinking. I wish there was some kind of device that would allow you a view of the images in one's mind.

If one can see mine, this is what they will see. It's all coming together.

love anew

The Gargoyle
Andrew Davidson


I don't know why I love the books that I love. I don't know what makes me pick them up from the shelves and start reading. For this it started simply with a word: gargoyle. But the real deal-closer was the first line. This one starts:


Accidents ambush the unsuspecting, often violently, just like love.

Maybe I liked what the author said in an interview that a lot of us have been burned by love and that he had always had the idea of writing a story that story that started, not ended, with one.

I read this dark and myteriously anachronistic tale now, during Halloween, after I scared myself silly visiting a Haunted House. Seems apropo to the exercise of casting out the private agonies that haunt the mind. I'll let you know how it goes, but I can feel it already, love anew for the unexplainable beauty of finding a writer who seems to write through me.

I have updates for you on Monday on my little secret.

Have a good Halloween Weekend.
Ashima


Update: I was not wrong about this book. It's love anew.

transitions...
i think about them a lot lately.

There is quiet and unrest in my days. There is darkness and light in the very same skies. There is worry and quiet anticipation all in the same breath. There is confusion and understanding within the very same thought. I'm sure though I'm not the only one who feel this way sometimes. There is far too many of us not to have a common experience more than once in a while. That is my one true comfort.

I have plans in the next couple of weeks. If you hold me to it, I will make itself known but for now it's my little secret.

Here's to the start of a good week ahead.
cheers,
ashima

sisters

 

we met
my sisters and i
it's nice
it's like meeting
old friends again
for the first time
except friends sometimes come and go

these two
have no choice but to stay
but the difference is
they don't seem to mind

collage.1

collage.1

I don't sleep in the master suite in my own home---
the smaller closet is a small price to pay
for the morning light that pays me a visit each morning.

awake

Woke up early today
for no reason
other than to awaken
so i read
and posted pictures
to will my time away

the parting

[[string:by2:parting

Moses is the authority of this particular event so I won't venture to be the expert but if i can imagine the parting of a sea, it would include these: rolling clouds, vexing waves, warm wind and peaks of a blue sky (for hope, always in good measure).

sabishisa

[[string:by2:one

[:sabishisa]

Won't you come and see
loneliness? Just one leaf
from the kiri tree

-Basho, 1692

Over the rainy weekend, I indulged in sad contentment. I went for long walks in the rain. I didn't really mind. I love the rain. I love the the smell of the air after a good rain shower, soupy and mossy as if new things are ready to unearth itself from the ground. I love the comfortable patter of it raindrops on my window sill especially in the evenings. It lulls me to sleep.

Change is in the air. I can feel it in me and around me, among the people in my heart. It's a different kind of change, too. It's not the sort that springs one into action. It's the sort the burrows in quiet. I think it will be okay. At least I hope so. I found a word for it: sabishisa. I came across it in a book I'm reading about elements of Japanese Desgin. In the book it is described as a state of emptiness, like being lost in a boundless sea of nothingness, a state of utter spiritual poverty in which having nothing we possess all.

Lately everything I knew to be true seem to have a way of turning itself on its head to give me a new view. In a strange way it is comforting. It makes life interesting. So dear reader, forgive me, indulge with me, if you can, in sad contentment for this time of sabishisa in my life.

channeling beauty

[[string:by2:upsilamba outpost banner

You will find these stone carvings on the pillars that welcome you to the tomb of the most hated emperor in Vietnam. I treasure most the feel of the crevices that make the ornate shapes. You can find plenty of these in museums but here out in the open sun dismissed as old and unimportant I run my hands through the surface hoping to channel the craftsmanship of artists long gone into my own. I particularly love the cloud themes.

who enjoys being a girl

[[string:by2:082008

Bill Bryson says remarkable changes can happen in any time span, sometimes it is decades, centuries, milleniums, a day, the time it takes to sneeze, or the time it takes to decide which shoes goes with a favorite outfit. This girl will tell you that her 20-year old self would hate this shoe-loving, outfit-obsessed evolution but that's too easy an argument. Somehwere between the shoe aisles, in the rows of eye-popping 3-inch heels and beaded summer sandals, she found a new spring in her feet that had nothing to do with shoes and somewhere between the racks of pretty summer dresses, she lost her inhibition in speaking her mind and found herself fitting in nicely among many diverse groups and ideas. However it happens and how soon or how long it takes place, change is good because life is beautiful and life is short to waste on frumpy outfits that make you feel fugly. Now what do you think of this outfit?

someday i will

[photo:someday i will: Dak Lak, Vietnam, August 2008]

mark says this reminds him
of when he was himself a boy
allowed to be a boy and free
to jump
in streams and rivers
forgiven for darkening his skin
bathing in the heat and sun
in a small town in Dipolog

gigi

[[string:by2:oh i want to feel what she is feeling

[[string:by2:so thrilled to be photographed

[[string:by2:oh i want that inner knowing

i don't really know her name
but i think i'll call her Gigi
look at her here
feeling pretty
and rightly so

she makes me smile

fishing for beads

photo:fishing for beads

good people around me fall sick
i am neither a doctor or nurse
but i fish for beads and with each i think
of good health to carry us all through

another step program

[[string:by2:we climbed this many

here a 308-step program for getting what you want:

1. Know what you want

2-308. To Be Defined

[photo: Point Reyes Lighthouse, Mendocino, California, August 2007]

be like the lichen

[[string:by2:lichens? i think.

a new mantra:

be like the lichen
happy just to be,
clinging devotedly
to a wind-whipped rock

---bill bryson

bidden

a great many things bid me from bed
but none is better than the morning light
in this living room,
the sunkissed woodfloors gleam
and the sofa invites me
to bask in the remaining shadows

bittermelon

[photo: Bittermelon. Bulacan, Philippines, February 2007]

in my language, this is called ampalaya
it's a curiousity that this vegetable was ever
considered for food for it
leaves a bitter taste in your mouth
that can only be made palatable
by soaking it in salt and lots of it

yet for all its bitterness
this remains a family favorite
and for my brother, who is a chef,
his comfort food
one mother used to cook for him
when she sensed
he needed cheering

bitterness and cheer
Who knew?

Waiting for a good wave

waiting for a good wave
one that will catch me right under my belly
and take me right back to shore
one will come I'm sure
if I just wait

One Day

Dusk at at the Citadel, the ancient fort, the two kites are the holdout to the day's kite runners. I sit at the hot cobble stones. I watch that boundless sky attempting impossibly to make out the thin string that holds them to the ground and the young boys whose mothers I'm sure were calling them for dinner.


It's as if one says to the other one day one of us will be lost to the other. It had always been you (lost) to me but this time it's different. Grace says it best.


One day
one of us
will be lost
to the other

this has been
talked about but
lightly turning
away shyness this
business of con-
fronting the
preference for
survival

of course I
want you in the world
whether I’m in it or
not your spirit
I probably mean

there is always
something to say in
the end speaking
without breath one
of us will be lost
to the other

-Grace Paley

Me. I really need a haircut.

Posting everyday is hard. Mostly because I keep debating what is appropriate content for a blog, which is a discussion I've read often among bloggers. Where do you draw the line between sharing too much and sharing too little? Must there even be a reason other than to seize the opportunity to practice writing, encourage once self to think about things just a little bit more critically to try to get to the bottom of why certain things resonate to you than others. So. Me. Need Haircut? Too much info? Too little? Too insignificant? You decide.

Simple

...sometimes is best.

Today I celebrate the last of my kitchen renovation payments. There are a finishing touches to be made (lighting, pantry cabinet doors, backsplash) but the general idea for the kitchen makeover is all done. I love this new kitchen. It has brown walls that I thought I would get tired of eventually but it's been close to 10 months and I still think the brown makes the room cozy and sophisticated. It provides a setting only made even better with the meditative qualities of making cafe sua da, Vietnamese ice coffee, slow brewed and sweetened with condensed milk. My neighbor Denise made that mosaic disk that is sitting on top of the table. It's on loan, but don't remind her that....

When boys grow up

They need bigger beds. Oliver has a big boy bed now. If you know his parents as well as I do, you would realize that he is their quintessential combination. He is smart, outgoing, smart, good looking, smart, good natured, smart. (Smart runs in both parents; They can fight about all the rest.) Oliver loves to read. His big thing now is to find the word car in this book that he likes and when you ask him things about the book he knows what's going on, remembers words even difficult ones like pedestrian and carefully. He uses the preposition to for everything. He hands you a candy bar and says with a cuteness that ought to be included in a penicillin capsule: Open to me please. I love it when you see a child grow up right before your eyes, the way they start putting things together in their heads, how they get excited about a word the way they do with new toys. I envy parents for this very novel view of the world.



Once I was in a New York subway train and I happen to observe a young new reader as she mouth the word exit silently. She tried a good many times before giving up and after her Mom finally helped her sound out the words, I saw her close her eyes, briefly and almost solemnly, as she entered that word in the brand new and enormously spacious database in her head.

In life, there is a place for critical thinking and questioning and doubt---even cynicism---but I would rather see the world the way these kids do. Presented with a candy bar of strawberry goodness, I want to approach the world the way Oliver does. With open arms and curious eyes I want to say:

Open to me, please. Open to me!

The New Amanda

Perhaps you may not have noticed her transformation from radioactive superhero to fashion icon. Note the leather cuff with the colorful stone. This is her rock chic outfit which by her now updated standards is not even her best stuff. So check back for the truly rocking stuff as the weeklong blog continues.

A Case for Sainthood

I met one of my own personal saints today at Hartigan Beach. She reminds me of my lack of due diligence on posting so I vow to write everyday for a week. As a jumpstart to the week-long blogging exercise and since today is Sunday I start by making a case for sainthood.

My personal saint is pretty cool. Her halo magically turns into a frisbee as shown above. She sings in a rock glee club, her clothes are funky and usually short and revealing unlike the marmish garbs of my other favorite saints (St. Therese, St. Ignatius) and just like the saints of that wild eyed Damian, mine can be conveniently summonned for drinks at Hopleaf on Friday nights by a simple cellular phone call. Of course the true question is what has necessitated the need to summon a saint in the first place. Well saints, as it turns out, are quite useful to have around. To begin with, they offer your roommate, your friends and your pets, even your local barista for whom you haven't broken a smile of thanks, a break from your insanity of the past couple of days.





Now the very idea of saints is a matter that has spurred division among big religions but this is not about that. This is a testament to the workings of what I can only call, obligingly for lack of a better word, divine providence, of how when we seek it, it is there in various and unlikely forms. Last week it was in the clear prose of Bill Bryson who comprehensively lays out fact after fact of the enourmousness of our universe making a case for how insignificant yet unbelievably lucky we are, the sheer randomness of how we came into being, the inexplicable way that scientifically we ought not be here yet, perversely, we are. Today it was in the lyrics of a Scottish traditional church anthem and a pep talk from a much loved saint who tells me I'm not a fool, that I am brave and that the heart will heal as all hearts do and that she is of me "proud as a dog in shoes" for daring to seek the person that I am born to be. Who that is is work in progress but I'm fairly certain it includes love and the constant pursuit of grace and kindness in all circumstances even ones that leave me broken and lost.

Ah Vietnam!

hi!

Did I tell you I went to Vietnam? I did. Sort of on a whim which is the best kind of travel. Vietnam is an unlikely destination for me. I never would have even thought of going but now having seen it, I couldn't imagine not ever having gone. I'm working on pictures of which there are far too many (14GB), but here is one that I know in my bones will be a favorite.



We were in a tiny village, no more than a dozen houses, getting our flat tire fixed. I think she was summoned to witness the commotion of strangers visiting their tiny enclave with cameras to entertain. She inched slowly out of this house, curious but uncertain. It took some doing but I finally got her to smile.

Well, sort of.

More soon. I promise,

ashima

Telltale

I wish I had my camera so I can show you what I saw in my purse today when I got to the office to get some money for coffee this morning. Two avocados. I've been lugging it around for days. I stopped by the organic store Monday for some greens to cooks with pork chops. I had forgotten my reusable grocery bag so I shoved everything in my purse and my computer bag. I wonder if my computer bag still has the bag of asparagus. What does that tell me? It tells me summer life is hurried and furious and I'm weary and worn down from the grind.

elsewhere

Early Sunday morning, I take my place in the usual left seat by the cafe table in my kitchen and I make myself a cup of coffee and go somewhere, elsewhere.

When in rut, talk to Ted

I'm in a rut! So I went and talked to Ted. Ted is great. The best thing about Ted is that he/she can transform to whichever expert thinker that you want Ted to be, sort of like summoning a superhero to your aid in a transcendent way. In this round, Ted was in the form of pint-sized but insightful writer Amy Tan talking about where creativity hides. I like the bit about moral ambiguity as a natural stomping grounds for all things creative, that it is in embracing the unknown that she finds herself driven to create these stories that uncover secrets, patterns, knowledge and truth from serendipity and chance. I think my problem is that I view these wildly successful people already from the perch of their successes. From that branch, sitting confidently, their view of the world seems assured and planned. I forget there's a great deal of work that happens to get to that perch. Listen to Amy Tan. Listen to Philipp Stark. Read Muhammad Yunus. A common segment of their talks always touch on that part of them when they felt most vulnerable, when they go to a place in themselves where they are not in the know, or even if they are in the know, they don't think that what they do is particularly important, or useful or meaningful. The knowledge is at once liberating and humbling. I do not suffer from false modesty. I do not think that what I want to do is particularly useful or meaningful to others but it is important to me and maybe by virtue of me operating in the same universe as everyone else that is enough to go on.

Someday it will be clear to me

Someday it will be clear to me what it is that I do. I am writing in the heels of a failure. I hesitate to call it a failure because, let's be honest, it is not in human nature to think in terms of loss. We spin. What do we call that, we euphemize.

April 1st came and went and I never did apply for art school. It is never really clear to me why. I had enough to show them, but I never could click the submit button.

That' s my confession. I could spin you my euphemism, and I tried and I ended up backspacing until my fingers hurt. In the end, it just never felt right or at least not yet. I don't feel deflated though which would have been my usual typical reaction. Maybe because the weather is getting better here and I'm looking forward to the start of the volleyball season when me and my friends will start hanging out by the lake. I vow to bring my camera with me, no matter how cumbersome it is.

Life is good despite despite some failures. I have friends and family and work that allows me freedom to explore new things. Maybe it's not time for me to explore art school yet. Maybe it's time for just exploring what spring and summer brings. We shall see

Stitching memories

Years ago, new to a city and knowing very few I would spend hours at Borders browsing books and magazines and I rarely buy Vogue thinking it too fancy for me but I read the story of Project Alabama and the designer Natalie Chanin and her philosophy about clothes and fashion and the story of her return to her home in Florence, Alabama. I clipped that Vogue article, kept it for years and years in my inspiration file. A few weeks ago, I saw the Alabama Stitch Book on the same Borders bookstore and even from afar, I could tell that the photos from the cover were of clothes made by in the mind and the hand of these Alabama women whom I've come to admire. In 2006 Project Alabama ceased operations in Alabama to move their production overseas, but Natalie kept her resolve and her dedication to the region and stayed behind and set anew and established Alabama Chanin.

Here is a corset top that I made from the pattern and the same reverse applique that made Natalie Chanin and the women of Alabama a worldwide success. Everything is hand-stitched and while that sounds truly intimidating, the experience was completely the opposite. I would come home and work on a panel an hour or so at night while listening to NPR or watching TV or talking to my friends and before I knew it I was done. This is a gift for my sister for her birthday. We are all older now and thinking of new ways to celebrate each other can be challenging, even tiresome. It's nice to come up with new ways to make memories for each other as we get older.

Make a wish...

If these were my birthday cake, that's how many candles there would be for me to wish on. That ought to be a good thing to have thirty some odd wishes to give voice to but truth be told, I am leery of wishes for as soon as you think it, it already by token is perceived impossible and therefore requires intervention of the divine, supernatural, mystic kind in order to be fulfilled. Invariably an inordinate proportion of the wish list ends up with Matt Damon in an embrace. Then too, there's that guilt, that gnawing feeling at the pit of your stomach that you have disappointed yourself for not being the better person, for not wishing world peace instead of wasting a wish on Matt Damon.

So maybe instead of wishes, I shall blow candles in thanksgiving for I am very lucky to be here and that --- despite the odd packaging, the ocassional mishaps, the expected mistakes --- I am doing okay and I feel fine.

I've been thinking much about this feeling, particulary this needing to always measure our sense of happiness at any given moment. Juraj a few months ago introduced me to the work of Jonathan Harris, a technology maverick, an artist and designer. If you have the time and the inclination, you must watch this talk he presented at the TED conference. He is a genius in my book, a category I reserve for those who have the uncanny ability to give me new eyes. A technologist with a soul of an artist, Harris gives us a whole new way of looking at the world by applying technology that scours thousand of blogs and public forums for a very simple content: how do we feel?

If you are ever interested about how the world as represented by bloggers are feeling at any given moment, try cutting and pasting the link below in an internet browser and see what happens. If you are feeling adventurous, replace the word "fine" at the end of the link to whatever you wish. Try used, sad, creative, adventurous, crap, vindictive, shy. Whatever you feel like. It's up to you. That's what makes it beautiful. In fact, search for that word. Beautiful.

The LINK BELOW shows the last 50 lines that show feeling fine:

http://api.wefeelfine.org:8080/ShowFeelings?display=xml&returnfields=feeling,sentence&limit=50&feeling=fine

Camiguin

I long for better weather. Right now it is snowing and it is 8 degrees outside. My roommate is sick and so am I. I caulked the front bay windows shut, sick of having to always pull the drapes leaving the room in darkness. Beneath my desk is a small space heater to bring in the necessary heat for my toes are freezing. I wish I could take off my frozen socks and dip my feet into the waters that bound Camiguin's White Island, a stretch of crescent-shaped white sand bar in the middle of the Bohol Sea.

Simula

Happy New Year!

I am looking forward to this year with great enthusiasm but there's a lot of work ahead. I have to get going, get started, get ready. Here's a new beginning to a new year. I start with a metal letter sign A, a thrift store find. I clear my bedside table and ready it for beautiful and inspiring objects that will hold me in silence.