Archive for the ‘vie’ Category

Le roi et futur fois.

December 9, 2011

The Once and Future King, by Terence Hanbury White. One of the best there is, and is listed amongst my favorites.

The book crossed my mind the other day when someone mentioned something that prompted me to think of those droppings of the Glatisant (a questing beast in the novel). And for 7 painstakingly-long minutes, I incessantly ransacked my brain for that word, and remembered fewmets (FEWMETS!). Oh the ethereal bliss of solving the inevitable I-know-the-word-but-I-can’t-effin’-remember-grrr moments.

Le Glatisant

I was on leave today, and spent the entire day at home. I was checking out blogs on the net, when I came across my old blog, and read a rather riveting entry I had way back. It’s an excerpt from the TH White novel:

This rabbi, went on a journey with the prophet Elijah, they walked all day, and at nightfall they came to the humble cottage of a poor man, whose only treasure was a cow. The poor man ran out of his cottage, and his wife ran too, to welcome the strangers for the night, and to offer them all the simple hospitality which they were able to give in straitened circumstance. Elijah and the rabbi was entertained with plenty of the cow’s milk, sustained by homemade bread and butter, and they were put to sleep in the best bed, while the kindly hosts lay down before the kitchen fire. But in the morning, the poor man’s cow was dead. They walked all the next day, and came that evening to the house of a very wealthy merchant, whose hospitality they craved. The merchant was cold and proud and rich, and all he would do for the prophet and his companion was to lodge them in the cowshed and feed them on bread and water.  In the morning, however, Elijah thanked him very much for what he had done, and sent a mason to repair one of his walls, which happened to be falling down, as a return for his kindness. The Rabbi Juchanan, unable to keep silence any longer, begged the holy man to explain the meaning of his dealings with human beings.

In regard to the poor man who received us so hospitably“, replied the prophet, “it was decreed that his wife was to die that night, but in reward for his goodness, God took the cow instead of his wife. I repaired the wall of the rich miser because a chest of gold was concealed near the place, and if the miser repaired the wall himself he would have discovered the treasure. Say not therefore to the Lord: What doest thou? But say in thy heart: Must not the Lord of all the earth do right?

I’ve always loved this novel snippet, can’t believe I almost forgot about it.

Will re-read this once am done with Palahniuk’s Fight Club.

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Vers le bas avec la grippe.

October 22, 2011

A shelf of stacked vikings in an Oslo souvenir shop.

Down with flu. Got this effin’ virus courtesy of mon père probably a couple of days ago, and got well incubated just yesterday. I was all nasal-drippy, and was trying really hard to restrain self from sneezing whilst I was interviewing a candidate over the phone. Towards the end of the day yesterday, I feel like all the life force from my mortal corpus was effectively drained, leaking through my oral and nasal orifices. I feel like one of ’em walking dead.

I was so power-drained that I have not properly applied enough joules to step on the breaks, that Adô bumped into a white delivery van in front of us, in the midst of the crazy Friday traffic jam. The driver of the van went out, peeked onto the point of contact, then gave out a thumbs-up of which am assuming is a gesture that there were no scratches nor dents. OR can also be an apt gesture that I was a complete moron and I was lucky that monetary extortion need not happen. Either way, I duly apologized, and thank the guy for being cool about it. Merci à Dieu pour regarder dehors pour moi.

And the following day, today, Saturday, am all feverish and down with this crazy full-blown virus, that I didn’t get to go out with Faye and Luis, as planned (they’re currently watching Real Steel, am begrudged!). Am so determined to get this minute imps off my system, that I was munching on vitamin Cs like an ascorbic acid maniac. I didn’t realize that these chewable Cs are highly addictive until today. Was reaching out for it every 30 minutes. LOL.

Well, at least I finally find the time to wipe the grime off my trusty steed, and cleared the accumulated clutter inside. *cue for resonating applause*

And just now, I realized that I have been playing Coldplay on the background for a couple of hours already. Listening to Coldplay, while the colds play on me. C’est fantastique!

Virus, begone!

Le pouvoir d’un an.

October 12, 2011

The Scots Man Resto Pub, in downtown Oslo. It's all about the bagpipes, and plaid!

The power of one year. A concept hanging loosely in the deep pools of my bizarre musings, but never duly contained, until it was casually brought up by Faye in one of our endless segue-filled conversations. It is when one looks back to all that has happened in the past year, somewhat similar to the melodramatic recollection one does every year-end, but this one you do every turn of an era after era, within the perimeter of a year.

So, looking back past the dozen months, a lot of outstanding events happened. And when I say a lot, I meant mind-blowing effin’ lot. People who come and go. Things that were lost and found. Things that were lost. Things that were acquired. Things that I thought I lost, but apparently were just there. Places visited. Places that were no longer visited. Same game, different players, and the rules somehow changed a wee bit.

The power of a year’s worth of events that forced one’s holistic equilibrium to be auto-calibrated, over and over. It’s an emotional evolution, also referred to as wisdom.

Tant de choses à raconter, si peu de temps.

October 9, 2011

One of them cool store façade (a jeweler's shop) in downtown Trondheim, Norway. Sølv og gull arbeid means silver and gold work.

So much to tell, so little time. So much significant has happened for the past 4 months since my last blog post (excluding the post La nouvelle ére de la portable) that it will take me a good ol’ week to take everything into account and write ’em all down onto my blog.

Well, for starters, my condo unit was finally turned-over last August (woot!), and being the big Tolkien fan that I am, I named my place Lothlórien (Lórien for short). It’s cool to see where all that money am paying for monthly goes to, because for a time I was half expecting that I might be paying some bogus real estate property that doesn’t even exist. But thankfully, it does exist. The place is cozy and quaint, and the space was my major issue initially, since am so used to living in a house. But I eventually got into terms with my irk, and get to appreciate the space that I can officially call my own. Am still trying (and by try, I meant measly effort) to save up for stuff to put in my place. Am planning to move-in first quarter of 2012.

I also got my first vehicle. After much deliberation on what automobile to get, I finally decided to get a pickup, and named it Shadowfax (nicknamed Adô), after Gandalf’s friend steed, the lord of the Maeras. Been using it since, and it’s fun to drive since it’s a wee bit bigger than the one I used to borrow from my dad. Will be saving up money to buy a trunk bed cover for it, and fender guards. I also want to install halogen lights in front, to give it that edgy , trashy look. Haha.

Also, I finally have that one special person to spend days hanging out at Lórien, or going someplace else with Adô 🙂  La vie est absolument une bonne.

Élevé sur la vie.

June 28, 2011

High on Life. Lately, my mental acuity on grasping profound sentiments was a bit on the crazed side. Everything were on demented ecstasy, that mere thoughts of things happening, immediately sends me into oblivion.

In times when one must face the inevitable conundrum, sometimes the best plan of action is to yield, and let fate take its divine course.

OK, that’s my articulate version of saying that I was way too confused lately with all that are happening. So what I ultimately did was surrender everything onto the One sole Divine Being, and then went to the gym, slaved my way with all the routines I can think of for 3 straight hours.

Thank God for the gift of endorphins. They worked-up and fixed my dendrites real nice.

Am very high on life right now. And it’s sending me off the ground 🙂

Am stoked. \m/

L’amour.

February 12, 2011

Due to inadequate number of REM cycles, and a considerable massive jet lag, I was asleep for the past 60 hours (as scheduled). And now, I can’t get myself get right back to sleep, so with all the conscious time I have, I get to ponder momentarily about, well, uhm, love.

This is my first take on poetry. I know this is not something people would consider to be in that classic category, so I purposely disabled comments for this post as to not get me discouraged, specially that, as of this very all-wide-awake moment, I am considering pursuing poetry.

Love.
It does not take form.
It does not come into existence that can be contained.
No, it can not be contained.
For love is freedom.
And it is only when one is emancipated that one can love.
For love is a choice, but never an option.
It is not dictated.
Nor can be restricted.
It sustains. It is consumed. It consumes.
It flows at liberty.
It is spontaneous, never deliberate.
It is spontaneously deliberate.
It does not end.
It has no end.

Oh, and hey. It’s almost Valentine’s Day.

Je suis dans La Norvège

January 9, 2011

I’m in Norway. And have never thought that the first place I’d be going to in Europe would be freezing, land-of-the-midnight-sun Norway.
Well, technically, I stepped into Amsterdam first. However that was only for transit, so that does not count.

The last few weeks of December 2010, and the first few days of January 2011 were effin’ kuh-kuh-crrrazy-eeh. Let’s just say that sleep was the last thing on my list. Onset of my Euro-flight, I only had a total of 8 hours worth of sleep, for 4 days.

Anyways, departure flight was 1135 hours of January 4, final destination Trondheim, Norway. It was a 14-hour flight from Manila to Amsterdam. KLM food was, uhm, mediocre. Worse, it was mundane. I was so used to flying Korean Air that I’m used to fun food, specifically my all time fave, Bibimbap. Haha. But I have got to hand it out to them KLM guys, they were so frequent in giving out drinks throughout the duration of the flight, that I was overly confident that I can go on for a week without having even a tiny teeny drop of liquid and not go dehydrated. I was raiding the serving tray of drinks like a madman.

We arrived around 6PM in Amsterdam. Schiphol Airport is, uhm, fine. South Korea’s Incheon International Airport still is, by far, the best for me. Anyways. Schiphol is a very tourist-friendly airport. The signs were never confusing. I was headed toward terminal B. And was surprised to see a line queued for what I perceived as an immigration check. The person at the counter asked some couple random questions about my trip, and stuff, then went through the X-ray machine.

The long, fast-paced walk (and by fast-paced, I meant my usual injury-prone fast-paced gait) I did from terminal F (arrival) to terminal B (departure of connecting flight), plus getting in line for the documents check, took me around 1.5 hours, that I only waited for 30 minutes for my 8PM flight to Trondheim.

Upon boarding time, we were led to a bus, that goes straight out to the airstrip where 4-seats-a-row KLM planes wereparked. I was seated next to a really tall guy (around 6 foot 4) who’s got these two, long,  narrow cone shells (one red, one black) for ear piercings. Both on the same earlobe.  It’s like having to stab someone with a very long knife, but the knife was perceived ornamental that it was eventually left where it was stabbed into. Anyways, this guy is so tall, that while seated, his legs needed be bent sideways against the seat in front of him, just to make that comfy sitting position. All I can say is … helloooo deep vein thrombosis.

We arrived in Trondheim 30 past 10PM. I withdrew NOK 200 first for my cab fare. People were entering this wine-and-choco duty free shop, that I was subtly enticed to checkout as well. I went out carrying nothing, but I found a really interesting Chupaha Chups lollipop, as big as a size 5 football. I was so amazed that I forgot to take a photo.

I went straight to the luggage carousel. I was half praying  that my luggage won’t end up in another carousel somewhere in Europe, and half already coming up with a plan on what to say as my rant, immensely pissed-off speech if ever my luggage won’t turn up. Well, it did turn up, prayers work, kids. Haha.

Trondheim airport was pretty quaint to be an airport (although the brick walls gave it a homey feel to it), and lacked proper English signage, that I stalked this Norwegian family toward wherever the immigration counter is. Turns out, there is none. And the one I queued up in line at the Schiphol Airport actually is the immigration check. Which led me into conclusion that Trondheim is a bit too small a place that it didn’t have to bother itself with tourist immigration shit.

I was looking out for any exit portals that will lead me to a taxi bay. Good thing the Norwegian word for taxi is, well, taxi. So when the taxi signage turned up, I immediately hailed a cab, then asked to drop me off to my hotel. The cab driver was irritatingly soft spoken, that 10 minutes of listening to him talk would definitely send me off to a snooze fest.

That’s it for now. Will try my best to document any interesting stuff I should encounter. There’s a lot as of the moment, but will pick out the ones worth mentioning. Haha. Au revoir.

Je souhaite J’ai vous devez d’abord rencontré.

December 5, 2010

I really do.
I don’t know.
I don’t get it.

Ma place heureux (Deuxième Partie).

November 14, 2010

The designated official bartender.

My happy place (second part). So, right after our first dinner in SC, we went back to the villa, and then got our stuff ready for, what else, our hooch session.

I was made officially the bartender of the pack (even after the SC trip, I was the one always slaving myself away, doing the cocktails and stuff). So I got the essentials out. For the first night, it was le fantastique Grey Goose. It was the best, smoothest vodka ever. I loved it. We all loved it. Mixed it with tonic/soda, and ice, et voila! Best tasting vodka tonic ever. Even JJJ, our resident finicky alcohol drinker, gave her finicky seal of approval for that drink. Our nightly rendezvous are staged in one of the boardwalks, facing the Pacific Ocean.

Our claimed boardwalk territory. Nobody dared trespass the area while we were there. LOL.

View of the the other side of the boardwalk.

Nights at Calicoan Surf Camp is immensely mystical. Otherworldly. We often find ourselves sighing whilst looking out to the expanse of the gorgeous view laid out before our sight. What made it even more magical was the waxing gibbous moon the time when we were there, illuminating all of the Pacific Ocean, making the constantly-thrashing waves glisten like a mine of diamonds.

The waxing gibbous moon. Magical.

The four of us looking out to the gorgeous Pacific Ocean.

The infinity pool at night.

*sigh*

Nightfalls, we are regularly greeted by an army of … Fireflies! I have never seen them in this multitude. They’re so big in number that the trees in front of our villa literally look like they’re currently burning! LOL. I caught one, and gave it to JJJ, of which she eventually released onto the grass, after all the poking she did on the poor thing. But it still managed to fly away, so I guess it’s still OK. Haha.

Trees burnt by ... Fireflies! Those tiny specks of amber are clusters of fireflies.

Here are a few more photos of the place in daylight.

Jerome posing, not knowing I was in the infinity pool, posing for the shot as well. Haha.

 

Going to the dining hall, well, to dine, of course. Haha.

Our claimed area of the boardwalk in daylight. This is where I spend my early mornings reading my book, while waiting for the guys to get up.

The smile on my face in this shot is effin genuine. Haha. I love this place.

A minute before we left, we had our photo taken with the Surf Camp sign. I have a serious case of separation anxiety at this point. I don't want to leave 😦

Am definitely going back next year. Already counting down the days before going to my happy place, also known as Calicoan Surf Camp 🙂

La météo de Manille en Septembre vingt-quatrième à vingt-septième.

September 22, 2010

Manila weather on September 24th to 27th. That’s from Friday to Monday. I’ve been having a bit of this obsessive constant checking of weather from the 24th-27th of September, because SURF CAMP’s FINALLY HERE! Haha. Friday and Saturday’s looking quite damp (cue for ethnic  sun dance). However, Sunday and Monday are going to be soleil-parfait! Will be packing my stuff tonight, and will be sleeping-over at P’s place tomorrow for Friday’s 5AM very-early-morning-yawn-fest flight.

Je suis très, très excitation!

Déçu.

September 13, 2010

Triste, mais vrai

Crestfallen. For the first time in months, I am.

I suddenly got the briefest epiphany this morning how the current conundrum of my existence is the quintessence of four of my imperative staple figures of speech: (1) Irony (2) Oxymoron (3) Simile (4) Metaphor.

Even the book I’m currently reading is in puritanical (?) connivance with destiny. These things are trying to reveal something to me (queue for the belfry). But how can I react with the full extent of my metaphysical reflexes, when all I was trained to be is the audience of the protagonist, and not the protagonist himself?

I guess having to realize, that all throughout the day, you have been wearing your boxer briefs the other way round, helps keep someone’s sanity intact.

I seriously need my booze fix, right here, right now.

Fate, you owe me a sound explanation. I’m waiting.

Le fameux question

April 25, 2010

(The famous question)

All throughout our earthly existence, we are constantly bombarded with routinely periodical questions. By period I meant per phase of our lives, and by routinely I meant the question will be asked as if part of a life protocol handbook (if there’s one), under the mandatorily-asked questions chapter.

For instance, back when we were like 4 years old, people ask us if we’re already going to school. Then in a few years the next question would be when would you be graduating from primary school.

If you are a Filipino male nearing your teens, you will be asked if you already are circumcised. If you answered no, notice the sudden elevated pitch in the questioner’s voice in asking the follow-up question “how come?!“.

A few years in middle school you will then be asked when will you be graduating.

Then the next questions nearing middle school graduation would be, what college would you be attending, and what will you be taking up. Then after a few years, you will be asked if when you will be graduating from college.

After college, you will be asked where do you go to work. And for those sly questioners, a follow-up inappropriate “how much are you earning?“.

At 27, I noticed the one perpetual infamous question unceasingly thrown at me, “When will you get married?“. It’s so infamous (and famous, for that matter) that I cannot recall someone down to the level of mere acquaintance that still have not asked me the question.

Just this very minute, I was popped by a friend from Canada, and her opening remark was “When’s the wedding?“. No “hi how are you?“, even the classic “hello” was left out.

This is beginning to amuse me.

Vingt sept

January 3, 2010

Je suis vingt sept adjourd’hui. And in another 3 years I’d be thirty. Add another 30 and I’d be sixty.

Before falling asleep last night, I tried looking back at all the birthdays that I had, and pick the one most outstanding. It turns out, there’s none. All my birthdays were the same. Uneventful. The usual trips to the mall, eating out in a restaurant. But then again I am not that type of person who likes being the center of attention.

The drawback of having your birthday within the jovial perimeter of the year-end holidays (Christmas and New Year) is that everybody’s exhausted from all the partying. Too nauseated to jug one’s way to another bottle of tequila. So no events in another week after the New Year’s Eve. And at Christmas, the card that comes with the gift always says Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and Happy Birthday.

Maybe next year I can get to celebrate my birthday slothfully lying in a hammock at the beach, sipping cranberry juice on crushed ice with a hint of rum, reading a good book, with Bob Marley and the Wailers reggae-ing their way through my iPod. Wow that is something. I’d like to have that.

Mort.

January 1, 2010

The dad of my friend Jinky, just died a few minutes ago. I was really shocked with the news, because when she told me around afternoon that they took her dad to the hospital due to breathing difficulties I took the event as normal thinking that it might be just due to the firework fumes from last night’s New Year’s event. I was not really expecting this, and I guess neither did my friend. And the new year just started, it’s really sad.

My sincerest condolences to my friend, and to her family.