The present

We moved houses a couple of weeks ago, from the old 1950s bungalow in the oldest subdivision in Quezon City that no one ever stopped living in (until now), to a small, fairly secluded village twenty minutes north. My room is smaller, neater, and less prone to being converted into a laundry room. In the morning, you can hear geese honking/squawking from afar. There are still fan-tailed birds who like slamming into glass window panes.

It's a little hard to commute out of, but exploring new routes and taking jeepneys, trikes and FXes is something I've found a little fulfilling. The only thing bad about it is the smell of smoke that sticks to your newly-washed hair. Also, special trike rides are ridiculously expensive.

Today is, hopefully, the last day of strong rain. I've been passing the time watching a few Big Bang Theory episodes, acquired from the ever-generous Whitewall people. Comments: I've grown to like Amy/Sheldon (I was slightly opposed to it, before), and Raj x Siri = I ship it. I still need to catch up on Shingeki no Kyojin, but there's no rush. 

There have been an abundance of class suspensions, which means my entire family has been home since Monday. To quote a friend, "Sino ka at anong ginawa mo kay Chancellor Saloma?" More than the extended downtime, I'm glad they're considering those who live in the flooded areas. It's disturbing to wake up to the rain beating down on the roof and the storm drain water level rising behind your house. And then you turn on the TV and see footage of a flooded metro and people wading through the flood, trying to make their way to work. 

Dad dropped me off at my internship-place Monday morning, armed with an umbrella, jacket and some pasta I cooked for our weekly potluck. Work was cancelled that day due to the other four people in the office not being able to make it, so I took the train to Dad's office and hung out there for half an hour (revelling in the feeling of being in an office office and being completely comfortable because 1) your dad's ze boss 2) they don't want anything from you: no interview, no cv, no work and you can lounge in the swivelly chair in an empty conference room sipping a cup of hot milo from the pantry). The streets of Makati are still confusing to me; I'm glad I don't work there.

The siblings and I have been making several things in the kitchen because of the suspensions: squash soup, herb/garlic chicken, and pretzels. It should be noted that all three were Abigail's initiatives. I asked Pat what she'd like to eat, and she said chocolate ravioli and pretzels made of ground beef. No.

How to write shorter

During my thesis-writing last year, I discovered my inability to write short, complete things. Short stories bloated into thirty-page semi-novellas, ok as a collection on their own but unpublishable when submitted to anthologies or fiction websites.

So? Tis my "style" isn't it? But I do need to learn to clip my rambling, make my plots concise. It's (part of) my mission to get published in spec fic anthology which usually has word counts for the stuff they accept. You tend you write what you read, so I've been trying to read short stories, starting with Ray Bradbury-inspired ones, and now I'm wading through Borges' collected fictions.

Questions and opinions

Why is everyone glorifying in/talking about being an introvert? Being an introvert is cool because you've got your own universe, your own preferred quietness but it doesn't really make you...special. Or better. It's not like being left-handed (hoho). Maybe it's because introverts = writers = internet content, thus introvert glorification? Extroverts are pretty awesome too, you know. They do most of the work for you. 

Introverts don't need to be "fixed." We just need to be given the chance to adjust a little. Given the chance, I'd express and express and express.

A letter from the past

Last night, I received a letter from August 2012 Hannah, who was wondering if I'd graduated, moved house, and had a job yet. Yes, yes, slightly. Gosh, job-things are stressing me out. No, it's not the internship. What I learned from my past self: 1) Unabridged Hannah is amusing, ranging from hysterical to apologetic to gushy. 2) It is useless to ask so many questions because you can't write back to the past. No more questions for future self, ok? Ok. *shakes head*

Summer began at the end of April. After fainting a few minutes into the Batch 2013 university grad, doing last-minute pasalubong shopping for everyone at Kultura (thank God for that store) and lying sweaty and sleepless on my cousin's bed, staring listlessly at the blue ceiling-shadows awaiting 3am, I was whisked off by giant white air-conditioned van, by porter-trolley, conveyor belt and pat-down guard, carry-on stroller wheels, diaper bag and smiling Delta airline employees to the large plane that would rattle through the sky and bring us, eyebagged and excited, to the United States.

I went with my Aunt and cousins on the month-long trip. Traveling from mid-May to mid-June, we visited relatives from my Dad's side of the family, spending a couple of weeks in Washington, and then the rest in California. I was excited, and a little apprehensive. America--it had been a while. I hadn't seen the people there in five years, and others, in ten. Would it be alienating, uncomfortable, magical? I remember being amazed, as a child, at the pizza slices as big as your face, the quarter pounders I couldn't finish, the cold bite of the air and the accented everything.

We stopped over in Japan first, and I strolled around Narita airport with my little girl cousin, from hereon to be referred to as Mishie. We beheld the multi-functioned toilets and immense line at McDonald's, the display of green tea KitKat and the Studio Ghibli merchandise. We each bought a Totoro, despite Mishie not knowing what it was. I tried my best to inform her, at any rate.

The Emerald Cities

One 11-hour flight later, we heaved our suitcases (ten for four people) off the carousel and greeted Uncle Dwight and Auntie Istin, who loaded our stuff into the family minivan. I strapped Angelo into his "special chair" (the carseat), buckled myself up and off we drove, into a new concrete-and-greenery world. Seattle and Tacoma are referred to as twin cities, emerald cities. (Or is it just Seattle that's considered 'emerald?) According to my cousin, the emerald is because of the abundance of trees, caused by the abundance of rain.

"If you don't go out because it's raining, you'll never go out."

So go out we did. Auntie Istin drove us everywhere. We went to the zoo, the beach, the thrift shop, onto a ferry, onto an island, to the little towns that surrounded Puyallup. We went to Seattle a handful of times, ate glorious seafood, saw the ports and the fishing boats and the daylight shining in the water at 7:00 pm. It was Starbucks every other day, and ice cream just as often. I ordered, in perpetua, green tea latte. For Angelo and Mishie, it was always cookies and cream.

Puyallup is the suburbs. Everything out on that end was large and wide--winding roads, fields, the constant texture of trees, bushes and flowering shrubs. You can't commute anywhere. The city is at least a twenty-minute drive away, and there is always the patter of raindrops on the windshield. There were one-storey structures, some apartment buildings, lumber yards, places selling playground equipment and cars. We drove up to someone's house on a hill, and saw the ocean and the fishing boats that went all the way to Alaska. They have a really nice children's hospital, where we visited the newest member of the Portugal clan, baby Xavier.

Warning: Possible self-indulgent navel gazing ahead. Will compensate later by writing about something useful like, er, the job fair.

On random acts of not being yourself
I surprised myself yesterday by doing something I normally would not do. I've always seen myself as this stingy, antisocial "I will be nice to you for five minutes provided you leave me alone after that" person. Especially when I'm sitting down and doing something I like. Well, this happened recently: after a lunchdate with Glacy, I had a thirty-minute space between errands to sit down and wait. I sat outside the Main Library, on the last stone bench to the right, the one shaded by a large cluster of bamboo. The day was warm but windy, and I had my little brown notebook with me, so I took it out and began writing/journaling. I rarely do this, anymore--write about my dreams, that is. I miss it--it helps you clear out your insides and indulge in your dreams, a little. So I was doing this, filling in all the blank space I'd left in the first few pages with tiny spidery handwriting, when two kids selling those scrunchies/hair ties made out of velvety cloth ran up to me and basically whined at me to buy their merchandise.

Here's the weird part. I said no (not weird) and told them to sell to other people who were not me, who had longer hair and actually used velvety scrunchies. They refused and whined some more (still not weird) and then without thinking, I struck up a conversation with them and asked about how many they sold in a day, if they went to school and what grade they were, and what they liked doing once they were done selling their stuff. The smaller kid was in grade 1, and was 6 or 7--his name was Tas. (Me: Chazz? Kid: Hinde! TAS!) and then the older one was in third grade, named Aljo. He said he liked taking naps on the grass, and building little houses out of branches and leaves and things. The kids were best friends, they said, and they lived in Balara.

There were a few words I said that they couldn't understand. Trashcan, and "later." I offered them the extra dinner roll/corned beef sandwiches I had, and after some pestering on my part, they took it. Tas asked why UP students were so nice, and Aljo said that a student pinched him once. They asked me if I spoke English at home all the time, and I said yes. I asked them if they wanted to learn English. And then 1:30 struck, and I had to go find Tita Belen, so I said goodbye.

But not before buying a hair tie from each of them.

Anyway, whatever. I don't know what came over me. And I didn't feel weird about it. It seemed to make sense, at that time. Ah, well. Till the next run-in, boys. At least now I have a reason to not buy more hair ties.

This week is a bit of a rollercoaster.
Sometimes I'm really pissed off and I just have to let it out in small ways: slam the cabinet door a little too hard, quietly move to a part in the house without people (really hard) or just rage-write (like this?). It has to do with the tides, for sure. Darn you, hormones, mood-swings and cramps. At the beginning of this week I made a decision to concentrate purely on acads and SV things and be mature in general about life and let me tell you the first day was the hardest. Shut myself in my room for a few hours after dinner, working on a profile for my non-fiction class, hoping to curry up some of that elusive writing-magic. I don't know, this class has been one of my most challenging classes so far. I think I predicted rightly from the beginning: this be the boss fight of the semester.

Other times, I am happy. I had a physics exam today, and everything was OK. Thank God. I accosted Josh about his answers as soon as we left the classroom and they were all the same, save for some. Phew. Thank you, physics book my parents got me for Christmas (yeah) and Youtube. Thank You, Lord. Physics is sometimes cool, especially if it involves the possibility of Star Wars.

About conversations.
They are wonderful when unedited, raw, in the flesh. Silences are wonderful, too. Today I walked with a friend after class was over--just your usual get-to-the-next-building-walk--and we were completely quiet. It had to do with the stress of cramming on my part. She's just a naturally quiet person. This is how it works also, during the car rides with Josh going to physics class. Just the sound of the car and the radio, or usually one of us is humming a song, or sometimes we talk about random things.

I had lunch with Yukari on Monday. It is possibly the last time I am going to see her, so now I have to dig up my Skype account so we can talk. I look forward to that. I can't imagine that it's almost been a year--wait, no, it hasn't. I met her in August, I think. My hair was short and I was wearing heels and this dress. She didn't have bangs, and she was wearing a plaid shirt, and it was her first time in church. I think this was the last Sunday Joh spent over here. Anyway, conversations lead to more conversations. Everything branches out.

About February.
Honestly? The nights are cold and the days are sweltering hot. Everyone's on board with the Valentine's day thing and hopefully we'll get to make some money off of these lovestruck people. I am possibly spending the 14th with the exec at the UP Fair, for more fuzz and feelings. I love these people.  For the people who will be clogging up the malls and the restaurants on that day: please give nice flowers to your ladies. They don't have to be roses, because everyone gives roses. Also, maybe you don't have to give flowers? Give a mixtape! (Unless you have really bad taste in music). I personally would love a mixtape, especially if it tells a story.

February is also acads being unreasonable month. And the month where you're supposed to SIGN UP TO ATTEND THE GRADUATION and ORDER YOUR CUSTOM SABLAY(!!!). Feel my excitement, silent people of the internet. I am going to be one of those people stopping by the roadside to steal a sunflower in April. Yep. One of those large yellow things has got my name on it, mark my words. But for now, the slaving away continues. It builds character, Hannah. Be patient. This is plan A and will continue to be plan A no matter what happens and tomorrow will take care of itself.

Low psychic distance.
I think that's the point of blogs though, isn't it? Personal ones. You're not really writing towards a specific interest group. This sort of thing is more for documentation. "This was my state of mind in the year _____, when I was ____ and horribly confused about life." Gotta appreciate the stream of consciousness sort of thing; the ability to be your unfiltered self. (Of course this is filtered, as I write, somehow. It's impossible to be completely unfiltered; only God can read and understand our unfiltered selves. What I mean is, I won't go back and pore over every little detail of this post, and worry that it's not literary enough. That's not the point.)

I have been friends with the Diamond people for a decade now.
It is amazing. And here are Cy and Jess, still having lunch with me, still linking me to self-made music. My high school barkada isn't large and loud and happy. It's small and, well, usually loud and funny and irreverent, and we're not the type to have reunions organized via social networks, but it is still all very genuine and small and comfortable. The afternoons and evenings still roll by. One day we'll gather at a front lobby bench and play rockxs again.

First things first. You ought to visit this blog which is my nonfiction class' community blog where we post all sorts of found things from the depths of the internet accompanied by well-written (hopefully) recommendations. I've found some pretty interesting posts so far, the most intriguing of which was a reaction to  reaction to the Philippine lit-in-English scene and their supposed puffed-upness, bias, etc. You should see for yourself!

Second, the life update. I know it's been months. It's July, and we're hurtling into our second/third month of the semester. It's been short but violent outbursts of rain, an increase in the mosquito population and the mad dash to acquire thesis sources before everyone else does. My thesis topic is going to be tackling (Philippine, of course) magic realist short stories, spirit of place and the journey of the young adult. Yes, that is a LOT of concepts thrown in together, which makes it quite specific, and also a pain to do research on since it's three different topics, haha. Anyway, I'm having fun working on this, and really, will willingly devote hours in the library just reading.  Despite Nick Joaquin writing magic realism before the Latin Americans did, there hasn't been a lot written about the Filipino vein of it. My thesis prof says it's a rather long tradition over here, which is understandable given how tightly bound we are to our folklore-- it seeps into modern life. Dwendes by the pool, ghosts in the campuses, snake-men in the malls and fortune-tellers right outside Quiapo church.

I'm not too sure if Candido's Apocalypse can be considered young adult + magic realist, but it does tackle the same themes as, say, Catcher in the Rye (Holden's "phony" and Bobby's "over-acting"). Thing is, Bobby's spell/dream/delusion is just that: his imagination going overboard. It isn't actually real. Great story, though. Growing up has never seemed this horrifying (and I mean that as a compliment).

As for story ideas, I've around two or three sitting around, still unwritten (I need time, a table in a room with air and sunlight, and a laptop with a working battery) but there's the whole of next sem for that, if I get my stuff done properly. There are ten of us in CW199 and my batchmates are noisy crazy funny and generally make for good company. It's a comforting thought that you suffer by group, but I'm sure these guys will make it through.

Thesis-ing aside, I've got a whole bunch of other things on my plate: a fledgeling involvement with our church/my org's ministry to international students, a stint as my org's secretary (horribly bogged down by Bukluran's nasty downtime, but hey, that is life) and a quest to hunt down certain freshman and engage them in Bible study for the rest of the year. (Tall order, but I pray these things shall be done with the utmost joy, out of a little daughter's wanting to make the Heavenly Father crinkle his moustache up into a smile.)

Books: I still haven't finished The Elephant Vanishes. I bought The Ground Beneath Her Feet by Salman Rushdie and it's been a rollicking good ride so far, what with the melding of Indian and Greek mythology and the language of Mordor. (I still remember that Ramayana play we did back in third year high and the dubious existence of my character. Did Sita really have a younger sister? Ah well.)

I'm going through this phase of wanting to do digital art again. I know I keep saying there's no time, but there actually is, if you make some. One of the first things that popped into my head was to make illustrations of Catdance (a comic I wrote about Pisay, still just in script form) and of Candido's Apocalypse (because seriously! dancing bejeweled creepy aunt skeleton!).

That's all for now, I suppose.

Life Update

It's ten days into 2012, and the start of my second week back in school. I feel restless, I don't know why. A lot of things have been happening lately, but they feel so external and out of focus. What's clear to me is that there is nothing in my immediate vicinity to read (by this, I mean fiction) and nothing (yet) to listen to. That's what 8tracks is for, however.