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*

Thought fragments:

Today: non-fiction workshop. Ma'am on my piece: not as polished as my previous essays. Feya called it 'essentialist' and I'm not sure how I'm going to fix that.

Too much "I," always. Everywhere. The self must be restrained, eliminated. Listen more, even if the little gremlin inside won't shut up.

The rise and fall of a puppy's belly as it twitches in its sleep.

Summer is here and it's time to buy a pair of sunglasses.

Parables.

Balancing act: Beach missions, please. One easter cantata away won't hurt.

May seventeen, maybe.

I wonder how girls with short shorts survive hot, sweaty jeep rides. Your underthighs stick to the plastic covering of the seats. The cloth rides up too high on your thigh, making it uncomfortable.

Libraries are tricky to fall asleep in--so many people are watching and not watching. The janitor tries to clean under your chair while you lie slumped at the table, half-consciously trying not to drool.

I don't frequent Starbucks, but today I wanted a milkshake-ish drink, so I passed by. It was disappointing and runny. Cream and cookies tossed into ice, and blended. I was looking for a smooth, creamy frothy thing, rich and thick. Next time.

Sometimes there is the tendency to stare out into space and smile while walking, murmuring happy things, being one-sidedly affectionate because, displacement. And miles and maps and other things. But there will be a good ending to this story, I hope and pray.

The puppy has opened its eyes. It looks slightly disgruntled. But it is still fat and content.

Feelings all over. Endings, goodbyes, dinners into the evening.

Fully Booked doesn't seem to be restocking that one kind of pen I always buy. The only other source would be at the store in AS. Maybe I should hoard some towards the end of March.

Realization: I could've asked more questions about people, back then. But I didn't. I was too busy making comics and reading novels.

A lot of the apps right now want to join the missions team, which is very encouraging. The funny thing is that they're all introverts. Join the club, darlings. May you find your hearts here.

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.

I've had a few notable shopkeeper-encounters during the past week. The first was on Sunday, when I went to get lunch for 35 people at SC. I ordered 20 burgers from Zodiac, a computer shop/burger shop/ice cream shop. I'd only been there once before when Jessica dragged me up to school me in the ways of Diablo. We were on the second floor and the aircon was broken and there was a lot of trash lying around, and at one point I heard some rustling right before a mouse darted out from behind one of the monitors. Token hikikkomori zone.

Anyway, there were two people behind the counter--a guy and a girl--when I asked about their burgers. I asked for bun size and ingredients, which they supplied, and ended up ordering 20 Big Burgers. The guy had to call his boss first. They both looked pretty amused at the amount, and at that it was "for now." They were nice to me. Ordering 35 Big Burgers was too expensive, so I went to Rodic's to get 15 bacon sandwiches. They were also amused and unusually nice to me. The man in charge of making the bacon sandwiches updated me once in a while, without me asking. "Ma'am, malapit na 'to matapos!" Shopkeepers like you better if you order in bulk, I think. (Like the time we bought 5 kilos of kangkong from one vendor--but that's another story.)

The other time was yesterday, when I was ordering flowers for delivery. The shopkeeper was pretty chill about everything, until I felt the ground shake and, panicking, said, "Kuya, naramdaman mo ba nag-move 'yung ground?" And he laughed at me and told me it was just the elevator. I was having brief visions of a 7.0 magnitude earthquake and the two upper floors of SM North collapsing. I was also thinking that that sort of death would make for a good story element.

Before she went into her room to take a nap, mother told me to watch out for the Eggman (the Egg delivery man) who would probably come by the house in a few minutes. My bedroom window has a garage/garden view, so I'd be the first one to notice. I was streaming episode 6 of Bakuman when I fell asleep. I woke up two hours later, at 5:30. I'd dreamt of humanoid aliens in tracksuits with a thick melting-pot american accent beaming to Metro Manila and making odd comments like 'it looks just like Japan!' and flipping through a couple volumes of manga.

Someone yelled "Tao po!" by the gate a bit later, so I immediately got up, grabbed the egg-money off the top of the piano and went outside to the garage. But it was not the eggman, just a letter deliveryman. I signed the receiving slip that came with the letter and handed it back to the guy.

The air during 5:30 is nice and cool since the sun's going down. A lot of kids and their yayas like staying outside at this time, so there were screaming children running down the street. The yellow-orangey sunlight was pretty strong in the west, bathing that end of the road and the houses lining it in goldness.

I was in the garage, opening the screen door to the house when a person's gold-bathed face flashed into sight for maybe two seconds. It caught my eye because the sunset made the face completely yellow-orange. It was a young woman, probably one of the yayas. The face appeared at the start of the alley next to our house and then disappeared. I waited for a few seconds, expecting to see her walk into the alley, but no one was there.