Skip to main content

I'm still at work

I should have left a couple of hours ago, but I'm still here, surfing the Internet, chatting on Yahoo, updating my blog, but doing nothing, really.

There are days when I feel I've built a whole lot of nothing in my life. Fortunately, the days I feel otherwise are more numerous. Unfortunately, this isn't one of those days--and it hasn't been one of those days for a couple of days now.

I've been having strange dreams that blend some sort of ecstasy with a strange level of agony.

I dreamed of going to a disgustingly crowded festival in Spain and not really getting to the festival itself, but going up on a footbridge to escape the pulsing madness, where my friends and I and nobody else encounter beautiful flocks of birds that fluttered around us, leaving gifts of balloons and books and colorful Coca-cola bottles. I want to shout to the festival crowd to look up, but I am too far above. A raven speaks to me, shows me a non-winning lottery ticket meant for some other sad and sick girl, and flies off with my red balloon to make her happy. I wave the raven a happy farewell and wish it does its job well.

I dreamed of heading for Japan, on a plane, with my grad school friend Jenny and PhilSTAR friend Jing's daughter Cen-cen. The plane had colorful bunk beds for seats. I walk the wide aisle, find the refrigerator bearing limitless foil packs of fruit juice and packs of cream and feta cheese. A passenger gets some cheese, and two flight attendants scold him because they were for flight attendants only. I smile at them conspiratorially, as if I hadn't been thinking of getting some cheese for myself, and politely ask for more fruit juice. Suddenly, the plane lurches forward, and for a minute, I convince myself that it has taken off, but when I look out the window, I realize it is driving all the way across my country, using it as one long runway.

And the view is spectacular, but it seems that I'm the only one really enjoying it: There's a pink dugong in the waters; a whale; a house carved between caves; a beautiful beach house on a tiny island with three statues of women leading the way to its door; a market made of bamboo featuring handmade furniture that made generous use of capiz and other shells; a festival; a church dedicated to St. Therese in the Muslim part of Mindanao. From Manila, the plane goes to Iloilo, then Davao, passing through many things in full color. Then it heads back to Manila to finally fly to Japan.

When it's finally flying, I remember I didn't bring money. I didn't have my ATM. But my mother was on the plane, and she had a flat in Nagoya where we could stay. I decide to be zen about it, and then suddenly, we're back home and Jenny is telling me what a nice trip we had.

REM sleep, but no rest, so I've been feeling tired.

Popular posts from this blog

The work for which all other work is but preparation

I've been thinking, off and on, of something I once read: The purpose of marriage is not happiness but holiness. Never having been a "good" Christian despite my many attempts, I couldn't understand this line of thinking. Having been raised Catholic, I understood "holiness" to have as one of its main ingredients suffering — and why even want to get married if to be successful at it means to suffer? But these words never left me, bobbing up every now and then from the flotsam and jetsam of my brain. Until, one day, it dawned on me what the statement meant for me. On that same day, I also realized that I do want the gift of marriage. In fact, that is my Christmas wish this year.  My view is not a biblical view, but I don't think it strays too far from it. To be holy is to be set apart from others, as God is, in his perfect goodness and righteousness, in his perfect love (yes, this is biblical; yes, I know I said I wasn't looking at it biblically).  The

Visita Iglesia

My mom and I went with my sister, her family, and the in-laws to their Visita Iglesia for the Holy Week. I'd never done this before, but I had such an interesting time, and I think I'd like to do this again next year. We didn't do the Stations of the Cross, though. We just prayed and lit candles. A lot of candles. Here's a list of the churches we visited. Recto The University Belt churches, all of which are within walking distance to each other. The path to all those churches were lined with vendors hawking all sorts of things, from food, like calamares (I'd never seen calamares being sold as street food before! Lucky U-Belt kids!), all-sorts-of-balls-and-the-like (chicken, squid, fish, kikiam , and kwek-kwek ), to bottled water and flavored beverages, to candles and religious paraphernalia. 1. The San Beda Church , which I loved for the gilt of gold on the statues and the ceiling, and because once a Bedan, always a Bedan, though I didn't go to San Beda

Dream: Disaster

Last night's dream. This is a long one. I was in a management class that suddenly became a cooking class. The teacher whipped up this Italian dish with pasta, meat and some mushrooms and vegetables. "Would anyone like to have this?" she asked us. Nobody replied. A bit miffed, she handed it to the student in front of her: me. The dish looked delicious, actually, so I stood up and went around the classroom to get everyone to try it. Some of my classmates feigned interest, and some didn't bother to hide their annoyance, but most got some of the food. The plate was soon empty, even for me, so I went back to my seat. The teacher, who'd been watching me serve her dish, asked, "Why do you have blood on the seat of your pants? Do you have your period?" Surprised, and suddenly anxious, I whispered, "I just finished my, um, girly thing, ma'am, but I'll go check. I might have just sat on something that looks like blood." I saw what looked like blo