Althea Writes Here

Let me do the work of love, no matter how hard. Never mind if it's not instantly rewarding; it is infinitely more interesting. 

Last night, I dreamed that I was catching huge koi fish in an enormous but shallow pool shaped like Denmark. I don't even know what Denmark is shaped like, but I knew it was Denmark.  The fish were biting, but in some parts of the pool the water was not enough for fish to swim in, so I waded farther inward and tried to catch some more. In a deeper portion of the pool, I caught a giant goldfish but pulled out the bait (also a fish) and threw it back, like the others, I presume, since I kept catching fish but I wasn't carrying any.  Then I had to go to with family to Barcelona, where we stayed in an old house lent to us by a distant relative. The house was empty except for some supplies left in the cupboard.  We had our helper Jane with us, and for the most part of the trip, the two of us stayed in the house. I was content with it, being inside a house in Barcelona, and discovering the house's little spots of personality.  It wasn't a beautiful house; it wasn't intere

I dreamed that I was woken up by the scent of burning leaves, and I stepped out of the house to find out who had started a small bonfire. I wasn't dressed to go out, so instead I peered over the wall. I saw a friend who passed away this year. He smiled at me and I was startled to see him, remembering he had died. Then his face became that of his brother's.  "Oh, hi," I said, "I didn't know you were here." And I thought you were your dead sibling. "Has anyone been burning leaves?" I asked. He shook his head, and I went back inside the house to sleep.

I found the short story I based my ten-minute play on. I think it can still be polished, and maybe I will make some revisions, but again it was nice to read twenty-something me again.  I'm sharing what is still a draft, though this story has already been workshopped in my Fiction class and has been revised afterwards. 

Image by Klaus Stebani from Pixabay Last night, I dreamed that I was just leaving work in Alabang. Or was it school? Anyway, I was leaving and I saw someone I used to love. He was dressed very well, in a red shirt and black jeans, a jacket, and brown Oxfords (not brogues). He also had dark eyeglasses on. He was smiling, but not at me. I didn't want to be seen, so I hurriedly walked away. When I realized he was just behind me, walking in the same direction, I walked faster. It started drizzling, and I walked even faster. He and some other guys hitched a ride on the back of a pickup truck and they passed me, and I saw him see me, but I kept walking and walked even faster when he got off the truck. I walked and walked and suddenly I was in Cainta, far away from him. I walked towards a group of people, and I discovered they were at a riverbank. I saw a man I recognized as a friend's father. He and his companions were fishing. I peered at the water and saw that it was part ice but

I've been sorting out my old files, and I came across this ten-minute play I wrote for a special class in DLSU that was inspired by a short story I wrote. I'll try to look for the short story (it still needs to be revised!), but I wanted to share this because it was nice to remember the person I was who wrote this in 2005.  If I'm not mistaken, this was turned staged by DLSU students that year. I didn't get to watch it, unfortunately.

Beauty and terror--with so much becoming more beautiful precisely because of terror. This is 2020.  I'm surprised with myself that I haven't written anything about the pandemic. I suppose it's because it has literally invaded every aspect of my life and I've become its prisoner, like most everyone else in the world. I guess I didn't want to think about because I always have to think about it. If I could never think about it again, I would. But that's not the only reason. In March, I simply walked away from a life that I realized was completely wrong for me. I left my job because I wasn't liking the person I was becoming and, at the same time, I ended what I felt was a special friendship for exactly the same reason.  Walking away was a clear and easy decision, especially from my job, but the execution was nevertheless extremely painful. Then suddenly the whole world was on lockdown and I was surviving a broken heart and a bruised ego and a pandemic.  It'

Disney just featured a parol and parol-making (plus the line "From our family to yours") in its holiday advertising, and I'm reminded of that traumatic parol-making contest that we had in grade school.  I'm not sure if I'm remembering this correctly, but I think we did it twice--once in Grade 5 and another time in Grade 6--but the star parol was for Grade 6. What I remember was that we had to order a set of materials from the school and we made part of the parol in school, with the guidance of a teacher (was it Art class?), with the rest of it to be completed at home. I was given blue and orange tissue paper and some cellophane, just enough for the star and its tail. I don't remember any lights or batteries, so I think it was just supposed to be a basic parol. I don't remember fixing up the star frame, so it's either the parol set came with a ready star or I didn't have a difficult time setting it up (maybe my father was home and he helped?). What

I'm terrified because of the typhoon howling outside our window, blowing away bits of our house, and so I'm scrounging in my mind for whatever comfort I can find.  In fear, my mind is asking whether in this pandemic all that is left for us is this endless struggle to survive, and I find myself despairing: That is not a life.  But in faith, I think of all of you that I have loved and continue to love, in big ways and small ways, whether you knew it or not. And the wind is howling terribly outside our window, but I'm finding little nuggets of peace inside my heart.  I have a good, though small, life. I've had big joys and small joys. I've had quiet loves and great loves.  I guess that is  really how one measures one's life? If I regret anything, it's only that I could have been kinder. And maybe nastier to those who deserved it. Or maybe I wish I had been more honest--both in being kind and in ... not.  I wish I had been more honest with how I feel about peopl