the accidental tourist -- borrowed from Anne Tyler

there's something about being a tourist, a sort of separation and a little surprise about the things you find out about yourself-- it's a sort of a getting-to-know-oneself-experience and you find that you agree with yourself on those points too.

we went to Honkong for our honeymoon, a little pause from our usually timid lives and the trip involved bravado and a lot of peso conversions, of course. i love to travel. i love what goes on and our little trip affirmed me on that one. the experience was really really worth it.

but i found that there was a little heart-twinge at dusk and was surprised by it. even being with him could not appease it. looking at those strange faces and strange places when it was near dark puts a bit of longing in my heart for my familiar. it was a bit odd because i am a going-overseas advocate and yet my heart just had to had that pull and regret and calling for home.

now i know that i love being a tourist. being in one place at one time for some silly moments but that's about it. home after that would be a lovely breath of fresh air. but if i have to be there anywhere for a long time, then i know there would be a lot of prepping to do.

thoughts of an ex-bride

really, there is no need to rehash things. no need at all to feel like i am in the middle of nowhere, small and vulnerable. there is no need for it.

after the hair raising ride of the wedding preparations, things are going back to normal. week after the wedding i was feeling a little bored, longing for the endless text messages, unknown phone calls, unabashed queries, strong opinions, unwanted point of views, confusions, uncategorized thoughts, haphazard decisions, quick ones, definite no-nos, lovely yes-es, repeated issues, unwelcome dramas, compromises, reflections, quiet talks, heated discussions, shared realizations,

being swamped with people, thoughts, events, work, preparations, and being swamped, period.

it was all a hay ride.

going on a crescendo.

everything all at once but not really. it was all created. i was creating it and i was wallowing both in good and bad ways.

and now, no text messages. no unknown calls. all quiet. thoughts are slowly settling down. precipitations close to none.

and slowly i was closing in on bored. and worried sick about putting on some excitement. some drama. some. something.

all done and finished. and now, back to life. back to the regular drama of getting a cab in the morning to work and that's about it--

re-focusing and finding meaning again in things like waking up and going to work and trying to make that exciting--

then today it's all about our little room in a houseful of people and about making things perfect, functional, easy, smooth. and feeling overdrawn because things are far from there yet. feeling a little stretched and being a little suspicious that it is just an inflection, something to occupy the mind, an exercise of drama.

and there's life, a lifetime of it stretched out so long ahead of us.

and maybe a niggling question of: what to do, what to do?

(one really has to occupy the mind to keep thoughts at bay).

Everybody's such a fan of "moving on"

'Moving on' has become such an abused, overused, overrated phrase. As usual, we get into this bandwagon of what are accepted and expected behaviour and "moving on" has become quite popular.



We have forgotten how harsh and unrelenting it could be and we always miss the process in between entirely.



I am no fan of "moving on", you see. I am all for it, sure. I see it as the great finish, the goal, the target. But not now, not yet.



She laughed at me and goaded me with the fact that she has "moved on", while I, poor little me is stuck in the rot they left me. True, I am the one getting old with my anger and I'm the one who gets to have a black heart with all these hatred in my heart, but that is my way to be. I am in no rush, in no hurry to be anywhere else than where I am right now.



They have done me wrong and for me, it is important to be shocked, to be mad. To be hurt, to writhe in pain. I want to be bothered by it and to understand how painful it is because it is so. It is not otherwise. I want to bathe and wallow in it while it is the way it is and not close my eyes and pretend and reassure myself that it is not and it should not be so. That is my way to be.

I do not want to cast my feelings aside and forget how painful things are when they are painful. For me, pain is not something to get away from, to rid yourself of, to be over with. I imagine how she has moved on so easily from her past hurts and disappointments as if it they were a phase she is over and done with so that she has now become un-feeling and without conscience, making her inflict pain on another easily, without thought, without pause. For her, being in pain and causing another pain is "all in a day's work", get over it....

For me, pain is to be studied, reflected on, to immerse yourself with, to befriend and to be one with if only so you do not inflict it so easily on another. I want to be confused and wallow in it and be wrong about it, understanding how it is to be there so that I become careful about hurting others in turn.

We are a society who is so concerned with the end-product. We want to be on the opposite end of the spectrum, wanting to be in the destination rather than in the journey. We want end results, casting our eyes on the far horizons, contemplating the probabilities, leaving the in-betweens empty of our attention and honor.

We become happy and comfortable with the thought of someone moving on and we celebrate that occasion, happy to forget her pain for her, relieved that she is over it. We are all in a rush to be in that imagined happy ending...

I am stuck in my pain.

I honor it. I honor my anger. I honor her who has caused it if only so I would not be like her. In what she has done, I begin to understand that I do not want to be like that. In how she presented herself in situations and in her choices, it became clear to me that there are always a range of choices to pick from and it boils down to who you are and the kind of person you want to be. For now, I will be a ying and she will be my yang -- that other side of me. She likes to blame it on another and on the situation, not seeing that she has it in her power to do right. And whatever the choices are, it is always good to be in that place where you do not inflict pain on another because that's just not something you would do.

I am here. right now. unmoving. And I will not move until I am finished and give it its due. I will be here until I am not. Eventually I will move on, that is the nature of things, but I will not bandy it about, because for me, that is not the point. Healing will come, it is in the order of things, it is the law of nature. But until then, you can goad me and laugh at me and sing your silly songs at me, rub it on me as you only can because you are the way you are. It's actually funny how you are claiming you'd moved on already because of course you have, because you are not the one left crying, for you, after you've done your thing and made your mark, it's finished and done. And so I give you the happiness of the thought that I am hurting, because I know that feeds you and strengthens you...

Just until when I no longer am.

By then you will just be a hazy memory, some silly girl who did bad things because it's in her nature to do so.

TAlk to me

For a bride-to-be like me, it would be wise to wonder. It would be wise to wonder if I am doing the right thing, and if this is it for me. I think that if I do, considering, it would be most normal, even a prerequisite; an honest part of a very delicate process.

I am right smack in the middle of one of the biggest events of my life and it would be right to want to step back a little and survey the room so-to-speak, before actually stepping inside and bathing in the all of it. I think that's total wisdom right there.

But just like right now, I find myself in one of the saddest part of the day, windows open, the skies suffused with the gloomiest color of grey I'd ever seen and yet I do not feel fear.

My heart is not racing.
I do not feel that deep longing that suffocates and stops the breathing,
that twinge of pain in the heart that has no basis, no source, but ever present--
all those all-too-familiar feelings induced by this time of day that's been constantly nagging, constantly there--

they're all gone.

I am on the brink of the point-of-no-return and yet in my heart is something solid. A certainty; a beautiful peace that I've yet to know and yet welcome, is there. And if that is some sort of language that is to be understood, then I take it to mean that I am on the right track; that here, right now, with this guy, is where I am supposed to be at. Right on target.

I Know I'm Not Supposed To

On one of my innocent outings yesterday -- not buying, not doing anything one, I ended up with some items. They are the least expensive among the lot as I have to be practical and er, economical, but still, they satisfy my appetite for desirable. With no doubt, they are good purchases, these are items you could easily bring home.

I bought the All-One, which, after one use, proved to be a wonderful purchase, organically qualified, smooth skin and wonderful lavender scent. I think this line will be one of my staples.

I also have this!

I haven't had a facial, truth to tell. That's because I don't have the patience to sit around waiting for someone to finish doing something on my face. I cannot even stand a pedicure or a manicure for the same reason. I get too impatient for them to finish, I'd rather do it myself. Because of this, I am on a constant lookout for a good facial cleanser, the one that would make/do some badly needed miracles for me. This product is organic, which is a good thing, but it would take some time to determine its effectivity. I've used it but once, let's wait and see.

Then I have the Nature's Gate shampoo. It's nothing life changing, not shiny, not frilly. Very cheap too. I've used this product before. I buy it to quiet my worry about using too much palmolive and sunsilk which work for me, don't get me wrong, but I'd rather use something with a home made feel to it....

And so, the innocent did not turn out so innocent after all. Tsk.

Thoughts from home

I've been homebound for a week now, cautious about going out because for me that would mean spending a lot and also because work won't be two weeks from now. So home it is for me.

Laundry still piles up. Dust gathers. Sheets get changed once a week--
I'm not very quick on the household chores. But not far behind either.

For the first time today though, I set foot outside for a short, mundane, grocery shopping. Usually, that's something I enjoy. I am the type of person who, without anything to purchase loves to go to grocery stores and look at the array of items on the shelves. The happy shiny things sitting there waiting to be bought makes me happy. But being home for so long and belt-tightening make the outing unattractive to me.

The first thing I noticed when I went out was my thicker waist, my jeans told me so. And how pretty and interestingly smart and busy the two girls sitting in starbucks were.

Everyone looked to me like they have some sort of purpose.
One girl I saw by the sidewalk was even wearing black-heeled shoes. I'm sure they were intended for something...

And there were those old men who easily coagualate in coffee shops sitting also in starbucks talking business or not. Reading newspapers. Occupied, so very occupied. Like they've done something for the day already and are finished and are there because they're done.

Then the book-readers. Mesmerized.

I've been gone from the outside world so long things look different to me. Not for better, certainly not worst. But it brought me to thinking that I've lost that rhythm that makes me fit the mold, when I, just like everyone else goes my own way, so very unconcious about myself, primarily present in a certain area, at a certain time, because I'm there for something, and I'm there without really thinking I'm there. I just am. I just fall in step with everyone else and part of the picture.

The thing is, being home made me lose interest in so many things, I got easy. I lost that drive, that desire that makes certain things important somehow. I became less interested in getting something, being somewhere, because I see so little that makes them a must do or a must have. Everything are just part of a thought, nothing more, immersed as I am in my own little world.

Now, I don't know if I miss being that other. Continuously seeking. Having. Living so many different selves-- the reading girl, the girl by the sidewalk, even the old men who were there because they've done all else....

Pretty soon I will lose all conciousness again and just do and do and do.

Going Back to the Basics

As a kid, I was taught that before I could read the day away, I had to finish all my household chores first. Errands and routine chores lined up as a prelude to what would be pleasurable activities. Bathed and clean, I could then call the day mine, to do with as I pleased.


Today, it is aptly called delaying gratification, simply the maturity to wait for something that is desired until it could be achieved -- all in its right time and its right place. A simple motivation to catapult me into doing the nitty gritty details of my tasks so I could finally do whatever it is I have planned for the day.

And this is rightly so. There is every good intention here. Thereafter, pure and simple bliss.

On one hand, there is something else I learned on the way. I became familiar with the all too uncomfortable feeling of IMPATIENCE.

I became impatient with the small details, and attacked things generally, with no attention and love for the unnoticeable. So long as I finish one and move on to the next, I am okay and good.

Like a well-oiled machine, I go through the motions and practice what was preached but didn't learn anything else. It all became a wily act, an act of survival. In my haste to go to the next level in this game I played, I forgot many things.

I forgot to brush my teeth slowly and savor the minty feel of the toothpaste in my mouth, as each stroke of the brush washes away tons of bacteria. I forgot to enjoy the feel of a clean mouth after this ritual.

I forgot to wipe surfaces gently and with attention to the direction of the wood, there was no talking to the wood-spirit and communing with nature in my own living room. I forgot that.

I forgot to fold clothes neatly, sorting every color, classifying each cloth according to use, and perhaps remembering things about the clothes or those they belong to. Sending them some kindly thought.

I forgot to change the linens slowly, lingeringly. Forgetting to smell the sun in the fabric and the picture of them dancing outside to the rhythm of a wind that was barely there in this hot, hot summertime.

I forgot.

I forgot to savor and relish and revere. I forgot to take my time and pause and appreciate what's going on and bathe in the rigours of the ordinary and find pleasure in repetition.

But now I have to conciously take the time to remember.

Re-member.
Put things together again, make sense of things and put value in the littlest detail.

My way of preparing for my little ones who I will be teaching in turn.