DEATHDAY PHOTOS

"A death anniversary (also called death day or deathday) is a custom observed in several Asian cultures including China, India, Japan, Korea, and Vietnam, as well as in other nations with significant overseas Chinese, Japanese, Korean, and Vietnamese populations. Like a birthday, it is celebrated each year, but instead of on the date of birth of the individual being celebrated, it is celebrated on the day on which a family member or other significant individual died."

SMS COUNTRY

07/04/09, 06:35 - 15:15 (Unedited original content)

TIM: Manong,boardng nka ?

B.A.I.A.S.: Giatay wa ko kasakay eroplano. Na-late ko pero naka-rebook na rong hapon.

TIM: He!he!he!.

TBN: Jun, wa load c auntie nimo. Ni tagbo ra ba c timay, imo na gi text? Waka nagpa alarm arn ka maka mata? Ad2 daan airport.

JOJ3: Dugay ka kmata cle? Hehe..mau ky nk.rebook ka. Sabagay di man peak seas0n.U

Church: Giahak r jd 2a n unta ka s atoa kron.

B.A.I.A.S.: Mao. Isoga ni Mama. Naka-rebook pero nakabayad ko nearly 2K. Mga 15 minutes ra airport gikan ako gipuy-an pero nakamata ko 6:30 nya flyt 7:00. Ako body clock nisunod sa usual nako nga pagmata.u

Church: Ngano man intawon nga la ka gpaalarm. Ingna nlng n ugma k nlng mouli para d cla mgsalig. Para pg-abot nimo did2 d cla msuko. He he he

JOJ3: Haha..kataw.anan jd ka cle!U

B.A.I.A.S.: Worse kay ni-attempt pa gyud ko apas. Haha close na ang counters & i was too early for da next flyt.u

JOJ3: Haha..well, charge 2 experience. Btaw, du0l n kau im0 blay. Haha..u

MOM3: Wat tym imo flyt rn? wa pd ka matulog?

B.A.I.A.S.: 2pm. Ganiha pa man ko mga 7am diri airport, na-late lang ko ganiha so next flyt na karon hapon.u

B.A.I.A.S.: Sus nabilin pud sa trolley ako gipalit nga Jolly hotdog. Ako gibalikan karyot ra, wala na ag trolley hehe. Gikaon dagway janitor haha.u

MOM3: Palit na lang lain.

B.A.I.A.S.: Dia na man ko pre-departure. Ag Jollibee tua pa sa gawas.u

TIM: Ka osik a2 nong.wat tym ka gkan dnha?

B.A.I.A.S.: Mao, hehe. 2:30pm, abot diha mga 3:30pm.u

MOM3: Lunch unta 2 nimo?

B.A.I.A.S.: Oo hehe. Busog raman pud ko.u

MOM3: K. Pag abot na lang dre.

------------------------------------------------------------

P.S. While partly on the subject of airports, rhetorically I am asking: Should I just text (formally, send SMS to) T3 authorities to make sure their already super-short (ergo: inadequate) walkalator/ramp is working all the time if they insist on not allowing trolley access inside the impossibly wide distribution of gates at the pre-departure area?

STARDOM

Haha, out of the blue I revisited my centuries-old website and saw this movie poster.

Guess who guest stars.

REQUIEM

I will be going home for the third time this year on July 4th for the July 5th anniversary of my father's death. It has been two years already and like most other things we are fond of remembering, it seems like time just flies.

There have been deaths in between, famous personalities and ordinary people alike. In fact we don't need official statistics telling us that people do die everyday. The business of dying is so ordinary --- that is if it happens to other people.

Nothing prepares you for a death in the family. I will forever remember that night I received through text message the grim confirmation that my father had died. Yes, he had been sickly. Yes, throughout that fateful day I had growing suspicion that something was wrong when I could not contact his cellphone. Yes, I had been to burials of friends and acquaintances. But when it finally happens to your family, it could take years before you can attain some comfort in the realization that it is normal to be unprepared.

For death comes like a thief in the night, the saying goes. You have invested a lot in material things that suddenly get stolen. In the same way, you have invested a lot in terms of emotional attachement to your parents who brought you into this world. Whether we admit it or not, it is wired in us to be altruistic toward our parents.

Through these two years, I have intermittent dreams about my father but none more so in the first few days after his death. I tried to analyze these dreams and my own feelings about the loss. I figured out that what hurt me the most goes round and round until it comes back to me. In my mind, I have tried blaming my father for dying the way he did. I have tried to rearrange circumstances so that he may not have died the way he did. But I have forgotten the reality that we will all die sooner or later. And asked myself if I had ever even been thankful that both my father and I survived potential death in a fire that happened in Manila five years earlier. The dreams often involve ordinary conversations between us in the many times that he had visited me here in the big city.

When he was here in Manila, he would often check on me a lot. He would ask about my personal situation, my financial concerns, my job, everything. I was always annoyed when he did it. Deep inside though, I was compelled (perhaps all of us are) to show him what I have done so far in my life, maybe exaggerating a little, trying to impress him. There is this need to serve our parents. When we are young, we need them for support but in our minds there's that promise to give back in the future. While we still cannot fulfill that promise, we resort to impressing them with good grades while in school or doing really fine with our jobs after graduation.

I guess it was mainly the frustration of not having achieved that promise which hurt the most. So it goes back to me. Had I been one who had capacity to serve back my father when he was alive, it wouldn't have mattered so much that he died soon.

With this realization, I now have a totally different view about my parents. My mother and I, though there are issues we don't see eye to eye, we are always in good terms. I'm taking extra effort, more than I used to anyway.

TRIBUTE

After giving it some thought, I consider this to be Michael Jackson's best single. No, it's not Billie Jean or Thriller. It's not even another favorite of mine, Man in the Mirror. Here it is.(And R.I.P. Michael Jackson.)

DEAD AT 50

WE'RE ALL THE SAME

"Ang natutuwang baliw, yaman ay pinagyabang
Dahil ari niya raw, ang araw pati ang buwan
May isang sa yaman ay, salapi ang hinihigan
Ngunit ang gintong baul, panay kasalanan ang laman

Sinasambit ng baliw, awit na walang laman
Ulo mo'y maiiling, tatawagin mong hangal
May isang hindi baliw, iba ang awit na alam
Buong araw kung magdasal, sinungaling rin naman"

But there's always redemption to strive for.

TRAVELING ALONE

What I love most about traveling is getting to see myself in an entirely different environment. Alas, it takes a lot of cash to travel. And I don't mean group travel of the sort that companies do for employees' rest and recreation or schools do for educational tours.

When I do travel, I want it raining and raining hard. Being stuck in the house hearing the thunderous drops outside makes me feel I'm in prison. Realistically, it has something to do with cool air while traveling on foot. There's nothing more discomforting than sweat racing down your forehead covering your face completely while you frantically wipe it with your sleeves. (Yeah that's how we do it sans a hanky.) Conversely, there's nothing as refreshing as nature cooling you down instead of the monotonous room air-conditioning.

While not officially traveling, I make it a point to go somewhere, anywhere within the city, when it rains. I won't drench myself, I would just enjoy the cool breeze. If the circumstances are right, I could find myself inside a pub enjoying cold beer. A few friends might come along but it suits me fine drinking alone.

Rain or shine, I love Baguio the most. I know I will be back there. Now if one can only transport oneself ala-Star Trek, it would be very nice.

REALITY CHECK

This is how New York City already looked like 77 years ago or in 1932. Just think about it.

FITTING POEM

This resonated with me upon reading it. What a poem! It captures my feeling exactly about "those I do not love," or "those I have simply fallen out of love." (Not that I do it often; in fact for me it's not only romantic love but all kinds of love.)

A "Thank You" Note
by Wislawa Szymborska, Nobel laureate

There is much I owe
to those I do not love.

The relief in accepting
they are closer to another.

Joy that I am not
the wolf to their sheep.

My peace be with them
for with them I am free,
and this, love can neither give,
nor know how to take.

I don't wait for them
from window to door.
Almost as patient
as a sun dial,
I understand
what love does not understand.
I forgive
what love would never have forgiven.

Between rendezvous and letter
no eternity passes,
only a few days or weeks.

My trips with them always turn out well.
Concerts are heard.
Cathedrals are toured.
Landscapes are distinct.

And when seven rivers and mountains
come between us,
they are rivers and mountains
well known from any map.

It is thanks to them
that I live in three dimensions,
in a non-lyrical and non-rhetorical space,
with a shifting, thus real, horizon.

They don't even know
how much they carry in their empty hands.

"I don't owe them anything",
love would have said
on this open topic.

[via Eatingthesun.blogspot.com]