It Boggles My Mind: Duluth's Polar Bear Plunge

SOME JUMPED in yelling caveman yells (I go kill dat mammoth today! Aaaaaaaaiieeeee!). Some walked solemnly across the boardwalk and looked behind them at their loved ones, as if it was going to be their last moments on earth. Some look scared and unwilling, like captives forced by pirates to walk the gang plank. But what ever! They were all doing it for a good cause, and that was to raise money for Minnesota's special olympics. Hmmm, I wouldn't be surprised if at least one of them--after jumping into that frigid lake--eventually becomes a beneficiary of this fund raiser ("Yeeeessss, I lost this leg during Polar Bear Plunge 2005. And um, the other one had to be amputated after Polar Bear Plunge 2006...What about you? What? Oh, weeeelll, I had nipples until last year too.")
More pictures:

MR. HAWAIIAN SHORTS. Brave man summons the gods of the tropics by wearing charmed shorts.

THE PLUNGE. In the end, it was his thick, American-Scandinavian er, skin, that protected him from the bone-chilling claws of Lake Superior.

TEST OF FRIENDSHIP. Yup. Friends who plunge together, stay together.

NO FAIR. He had warm clothes on. Let's hope he brought some extra clothes for the chilly trip back to the house.

THE REAL POLAR BEARS. Medics stay warm and dry in their extra-thick scuba suits.

Diversity Class 101

SPOKE in a Community Education class in UMD with two other international students, Finland guy (his name is hard to pronounce and so I can't remember it) and Pramod from Mauritius. I can probably say the three of us got something out of it because it is always nice to talk about one's home country and to remember what you like about it. Finland guy rhapsodized about long, unhurries meals. Pramod reminisced about the many festivals and traditions in Mauritius that have influences from India and France. And I talked happily about siestas and the November 1st parties for the dead.

We couldn't have been talking to a more catatonic group of students though. There were some questions from them, upon the teachers prodding. But the girl who asked the questions had a somewhat dead expression. No matter how much we told them about our food and traditions, we failed to get a spark from most of the students' eyes. And yes, most of the questions were asked by the professor who kept them coming one after the other, perhaps a little out of embarrassment. She kept repeating the phrase "These lovely people have taken time out to be with us to answer OUR questions..."

I feel for the students. There must be a better way to ease them out of their comfort zone and to spark their curiosity about other countries. If we had more time, it would have been a good idea to bring pictures or to present something on wide screen. We international students are so used to being temporary ambassadors of our countries that I am sure most of us have a powerpoint file about our countries somewhere.

I also wondered why they didn't ask many questions about community health. Because it was a class on community health. Hmmmm...

Meeting Cheryl Strayed on a Snowy Day

FRIDAY, yesterday, was a day of flurries. I was stuck at home in the morning reading research method books, thinking evil thoughts about a professor who is quite clueless about what she/he is teaching, and keeping the little plump kitten off my laptop keyboard. I look up from my mountain of books and notes and journal articles and see that there is a snowstorm outside. I can barely see the trees out my window. Everything is flurry-ious white and moving and swirling.

I made a split-second decision to junk to school work +(for the moment) and drive to the library where a favorite author of mine is going to read from her new book. But alas, I have to snovel (shovel snow) my way to the drive way to dig out the truck. Can't have it getting stuck in the snowbank. It's a four-wheel drive, but better safe than frozen.

When I get there, a plump woman in glasses, with graying hair and a heavy Scandinavian accent is introducing Cheryl Strayed. Cheryl Strayed who has such a magnificant name. An interesting name. A name that has echoes in her prose. If you want to know what I mean, hunt down a copy of The Best American Essays 2003, and look for the essay "The Love of My Life." Quite an excellent piece of prose. Her mother--who was a mature student here at UMD--dies of cancer and Cheryl grieves by being a slut. You know I can't quite do justice to the essay by writing a summary here. Let's just say, it's a well-written piece of work. And I was quite happy that UMD was part of her book tour.

Anyhow, there was Cheryl Strayed, reading a few pages from her book "Torch" and I feel I know the book intimately even if I hadn't read it yet. That's because novel is an extension/expansion of her essay "The Love of My Life".

Here is the first paragraph of the essay:

The first time I cheated on my husband, my mother had been dead for exactly one week. I was in a cafe in Minneapolis watching a man. He watched me back. He was slightly pudgy, with jet black hair and skin so white it looked as if he'd powdered it. He stood and walked to my table and sat down without asking. He wanted to know if I had a cat. I folded my hands on the table, steadying myself; I was shaking, nervous at what I would do. I was raw, fragile, vicious with grief. I would do anything.

I am a big fan of excellent beginnings and this is a good example. The paragraph sets the tone for the entire essay. Its language is simple, but the sentiment it conveys is thick with humanity. It is the sort of scene that you can't quite lay out, baroque-style. This type of grief is a raw ball of sadness and hurt. The paragraph tells the story the way the Cheryl's hands were folded on the table: trying to keep composure but on the brink of topppling into uncontrollable loss of self.

Longganisang Lucban

AND I GUESS I promised a report on the Longganisang Lucban project. Here's the much-delayed picture of my efforts. They look okay in this shot, but the other links were of various sizes. All in all I'd say it was a good first try. I now know the secret to making longganisa--and that's to put in lots of pork fat. Unfortunately, mine didn't have much of this, so when I cooked them, they were on the dry side. Next time, I know better. But since it took me the better part of the morning stuffing the little porkers, I think I'll do this again, uh, next year.

Nanaman?!

AND BARELY a week after a mudslide that kills 60 plus school children, a coup is attempted by whomever and President Arroyo declares a state of emergency. My first reaction is, "Ano? Nanaman?". There is just so much work to do to keep the country afloat, and so many messes to clean up and we have this. And the most evil thing about this is that it directly insults the deaths in Leyte.

Who the hell are these coup plotters? Are they power-hungry Philippine military people who need to entertain themselves? Are they disgruntled politicians? Are they rich people who are impatient with Tita Glo? Or are they mga impaktong-alagad-ni-alam-mo-na -kung-sino-who-wants-to-rule-the-world? Hmmmm...conspiracy theories abound.

Coups are getting to be a regular occurence. What we need is to move the political center of the Philippines out of Manila and transfer it to Cebu. Give the reigns of the govenment to Cebuanos. How can anyone plot and incite a coup in such a beautiful place? Might as well, throw away the guns, put on one's swim suit and run to the beach. Even government destabilizers flying in from the US would think twice about fanning the flames of chaos in Cebu. Sa Manila naman kasi, everything is so chaotic na, so konting kalabit on the right antsy people, konting pera, ayos! Instant coup de etat! That way, habang the government is being run in Cebu, we can clean up the filth in Manila, restore and take care of historical buildings, give visual artists, musicians, writers, poets, folk dancers and Freddie Aguilar the run of the place and--as Bob Marley says--every little thing's gonna be all right.

Lambot-Tuhod

ANAK NG TIPAKLONG! Ang guwapo ni Neil Gaiman dito. Parang pinaghalong Ralph Fiennes at yung crush kong religion teacher noong high school ako (NOT Mr. Dungo!). Jaske! And to think he lives just 200 miles away. Pigil, Natsky! Pigil!

Da Huuuuuuudge @ UMD

HERE'S a view of the Darland Administration building from College Street. Yup, snow has never been so, so, huuuudgy.

Interesting Read

SAW Pink Panther last weekend. And today, while poking around some blogs from friends back home, I came upon this essay written by Steve Martin. Check out "In Search of the Wily Filipino".

In Praise of Gay and Gaiman

NEW YORK IS A CITY of things unnoticed. It is a city with cats sleeping under parked cars, two stone armadillos crawling up St. Patrick's Cathedral, and thousands of ants creeping on top of the Empire State Building. The ants were carried up there by wind or birds, but nobody is sure; nobody in New York knows any more about the ants than they do about the panhandler who takes taxis to the Bowery; or the dapper man who picks trash out of Sixth Avenue trash cans; or the medium in the West Seventies who claims, "I am clairvoyant, clairaudient, and clairsensuous."

--From "New York is a City of Things Unnoticed" by Gay Talese (The Gay Talese Reader)



"To absent friends, lost loves, old gods, and the season of mists; and may each and every one of us always give the devil his due."

--From Neil Gaiman's "Season of Mists" (The Sandman Collection)

Here We Go Again

BAD news from the homeland. It's another mass disaster. A few weeks ago, it was news about the stampede over a million-peso game show. More than 60 dead. Most of them poor people hoping for a chance to win millions of pesos. This time it's a mudslide in Leyte. Around 1,500 remain missing. Two hundred children and a number of adults confirmed dead.

Why am I not surprised. I covered the disaster beat for a few years when I was a reporter for the Philippine Daily Inquirer. I remember covering a story near Legaspi City that was quite similar. Sudden flash flood. Mudslide buries villages. Politicians issue statements. Practice their "indignant look" for the TV cameras. Investigations are ordered. Then all is forgotten till the next sensational story or the next mass disaster.

All this makes me think of Filipino-Americans I've met here in the US who seem jaded, pesimistic and unforgivably disillusioned about the Philippines. And I used to wonder how they came to that. I somewhat understand how they feel now. At best, I know they don't hate Inang Bayan. (How is that even possible?) But I know that they hate and are utterly disappointed at how graft and corruption has hindered the Philippine's progress and has forced families to live apart (because some choose to work overseas).

I feel this anger because I was a faithful taxpayer. Every year I looked at my income tax return and blood would drain from my head at the thought of my hard-earned pesos being spent by some politician's son on a cappuccino at StarBucks Legaspi Village. Hay nako, sino ba naman ang hindi iinit ng ulo sa ganon?

Money that should have gone to schools and to health care and to development projects for the poor just becomes pork barrel. They way I see it--and I know this sounds harsh-but each government official or employee who has ever taken or solicited a bribe has had a hand in the deaths in Leyte, in Pasig, and wherever else there is death-by-poverty.

I know it sounds like convenient finger-pointing. But hey, I spent my idealistic youth helping to make things better--until I felt burnt out. Time to rest and recharge my batteries.

What is it that stewardesses say in case of an emergency landing? Put the oxygen mask on yourself before helping the person next to you. Otherwise, you could both possibly die.

Ah basta, tangina ninyong mga pulitikong walang silbi! Sana nga may impiyerno.

Extreme Weather Warning

From wunderground.com: Extreme Weather Advisory

Statement as of 9:51 AM CST on February 17, 2006


... Wind chill warning remains in effect from 6 PM this evening to
12 PM CST Saturday...
... Wind Chill Advisory remains in effect until 6 PM CST this
afternoon...

Strong winds and very cold temperatures are expected to result in
bitter wind chill readings of 25 to 35 below zero today... and 35 to 45
below by early Saturday morning. Under these conditions... frost
bite of exposed skin could occur in less than 15 minutes. If you
must be outside... dress appropriately... especially covering
hands... face... and head.

A wind chill warning means the combination of very cold air and
strong winds will create dangerously low wind chill values. This
could result in frost bite and lead to hypothermia if precautions
are not taken.

A Wind Chill Advisory means that very cold air and strong winds
will combine to generate low wind chills. This will result in
frost bite and lead to hypothermia if precautions are not taken.
When you venture outdoors... make sure you wear a hat and gloves.

The Bog of Motherhood

MY friend Gina warned me about this before. Female friends, once they give birth, suddenly receed into the murky depths of motherhood. The strange, candy-colored bog regularly spews out pictures of your friend's babies as they grow bigger and stronger each day. Where oh where is the carefree, fun-loving friend now? Gone forever, lost forever in the bog of wifehood and motherhood?

Or are Gina and I just sourgraping old maids? :D

"How are you?" you ask your friend over the phone, over the miles.

"I'm ok, the baby is growing sooo fast!"

Errr...

Why must everyone assume instant love and caring when it comes to babies and children? I have actually not met some of my friend's babies and I do care that they are healthy and well. But when I ask my friend how she is, I really want to know how she is. Not how her baby is doing.

Besides, when the child is old enough to tell me how he or she is doing, I'll be happy to get to know her and ask her myself.

I believe in the niceties and the ritual of getting to know people slowly and in good time. To me, babies and children are no exception.

I remember being a child and I remember my parents' friends who all wanted to pinch my cheek or tousle my hair or hug me--without the benefit of an introduction. I remember being just a tad upset and squirming away. The women smelled of make-up and lipstick. Sometimes of strong perfumes and suffocatingly so. The men had icky, prickle beards of moustaches (this was the 70s). I would step on their bell-bottomed trouserlegs and squirm away.

The exception was a person, an adult called Arnel. He was my Aunt Miriam's suitor. Aunt Miriam lived with my family then and Arnel, with his crazy afro hair and his guitar slung over his shoulder would arrive bearing gifts of food and flowers for my aunt. He was a "combo" player in a folkhouse near the American airbase. I liked him very much because his hair looked funny and he was thoughtful enough to introduce himself to me and shake my hand. That was the first time an adult had ever introduced himself to me that way. He also did not lunge at me with a hug and a kiss the way my mother's office mates did. He sat with his guitar while we waited for my aunt and asked me about myself and about school. He asked me about my friends and my best friends. And I asked him about his guitar and his favorite songs and why his hair was that way. "Because I like the way it glows in the lights when I play at the folkhouse," he said, laughing.

Arnel eventually became Uncle Arnel when he and my aunt got married. He was my favorite of two uncles. Still is.

I look forward to getting to know my friends' children this way. In their own time. It's just dismaying to see how motherhood and wifehood, specifically housewife-hood just swallows up my friends' lives.

Why don't my friends send pictures of themselves? Why do I get pictures of kids I haven't even introduced myself to? Where did I read that once a woman becomes a mother, her life is no longer her own. Sounds poetic. Sounds deep and profound. It also sounds scary. I guess it is sometimes true. The wallet-sized studio portraits of toddlers, these photos that I get in the mail every five months--without fail--are portraits of my friends.

****

Of course, not all my friends get swallowed by the bog. My friend, L. has handled motherhood quite well, with her identity intact. When I e-mail her and ask her how she is, she tells me about her excitement over her research getting published in a journal article. She does have lots of photos of her kid, but she does not send them out like spam.

When I think about L. I think about my mom who is the anti-L. When I was small, she always complained about the toppled glasses of water, the broken vases, the drawings on the walls and the fact that her life has been swallowed by the necessity of having to make some money to feed us. We, her kids, became verbal punching bags for her motherly frustrations.

If I had had the wisdom and insight I have now when I was 8 years old, I would have told my mother to get a grip on herself, hire a shrink, reserve a chunk of the day that would be hers and hers alone, get involved in things she was passionate about, and not blame her offspring for every goddam problem she encounters. And get used to the fact that children do get clumsy sometimes and break drinking glasses. It's a childhood specialty.

Of course, now that I'm grown up and understand the phenomenon of the bog, I have forgiven my mother for subjecting us to her monologues.

Not everyone is like my mother, of course, and thank God. But I guess I feel that motherhood is overrated. They all say it's something that can complete a woman, and that it is profound. But they don't say it is such a huge responsibility, a life-changing and engulfing event that will take over every aspect of your life whether you like it or not.

I also think that motherhood is a calling. Some are better at it than others. And one doesn't have to give birth to a human being to become a good mother. I frankly think I'm going to make a GREAT mom. Because I have spent all my life being selfish and giving at the same time. I do what I like. I travel, I go to school, I write. And I give back to society through my choral singing and through journalism. If and when I finally become a mother, I won't me lamenting about the things I didn't get to do. I would be telling my little offspring about the Noli Me Tangere character he is named after. Or tell him about the time I almost got mugged in Leicester Square by a Harry Potter poseur. I'd be such a cool mom my offspring's playmates would all want to play at our house because we would have a library full of comics.

Except, I am not a mother yet. There are days when the hormones kick in and I desperately want to be one. I shake a fist at the sky and wail "Whyyyyyyyyy (did-I-spend-too-much-time-with-one-boy-that-by-the-time-he-realized-he-wasn't-ready-for-marriage -the-banshee-had-surfaced-and-I-was-well-on-my-way-to-the-dreaded-30s) ?" And there are days, especially when Aunt Flo is late, when I think oh no, this is not the best time for this to happen!...Or is it?

I will be candid and say that when I become a mother, I would like to be like L. I must not let myself goooooo to the daaaark side.

Nana

MINUS 20 degrees celsius. Punyeta, ang lamig! I look outside my study window and it's a sunny morning. But it's a bad, bad day to be walking outside. Temperature's down and it is blustery as hell. I've turned off the radiator as I'm going to be in school the whole day. But I'm wearing two sweaters and a bomber hat indoors. Some of our windows have started to frost over. There go my plans to shoot some pictures outdoors. I don't have gloves that are slender enough as well as warm enough for taking pictures. Even if I did, I'd probably be shivering.

***

February in the Philippines, hmmmm. Not too warm and not too wet either. I'm not homesick, but I wish I were home.

***

Did my taxes yesterday with other Filipino students. It was in a tax workshop facilitated by the International Student Adviser's Office. I don't know JR, Christian and Cat very well. They don't go to the International Club meetings (and with good reason, I now know). But it was nice to just sit with them and hear their chatter.

Lately I've been in touch with a former high school teacher, one of my favorites. Mr. Dennis Dungo was our Religion teacher in our junior and senior years. He was also at one point moderator or co-moderator of the Glee Club in which I was a hyper-active member. I would hang out with him and another friend, Dang, in front of the faculty office on easy afternoons or when we were waiting for rehearsals to start. Wala lang. We just stood around being silly, being kids, and being gross. I had heard and recorded a barbershop quartet song called "Frozen Embryos" and sang it to the two. It was hilarious. Soon Dang and I started calling ourselves "The Frozen E's". I was Mutah (eye crud), Dang was Kibal (er, skin crud) and Mr. Dungo was Nana, (yellow puss). Really gross stuff. But for some reason, we rebelled in the silliness and the grossness and the overall nonsense of it. We were a secret society. He was Santa Claus and we were his elves. HFA probably did not pay Mr. Dungo much in salary, but he was single and had no mouths to feed. So once in a while, he indulged Dang and I with hamburger and Coke treats at Orchids Canteen across the street. I actually don't remember eating the treats. I remember being in the canteen, but apparently I partook of the loot as heartily as Dang did.

Mr. Dungo talked to my dad when he threatened to take me out of the Glee Glub (too many late night rehearsals). He also lent me his Canon AE1 Program camera for around four months. I brought it to school everyday until I persuaded my dad to get me my own. Until now, I'm quite amazed that he trusted me with the camera and lent it to me for that long. At that time of my life, my medium was watercolor, oil pastels and some mixed media using banana leaves and rapia. But having a camera to play with for four months diverted my artsy affections. How serendipiouts that Mr. Dungo suddenly joined our yahoogroup at I time when I'm reunited with photography once more.

The Hump & Da Hudge

"I must warn you about the hump. It comes in any longer work. My rule of thumb is somewhere around page one hundred, when the first flush of excitement of your idea for a memoir has waned and you have no idea what comes next or why what came before came before."
-Robin Hemley in "The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Writer"

"Why do I keep coming out as nasty-looking blob things?!"
-Strong Bad on "Made-Up Animals"

A Man and His Dog

DEEP in the underbelly of the UMD Sports and Health Center is Rocco Ierino's office. He is a tall, gray-haired man who looks to be 60 plus and he is the person to look for when one wants to rent a locker. I've been to his counter window once before. That was last year when I had a group activities pass (which went unused for most of the fall semester). He's a pleasant enough man, but not someone I was chatty with because he was so in demand. You just said hello, paid for your locker, grabbed the piece of paper with the combination, and that was it.

Last week, I came to his window again because I was tired of dragging my gym bag around campus (it did not fit in my coat locker). This time, while waiting for him at the counter, I noticed a big cream-colored labrador. She was licking the back of her left paw. I guess I didn't think it strange because cats lick their paws all the time. (Need to remind myself that not all pets are cats.)

Rocco appeared and I paid for my locker. I said his dog seemed very behaved. And this was when the old man opened up. The dog's name was Candy and she had arthritis. She is all of 16 orbits around the sun, a senior citizen in dog years. She was also under medication. Rocco mumbled something about the vet saying the time might be near to put Candy to sleep.

I remembered Brucie and how difficult it was for C. to decide when to have her put down. I wondered then if Rocco was in the same state of confusion and denial. I thought about the paw licking. I'm pretty sure that was a pain reaction. I wondered if Rocco knew this. Bruce used to smack his jaw when he was in pain. I didn't recognize this for what it was in the early stage of his illness. But after I asked his vet about it and she idenitified it as a pain reaction, I had a sick feeling in my stomach eveytime Bruce did it (when his morphine wore off). I also felt bad about not knowing about it beforehand.

And here, a gentle-looking labrador is in pain. In the underbelly of the sports center. Watching over her is her human companion who can't quite let go.

I Feel the Need, the Need for Speedo

ONE of the hardest things to do in Duluth is to loook for a decent swim suit. I mean, this is America. Home of Speedo. You'd think I'd find a Speedo shop here, but nada. There is a large John Deere outlet (snowplows), there is a place called Ski Hut (skis, of course), and there's a Steger Mukluk section at the Duluth Pack store. But no Speedo.

I miss the large Speedo store at Rustan's, Makati, with its wide store front window. I miss having a selection of high-cut, medium-cut and low-cut versions of each swimsuit-type to choose from. I remember seeing a lot of new styles the last the I was there two years ago.

I don't skimp on swim suits. I like ones that fit well, don't look frilly and those that last long. My last Speedo suit was a basic Navy Blue one-piece. I had had that one since 1996. I threw it away last year because the elastic was no longer, well, elastic and I was in constant danger of exposing, er, myself above and under water. Still, 9 years is not too bad. I learned how to scuba dive in that swim suit. It was with me when I cycled across the US. I was sorry to see it go.

So I've been without a swim suit for about a year now. Yesterday I was walking around campus and happened upon the university pool. I peeked it and the air was oh so humid and warm. Ahhhhh, reminded me of home! I decided right there and then to sign up for a pool pass. After work, I hopped on C.'s truck and headed for the mall to get myself a swim suit.


AT CHAMPS SPORTS

Me: Do you sell swimsuits?
Bored Sales Guy: No.
Me: Where would I find those?
Bored Sales Guy: I don't know.

AT THE INFORMATION COUNTER

Me: Where would I find some swimsuits?
Helpful Girl: Oh dear, the swimsuit shop closed a week ago and moved elsewhere. You should try Younkers though.

AT YOUNKERS

The woman at the till was examining her belly button so I dared not disturb her. On the escalator going up, I spotted a teeny-tiny section for bathing suits. When I got there, it was disappointing to see they only had skimpy little two-piece numbers or large black granny suits. *Groan*

After much searching, I chanced on some Speedo suits and found the same basic style that I previously had. It was getting dark outside and it had been snowing all afternoon, so I decided to end the search right there.

Maybe I'll find a snazzier Speedo some other time...in another city.

My Life as a Frog

MY friend Lara has probably arrived in Manila by now. She's there for two weeks to do research, give some lectures and see family and friends. I am so envious. I'd like a visit to the Philippines, but there are so many things to juggle and consider. There's the thesis. There is the cost. And there's me wondering if I might just be disappointed and disheartened at the bad news, that crush of annoying taxi drivers at the airport and the general difficulty of getting around the city with or without a car. Also, two weeks is nearly not enough to get over jet lag, see friends and finish chores.

I've always believed that when one goes on long trips, one is never really the same person when one comes back, and I just love this concept. I think is has a lot to do with growing and experiencing things that are new and meeting new people with differ ent perspectives. Two years ago, a friend who has been working abroad for many years, bunked for a week in my apartment. I was struck by how awful it was that I was in the same job when she left nearly six years ago. That job was also turning out to be a dead end.

Now I know that things will probably be pretty much the same if and when I visit my former office. P. will still be obessessed about that 4-day a week office aerobic class and might even offer me a view of her firm butt. T. will still not have written a book even if I think he has the intellect and the writing ability to do it. Reporters who are sick of the beat reporting life will still be doing it. So many talented people, so many possibilities. But the same thing every year. Of course, there will be the annual guessing game of how much the year's profits will yield in shares for the employees.

There is nothing wrong with familiarity, regularity and security. I think these are things one looks for at a certain stage in life. I just think I'm not there yet. I don't know when I ever will get there.

***

You've probably heard of the frog experiment. You put a frog in a pot of cold water, it stays. You put it in a pot of boiling water, it will immediately hop out, perhaps a little burnt but alive.

You put a frog in a pot of cold water then slowly raise the temperature to boiling point. It won't feel the need to jump out. Maybe it will even like the warm water. So comfy and relaxing. It may feel the need to sleep. But it will surely and slowly die a simmering death. Voila! Adobong palaka!

***

In the exit interview, the HRD head asked my why I was resigning from such a stable, highly-respected company (Read: Other people would probably kill to have your job and your tenure at XXX). I simply said "Because I can." He didn't really understand what I meant. I explained, "I don't consider myself tied to profit sharing. I just feel there is no more room for growth for me here right now and it won't kill me to leave. "

Such is life in a Third World Country. There are things you do because these things allow you to pay your bills, keep a roof over your head. Literally, to keep you alive. But I was dying of boredom, and so I took a leap of faith even though it was one of the scariest decisions I have ever had to make all by myself.

I'm glad I left when I could. It was the only way to grow.

In the Presence of Fur

I WENT home to cook myself some lunch today because, well, I'm cheap and I wanted rice. After lunch, I indulged in a siesta. Hmmm, when I think of siestas, lazy Sunday afternoons in Angeles City come to mind. Sariwa (pa noon) ang hangin. Our house had a screened terrace so ventillation was more than OK. Dumaguete City also comes to mind. When I was there as a fellow of the Silliman Writers Workshop (1993), most city establishments closed at 2pm for siesta time. The last time I visited Dumaguete in 2003, I remember this wasn't true anymore. Anyhow, I digress. Where was I? A siesta, yes, but here in Duluth...Very weird concept because I also associate siestas with breezy warm afternoons. Today, after lunch, I crept under the comforter and read Time Magazine until I fell asleep. When the alarm woke me up, there were three kitty-cats under the blanket with me. Little Orion, Meowsie, and Rascals. Haha, well, I guess when the heat is off, I'm the only other heat-generating entity in the house.

Stiff Tail

Stiff Tail
Originally uploaded by Diliman Moon.

HOW to make Stiff Tail, the little mouse who could.

1. Take one mouse cat toy with leather tail.
2. Proffer toy to cat of drool-some reputation. When cat toy is accepted, leave with drool-some cat for an hour.
3. Check to see if toy's tail is soaked in drool.
4. Let dry for seven days under radiator.
5. When done, take photo for posterity. Then toss back to cat.

Squirrel Sighting

10:45 a.m. at -2.5 Degrees Celsius

Neighbor's yard. On ground and up tree. Oops! Hey, I see two now. They look slimmer. The fat days of fall are long gone.

I've also seen a scraggly looking bunny hopping about in our backyard.

The Anatomy of Four Icky Days

HAVE been feeling wonky since Saturday. This is how it has been:

Saturday
Fever. Took 2 Ibuprofen and slept all day. On and off chills. For dinner, pasta and some kind of roast pork.

Sunday
Feeling fine. Took 2 Ibuprofen just in case. Spent most of the day finishing assignment at the UMD darkroom. Evening came and I had a bum stomach. Chills came back too. C. took my temperature. 100 Degrees F. Took more Ibuprofen, in addition to Imodium. I don't remember what I had for dinner. Maybe chicken.


Monday
Feeling better. Went to class. Spent two hours in the darkroom. Walked to cafeteria to have lunch with C. but felt oddly sleepy and fatigued. Like I took sleeping pills. Willed myself to read thesis stuff after lunch. Ended up going home to doze. Was in the same state of stupor all evening. For dinner, cream of mushroom soup and some of C.'s tortilla chips and cheese. Hot shower, then off to bed early.

Today
Feeling better (again). But feeling weak from all that inactivity. So many deadlines, so little motivation. What do you do when the spirit is not at all willing and the flesh is weak?