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moving house

2009-03-13T00:25:00.001-04:00

I've migrated to wordpress:

all the goodness that was on this site and more are at

madcapchronicles.wordpress.com

See you there!

continue

2009-01-09T21:01:00.003-05:00

I realize now, that I am on a journey. Smack dab in the middle of one-- at that point where one is at its weariest, feeling the most down-trodden, feeling the most challenged, feeling like I want to give up any moment now.

I'm at that point where I've forgotten why I set foot on the road in the first place. Because right now, the abstract things like love, hope, living a full life, passion, etc... all the things you find in a Sark book they can't hold a candle to just feeling... okay.

Maybe not so much okay. Maybe the word I'm looking for is... comfortable. Is it so bad-- that some days I want to just stay in bed all day? Is it so bad that I want my life to stop feeling like I'm living on the edge of a precipice mere inches away? Is it so bad that I want to stop and rewind and never made the choices I made?

But sometimes the only choice you can make is to continue onward.

Still

2008-12-31T22:18:00.003-05:00

The sun sets over another year. I am spending New Year's Eve in a bohemian cafe listening to reggae, and re-vamping my blog (which I have ignored for most of this year.) In LA, the trees are only now beginning to change color. I find fallen Japanese Maple leaves mimicing sunsets on cracked sidewalks.

It is chilly in LA-- not freezing like New York would be, but still surprisingly cold, especially when I have to run to the bathroom in the middle of the night. I have spent most of my Christmas break either in bed catching up on lazy reading or rewatching the trials and tribulations of Meredith Grey. It is a welcome respite from the stress of grad school.

2009 stretches ahead of me, merely five hours away, and unlike many years that have gone by, there is no expectation of the new, of the overnight cure, no grand plans. 2008 was filled with so much unknowable, unbearable things-- and perhaps the inside of me understands this, and holds still in stasis, knowing that the most important thing is the healing.

I have walked into many darknesses, come face to face with my own fear, my anger, my sadness. I sound melodramatic yes? But it is true. It is the truest thing about this damn year. There have been many people along the way who have stood by me, who have suspended judgment and instead extended a hand out of pure compassion and kindness. They know who they are, and to them I will be forever grateful and loyal.

All I can say for 2008 is this: I am still here. Despite everything, I am still here. And the learning continues.

Happy New Year everyone, thanks for still reading.

stream-o-consciousness

2008-12-27T21:58:00.003-05:00

Lessons Learned

2008-10-12T16:46:00.005-04:00

An elder cherokee was teaching his grandchildren about life. He said to them, "A fight is going on inside me. It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves.

One wolf represents fear, anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.

The other stands for joy, peace, love, hope, sharing, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, friendship, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith.

This same fight is going on inside you, and inside every other person, too."

The children thought about it for a minute and then one child asked his grandfather, "Which wolf will win?"

The old cherokee simply replied,"The one you feed."
* * *

It is not a surrendering of self. But rather, a time when you scramble a bit to find your footing, and then stand in your own power and look the Vast Beast in the eye and say, “I choose this.” I choose this thing that can both protect me and tear me apart; that can and will bring me my most enthralling joys and my most excruciating and unanticipated pain. I choose the risk. I choose the possibility of endings. I chose to be as simpatico as old souls and to be equally, heartrendingly misunderstood. I choose to be at intervals rashly taken advantage of and unexpectedly worshipped. I choose this terror and this beauty. I choose love.
–Rachelle Mee Chapman

la Life

2008-09-25T22:09:00.003-04:00

I arrived in LA with forty-something bucks in my pocket, my luggage misplaced, two changes of clothes on me, my laptop, my wonky cell-phone, my ipod, the current issue of Domino magazine.

I arrived in LA with alot of things having been stripped away from my life, alot of tough questions being asked over and over in my head, and with a looming sense of uncertainty being the only sure thing in my life.

I arrived in LA on the strength of one act of kindness that literally saved my life. And the promise of a new beginning, a chance to make things right.

I arrived in LA on the cusp of turning 25 years old, with nothing and everything to lose.

I am here, nearly three weeks later, sitting under the shade in place called Lincoln Park outside a library, enjoying those famous Santa Anna winds as they filter the heat of Southern Californian sunshine. There is a discarded picnic lunch of Salami and French Baguette nearby. I contemplate a tree with flowers that resemble a fall of salmon ruffles while trying to catch a wayward internet signal.

I have shifted into California life easily enough, although the hypersaturation of the lawns and massive flowers so that they are almost vulgar can be a little too much for a jaded New York girl like me.

There are struggles. The housing situation isn’t exactly ideal but it will do for now. Public transportation leaves something to be desired. The luggage is still not in my possession. An LA block is the equivalent of two New York blocks. You know, things like that.

I can say, that my priorities are clearer than ever, and though it will take some time to get acclimated to a new locale, and a new life-- I think the struggle will be worth it.

things you should know...

2008-08-29T04:45:00.004-04:00

Taking a little break from my soul-searching, to bring you some links I think you guys should check out:

A friend of mine has a photo up at JPG magazine that could use some support. Go vote for it now.

Remember when I took part in the Lagalag Project? Well, it made the news! It was on the Inquirer's Front page. Checkit here. Oh and a big congratulations to Wilfredo Pascual for winning a Philippine Free Press Literary Award!

Also, big thank yous to those who wrote comments on my Blog's return from the dead. The layout may be a little bit confusing, but if you'd like to leave a comment, the comment thingie is at the top of the post, as opposed to the bottom. But thanks again!

Learning Processes

2008-08-28T02:03:00.004-04:00

Some months ago, I was sitting in the back of a shiny red pick-up contemplating my reflection. Maybe it was due to the fact that the light had that heavy golden quality to it, the kind that happens after a rainstorm, or maybe because I had spent most of the day in sunlight and seawater-- but the girl in the reflection had a really nice glow going for her. There was a certain satisfaction on her face as the wind whipped her hair around, probably because she was wearing her boyfriend's t-shirt, and said boy would drop a quck kiss on her forehead every now and then as that shiny pick-up truck wended it's way on the roads of Pagudpud.

And I remembered thinking: "I refuse to live my life all shrivelled up and dry. I refuse." That girl in the reflection looked like she stumbled onto something really good, and I always wanted to remember that.

In the months that followed, it became hard, very hard to remember my reflection from that afternoon-- that quiet statement of fierce defiance made out of joy pure and simple. Maybe, even then I felt that a rainstorm of massive proportions was coming-- that all the things I knew to be true, that I tooke for granted could be, would be stripped bare. Maybe that is why that inner voice spoke up-- so that I would mark it-- that vision of myself (let's face it, when we look in the mirror, how many times do we really think-- "man, I'm f**king gorgeous!").

There are many reasons, why one would shrivel and dry up. And it's a quiet little disease, it sneaks up on you. Before you know it, other people's expectations, other people's vision for your life, even how random strangers see you on the street become your little cornerstone of identity. And you become a little obsessed with this 'other' vision of you. Or you stagnate and crystallize into given patterns, patterns of how you thought you were, so anything out of the ordinary-- you shatter.

And then there's the blame game. It's so easy to blame this or that. The undercurrent of hopelessnes and apathy in this country, my parents, the constant judgement, your next door neighbor. Being home in a place where people are always up in your business makes it so much easier to point the finger at anyone but yourself.

I ran into a friend the other day, at Cafe by the Ruins, and we caught up that evening. It was so inspiring to see where Jenny has been, and how she's transformed her life. We spoke alot about making peace with the past, and all our future plans. It's so great to have you in my corner again Jenny! Seeing her again, reminded me of all the great energy and potential that I saw in Baguio. How in a way, I blamed being here as opposed to being in New York for a huge chunk of my problems.

So, I've been learning alot. I've been learning alot about compassion, and surprisingly about anger. I've been learning alot of harsh truths, about myself, about people around me. I've learned that I am just as easily moved to disgust with the world and hopelessness than I am to joy and faith. And little by little, I am learning more about my own truth. I am learning that I would rather cut off the nasty and ugly parts of me, and my life-- when sometimes the better thing to do, is to just learn to love those bits. That sometimes you have no choice.

Refusing to live unjuicy and meek and timid in a corner is hard work, and sometimes not too straightforward. It means not playing the blame-game, facing harsh realities, and always trying to be true to yourself, no matter what people expect or demand that you do. It means being compassionate on all levels, it means owning your anger, it means learning to stop being a victim. It means learning to let go when you have to.

And that girl, with hair hair in the wind, basking in the light after the rainstorm? She's still there, waiting to come out. In time.

birthday boy

2008-07-13T04:18:00.000-04:00

It's been about five months since 'the boy' entered my life, and it's been a pretty crazy rollercoaster ride. Anyone who sits down with Ziller Miles will realize that he leads a pretty unconventional existance. He is unpredictable, impulsive, brash, and one-of-a-kind. He's one of those unbelievable characters that you think you find only in fiction, possibly three of them all rolled into one. He's the anti-hero, the eternal prodigal son, the loveable rogue... in search of something even he wouldn't be able to explain to you.

But you know what else he is?

He is capable of such kindness, such verve, such love. He's a bleeding heart who tries to hide behind his bad-boy facade. He brings me coffee every morning. He paints beautiful complex colors on walls, and builds me art tables. He beatboxes, and drums, and sings in Creole (both French and English). He has handmade tattoos, and a penchant for sunglasses. He surfs, and cooks, and can turn chaos into order. He lives in the moment, walking to his own drumbeat. Best of all? He loves me.

So... today's his birthday. His first proper one in a really long time. So send all your good vibes and birthday wishes this-a-way. It's much appreciated.

a character study, possibly fictional

2008-06-16T02:34:00.003-04:00

She wears patched rainboots more for sentimental value than anything else.
Certainly not for practicality.
She falls in love easily. Out of love, not so much.
She fell in love with a city once. She is in love now.
She has a drip in the bedroom cieling-- ceiling. (She never could get that right.)
She's an escapist. She could spend all day in bed dreaming.
She loves chocolate, the darker, the better.
She's a night person.
She suspects she snores.
She has become very good at presenting herself one way to please people.
Sometimes, she hates herself. But most times she doesn't mind herself at all.
She's a hypochondriac but a mild one.
She still dreams of New York.
She has the potential to be a hermit though she is one girls whose psyche is too overcrowded for this to work for too long.
She's the kind of girl who can't speak her mind but will explode if she doesn't write it down.
She's New Agey and a bleeding heart liberal.
She believes in God and yoga and meditation and magic.
She hates being wrong.
She loves contradictions because she is one.
She loves many things-- she probably loves you.

poetry

2008-06-05T02:08:00.003-04:00

I am here to tell you:
I am learning to be brave.
It is one thing,
to be brave
Under the sun,
where the trees stretch
Up, up, up
In rejoicing.
When the birds sing
And the lion dozes under the tree.
It is another
To be brave when the thunderheads loom
And judgement is at the ready
Quick and flashing like
The executioner’s sword.
It is one thing to be brave
With an army at your back,
And the adoration of public
At your feet.
And another when your army
Has deserted you, and the world
Has scorned you.
And you are left to walk your path alone,
Save perhaps God to keep you company.
All this I am learning.

the in-between (reprint)

2008-05-12T12:47:00.004-04:00

Updates soon, till then-- an essay featured in Cordillera Today ages ago:

The details of your life change. They always do. Sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly. And yet, we define ourselves by the things that stay the same, the things that remain constant.

Because, surely this is what is true, this is what endures?

It is a scientific approach, a logical approach-- that which is the "control" in this vast experiment of life.

Returning to this city, Baguio-- it is here I come face to face with my past selves. There is something fixed about this place. Not that Baguio hasn't changed, quite the contrary. It's just the memories of who I was-- carried not only by me, but by the people who know me-- the echo of that identity is so strong here. In my parents' house-- artwork from high school still hangs, various diplomas, framed pictures from childhood. Cleaning my room the other day, I stumble across a forgotten photo of an ex. There is a corner where old stuff toys quietly rot.

It would be easy to step into the roles that have been assigned for me here. Sometimes I do so with quiet joy-- to take my place as dutiful daughter, older sister, high school friend, Open Space artist.

But sometimes we have to define ourselves by that which has changed within us. This is a scary thing, because that means there is no reference point, there is no means of reassurance that it won't change again.

Perhaps, it is easier to see people for who they were, for how they were, then to wrap their head around the idea that perhaps the familiar face is a stranger now, playing tourist in a country called the past?

I was here last in January 2007. As awesome as it was to return to this city, it chafed at me a little bit, because I felt that New York had changed me so profoundly and I was disappointed that no one saw any of it. I wasn't smug about it, but trying to explain that change, trying to impress upon them how bright, and vivid and technicolor my life had become (a little bit like Times Square) it was a bit more difficult than I thought. Sure, I could dress like a New Yorker, curse like a New Yorker, but that's all surface stuff. The change went deeper than that. Living in New York had rocked my foundations, had put into question everything that I knew to be true about who I was. And if I had to undergo that process and was able to come out whole on the other side, then you can be damn sure I wanted people to acknowledge it.

I am here again, in this city on the mountains-- trying to find my place. Right now, I occupy the in-between, this period of transitions. It's a little bit like being in the twilight zone. The Scots have a beautiful word for this time of day, "The Gloaming" which references the glowing quality of the sky. In the film industry, we call it "The Magic Hour". Here in the Philippines, where superstitions abound, there is a belief that the supernatural world is at it's nearest during this in between period-- not quite night, not quite day.

As humans, we are so afraid of these blurry places, where things are not quite so easy to understand. It is here, where logic fails us. Believe me, I am pretty apprehensive with the grey areas myself-- but at the same time there is something reassuring about all this uncertainty.

Like that Filipino twilight, it is only when lines are blurry and undefined that there is space for the impossible things to become possible.

This means that there will always be space for hope and love and redemption. That things can get better, that mankind isn't headed down the drain. I may sound a little too hippy-dippy and unrealistic, and well, illogical. I think there is a certain poetry to it, seeing that I write this on Easter day.

So for today, this moment, be a little bit illogical. Look around and acknowledge the changes going around you. It might not look wonderful from this side-- times may be hard, money scarce, and it has always been easier to get into trouble than out of it. Take a moment though. In New York, it is spring and butterflies will emerge from their chrysalises. I don't think science has ever been fully able to explain how the lowly caterpillar can turn from mush into a beautiful butterfly, but it happens anyway, regardless. I have to believe that we as humans are equally as capable.

As a friend once remarked -- "where science ends, God begins."

Remnants of a New York Life

2008-03-16T03:24:00.004-04:00

Queensboro Bridge, originally uploaded by RadMadHatter.

So it's T minus Three days, before I take flight again. For the Philippines.

It is hard to imagine, to comprehend not living in this city.

I've been rereading my blog entries from the period in time when I just moved here. And I quote:

"I wonder, when I am long gone from here- will I dream about New York, and realize it has seeped under my skin without me knowing it? Will I look back on Subway commutes fondly, or this city's mix of tolerance and diversity rubbing elbows with prejudice and ignorance? Even now it's taking shape I suppose- embedding itself into my psyche."

The walls in my room are bare, most of my possessions relegated into boxes, and there is still so much crap lying around. It is an archaeological dig to do this-- so many layers of my life have lain around dormant, patiently biding their time-- reminding me of dreams discarded unknowingly. My art boxes filled with paper, a binder filled with magazine clippings of fascinating people and images (mostly all living in New York), the most random things like bottle caps, panty hose and marbles that I had hoped to turn into jewelry one day.

I am listening to the soundtrack of The Motorcycle Diaries, and remembered when that was such a huge influence in my life. How what it meant to be a Revolutionary was hitting the open road and learning about the people you share this world with, and the places you inhabit. How academics and theory may play their part, but inevitably, the most revolutionary thing you can do, is to see and acknowledge these things.

I also remember that I was so unsure about my decision to move to New York. How it seemed to go against everything that I stood for as a person. And now to me, New York is a revelation, a revolution in itself. It is where all paths intersect, it is the embodiment of the strata of society, it is depraved, debauchery, and yet at the same time transcendent, and enlightened. It is where you can find holy men on street corners making music so pure it could make you weep. It is where you can glimpse your soulmate across the subway tracks, eyes meeting, knowing smiles. It is both police state, and anarchy. It can be cruel, but hilariously funny. It can be cold, so cold-- like those cold winter nights, where everything seems so sharp and unbearably clear, and it can be hot and sensuous like a dim, smoky pub on a friday night. It is serendipity, coincidence and chaos.

I have had many past lives. I have lived in so many places-- and in each I have been changed and marked by the place. I have dreamt desert dreams in Damascus, hiked under the full-moon amongst ruins of Syria's crumbled civilization. I have returned to my motherland, re-learned what it meant to love it's lush forests, and rice paddies. I have bided my time in Massachusetts with four-inch snow on the ground, fed my brain with the words of African writers, and feminists, and film theorists. And with each I have been a different person. Not necessarily shedding the girl I was, but layering, juxtaposing this and that. These memories like thread, winding together to become something more.

And this city, is another bright thread-- shimmering and long, reminding me that human experience is the most rich and textured when it ceases to fight its contradictions, it's myriad of complexities. And when I leave here it will be hard, but I carry this city within my heart.

senses.

2008-03-11T10:08:00.003-04:00

radmadhatter HQ has been abuzz with activity. There have been a ton of interesting developments, but these days I'm taking the time to appreciate the simple things. I suppose leaving NYC heightens that feeling of wanting to savor everything. Or it could be the love factor as well. So without further ado, my ode to the senses.

taste: alfaalfa and bean sprouts paired with mozzarella cheese, toasted pita with hummus, walnuts with fresh apples, nutella straight from the jar. Also, last night I made my usual apple/oatmeal/butter/brown sugar treat (I call it the Ria Triple Delight) but the boy one-upped me, and poured some honey over it-- which somehow ended up tasting exactly like Banana-Q.

sound: Tegan and Sara, Santogold, The Shins' Wincing the Night Away, Augustus Pablo, and this cool speech/video about Barack Obama {via Caterina}. As well as various ways of cussing in French.

sight: I really, really want to see this film.

smell:Chinese incense used for offerings at temples. Bath & Body Works brown sugar and fig body splash.
Jergens Soap on newly showered bare skin (reminds me so much of home!).

touch: I've been fondling those over-priced tissue thin fake vintage t-shirts down in Soho. And there's that crazy cat that I tried to pet down at . He ended up scratching me. But then I got to hold the boy's hand. So I'm good.

I'll post again soon. I'm so excited about so many things.

detail

2008-02-27T20:13:00.002-05:00

"Our lives are at once ordinary and mythical. We live and die, age beautifully or full of wrinkles. We wake in the morning , buy yellow cheese, and hope we have enough money to pay for it. At the same instant we have these magnificent hearts that pump through all sorrow and all winters we are alive on the earth. We are important and our lives are important, magnificant really, and their details are worthy to be recorded. This how writers must think, this how we must sit down with pen in hand. We were here; we are human beings; this how we lived. Le it be known, the earth passed before us. Our details are important. Otherwise, if they are not, we can drop a bomb and it doesn't matter."-- Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bones

Delicate

2008-02-25T18:22:00.004-05:00

so changed my facebook relationship status. Is it wierd that doing that makes things 'official' somehow? I gotta admit, it's got me feeling all fluttery and excited and a little nervous. I'm actually very shy about writing this down on here. Although it's one of those affairs that makes you want to shout it out on the rooftops, but perhaps this is precisely why I've wanted to keep it to myself a little longer. Like that one illicit chocolate bar you savor when you think now one else is looking. Somehow the secrecy of it makes it better somehow. That song by Damian Rice "Delicate" comes to mind:

We might kiss when we are alone
When nobody's watching
We might take it home
We might make out when nobody's there
It's not that we're scared
It's just that it's delicate.

Or perhaps, Mount Holyoke woman that I am, the very thought of surrendering some of my autonomy and independance in order to tie myself to another is just plain scary. I used to think that the boys I've dated were all commitaphobic, but maybe I was the one with all the issues.

But here I am, shouting from the rooftops. So to speak.

all you need is...

2008-02-22T19:03:00.005-05:00

love.

and so on and so forth.

a little late for valentine's day but I wanted to show this and this discovery off.

life has taken on an interesting dimension these days. and putting the words to happiness is a bit.. challenging. all I can say is, everything seems so achingly full and beautiful and surprising, it's almost unbearable.

updates

2008-02-05T07:33:00.000-05:00

I started posting again on the Spawn*Belief blog. Randomly here and there. Maybe you'd be interested. I think I need another cup of coffee. Excuse me.

brother dear.

2008-02-04T23:33:00.000-05:00

One of the cool things about graduation is that you get to meet your classmates' families. You get to see the freakish resemblence, or the minute variations of certain features echoing across three or four different faces. It brings to mind my brother. He'll probably kill me for writing this-- but there was this one time back in high school-- during Spirit Week, where you come everyday dressed up according to a given theme. Everyone's favorite was of course, Drag day or whatever it was called. My brother dressed up in this purple dress of mine with slit, pinned his hair back and wore my make-up. And everyone called him 'Madelyn' for the day. I don't think I was very flattered by the comparison. He doesn't really make a pretty girl, my brother.

We don't look that alike, my brother and I. Around the eyes, because we both inherited that from my dad's side of the family. Though he is better at putting them to use, having perfected the wounded puppy-dog look ages ago. We're all spread out all over the world these days, my family. He is charged with holding the fort-- while my parents try to affect (effect?) some change in the world over in Sudan. Which means he's probably been doing some growing up.

Which is fitting because today is his 22nd birthday. Much love and hugs and kisses to my crazy little brother!

daddy's girl

2008-02-02T16:32:00.000-05:00

Today's my dad's birthday. And I realize, I've not really ever spoken at length about him in this blog. In the Philippines, if you drive north, ever northward from Manila-- there is this raw, untamed land, windblown, and a tad sunbleached. I've climbed mountains, forded rivers by torchlight, stared up at the milky way in this place. And this, this is my heritage passed down from my father.

I am not talking about land-- I'm talking about the love of the land-- and if you were to see this place-- you would understand-- there is nothing subtle about the beauty of Ilocos Norte. To be able to trace your roots back to a place with this much beauty is a privilege. And my father is a fisherman's son, and has always been proud to claim so. He speaks of his father's tenacity, and I have been witness to it-- my grandfather who could climb the soaring coconut trees well into his sixties, and when we say 'fisherman', we don't mean the toss-a-line- or-net-and-wait kind, we're talking about those that can hold their breath for minutes underwater, armed with crude harpoons, we're talking about the effing hunt. And then there is me. Madelyn Calventas, descendant of a long line of fisherman and farmers.

People who know me, wouldn't exactly call me a girly-girl. Oh my mother despaired of me for that. Like any mother I guess, she longed for a daughter whose beauty and poise and grace would do the family proud. And I gently point out to her-- if she had wanted me to be that-- than she would have perhaps raised me differently. Left me in the care of squabbling aunts, or meek nannies. As I have already mentioned in previous blog entries-- my father was the primary caregiver, and my mom, well she brought home the bacon. I learnt my first english word at my father's knee, and so my love affair with the language was born. I learnt how to properly catch a ball, ride a bike, swim from my father. There were summers of my childhood that were devoted solely to that. I owe what little athleticism I have to my father. I think the only thing my father has despaired of teaching me is how to drive. So yes, if I am not the font of poise and grace, it is at the very least tempered by some tenacity taught by my father.

When I am in Ilocos, I observe. When you don't speak a language well, people assume you don't understand. So, I notice how my father is so much like his father. They are both quiet men. In a world where we do so much talking-- I have noticed them sitting side by side, not speaking, just sharing in the moment. We are the same I think. My mother she calls me on a regular basis, but my father and I, aside from the happy birthdays, and merry christmases and happy new years-- we don't speak of much. There isn't a need.

There are so many other things I could write about. His sense of humor, a counterpoint to his stoicism, his quick temper but easily forgiving, his compassion, his intelligence. He who always tells me to use my 'common sense'-- the only thing he failed to teach me I think (besides the driving). His quiet capability. How he raised us on Jackie Chan movies. How the first time I saw snow in Israel, he donned a balaklava (I mean the hat, not the cake) and scooped some up into a little tupperware dish for me to play with in the morning. How I cried the next day because it had melted. How he promised me that I would see snow again.

So I think I will end it there. I've been feeling a bit... lost lately (yes I am psyched that the show has come back) and to write about this, not only the family I make for myself in this city, but the one I was born into-- it is good to remember. I, the descendant of farmers and fisherman.

like that Avril song you can't get out of your head.

2008-02-02T00:51:00.000-05:00

can anyone tell me why do things have to be so effing complicated? Or is it just me. Probably just me.

reprint: New York hearts Karlo Altamonte

2008-02-01T22:36:00.000-05:00

Back in December I was asked to write a short essay on Karlo Altamonte, long-time friend, mentor, big-brother I never had. Here it is:

In the two years living in New York, I’ve learnt a couple of things. Firstly, here you are defined by what you do. The gray streets and dim corridors of its subways may be populated by dreamers and con artists, but it is only those that are able to live their dreams that garner the grudging respect of the city’s denizens. Secondly, we also harbor a soft spot for those that refuse to color inside the lines. We applaud the eccentrics, the daringly original. In which case, Karlo Altomonte was made for this city.

This is the part where I announce the two colliding; some revolutionary artist residency at the MoMa. It would be like soul-mates meeting, but alas, this is only wishful thinking on my part. Humor me my matchmaking whimsy please. After all they have so much in common. New York to me is chain smoking, black coffee, lights, and sound, crazy nights, red wine, grit, cuss words, sharp intelligence, tongue-in-cheek, that bad boy you’re never going to outgrow. Anyone who has ever spent an evening with Karlo on-stage or off, will attest that these elements are pretty much a given. And like New York, Karlo Altomonte has the uncanny ability to make a believer out of you and break your heart all at the same time. But in a good way.

Regardless of medium, whether it be as a photographer or as an actor (amongst other things) Karlo has a way of bringing a feeling of the epic to everyday, mundane life. In a time of terrorist attacks, global warming, cancer and corruption, it is so easy to just stop caring. Just play dead, so you can get used to the sensation. By telling stories that run the gamut of the post-modern rage of Eric Bogosian to the Little Mermaid story turned parable about class and race to Jose Rizal’s statue reanimated to observe modern-day Philippines, he illuminates all the dreams, hopes and fears of our nation. Heck, the whole of humanity.

Again, we return to this city. Where tragedy and heartbreak are a breath away, jostling with their comrades redemption and ecstasy—it is in this city that I begin to understand the complex, contradictory layers of life. New York is a good teacher like that. So is Karlo. Among some of the lessons he’s taught me— one that he teaches over and over is that if the epic can exist in daily life, if every moment is the seed of an Odyssey, that if our actions have the potential to reverberate across the ages—then there is hope. Now more than ever, we need hope.

I review my earlier statement. Yes, New York City and Karlo Altomonte are so obviously made for each other in the way that when we set eyes on Brangelina, we said to ourselves “of course.” (I would name some Filipino love team at this point, but I’m out of touch.) However, to quote Elizabeth Gilbert quoting Richard from Texas in Eat, Pray, Love, “ But a true soulmate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that’s holding you back, the person that brings you to your own attention so you can change your life.” In that case, Karlo Altomonte is exactly where he belongs. Because now more than ever, Baguio City needs people like him.

how I feel

2008-01-31T13:32:00.001-05:00

Unfoldings, originally uploaded by RadMadHatter.

from the super secret journal where I spew all sorts of randomized thoughts:

"For awhile there, I thought I had my future mapped out. If only with a pencil. Now... now it's dark territory. Uncharted. It's scaring me shitless. And it's like-- these days, everytime I try to take control of my destiny it seems like things slide sideways-- and the way to move forward is unfathomable. So I retreat, retreat. It's not that I don't know what to do, it is that I am putting off doing it."

"...And I still don't know what I'm doing with my life, although I've been getting some interesting ideas for stories/ scripts/etc... [even if] my journal entries haven't been making sense lately-- starts and stops, disparate threads grasping at something. Anything."

"For all my talk of sentimentalism, I have been remarkably unsentimental about this last year (2007). I just rearead an end-of-year blog entry from 2005. That year seemed like a good one. I seemed so much more hopeful and exuberant and... idealistic I guess. So New York has changed me"

onward

2008-01-28T11:07:00.000-05:00

A year's worth of work goes up on screen today. Projected with an HD projector even. If I think about the first couple months of this program, the general craziness I got up to, struggling to learn about shutter speeds, and irises, and focus pulls and loading film-- it's so distant now, and the people I've been making films with for this past year-- it's hard to imagine they were strangers a year ago. Now they are some of my closest friends.

I'm pretty nervous about debuting the thesis. Hella nervous. Kinda freaked out that when it's there projected in all it's HD glory, all the little flaws will show and gather and tumble down like an avalanche exposing me for a total fraud of a filmmaker.

Yes, I have always been this hard on myself.

However, a movie is never a solitary endeavor. And for me to take it all upon myself, the good things and the bad things-- is self-centered. Because if it was just me walking around with a kick-ass camera, it would be a prettty boring film.

To set the record straight, I love this film. How can I not? It's one of my visions come to life. Two years ago I couldn't have predicted that I would have a film to call my own, let alone several. Two years ago, I don't think I would have been brave enough to write a story like this-- but then I didn't reckon on being a filmmaker two years ago. Not really. And as I mentioned, I love my craft. This craft of telling stories, of tracing the bonds of connection, of exploring the layers that make up a person's life, the epic and the mundane. And I guess that's all there is to it really: for the love of the craft. Nothing else matters.

But wish me luck anyway.

California

2008-01-22T09:13:00.000-05:00

My mother tells me I get too attached. D tells me the same. I guess it's evidence enough in the alarming rate at which I accrue possessions, and my inability to throw shit out.

See, I've resisted writing this for awhile, but I'm moving west, moving to California. There is a power in naming things. I am playing little-miss-avoidant again and have put it off. My friends are excited for me. Beaches! Surfer boys! Sunshine! All the things I stick up on my walls to stave off the gray winter light.

They say-- it'll be a good change, something new. I say, but I love New York. It could possibly, potentially break me if I leave this city. A tad melodramatic, but mostly true. They say, you should get out of your comfort zone. I say-- you don't understand, I need a comfort zone. Because if you choose to do what I do (see previous entry and entries before that) you need to have something constant to balance out all that nerve-wracking craziness.

They tell me I get attached. I say, I don't think I fight enough for what it is that I want. But maybe I'm more scared that I will fall in love with California and abandon my beloved New York for its golden good looks.

My friends say is that necessarily a bad thing?

Yeah. It kinda feels like a death sentence. Again with the melodrama.

the craft.

2008-01-15T09:11:00.000-05:00

I finally finished a rough, (really, really rough) cut of the thesis. And as always the editing process is deeply satisfying and frustrating. On one hand, there are all the shoulda, woulda, coulda's that come with seeing your footage the second time around (the first time around you're completely in love with it.)But then, after you wrestle with the piece, after the myriad of breaks away from the computer cussing yourself, your DP, the boom guy, the person editing next to you, then the work begins. After that you can begin to mold the piece. You can begin to pull all the disparate threads together. And then you build off of that.

I've showed it to a couple of people. At least they think it's not a hopeless flop. Last year, when I was trying so hard to write this film, and I blogged:

I want to piece together an Odyssey through the subway tunnels of New York, I want to evoke the sense of discovery and loss found in immigration stories, I want madcap, and quirky, and love, and fairy lights, and lots of magic. I want characters you want to spend time with, characters you fall in love with as much for their flaws rather than their strengths. I want the mythic and epic, the intimate and the universal. In short I want everything.

And there was so much temptation to do something easier, to do something that mattered less, to not put myself out there. To not pour my heart and soul and money into this thing. Alot of art is faith. I think I accomplished what I set out to do-- and not by virtue of my writing and directing alone-- I had an amazing cast-- who invested in their characters, I had a crew that came out and plied their craft and I had alot of support for this vision. Even if people were unsure about the vision exactly-- they at least supported me. Which was more than enough.

And the struggle for me has always been to believe in myself, and in my vision. If I don't then who will? But it's a struggle to hold true to that. In between the compromise, the endless frustration-- that belief can be what makes or breaks the film. Choosing this industy, choosing this craft is not an easy path. Nothing is instantateous-- it is a coming together, a collaboration, an act of faith. But to be anything else but a filmmaker and an artist is kind of unthinkable.

bright:shiny:new

2008-01-06T06:58:00.000-05:00

New Year's Eve was spent traipsing through random streets of Williamsburg with friends of a friend. Counting down seconds to midnight in a hipster loft, grinning widely at the stranger next to me. Good stuff. Then back out onto the streets of Brooklyn. Sent a random text or two to some friends, I forget who. Got a nice voicemail from the Dominican Republic. And a communal one from my family in the Philippines, my brother whooping in the background, my parents trying to bridge the 13 hour time difference.

So this is 2008.

I have this confession to make. I'm a sucker for those shitty Cinderella type chick flicks-- where the girl undergoes the makeover and hey presto! She gets the guy, she gets the life. And I've been chilling in my apartment alot lately-- cooped up trying to get organized-- you know, out with the old, in with the new-- as every person should do every time a new year rolls around. And as I attempt to do this (or rather procrastinate from doing so.) I get these notions-- you know-- like cutting off all my hair, even considering getting it colored some new color. Or taking up wearing high-heels full time (you know be more girly) or going vegetarian. Maybe even getting religion.

Ha.

And then I start thinking about all the people I've met this year, all the people I've connected with. And I wonder what is it that they see? Because I gotta tell you in this city-- I could be a different girl everytime. Because one day (most days) I'll be that unassuming chick in the beat-up melon colored converse shoes, the crap hair, and the hoodie. The next I'll be all dolled up in heels and a dress for some party. And it doesn't even matter what clothes I wear really, because even to certain people I'm just one thing, one note-- and I'm not sure if it's because I present myself as that, or if that's all they choose to see.

But trying to figure yourself out is difficult enough without having to factor in how other people perceive you. And all the things that I think define me-- my choice of city, my clothing, my taste in music, my skillsets, my family, my friends, they fall on the wayside-- they change. So what are you left with? Is the thing that remains constant throughout-- is that what I am. If so, what is constant?

And maybe instead of make-overs, of trying to package myself in a modern-day version of glass slippers and ballgown, of doing something new-- I should break the seal, and explore that stuff that's already there, all the layers, all the friends fair-weather, steadfast or forgotten, all the secrets, and the lies and the truths-- and resolve to accept this. To just accept that I am contradictory, and flawed. And just start there.

Which doesn't mean I've totally nixed the haircut idea.

ode to the '07: some moments

2007-12-29T03:28:00.000-05:00

So Regina Spektor has this pretty bitchin' song "That Time". It's about all the crazy shit she and her friends get up to here in the NYC. This would be my version. In no particular order.

1. More celebrity sightings: Jeremy Sisto (Clueless), Chris Noth (again!), Judy Greer (from Adaptation, plus being in the same dive bar as Matthew Fox (or Jack from LOST as we referred to him that night) and, and... actually talking to Ben Chaplin who was at the bar where I held my wrap party and having my friend D pitch his story idea about the parapalegic and the nurse... anyways. Ben was pretty cool.
2. 416 Pink Champagne Nights, listening to P. Diddy's "Last Night" over and over-- that and Mos Def's "Ms. Fat Booty" and perfecting the art of hanging out with the crew.
3. Not an NYC moment, but chilling in a hammock in the Philippines.
4. Hanging out in Union Square at 4 in the morning on the fake grass under the statue of that rabbit.
5. Locking myself out of my own apartment and learning to pick the lock after the fact (with a handy-dandy metrocard.)
6. Woodstock Summer 2007: umbrian wine by firelight, P on the guitar, stars overhead, a bobcat. Or something. But after running, running away-- after that adrenaline rush-- the four of us laughing, out of breath and just fucking-- alive.
7. Being a part of the Lagalag Project.
8.
9.
10.

So I thought I had this list. You know, like last year. Something to sum up the last year. But sometimes the things that you think are really simple aren’t. Because if I thought last year was crazy, this year was crazier. More complex, more layered. And I got the matching set—the miniature disasters, the dashed hopes, the poor judgement calls, all the mistakes and the flaws. But without these, what would be the counterpoint to the deep satisfaction of wrapping a film shoot, hanging out with friends, laughing out loud at some stupid joke, falling in love?

And maybe this is part of growing up—realizing that you can’t sum up a year in a blog entry. You can’t say whether a year is good or bad. Just that it was.

yeah.

2007-12-23T16:34:00.000-05:00

I was supposed to fly home last Monday. No sprawling holiday reunions for me this year. No crazy brother to introduce new music to. No new video games to be introduced to by said brother. No little cousins to pester and make mischief in my general vicinity. No guy cousins to chauffeur me around on the back of motorcycles. No grandparents to hug fiercely but gently because they feel more and more fragile each year. No mother to pester about how I’ve let myself go, no father to knock on my high-school bedroom door and tell me I sleep too much. No blue blue blue of the sea and sky. No sunlight—at least not the kind you get here New York, all over-blown and warm and nostalgic. It’s hard to explain. No rice paddies, no rolling mountain landscapes. No heat, no humidity.

I thought I was totally okay with that. I am so obviously homesick. Just saying.

filling in blanks

2007-12-20T20:44:00.000-05:00

2007 is coming to a close, Christmas is around the corner and in a little over a month I will finish up with film school. Oh I can talk about what I've been up to lately-- that dark territory known as the "Thesis Shooting Period" when your whole life is distilled into those pockets of time that exist between the words "Action!" and "Cut!". Everthing else is for this. The phone calls, the budgets, the shotlists, the casting sessions. Loading and unloading c-stands and sandbags. Freezing out in the cold, standing in the pouring rain, the dawn call-times, the endless amounts of black coffee. All this for the magic of those few moments when the world waits with bated breath for stories to unfold.

And when you are directing; the chaos that ebbs and swirls around you, and because you are the center, you must hold. And despite feeling like I am on the verge of a nervous breakdown constantly-- I've looked around, whether under the blue-gray dawn or in the overbright comfort of a soundstage and I can seriously say, "This. I want This. This is my life."

My life. Oh, it may look like a roiling mess from the outside. Probably from the inside too. Wierd schedules, no income, very little sleep, friendships and connection made and unmade in the span of a film shoot. This is a life that is amenable to extremes of emotion. A life where success, the kine one thinks of when it comes to the film industry is rare, and seemingly at the cost of your soul. I have run the gauntlet. It's tough, even tougher when you are one of the few females around. I've learnt to roll with the boys, put up with alot of BS. And yes sometimes wondering that by doing so, have I lost a part of myself along the way.

And so in a roundabout way I return to the beginning. They call me Ms. Crash and Burn-- rather I've appropriated the name for myself after a friend mentioned it to me. Tongue in cheek of course. 2007 was definitely the year of the Crash and Burn. Multiple Crash and Burns. And just when I thought I'm getting it right. Something or someone comes along and undos me. But this has also been the year when I spent the most time examining my-- for lack of a better word-- spirituality. This has been a quiet process. Covert almost.

Because you know, life goes on. Change doesn't come overnight, and mistakes will continue to be made. I don't know about you but I'm kinda tired of beating myself up for them, thinking that somehow I should have been more ________________
That somehow, if I could fill in any given blank (prettier, hotter, smarter, louder) Then it would be okay.

But what did I really learn? Uncertainty.

When you are on a shoot, when you are trying to get the perfect take before the sun disappears behind the clouds, before the generator kicks again or before the cops stroll by, and there are a myriad of ways that life's chaos can intervene, there is a moment when you just have to... surrender. When you accept that you are not in control, that you most probably will regret this in the morning, but you do the best you can and embrace the scary uncertainty.

In a film shoot, you can plan for every fucking contingency, assemble all the equipment, double check shotlists, buy up all the talent in the world, but that a film does not make. And so it is with life. I may not have a five-year plan, or a significant other, or an income. I may not have a bitching place in Brooklyn or buy stuff from Urban Outfitters. I may not know where I'll be within a year but let me assure you, I have a life. And I love it.

it bears repeating.

2007-12-20T00:37:00.000-05:00

i. love. this. damn. city. so. very. very. much.

not matter how convoluted, complicated, or just plain effed up my 'love' life gets. there's always this city. and all the possibilities... like finding love underground. and if that isn't enough go check out New York Magazine's list of other reasons.

wild sound

2007-11-27T11:22:00.000-05:00

so there's this one moment-- after we get out of the car, and the snow is falling, and the sound guy asks for silence, and because it is habit after a week of filming, we stand still and he raises his face to sky. And the thing is, it really, really is quiet, out there in the woods of Woodstock, the snowflakes falling down, and everything is dampened because of this-- nature's own personal sound blanket. And all we can really hear is the slight pitter-patter of snow. And you should see the smile on the sound-guy's face.

to illuminate

2007-11-05T00:00:00.000-05:00

I have been writing.

Elsewhere.

Some excerpts:

"I sit in this neighborhood cafe, with the golden afternoon sunlight for a companion, listening to the sound of kids. Piping, high, hopeful. The taste of chocolate and coffee, velvet on my tongue, and I am grateful. I want so much to live in grace, to live with God, and maybe it begins here, on a balmy afternoon, a respite from the jarring cold of the past few days. Learning to love, and re-learning to love this city everyday. And maybe that is our only task, our mandate in this life-- learning to love and if somehow we get lost-- relearning to do so. "

"my grandfather on his quest to learn every name of every single tree and plant in the Philippine Islands (in Filipino and English) and then there is me, talking to my plants." (I have yet to name them.)

Some other things to warm the cockles of your heart, to reveal a little more depth and complexity in the everyday.

A Tale of Two Cities: Baguio, and New York City (via Bits and Bobbins)-- some reasons erm, pictures why I love them so.

And then there is the magic of Public Domain-- a plethora of old texts in Tagalog... at Project Gutenberg

A quote courtesy of Oprah Magazine: "I've had moments of crisis, which have led me to study and argue with God, at times dramatically... Hasidism teaches that no heart is as whole as a broken heart, and I would say that no faith is as solid as a wounded faith." - Elie Wiesel

...and that's all I got.

random thought...

2007-10-12T02:32:00.001-04:00

It occurs to me, that I spend alot of time hiding myself in this blog as much as revealing. That there are so many bloggers out there that are so much more forthright about sharing their stories, leaving pieces of themselves bare and vulnerable to the internet's wilds and its denizens. I envy that. I wish I were that brave. Too often I think that the-- or rather, my act of bravery is holding yourself in all the time, keeping your stuff together-- hauling a wall up or armoring yourself. And there is this one scene in Catch and Release (I'm a fangirl of Jennifer Garner, what can I say?) where she admits to stealing library books over a vegan feast-- and all the crazy, silly, stupid, things she's ever done that her fiance knew nothing about. And I wonder what is it that I wouldn't really admit about myself because it's not exactly 'cool' or the 'it' thing? And maybe it's exactly these things, these little details that make me who I am, these things that somebody could fall in love with, no matter how wierd or off the wall it really is.

eventually, someday. (a poem. sorta)

2007-10-08T01:30:00.000-04:00

and maybe it has to be like this,
you're thinking,
at three o'clock in the morning
under the
neon blue
sipping on too strong
mai-tais
wondering when
life left you behind.

the tranny
in the confetti wig has
more curves than you'll ever have,
but you figure
if this is the waiting room
you could do a lot
worse than a
thatched out Nipa Hut
between First and A
on this Island
called Manhattan.

and it's funny because the kid
who brought you here isn't from an
island, at least not the tropical kind.
and that song comes on,
the one you broke your foot to,
the one you have yet to break your heart to,
because you gotta admit
it's been awhile since you did that kind of
falling.

but you sing along anyway.
at the top of your lungs.
tone deaf and quavering,
as it were.
because maybe life will have heard
and come back to get you.

Lust and Other Objects

2007-09-20T22:34:00.000-04:00

I miss the shape of words. that sounds wierd doesn't it? I am on my n'th edit of the script, and then I am retiring the writer and moving on to the director/producer leg of this thing. but back to words.Right now the act of writing doesn't exactly hold the joy of writing. I think as a writer, I am a collage artist as well, revelling in juxtopositions, and contradictions. None of this pausing, deliberating, just stream-of-conscious-- no need to think about fucking narrative causality, or exposition or whether real people say the shit I want them to be saying.

It feels good to write that down. And no this isn't my angry-girl routine. Or maybe it is. I don't know.

It's been a week of being nocturnal, of trying to shape this wriggling mass into something I can get excited about-- because it's a little late in the game to explore that idea about the spinster that lives with her parents. Sigh.

I did take a break to watch You, Me and Everyone We Know . Miranda July is genius. That's all I can say.

I miss putting together words just because the sound good together, because there is cadence, rhythm, and resonance. Words like reliquary, and exquisite, and sonata. To write sentences like:

"This Parisian garett was reliquary for all the memories of their lovemaking, haunting the soul like some exquisite sonata-- which once heard is never quite forgotten."

It's probably a run-on sentence, and overly flowery-- but there is something satisfying about it just the same. And I wish I could write my film like that-- I wish I could capture in the stringent formatting of Final Draft the way I write when I'm free to write. All lyrical and tangential and stringing words along like a beaded necklace.

and the title is there, because I like the sound of it-- nothing more.

birthday girl

2007-09-08T01:45:00.000-04:00

So there's carrot cake in the fridge courtesy of the new roommate, magenta dahlias and another potted plant I have yet to give a name. And a gift card to an art store (totally happy about this.) There was a ridiculous amount of good food involved this year. Filipino food courtesy of Pistahan down on first avenue, a triple Martini sampler, and brunch at Ovelia. Ria the other member of our Moho trio came by to chill as well (she celebrates her birthday on the 12th). Plus phone calls and touching messages from everyone.

And that makes 24. And no different from 23 I suppose. And I remember writing last year that 23 couldn't possibly top 22. I was pretty wrong about that. 23 was a pretty bumpy ride, but it makes for colorful stories. And though 22 was mellow, and chill and me feeling my way around this city-- 23 was the universe stomping on the gas pedal and me trying to catch my breath. Last night, we were all chilling on one bed, Seng, Ria and I-- doing that late night girltalk thing-- and we were so worn out from the crazy day we had-- and its wierd that we've been out of college for two years now, and we're getting to that age where we're sorta thinking about getting proper (read: matching) cutlery and plates, and framing our pictures, and bitching about our chosen career paths and having brunch (like Sex and the City). And it's sort of this brave new world.

But really I don't feel too different from yesterday.

As for birthday wishes, I think I got it. I've been so stressed out lately, that actually not partying and just flipping through a magazine for the rest of the day was probably the best way to go about it. But I'll be dusting my dancing shoes off at some point before month's end-- don't you worry about that.

little bloggity dance

2007-08-23T02:07:00.001-04:00

Finished the thesis. The first full draft and it is good to note that I don't totally hate it. Cause for a celebration in itself. Yay! I'm so high on this feeling right now.

it's the details that count.

2007-08-18T07:37:00.000-04:00

While commenting on this blog-- I just noticed how Blogger asks you to choose an identity. How post-modern is that?

Purge

2007-08-17T12:47:00.000-04:00

So. A morning to myself. I love these. No rushing to get out of the house to catch the N train. One of my boys just moved into Soho from Brooklyn, and I am insanely jealous. It's like five minutes from school, and there's all sorts of nice eateries and expensive boutiques at his doorstep. His apartment is pretty sweet too. I have insane pack-rat tendencies, but I'm always fascinated by shoe-box living, by the creative use of space. Maybe there's something about limitations that brings out that sort of inspiration.

Another thing that I'm finding myself repeatedly drawn to is learning to live humbly. New York City may be the pinnacle of decadence-- but sometimes I crave those sweltering nights in Ilocos, walking around barefoot on cool tile, with no light to distract from the glory of the Milky Way. Or I dream about Hawaii, just living in a tent on a beach and learning how to surf.

And maybe this is me running away from my life again. I love this city. I'm practically married to it-- but lately I've been wanting to be anywhere but here. It's like I want to start from scratch-- that maybe if I get all the factors lined up properly-- everything would be... perfect.

But wishing for perfect is an exercise in futility. And perfect is boring.

So even if I can't rewind time, and undo some things-- and even if I can't start over from the beginning. I can choose to let go of the things that are pretty fucked up and move on.

Hard to do. I know. I've been angry alot lately, bubbling under the surface. And though I suspect I know why, I don't want to admit it quite yet. I can't even begin to articulate it quite yet. But maybe I should let it out. The only thing, my wrath always ends up looking like full-blown idiot crazy. Not the 'you will tremble in your shoes' kind. So another exercise in futility. Easier not to care right?

But then-- there's this story-- my teacher who was slowly going blind from birth, but went to film-school in spite of it. And the sheer poetry of the situation-- reminds me not to get so mired in my everyday situations. Forget the record heat temperatures, the awkward vibes and hurt feelings, the resentment, the swear words muttered under your breath, the frustration. Choose to see the sky blue overhead, the balmy nights, the unexpected smile from a stranger. Choose.

some notes

2007-08-02T19:48:00.000-04:00

So. Just letting you know what's up in radmadland.

-- Drama aside, I'm still writing the thesis. It's hard to wrap my head around the whole thing at the moment, but my vision of the piece is slowly articulating itself. It helps that I've recently seen Everything is Illuminated. I'm exploring themes along the same lines-- people in search of things, histories, answers.

-- We have a new roommate! Pretty effing cool. And the household is officially a filmmaker household. 2 out of 3 ain't bad.

-- I've reappropriated the Spawn*Belief blog to house all my various 'isn't this the most awesome thing ever' blogging. This blog will probably be more random thoughts based than anything now.

-- I also want to point out-- I have an etsy shop. I'll be adding more artwork and stuff soon!

That's pretty much it for the moment. I'll write soon.

a diatribe.

2007-07-30T15:33:00.000-04:00

to be completely honest with you, I don't know what I'm getting at. not really. these days I feel like I've got fragments of inspirationg, oh-so-fleeting bits that tease me, and then I feel horribly blocked. not blocked reallly. just that there's something I'm trying to get out and keep in simultaneously. like, everything I'm doing nowadays is just a means of avoiding doing something else. or everything I'm doing nowadays is just a means of avoiding thinking. oh, I can talk about it, psychoanalyze all the random crap that's happened to me into the ground. and I can be frickin' blase, and be all-- "yeah I'll get over it". because I don't know how I got this way, but I always feel slightly guilty for being upset, angry, resentful, mutinous. I shouldn't care so much. I shouldn't take things personally, I shouldn't be difficult. I should be just me-- cheerful, soft-spoken, always knows where things are, and how things should be done. boring, dependable Madelyn. and I'm kinda tired of it. tired of being the forgiving type, the mature one, the easygoing, laidback one. Tired, tired, tired. Tired of being dismissed, forgotten and ignored, because surely I won't mind. Because I never mind. and even if other people are involved-- I know that it's up to me to do what's right. to be the bigger person. shit like that. But you'll forgive me, if I'm not exactly ready to do that right away.

displacement activities etc...

2007-07-18T01:15:00.001-04:00

inspiration wall, originally uploaded by RadMadHatter.

I've been keeping strange hours. Burning the midnight oil so to speak. Its funny what you'll do to delay the process of writing. I've started drawing for half-hour bits with an unused charcoal pencil in an old sketchbook. I tell myself that this is because I miss working with my hands, that I want to get them dirty-- not deal with clicking mouses and clacking keyboards. Which is true, and as far as procrastination techniques, it is rather freeing. I also have been hemming a shirt with bright red thread by hand (can't buy clothes, so I'm altering the shit I have.) I've been rereading books, I've watched movies and dissected them. None of this gets any writing done.

But I sat down the last couple of days and forced myself to write. Stuck a song on repeat, turned off the internets, and put words to paper. It's not so much that I don't have any shit to say, rather I have too much to say. I want to piece together an Odyssey through the subway tunnels of New York, I want to evoke the sense of discovery and loss found in immigration stories, I want madcap, and quirky, and love, and fairy lights, and lots of magic. I want characters you want to spend time with, characters you fall in love with as much for their flaws rather than their strengths. I want the mythic and epic, the intimate and the universal. In short I want everything.

How does one even begin?

But I read it off of Paolo Coelho's blog-- the question that Castaneda poses- "Does it have heart?" And rereading Neverwhere- "You've a good heart,' she told him. "Sometimes, that's enough to see you safe wherever you go."

So the writing begins again. Wish me luck.

friends

2007-07-06T14:35:00.000-04:00

We listen to Regina Spektor at three o'clock in the morning on the 29th floor, as the city lay beneath us-- lights showing through a sheet of rain. We sing along, though we really don't know the words, and we kinda had too many beers anyway. We are bundled up on a broken couch, the four of us, our limbs overlapping. And I can't help but think to myself, that sometimes my life feels like a movie or a sitcom, where things are larger than life, strange and wonderful and unknowable and epic. But mostly I think all this, because we sat in a hospital room hours before, another place with a killer view and laughed over dirty magazines that we bought to cheer up our fallen comrade, D.

It is nothing dire. We joke about it... elaborate plans to sneak a stripper in, maybe two. He'll be okay.

And I look around and I realize, somehow I've found myself a family of sorts. Dysfunctional? A little bit. But we dropped everything to come to this hospital room, and if anyone else was laying in that hospital bed, it would still be the same. D tells us to go, have fun-- not waste our time with vigils, after all A is leaving for Amsterdam in four days. But as he said three weeks ago as we sat around a bonfire in Woodstock, NY-- 'there's no place on earth I'd rather be.'

And so it is. I don't think I make friends to easily. I am shy, reticent, maybe a little too strange to be that cool girl you gotta be friends with. Sometimes too self-conscious, and socially awkward. But I'm loyal. In this city, we make so many connections, and they are often fleeting, and open ended. I've been thinking about it alot lately-- is a connection less valid if it didn't last? Even if a connection comprised of two eyes meeting in crowded subway? Even if you forget the day after, because we're so caught up in our own everyday worries?

But it really is a thing of wonder isn't it? That you can have friends, that make even the most mundane thing like walking through Manhattan on a rainy night seems like a grand adventure. That even if your best friend is so burnt out and overworked, she'll sit and talk to you until 2 AM, because you just need to talk-- and even if you gabble about your other friends all the time, she listens fascinated anyway. That you have guy friends that call you 'princess' and will make sure you get home safely and will come into the city from Jersey just to have an hour or two to catch up with you. That you get a set of PJ's (Don't Feed the Supermodel t-shirt) everytime you crash at their place (and sometimes it's to much work to change, so you just layer this on top of your jeans anyway.) And that's just NYC.

And since we started it with her, let's end it with Regina.

"This is how it works
You're young until you're not
You love until you don't
You try until you can't
You laugh until you cry
You cry until you laugh
And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath."
-Regina Spektor, 'On the Radio'

international Day of Possibility

2007-06-21T00:01:00.001-04:00

First, a poem.
Then a list:
--Learn how to surf
--Grow Frangipani trees.
--Return to Bali
--A healthy, long life
--Live in New Zealand, Australia, Hawaii
--Finish the novel
-- Stay in New York
-- See Rent, Wicked, Chicago
--Make more art
--Fall in love
--Make films with Open Space
--Run a coffeehouse
--Learn how to drive, but ride a motorcycle instead
--Visit Italy, Ireland, Spain, Morocco,
--Learn how to sew
--Build a library
--change the world
--have an awesome apartment
--go to a flea market
--get another tattoo
--buy a bike
--have my own art show
--learn to be me
--have a yoga practice
--get a dog or cat or both
--meet some of my heroes
--be braver in telling people how much I love them.
--deepen my spirituality.
--live in Manhatten
-- for Ryan to come back to NYC

what would you do? let everyone know.

extraordinary

2007-06-20T15:57:00.000-04:00

"Anything less than extraordinary is a waste of my time." -- Frankie, Dream for an Insomniac.

There is a bit of quiet time here at camp radmadhatter. Enough time to rediscover a favorite of mine. I saw this movie back when I was in high school, and remembered loving some of the choice lines that Frankie (played by Ione Skye) says. Though not the greatest of cinematic achievements, I can understand the appeal then and now (at least for me). Frankie is both idealistic and cynical, dresses up in flamboyant costumes, and works at a coffeeshop. She has a closeknit group of friends that are equally as kooky, reads too much and has trouble sleeping. When she meets the love of her life she quotes Aristotle to him, and he quotes back. And she loves Frank Sinatra.

I am always drawn to characters like that, I suppose, people who are unapologetic about being themselves. Bold, brash, larger than life. I picked up Scarlett, at a thrift store last week as well, and I have to admit she's one of those characters that have left an imprint on my high school self. Not so much that whole belle of the ball thing, but the tenacity and the contradiction. By virtue of being Filipina, I think I am brought up to admire strong women. There is my trailblazing mother, yes. But there is my grandmother before her who was a working mother as well, who buried three young children, who adopted another, who took care of me during that first year while my parents made a living abroad. There is my best friend, who helps support her family at home, while trying to pay off a student loan. Time and time again, I have seen how women have kept it together, have adapted, have been the constant.

These are just thoughts bouncing around in my head, tangents that relate to my films, my life, my headspaces. Brainstorming for my thesis, trying to figure out the story I want to tell. It is there percolating. I have been writing, writing alot. I've been digging deep. I've also been hiding out from the world. Sometimes I need to do this.

I wanted to talk about Woodstock, and how refreshing it was to be out of the city. But that might have to wait a little while longer. Tomorrow is the International Day of Possibility. Go check it out.

bullets

2007-06-14T12:55:00.000-04:00

Greetings! A really quick blog entry to let you know what's been up with me thus far.

A rehaul of sorts for my blog. I found the above photograph when I went home in January. That's me, 2 years old in Tel-Aviv. My brother, yet to be born. I'm guessing that my father took this picture. How I've taken after him!
I'm in the middle of movie shoots right now, taking off for Woodstock in two hours. I wrapped my shoot up on Tuesday, and am quite happy with the results. Ready to move on to editing the film, and begin writing my thesis.
Have slowly been catching up with friends, far and near-- my circle of friends has been quite small lately, consisting of crewmates and classmates. Thanks to everyone who's been so patient with my crazy schedule lately.
Have seen quite a few movies in the past month: Oceans 13, Pirates of the Carribean, Day Watch, and Paris Je t'aime (my favorite)
Have also been reading alot-- Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert is truly life-changing. A Dirty Job by Christopher Moore, and Kushiel's Scion by Jacqueline Carey are a couple other books that stand out.
My crewmates and I are slowly finding common ground in our musical taste-- Mos Def's 'Ms. Big Fat Booty', Regina Spektor, The Frames, Amy Winehouse, Travis "Why Does It Always Rain on Me".
Other interesting things I've been doing lately: searching for Peter Pan costumes, dissecting the nature of love, eating Italian Ice, late night brainstorm sessions over rum-coke and donuts, faking dust-motes and sunlight, making out like crazy in taxi-cabs, drinking pink champagne religiously, teaching myself about grace.

Well, I'm off. I'll try to write soon.

comeback

2007-05-27T11:23:00.000-04:00

Let's hear it for the long weekend. I've forgotten how I love weekday mornings to myself, doing nothing but checking blogs, and composing long-winded e-mails. Apologies, my internet presence for the month of May has been strictly limited to obsessively checking facebook, and not so obsessively checking my mail. But there is so much I want to talk about.

Well, film school is still film school. I've found my perfect crew, we're this strange little family of sorts-- bringing different strengths to the table, definitely mutual respect for our abilities, and a sense of investment in everyone's project. Which I love, because I dislike it when people are half-assed about anything. The above picture is an example. My friend A and I put together a psychic's den in 30 minutes flat with the help of light-stands, gaffer's tape and a cheapo beaded curtain from my local bargain stop. Another cool thing about this crew is at the end of the day, we all genuinely like each other as people. So we can hang out and party and know that we'll show up for call time.

My own films have been getting better I think. I'm definitely alot more comfortable behind the camera. It's still a learning experience, this directing. A little bit like playing god. Every detail accounted for. Everything towards the bigger picture. Which can be intimidating. There's this great man that comes in and gives us a special lecture about his career. And what a career. Coming out of post WWII Czechoslovakia under Stalin's rule, he made films that were both hauntingly beautiful, and defiant. So much so, that he was exiled, and his films banned, and attempts made on his life. When he talks to us, he speaks of great painting masters like Rembrandt, color theory, and spirituality. He says that every moment is both tragic and comedic simultaneously. He is allowed to go back to his home country now, but he also tells me, "Only here in New York , did I lose my homesickness."

And grappling with my own creative intent lately, I realize this gentle soul with his unbelievable life-- with his talk of miracles and tragedy and the life after this one, and the heart he puts into his films-- this is how I should be. And he's not the only one inspiring me lately. Everyone has a story, and everyone is connected. Lately, I've been digging through my subconscious and my journals, looking for patterns, returning to my obsessions. Talking out with my friend G, in a diner on a Friday evening. What's your burning question? How does this blog relate to my vague subway writings? How do my loves of graffiti, Che, Vogue, people watching, fantasy, and travel writing intersect?

Tentative answer? Awe and wonder and transcendance.

Now the question is of course, how do you even begin to put all that down into five minute short. When I figure it out I'll let you know.

sunshine

2007-04-22T22:25:00.000-04:00

can you feel it? after getting rained on nearly a week ago ( made me think of swanning around in Baguio during typhoon season) and getting sick as a result-- the sun came out this weekend, and we have the windows propped up in our bathroom, and I can feel the promise of humidity, of sultry nights hanging out in the wee hours of morning, doing nothing, just... being, and feeling the caress of sun on my face, you bet this island girl is doing her happy dance.

other things I"m grateful for lately (cause I haven't done this in awhile and I need some karma points):
-butter popcorn (yes the vice is back to replace some other um, unhealthier vices)
-chamomile tea, honey and lemons for those days when you need to feel cozy.
-Barnes and Noble-- not only because the presence of so many books has a calming effect on me, but the Union Square B&N saved my life plenty a time, we sought sanctuary here when we got locked out, this is where I gather inspiration, and take bathroom breaks if I'm chilling in the park.
-being able to sleep in.
-colorful sundresses and flipflops
-actor friends who step up and help a friend in a crisis.
-my parents celebrating their 25th wedding Anniversary

ponder

2007-04-19T21:07:00.000-04:00

So busting out the big guns, because I'm not sure when I'll be able to write again soon (but will try to do a weekly update at the least.) I've been wandering around the internet these last couple days, since I've been recuperating from a crazy week of shooting projects (guerilla filmmaking for me because I like living dangerously.)

Anyways, Willi tagged me with a Thinking Blogger Award. Needless to say, I am immensely honored. Here's my list of bloggers that make me think:

1. Tagging back Secret Gospels, Sacred Sites of course. This blog is, if anything a travelling carnival, the place I dream of running away with, because somehow through Willi's words and pictures, the world seems more luminous, not so cut-and-dried, and every story of his is a returning to a common ground, not only between he and I , but potentially between every soul on this planet.

2. A favorite made new again-- is Selftaughtgirl-- I started reading her when alot of questions were cropping up in my life, at a time where I was standing at a crossroads, and knew I was somewhat paralyzed about taking a step forward, any step. She's so honest and brave about her own struggles, and her own thought processes on this blog, that I always come away evaluating my own thoughts, and approach to life.

3. I am such a fangirl of Andrea from Superhero Journal, I really recommend you read every single journal entry in the archives, she will make a believer out of you. An awesome photographer, with a heart to hold the world, and an uncanny talent for attracting serendipity. Plus, she's chums with Sark.
4. Tahas: J. is a blogger buddy of mine-- our venn diagram intersections would read, "product of New England liberal arts college", "Filipino roots", "Rice Bowl Journals", "hopeless romantics/ idealists", and "bloggers". He is a kindred spirit-- as someone who needed to get away from being in the Philippines to relate to her roots better, he is a mirror image-- read his incredible odyssey in the summer of 2006 to return to the Philippines to figure out the rest of his life.
5. And of course, I gotta mention Keri Smith, I started reading her way back when-- and like numbers 2 and 3 on my list, I love her writing for its ability to uplift and her questing mind. She lived out in a cottage near the woods in Canada, and she likes tea and books and galoshes, and when she writes and draws, she is so unapologetically herself. I especially like one of her recent blog entries about Herman Hesse. That definitely made me smile.

So there you have it. And so I leave you with this quote from a guy that I wish had a blog (and I literally fell in love with him because of his writing, alas the unrequited kind but ah well.)

The distance between delusion and destiny is small. Every personality has its
sphere of influence. A family takes on the characteristics of a parent much like
a movement takes on the characteristics of a visionary. But a visionary must
think of the movement of its own accord. The only way to know if it's any good
is to hold the vision and see what happens. Every vision is a delusion utnil it
works. A good vision is a needle in a haystack of delusions. Sorting
through the haystack-- now that is destiny.
-- David Linhart, 'Everyday Artists'

more reflections on Lagalag

2007-04-07T12:22:00.000-04:00

This has been my first true weekend in a long time. None of that struggling to get over a hangover to head to the editing lab on an overly bright saturday morning, no crazy commute when by all rights I should be in bed asleep. It's been six weeks since I started this film program and it feels like six months of drama has been packed in there somewhere. There is very little time or space to be introspective, and me I miss my three day weeks and all those Mondays and Fridays to myself, to do nothing but dream and make art and read blogs.

If I hadn't picked up the habit of writing on my subway commutes, I probably would have gone insane by now. And sometimes you really do need to mix things up. Take the Lagalag Travelling notebook project. I agreed to it way before I realized how intense film school was going to be.

Yet, when the notebook arrived on my doorstep, I was ridiculously excited. Looked through the spreads, read through the entries. And already I felt connected to the people that came before, that had left their mark on its pages. I placed it on top of my printer, and pretty much forgot about it as I threw myself back into film school life. To be honest, I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to complete my portion of the project in time. But I've always been a 'play by the rules' kinda girl-- so I sat down and went with it. Strangely enough, the process was freakishly easy, and I was happy with what came out-- most of it was stream-of-conciousness. I posted the pages online, and sent off the notebook. (A big thank you to Willi of Secret Gospels, Sacred Sites for including me.)

Two days later, one of the project's participants sends me a message on Flickr, to mention how my artwork reminded him of an old roommate of his, one Santiago Bose. And the universe reminds me yet again that we are all connected, more than we'll ever know. Santi was a presence in my life albeit a brief one, someone I knew mostly through anecdotes and through experiencing his art. Someone, whose sheer audacity of vision (and people who know me will know that I have a soft spot for visionaries) was enough to inspire me to make my own art. To read someone's memories of him, to realize that we were both affected by the thread of his existance is comforting. I've spoken with Santi on one or two occasions, I always remember being bemused and awed. He was the first to offer me a chance to exhibit my art outside of an academic setting.

I did not mean for this entry to turn into an impromptu memorial for Santi. I just came out of a discussion where my judgement, and my idealism was challenged, and I suppose I am trying to reassure myself. Sometimes we don't make sense to other people, that maybe they will never really understand us, but that does not mean there is no underlying sense to the world, that my vision of it is no less valid. So I call upon the memory of a visionary, a man who trusted his voice, and I call upon this tenuous strand that is running from Napa to San Francisco to Chicago to here and back to Cali again traced out by an innocuous moleskine notebook to be a witness of my contradictory, glorious, sometimes broken, but always connected vision of this world. Happy Easter everyone. God is alive and well, and so am I.

Lagalag: wings & roots\ new york & baguio

2007-04-03T00:17:00.000-04:00

film-life (ooooh.... update!)

2007-04-02T10:05:00.000-04:00

So film school has basically taken over my life. Well sorta. In a strange way, it feels like there is this big disconnect between my film school life and my 'real' life. No doubt, film school life looms larger, and feels like a reality show (with an international cast, love triangles, politics, wierd interpersonal dynamics). I suppose it's bound to happen with six-day weeks, 12 hour days, the same twenty people every single day. I've shot three short films in the last three weeks, and if that isn't enough to blow your mind, I've been in films. I've been the cake-eating date, the other woman, the dead girl (twice), the klutzy over-burdened girl, a junkie looking for a fix, and the femme fatale who can sleep next to her victim without blinking an eyelash. I have more of an acting reel than I do a filmmaking one.

I can now load an arriflex camera with ease, take light meter readings, still struggling with lighting, and rocked the art of slating from the very beginning. Creatively, I think I'm hitting my stride. It's always been like this for me, especially in school. I am reluctant to do things I really care about, not at first at least. I tend to keep my ideas to myself. I like to stick within the limitations of given assignments playing the good girl (residual valedictorian tendencies I suppose). But this is me playing it safe, and in my first two films it shows. I really should stop doing this, but as always it's a learning process.

Not that I haven't been staying out of trouble either. But it's the good kind I swear. The kind you can turn into a humorous anecdote, or base a whole film on. Just this weekend at four in the morning I was hanging out in Union Square under this statue of a bunny. Then we got locked out of my friend's apartment. Then we left her handbag in a cab. And then we tried sprinting after said cab. There's so much more-- hotel room parties, shooting on rooftops, going into the projects of Brooklyn, hiring actresses on the fly, lugging around equipment, turning my apartment into a film-set. I've picked up the habit of writing on the subway commutes, and when you start to think like a filmmaker, life does seem so much more... epic. And yes, in case you haven't figured it out, I'm having the time of my life, despite an unrequited-like situation (what else is new right?), and sleep deprivation and money woes.

Onto other news, I'm finishing up my spreads for the Lagalag Notebook Project. Tomorrow it's off to Cali. Pictures soon.

rundown

2007-03-08T15:45:00.000-05:00

So it's back to the fast-paced life. It's only Day 5 of Film School, and my head is fit to explode. I've met people from Italy, Colombia, Dominican Republic, Holland, Indonesia via Jerusalem. I've learned to load an Arriflex camera, and shoot camera tests, and took notes about the basic myth structure of film. I know that my school shares the same floor as Bliss Spa, and that H&M is only a stone's throw away. I also know I can't spend money on clothes and books anymore because all of it is going towards film-stock and processing. But I'm having fun. Don't I always? I'll check back soon.

so this is film school

2007-03-01T22:50:00.000-05:00

quandary

2007-02-24T10:24:00.000-05:00

I guess it was too much to ask for some straightforwardness. Some thoughts from the journal (moving backwards chronologically):

"Maybe I don't need to have all the answers, maybe I can be in the in-between with him. Why does that scare me so much? Because it lacks backbone-- because I always, always have mixed feelings and it would be nice to not have mixed feelings about this one thing."

"I suppose I'll get over it soon enough. It makes me sad to acknowledge that. But I guess I only have space in my life for true things. But what I felt was true right?"

"I'm not too broken up about it. I'm not sure if this means there's a part of me that's holding out still or if I'm slowly moving to a place where I can let it go, appreciate it for what it was and look back with no regrets. Easier to write down than do."

Just need to get that out of my system. It will work itself out. There's so much staff I want to write about, but this topic is all that seems to spill out most days. Still doing the low-key thing, but there are a couple things I'm excited about. A photoshoot where I'm actually taking the photos. And this cool new project that I've been asked to participate in by one of my blog-idols. Be back soon.

mornings

2007-02-21T12:47:00.000-05:00

I just realized I'm slowly becoming a morning person. Another nod to impending adulthood I suppose. Admittedly, I need a strong cup of coffee, and music as incentive for me to get out of bed. But despite my night-owl temperement, I've always secretly wanted to be that girl that got up at the ungodly hour of 6 am and went out for a run or to did yoga as the sun came up. But I'm not quite there yet. It's the realization that I have a little morning ritual now. It has slight variations, but it goes a little like this. Music on, coffee, then either poring over my daily blog-reads and e-mails while I drink coffee or writing in my journal. Then I go get ready for the day.

So, I'm back in NYC, and thanks to jet-lag and the lull before I start film school, I've been enjoying some leisurely mornings. It's a good way to regroup-- this return to routine, to solitary. I suppose I was a bit overwhelmed in the Philippines (and I live where again? Go figure.) My parents' household is already up by six-- water boiling, breakfast cooked, and marketing already done by eight most days. And with that kind of energy around you, and not to mention all the sunlight filtering through the curtains it's rare to get any peace and quiet. And instant just doesn't hold a candle to brewed coffee. Ironically, the most relaxed mornings I've had back home was chilling with Karlo and RL after their kids had gone off to school. Probably because they have brewed coffee. And smokes. And newspapers to read.

It's been good to be back, though I've been keeping mostly to myself. Just taking time I guess, before I launch myself back into city life. The return home has provided alot of thought-fodder and inspiration, and I think I need time to digest all of it. And so it goes.

I forgot to mention this, but I have some more pictures up. More to follow.

travel fragments

2007-02-20T08:54:00.000-05:00

"Helped are those who love the broken and the whole; none of their children, nor any of their ancestors, nor any parts of themselves shall be despised." -- The Gospel According to Shug, From Alice Walker's The Temple of My Familiar.

6:33 AM- Manila Time

cold metal seats, that airport smell, old carpet, plastic fumes.
a trio of kids in orange, pink, red. Recycled air.
Sun rising, cell-phone low-batt.
emerging from this dreamhome? homedream?
eager to take flight, despite turmoil.
find I am redundant, obsessive.
Always the heartbreak and the spinster.

***

9:20 am- NYC Time

We are so good at sending our children off.
A fact of life in my country.
Reminded of Paciano's line in Manifest Destiny,
all his dreams, hopes, ambition, riding on the shoulders,
the very young shoulders of Jose Rizal.
To paraphrase:
"So you may pull us up with you."
Uuwi- to go home.
My father uses that word, when he speaks of me in New York.
Strange.

***

...I could learn a thing or two from him. To just be unabashedly one's self.
I think what happens when I'm with family is there's a lot of feedback & static
around my sense of self. If only subliminally. Echoes... why did I feel like such a
stranger? Less valid to the people there because one year of my life was not
witnessed by them and I, in turn did not witness theirs?

brother.

2007-02-05T00:57:00.000-05:00

totally old-school. Me & JC in Egypt

This is the first time, in a long time that I got to be with my brother and father during their birthdays. Can anyone say black-forest cake? I think I enjoyed their birthday cakes (their birthdays are three days apart) way more than they did. And I never figured myself for a cake kinda girl.

But this entry is about my brother. Because, you know, he's cool like that. Really. He's a bit of a scamp really, a goofball, gifted with a strange sense of comedy that never fails to make me laugh. He's just one of those guys that gets along with everybody, but just really low-key and a bit of smartass. A couple weeks ago we were sitting at KFC for a Zinger fix, when he started imitating our dad checking his e-mail, and I laughed so hard mid-chew that I ended up spraying my food all over him. Yeah. The math gene that skipped me is very much alive and well in him, and I hate to admit this, but he's probably a more gifted artist. And come on, don't you think he makes an adorable baby? Even then he was such a ham.

But my baby brother isn't a kid anymore, he is officially adult. Happy 21st Birthday Brother.

life. experiments.

2007-02-04T01:21:00.000-05:00

Keri Smith has been talking about life experiments, and here are some interesting riffs on that topic.

--We are what we Do
--The Really, Really Free Market
--Samara's Project
--February is create-a-thing-each-day month
--Sign up for International Day of Possibility.
-- And a recent blog friend's amazing act of bravary.

I had this really long, rather forced blog entry about it. Which was up for about a minute. I guess I still need time to think it through. There's so much I want to do, so much I want to be a part of, and the problem is choosing where to invest my energy. But I'll figure it out.

R&R

2007-02-02T22:51:00.000-05:00

Despite being sick, I tell myself to stop worrying so much. Two years without getting bed-ridden is a pretty decent track record (not counting the month of the broken foot). It is a bit disheartening when it feels like your body is set to self-destruct. Not that I need any more help from that arena right? And 2006-- the year without Health Insurance definitely made me leery of a flagging immune system. You can bet I pop echinacea pretty religiously.

And then there is that entire New Yorker complex where you can't not be doing anything. After all, the only time we sit still is if we're in transit right? But I also have a very limited time to enjoy being home as it were, so of course I want to pack as much stimuli into the given amount of time. People to see, things to do, music videos and documentaries to help out on, rambling intellectual conversations to partake in.

Though, I suppose there is no better time for my body to fall apart. After all, I am amongst family. There's cable TV, unlimited internet access, a PS2, and a brother I can boss around. We have an awesome great-aunt who cooks the best fried chicken. I seriously don't have to leave the house ever. And this house is a home you know? It's always a mess, but there's always a blanket to snuggle under when you're watching TV, and because it is overrun by boys, there's always some nifty toy lying around. From fitness balls to cue sticks to guitars.

This has been the dilemma of this trip. Reconciling my semi-independant life with this existance here. Back in 2005, it was me choosing between two lives, one or the other, all or nothing. But I think it is good to have this, a facsimile of your childhood home (mine is a tiny apartment in Damascus, Syria). I mean, to still have a place where you can be a kid, where I can laugh hysterically at the most inane shit with my brother, play practical jokes, to bicker, and tell each other tall tales and make fun of each other. So I should just enjoy this. While it lasts.

yech.

2007-01-30T10:43:00.000-05:00

So. I'm on vacation right? Like, I should be on a beach somewhere, soaking in the rays, or doing something somewhat productive. But someone forgot to tell my body, because I feel like crap. But on the bright side, a tad less crappier than I did on Sunday. Argh.

But hey, some pictures are up.

homecomings

2007-01-25T03:01:00.000-05:00

First, you begin to remember how many colors there are.
The greens, celadon, emerald, lime, citrine that inhabit the leaves, the blades of grass.
And the sky and the sea- not a flat blue. Kingfisher, teal, turquoise, sapphire, cerulean.
Everything is hypersaturated, almost cartoonlike in it's exuberance.

And then there is the chaos of family- oh so different from the chaos of the life you built yourself away from these shores. You, who get along better with children, better than with adults, even though you've fallen in the latter category for some time now. You are forced to contend with sharing the remote control, buying in bulk because you can't spoil just one cousin. Forced to share in the myriad of tragedies and victories that permeate the fabric of your family life. Whether you want to or not.

And your parents-- still treating you like that scrawny girl who left home at the age of 14 in search of something you couldn't put a name to-- so young, so completely unaware of what lay at the other end, but jumping anyway and doubtless getting into trouble. And you remind yourself that they need this, they need to hold on a bit longer, and maybe you need this too. And despite the fact that sometimes you feel like that song from Britney's one attempt at acting, you try to breathe and enjoy it.

The pace is slower here. You lay in a hammock, stare at the sky, and you wonder why you don't spend more time in hammocks. There is the taste of green mangoes soursalty on your tongue, crunchycool better than any apple. You spend inordinate amounts of time doing nothing at all with your brother and your cousins. If it's not a hammock, you find yourself on the back of motorcycles. Racing along with nothing but the upturned bowl of sky clouds dancing along in epic choreography. But even that is leisurely, lazy, there is enough headspace to catalog the sensations of wind in your hair, the sun and humidity against your skin, the pervasive thrum of the engine.

Then there is the returning to the places you've loved. The city on the mountains, a reliquary of memories and past selves. There is the bedroom you dreamed in, the people you shared dreams with. Sitting around a table, talking about the grand plans, the state of the world, the books we've read, how things have changed. And yet we are still the same aren't we? Still trying to change this bit of earth into something we can be proud of. It is good to know this.

You see all the paths you could have taken, because you are cherished here, you are looked after here. And you know you could have been someone completely different. But this is now, and strangely, you have no regrets.

interlude

2007-01-23T02:21:00.001-05:00

airplanedreamtime, originally uploaded by RadMadHatter.

Give me a minute to catch my breath. Pictures and posts soon.

In with the new.

2007-01-05T22:24:00.000-05:00

"There are no endings, only new beginnings."

2007. Wow, that was a slow start for me. I know I've been really bad with the whole blogging thing lately, but it's been crazy at radmadhatter HQ lately, I've been trying to get all my stuff together because I am actually, finally heading back home to the Philippines. After a year and half's absence.

On top of that were crazy holiday celebrations, and still holding down the internship (I'm used to having a month's break in between semesters). Yeah I know excuses, excuses. But when life beckons...

But I have also been more reflective. Endings will do that for you. I'm still turning things over in my head, still digesting some new epiphanies, and trying not to worry too much. Been cleaning, and giving stuff away to the Salvation army. I'm reassessing alot of things, but I've not necessarily made any New Year's resolutions. I like the idea of having a list of intentions, but I think the main one is to be good to myself. And to enjoy the moment. Simple, right?

Well. There is packing that needs doing, and sleep to be had for I have a loooong flight ahead of me. In a way, tomorrow feels like the dawning of a new year, a new venture, a new perspective. I'm looking forward to sitting on a beach somewhere, collecting shells, floating in clear blue waters, maybe learning how to surf? Looking forward to chilling with friends and family over red wine, and working on the novel, and reconnecting with my roots, and looking at my home with different eyes. And taking many, many pictures.

Not sure how blogging will go in the wilds of the Philippines, but I'll leave you with some stuff I've been enjoying lately.

--I like street fashion more than high fashion, and this flickr pool is a new obsession. A particular favorite of mine is boboniaa's photos, not just the clothes but the photos themselves. I'm thinking of joining.
-- Saw Children of Men. A great film, despite the theme of dystopia, there are moments that are hilarious. Check out the escape scene.
-- Ugly Betty: so this was supposed to be in my best of '06 screen pics, but I forgot. Auspicious timing on my part anyway, because you can now download the show on i-tunes (my alternative to cable TV).
-- talk of dreams... and interpreting them.\
-- The album, Kelis was Here. Definitely loving the track "Living Proof."
-- Intrigued by these two trailers: The Dead Girl and Factory Girl.

That's it from me. When I write next I'll be back in the motherland. Signing off.

ode to the '06: top twenty NYC moments

2006-12-31T21:21:00.000-05:00

2006 was all about being in the big apple. About moving on, growing up, jobhunting, taking subways, stuff like that. So without further ado, here's some of my favorite moments from the year:

1. There was this guy... anyways, despite the past tense, meeting him, and how we met-- that first stomach-jolting moment of eyes meeting... that definitely makes the top of my list.
2. So a big thing for me in 2006 was me breaking my foot. So that moment when I handed my crutches to my friend and took that first step to normalcy was absolutely perfect.
3. That moment when I realized I wasn't so scared of big, bad New York anymore. Happened somewhere in Battery Park while I was showing Patricia and Art around.
4. Getting caught in Central Park during a massive rainstorm.
5. Tagging along to dance meditation with a friend, it was the most exhilerating thing ever. Well, dancing anywhere actually.
6. Walking through Times Square at 4 am on a summer morning after a night of beers and talking at Ryan's place.
7. Late-night food runs, whether it be lining up at a Halal stand or sitting on a random stoop or poorly lit Chinese restaurant and talking with friends after a good night of partying-- that's the stuff of memories.
8. Sitting in Prospect Park watching Panlevier films while Yo La Tengo plays in the background.
9. That first taste of beef-cube. Mmmmmmmm.
10. Hearing PIC play for the first time.
11. Celebrating over monster margaritas with Seng; me winning that bet, me getting an internship, Seng getting her work permit, or just after a long work day.
12. Hanging out on Claro's roof for the 4th of July.
13. Celebrity sightings: Julia Stiles, Gwyneth Paltrow, Chris Noth, Noah Wyle, Erica Christianssen
14. The circus with Mark. Seriously.
15. Even though it embarassed the shit out of me, when Mark and Harry double-teamed me during "Crush".
16. Breaks on the Woo Fire Escape.
17. Taking pictures of anything and everything.
18. Getting lost while driving with Phoebe in her car but having fun anyway.
19. That moment when I hit my stride while running.
20. Cooking shepard's pie for my mother just to prove I can do something. And her being suitably impressed.

So. 2006 was good to me. There was a slow start at first, I was more introspective, and insulated from the city. Settling in, trying to make art, questioning whether moving to the city was one of my better ideas. Then suddenly, it just sped up, I was getting internships, networking like crazy, meeting people left and right. And finally mastering the skill of navigating subways. I was suddenly all over the place, getting business cards handed to me, hanging out in diners at ungodly hours of the morning, taking part in film shoots, having psychics stop me in the middle of the street, meeting shakers and movers.

I started running and then I broke my foot. Being forced to slow down was good, it gave me time to reassess, to be creative, to sit with myself. After all, I have alot of practice running away from myself. I learnt alot of stuff professionally. I learnt that I have a tendancy to be a bit of workaholic. I learnt alot about me. I learnt how to be me.

2006 was the year in search of the perfect haircut, the perfect red lipstick, nail polish and fuck-me heels (found them all). It was the year of orange converse shoes, experimenting with bottle caps, stencils, matches, and tracing paper in my art. It was the year for getting caught in the rain, and street-fairs, and coffee dependancy. And celebrity sightings. It was the year for learning to be in the moment, and connecting with people if only for that one time. It was the year about learning to budget, and save, and shopping at Bargain Stop. It was the year for crazy guy-friends, film festivals, and barhopping. The year for too many vices, and spontanaeity, and falling in love again after a long time.

So yeah. A city, a girl, a crazy love affair, and some misadventures. How could I possibly top that?

Best of 06: Reads

2006-12-27T14:19:00.000-05:00

Again in no particular order, the 2006 favorites in the book/blog/magazine category.

1. Blueprint-- I never really got into Martha Stewart, but this new publication geared towards the younger jet-set crowd intrigued me. As a first time apartment renter and someone who is obsessed with the idea of 'home', I like the more modern take on domesticity. I also love the aesthetic of the magazine.

2. Hula Seventy-- A recent discovery. I love love love this blog. Her pictures first caught my eye on flickr (love her recent series on NYC) but her stories, thoughts, and wishes are just so colorful and happy and free-spirited and when I read her blog I can only wish that my life is that inspired.

3. A Bird In Hand-- Another person's blog I'm obsessed with. I love her aesthetic as an artist, and I may be a little too obsessed with her apartment (again with the home/apartment/interior design obsession) but I love soaking in her artwork and her stories about her cats and her art and her family.

4. tahas-- probably my first blog friend ever. J is really about making a difference and reconnecting with his roots, aspirations I can definitely relate to. Honest, funny and idealistic, how can I not have a soft spot for that?

5. Oh Joy! -- again with the pretty. Oh Joy! has the honor of eclipsing Daily Candy for my daily style/art/cool stuff fix, which is great because she has awesome taste.

6. Secret Sites, Sacred Gospels-- another blog friend. Wilfredo has travelled far and near, is deep, like really deep, and seems to be asking the most interesting questions. I envy his skill with the camera (his photos are breathtaking and oh-so-brave) and words.

7. Dune-- I have a friend who adores this book, and I played the game, saw the films (both versions) but never got around to reading the book. It has everything, a prodigal son/ prophet/ messiah, a corporate government, an energy source that wars are fought over, environment, geopolitics, an oppressive religious organization, a revolution... and considering it was written nearly fifty years ago, it has never been more relevent.

8. The Shadow in the Wind-- I bought the book on sale randomly, but got sucked into this tale of books, lost love, and stories coming alive. Gorgeous stuff.

9. selftaughtgirl-- reading this blog got me through some tough times, she's self-aware, honest and so strong. I admire that in a person.

10. Under the Tuscan Sun-- I've never read a more sensual book. A testament to following your bliss and taking risks, and visiting Italy.

This was probably the hardest list to cull, but I never liked playing favorites anyway, and I read too much.

Best of '06*: Screen

2006-12-26T23:41:00.000-05:00

My list of movie/ TV show obsessions in no particular order:
1. Lost Season 2: When I saw the first season back in 2005, I was struck by the poignancy of their struggles- internal and external-- though the feel of the show was very different with this season, I like the added complexity of the Hatch, the new characters, and the emerging interconnection between everyone on the island.
2. Prison Break: Two brothers, a tattoo, and a prison. Pretty compelling stuff. There something about the idea of the calm, meticulous Michael Scofield pitting himself against the chaos of prison life in a last ditch effort to save his brother.
3. Bones: Discovered this one on a lark. I have a friend that reminds me of the main character. Rational. Maybe a little too rational. But loveable.
4. Heroes: Everybody loves this show so enough said.
5. Brick: I love how this movie has a vernacular onto itself. With the Joseph Gordon-Levitt's anti-hero, the high-school setting, how style-conscious it is, it's an interesting take on the film-noir genre (never really my favorite genre to begin with.)

6. Firefly: Again, I just discovered the goodness that is Josh Whedon's sci-fi opus. Too bad they cancelled it in its first season.
7. Slow Jam King: A story about a kid and his calling. A madcap roadtrip adventure that involves pimps, perfume salesmen, country music, hip-hop and jilted brides. Plus an awesome soundtrack.
8. V for Vendetta: Considering how I wasn't impressed with the last installment of the Matrix, this was surprisingly good.
9. Paradise Now: I feel like this is a very brave film, and it asks some hard questions.

10. Kontroll: Yeah. I gushed about this enough I think. Subways, good and evil, and a girl dressed as a bunny. What's not to love?

*Note* These are TV shows and Films I've seen/ discovered this year. Not necessarily released.

Best of '06: Music

2006-12-25T23:03:00.000-05:00

I'm not gonna pretend to be a music expert. I'm pretty easy to please, and my taste is at best eclectic. I tend to like alot more pop stuff than what is good for me but hey, this is me. So the top ten music albums of the year are in no particular order:

1. Roisin Murphy- Ruby Blue

2. Damian Marley- Welcome to Jamrock

3. Matisyahu- Youth

4. Corinne Bailey Rae- Corinne Bailey Rae

5. Floetry- Flo'Ology

6. Imogen Heap- Speak for Yourself

7. Incubus- Light Grenades

8. UpDharmaDown- Fragmented

9. Imago- Take 2

10. Gnarls Barkley- St. Elsewhere

It's interesting how musical taste can change. I have this whole theory about musical taste being influenced by location, weather, climate, and let's not forget other people you come into contact with. I know a couple people that switch their music around by season. I definitely know that I've been more willing to add hip-hop to my playlists when I started living here. Some artists I'm really liking are Blackalicious, Mos Def, A Tribe Called Quest, Jean Grae.

Then there are those songs that seep into you psyche, and you can't get enough of it. Usually this is anything I can dance to, so Justin Timberlake, Fergie and Nelly Furtado round off the guilty pleasure list. Though honorable mentions go out to Death in Vegas for "Dirge", PIC for "Talk", Jeff Buckley for "Hallelujah", Gomez for "How We Operate", Zero 7 for "Pageant of the Bizarre" and Sia for "Breathe Me".

Well. Hope you guys had an awesome Christmas Eve and Day. I'll be continuing my best of 06 thing for a bit. So stay tuned.

anniversary

2006-12-23T14:45:00.000-05:00

A year in New York, feels like a lifetime anywhere else. And what a lifetime. From those first days being on the verge of a nervous breakdown (jumping on a bus with everything you can carry after a week of finals is not a good idea) to where I am now, it's been one insane ride.

It was definitely intimidating. I'll admit, I'm not the most daring of people. But there's something about this place that calls you to step up, and take the initiative and no one was going to hold your hand, even if you wanted them to do so really, really badly. And I may have whinged a whole helluvalot when we first moved (just ask Seng) and was hesitant about leaving my comfort zone but when I finally did step out and go see for myself-- wasn't I pleasantly surprised?

It's so easy to romanticise the New York experience. I mean who hasn't dreamt of packing your things, driving cross-country, living out a shoe-box apartment and waiting tables on the way to making it big? This city is by no means bucolic (maybe in some choice parts of Brooklyn) and if you're looking for clean and quiet it's not to be found here. Chances are you'll usually be walking in/on stuff you'd rather not think about, and there will be a siren going off every hour. But there's something about this place. Something about the energy of this place that sweeps you up, and refuses to let go of you.

But there is an honesty. That 'what you see is what you get' mentality. And I've always been drawn to people that are comfortable in their own skin, and if New York was a person, it is very unapologetic about who it is. I love the paradoxes that fill this city from the slicked out jostling with the grit and the grime to the next new things mixed in among the layers of history. This city never tries to reconcile these extremes, instead it revels in it's contradictions. There's high art encased in tastefully lit galleries and museums and then there's art all around on spraypainted onto sidewalks and rooftops. And then there are the people.

I used to joke about how I liked to 'collect' interesting people. Well, New York is filled with them. It's also filled with some of the most beautiful people I've seen. And did I mention, sometimes I see celebrities too? But the people-- I'm always surprised at the different kinds of people I meet here, and how quickly connections form, dissipate and reform. If you really think about it-- a city 80 million strong-- coming here from all over the world-- to live, to make it big, to find themselves-- the potential for connection is mind-boggling.

So yeah. I'm having this full-blown love affair with NYC. Here's hoping it lasts.

Faith/ Denial

2006-12-15T21:32:00.000-05:00

It's halfway into December already? I just realized I haven't gotten around to blogging in ages. I was trying to post something up here earlier this week, looking through my journal for something to excerpt, but I feel like I've been a tad repetitive, a little whiny, being all self-indulgent. But what are artists, and writers and people in general if not a bit self-indulgent? We have our patterns, our quirks, our obsessions. We all have our internal struggles, the ones that follow us around all our lives.

The best of us-- learn to turn these struggles, these demons, these obsessions into something beautiful. As Karlo told me once (and I paraphrase) the pursuit of anything beautiful is always fraught with ugliness. I wasn't sure I totally agreed with him, but I can understand it a little bit now. And isn't that always the conundrum? How far are we willing to go to achieve something? Do we excuse someone's lack of moral compass just because s/he's capable of art that's breathtaking? But we are never just one thing are we?

Just questions bouncing around in my head. Here's one I scribbled into my journal: where does faith end and denial begin? It's a confusing time for me at the moment. Maybe one day, I'll look back and say, "oh. yeah, now I get it."

The faith thing never comes easy, but if it's possible that I would meet a fellow Baguio person a thousand miles from home, if it's possible that I can reconnect with long lost friends from another lifetime eight years ago, then maybe things will go my way. Just when I least expect it. Anything is possible. After all, 'tis the season right?

mappings

2006-11-28T17:19:00.000-05:00

Last night, I was chilling with my guy friends at an ubiquitous Starbucks, fawning over Ryan's new Macbook, when he busts out google earth, and a forty-five minute quest to pinpoint my house in Baguio began. Because addresses in the Philippines aren't in the database, it was a touch and go thing, the layers and layers of various aerial photographs blurring in certain areas like ghost towns of what was or could have been. None of that Sim-city crispness of a map of say-- New York.

There is also, I suppose, a certain bittersweet quality to this quest of mine-- having been away for more than a year-- my notion of Baguio is fixed as I left it, my idea of who I am in Baguio is fixed. To view it from up above, and to be confounded by the unfamiliarity of this perspective is a little disturbing. Even though I found SM Baguio easily enough, it was hard to retrace all the side-streets and shortcuts I would take with my brother whenever we'd walk there.

Finally after mapping other landmarks, my alma mater Brent, the Pink Sisters Chapel, the LTO in my neighborhood, the unmistakable roof of the Convention center, the snaking of asphalt begin to make more sense. It turns out there is no square of roof to proclaim our residence, just the blurring of ghost houses. But I place a digital pushpin on it anyway.

I will be returning home in a short while. A month will surely pass by in a blur, and I will be winging my way across the Pacific. Now that another city has seeped its way into my soul, has shaped my own emotional bearings, I wonder how I will view my hometown? I wonder how different the light will be to me, how my own footsteps down Session road will seem alien and familiar all at once? Will I slip on my Baguio-self, or retain my sparkly New York self? Will people be able to tell how much I've changed in a year, or will they only see the memory of the girl I was? Will I think the same of them? Interesting questions all.

But if like my house, I only map myself in relation to the landmarks that surround me, what does that say about my sense of identity? Maybe like my house-- I am a little blurry, a ghost of what was, and what could have been.

abundance

2006-11-21T17:01:00.001-05:00

Hands, originally uploaded by RadMadHatter.

A year ago, I was in this city to visit. Meeting up with friends at Penn Station arriving from Albany and Washington DC. We all slept over at another friends apartment up on 92nd Street, and headed into Jersey for the usual turkeyfest that is Thanksgiving. There was a chocolate fountain, bottles of red wine, a late night drive to catch Rent at the theaters. And a year later, here I am with a ton of things to be thankful for.

There's family. Living in this city where there are millions of people going about their lives daily, it always amazes me that people choose to stay connected. It's not easy. I'm thankful that my blood family has managed to stay together, that my parents are happy after 24 years together, that although they don't necessarily understand me, they support me. That I have the most awesome brother in the planet (who I cannot believe is actually in his twenties now). I'm also grateful for the family I've made through the years. Though I've never been lacking in the whole family department (29 cousins!!!)-- I am equally blessed in the family I've made for myself over the years. From the Open Space crew, to my MHC WoWs, to my newfound New York (and some New Jersey) friends. You know who you guys are, I am so psyched that you are in my life. I hope you are equally psyched in return, because if anything I am loyal.

There's the apartment and this city and subways systems. You guys cannot possibly comprehend how in love I am with this city. Or maybe you can. There's the internship with all the cool things I'm learning every single day, and the chance to figure out what it is I really want to do. And the fact that I'm actually glad to go to work most mornings. There's the iPod and music, always music to keep me company despite the shitty weather, commute, or life. There are the creative types and the overwhelming support and respect all across the board. Not to mention the neverending well of inspiration they are.

There's that satisfying feeling whenever I enter a bookstore humming with quiet life, or that crazy high when you hear your song play on the dancefloor on a Saturday night. There's that anticipation when you upload a set of photographs onto your computer, or send that text or smile at that really, really cute stranger. There are those moments of awe made out of the feeling of someone else's fingers laced in yours, or that liquid gold light filtering through trees on a flawless fall day. And don't even get me started on how much I love summer. There's the taste of morning coffee, when I can believe that a cup of joe is all I need to get me through this life. There's crazy laugh trips, and hugs when you really, really, really need them. And there is now. Mostly there is love, and the possibility of it everywhere.

All this I am thankful for. And that is a fraction of the abundance that has entered my life. So happy thanksgiving all. Stay warm.

P.S. I still listen to the soundtrack of Rent on my iPod, and if I can help it, there will always be bottles of red wine. And with a little luck, a chocolate fountain.

answers

2006-11-17T21:29:00.000-05:00

Thursday, I play this game: I go to one of my favorite blogs-- hit up the archives, choose a month at random and read. This is me in search of answers. And this is what I came away with:

"She said that when it comes to art, she can trust the messes, the mistakes, the wine spilling over the page. That's how she knows things are getting interesting. She trusts that it will all come together in the end, that the process looks messy but like a camera lens focusing, it all eventually comes into view. (Her incredible artwork is a testament to this faith)
But we don't have the same kind of faith within our lives. The messes, the worries, the death. They make us afraid and confused and we want to quit or rewind or start fresh. (How many times have we left a relationship, or been tempted to when things started to get messy?)
We have no faith in the in-between. We have no sense that
right around the corner is some extraordinary beauty just waiting to be revealed. Sometimes we don't move through our mess for long enough to see how it all fits together." Andrea Scher, Faithless

The learning process continues. I am trying not to control too much, to let go a little. I think what happens when you're totally vibing somebody is that you get into this mindset where you're just biding your time until next you see them. You know that whole Wizard of Oz movie effect, when everything else in comaparison is black and white. Ah shit. I've said too much already. So moving on-- what I'm trying to get at, is I've been trying to live more in the moment, trying not to fall into that 'killing time' mindset. Which is how I end up on a train to Jersey, after a really spicy dinner in K-town and a reading at the Asian-American Writer Workshop for the Moving Archipelago conference. There was this ambitious plan to drink coffee, talk all night, and see the sunrise. So there was coffee, chips, and talk, but we only got to the point when the sky was that cyan color that precedes a sunrise.

There were laments over lovers lost, that scary/heady feeling of relationships that could exist in potentia, the ponderous unfolding of our narratives, the attempt at tracing a pattern through the convulated tangle of heartstrings tugged. Every factor is weighed with care, whether it be the timing, the location, the pace, a combination of all three. And at the end of the night-- the conlusion is still elusive and just as labrynthine as the question.

So maybe you should just sign me up for spinstership.

But hey, I left the city for a bit-- got to see the silhouettes of trees against a starlit sky, got to sit in a passenger seat and see all the pretty suburban houses. But there is an overwhelming rush of relief as my train pulls back into Penn Station and the momentum scoops me up, regurgitates me back into the frantic light and the sound-- and I realize-- I'm in love with this city too.

And maybe, that will be enough.

Connections

2006-11-15T14:50:00.000-05:00

(photo found on the Library of Congress, American Memory website)

Some stuff that's resonating with me lately...

"We are all interwoven and create each other's universes. When one person dies out of his time, it affects us all. We don't live for ourselves; we are interconnected. We live for the earth, for Texas, for the chicken we ate last night that gave us its life, for our mother, for the highway and the ceiling and the trees. We have a responsibility to treat ourselves kindly; then we will treat the world in the same way." --Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bones

"He was hers, he made that clear and he wanted to be have the sole right to express the kind of affection only sixteen year olds are capable of, the kind that fixes their place at the center of the universe and gives no thought to tomorrow but only to the beloved and the now." --Wilfredo Pascual, Secret Gospels, Sacred Sites

"i live alone and i really enjoy being alone. when you have a rich inner life, it so easy to spend a lot of time alone. but i also love people and treasure my relationships; and know i need to nurture them. when i do, i am that much happier." --Lisa Congdon, A Bird in the Hand

It's the roomie's week to be at the apartment (as oppposed to her boy's place) so we've been sitting around doing alot of catching up. We've been attempting to unravel the many mysteries of relationships. Like, what makes one stay in a relationship? Whether it be slightly broken or just plain abusive? When does one walk way, or when does one fight for it? What makes you choose one person over everyone else? How can one single aspect of your life be a frame of reference for everything else in your life?

The discussions are quite academic. We compare notes, we trawl through our pasts, and our baggage. I mention how maybe sometimes it seems easier to do the whole spinster route. And the third of our trio (via speakerphone) says "I don't think we're cut out for that."

Yeah. But for awhile there-- it seemed like the way to go. Where you don't answer to anybody, you are your own self-contained universe. You dedicate yourself to being there for your friends, your family. I'd live in some random cottage in Ilocos, and learn to grow things, and finally finish my novel. I'd stargaze and talk back to the Universe. And maybe when I had myself all figured out, when I had built my foundations on firm ground and there was no way anything or anyone would shake them down-- then I would fall in love.

Ha.

And everybody else who knows me, is probably laughing out loud right now, because well, I crush alot. I think the term is 'boy-crazy'. Yeah.

But as I said, we have baggage, and sometimes we insist on carrying it with us all our lives. And sometimes, we're so used to the weight of it, that we don't even realize that we're doing it. And sometimes, with all that weight on your shoulders, it's so easy to give up before you've even begun.

But as Lisa so aptly writes in her blog (see quote above)-- we need to nurture and cultivate connections. Regardless of baggage, and hang-ups. Because, sometimes, all we can do is try. So I'll try.

grateful for: public domain sites, serendipity, crazy guy friends, e-mails from home, and comments on the blog. It's nice to know that people read this stuff.

november

2006-11-13T12:34:00.000-05:00

today I went running for the first time since breaking the foot. and let me tell you it's the most beautiful feeling. floaty. of course the run didn't last very long-- but it felt good to know that my body is capable of that again.

was reading J's blog and he was talking about how everyone had fallen off the blogging wagon. yeah. I keep starting blog entries, keep trying to talk about all sorts of things that have occupied my mind but it's been a bit hard to get things out lately. my 2006 resolution to trust my voice hasn't exactly been panning out lately.

last week three friend e-mailed out of the blue asking how I've been, or rather where have I been. apparantly I've been silent for awhile on the e-mail front, and you know, I didn't think I was gone for that long. But perhaps it's that whole 'New York minute' idea, that time goes a little differently.

so what have I been up to?

I feel like I've been consumed by this internship, and in a good way you know? I'm still an intern, still working for free, but it's definitely been more hands on for me. And I keep meeting these awesome, awesome people in the industry, and just talking to them has been really inspiring. And let's just say-- when other stuff in your life seems a little out of whack-- it's good to have your work to fall back on. So this is why we have workaholics. I suppose it's another form of running on my part. But I think that I think too much anyway.

but my mother calls and tells me, 'feed your soul' . and in this city where it is just as easy to lose friends than
make them, where chaos and hope are bedfellows and lovers, it's a bit of a challenge. and when things seem to be moving way too fast, or not fast enough, and I'm never sure where I stand-- the only thing you can do is try to find your center.

and e-mails trickling from home, a long phones session with a friend in Philadelphia, forcing myself to put pen to paper, help me realize that even though I have changed and grown in this crazy city and priorities have shifted alot-- there is a part of me that remains constant through it all. I'm still that girl that's more goofball than graceful, that will always prefer sneakers to high-heels, and will pretend that seeing Chris Noth at Barnes & Noble is so not a big thing but will tell the stories for months after the fact. And I will always be a klutz.

as for how living in New York has changed me, well that's another story for another time-- but sometimes remembering who you are, can help you make the right decisions-- especially in a culture where it is all about the surface and polishing and polishing until you can't even tell the difference between you and next person. so thank you to Karlo, to Carla, to Nicole for e-mailing and reminding me that life goes a different pace outside of this city. thank you to Ria for talking with me, and admitting that she's also wrestling with similar demons.

and seeing as it is november, and the month of thanksgiving-- who or what are you thankful for?

Fernandez

2006-10-30T15:31:00.000-05:00

shout outs to Ryan, because he turns twenty-two today! And ladies, you are so in luck because he's available! He's probably going to kill me for that last sentence. But really, he rocks. He is the other half of fledgeling art collective Spawn*Belief and is totally talented up the wazoo. He paints, he takes incredible photographs, and he writes ridiculously good poetry. Not only that, but he's thoughtful, and he's easy-going, and he's always game for anything.

plus he looks rather dashing in a biker jacket. so here's to Ryan. Promise I won't get too sloshed at your birthday party.

songs and signs

2006-10-28T14:34:00.000-04:00

Hello. It's been a crazy work week- but in a good way. I just need some time to decompress, but here's something fun I couldn't resist doing. Put your iPod on shuffle, answer the ten questions with the songs that come up. And don't cheat. Taken of off the blog of the prolific Will Pascual.

1.How are you feeling today?

Breakdown by the Toques.

"Gotta make a change/ I want to break it all down/ come on."

commentary: yeah, that sums it up, but in this case the 'change' refers to mountain of laundry and the chores I've been putting off this whole week.

2. How do your friends see you?

Complexity by the Roots featuring Jill Scott

"I've been wondering about complexity/ of what we have/ should there be more?"

commentary: I don't think my friends think I'm a complex person. Though I've had a guy once tell me that he can't figure me out.

3.Will you ever find true love?

Sexy by Black Eyed Peas

"Girl don't be scared at the fact that I envison us getting married and I ain't tryin to rush nuttin/Cuz I aint rushin"

commentary: well. That's encouraging.

4. What is the story of your life?

Feel Good Time by Pink (Charlie's Angels 2 Soundtrack)

"we go where we like/ we got over time/ we get paid to rattle our chains"

commentary: that's pretty accurate. I do like to party. As for the getting paid part? Not so accurate.

5.What was your childhood like?

Learn to Fly by The Foo Fighters

"Run and tell all of the angels/ This could take all night/ Think I need a devil to help me/ Get things right"
commentary: I was pretty sheltered as a kid, but always wanted to be more independent. So this sorta fits.

6. What is today going to be like?

Cupid by 112

"Girl if I told you I love you/ That doesn't mean that I don't care, oooh/ And when I tell you I need you/Don't you think that I'll never be there."

commentary: this is probably the song that didn't fit the question the most.

7. What is in store for you this weekend?

Trouble Sleeping by Corinne Bailey Rae

"It's late and I'm feeling so tired/ Having trouble sleeping/ This constant compromise/ Between thinking and breathing."

commentary: I like my sleep. But yes, lately I've been having trouble sleeping. Listen to the rest of the lyrics if you want to know what I'm getting at.

8. What song best describes you?

How High by Tricky

"I try to show you/ But I don�t know you/ I try to know you/ But I can�t grow you"
commentary: huh. another song that doesn't quite fit. but this is an exercise in randomness isn't it. these were the only lyrics that sorta worked with the question. Maybe it's an extension of question number two.

9. How's life so far?

Fair by Remy Zero

But you're alive! /Well, it's only fallen frames, they told me. /You stand out, it's so loud... and so what if it is.

commentary: this song is a little to sad for my taste, and I'd like to think that my life is pretty upbeat.

10. What song will they play at your funeral?

Apertura by Gustavo Santaolalla (Motorcycle Diaries OST)

commentary: it's the song at the beginning of the film, where they're just starting their journey. It puts me in mind with that quote- "There are no endings, only new beginnings. Fitting.

speak.

2006-10-19T11:07:00.000-04:00

Two Warriors performing at MHC (Fall 2005)

Last night, despite a sore throat/cough catching up with me, I headed down to the Teabag Poet's Lounge to see fellow Filipino artists Two Warriors perform along with some of their ridiculously talented brethren. Needless to say it was a pretty awe-inspiring.

But then I am easily awed. It takes courage to get up on stage and speak your truths. It takes courage to speak your truths period. Listening to their words tumbling out of mouths rhythmic, incessant, heartfelt-- I could feel my own truths drift up to the surface, poised on the tip of my tongue. But I've cultivated the habit of silence for too long.

But when I go to these things, when I see people taking that leap, baring their heart, their souls, their minds, their pasts, I am always struck by how revolutionary the act of storytelling is. How breaking your own silence is an act of reaching out and connecting with someone, anyone, because it is only then that we find out how similar we all are.

Which is probably why I blog. Why I don't hide away all my thoughts in a battered notebook somewhere. Why I make art and why I want to make film. Because if I can't get up onstage to speak my truths, there are other ways.

So speak. Reach out. Tell your stories.

optimist

2006-10-17T19:52:00.001-04:00

Parasol, originally uploaded by RadMadHatter.

For every feared thing there is an opposing hope that encourages us. -- Umberto Eco, The Island of the Day Before

Tonight, I will not write about how I feel like I've been carrying so much fear around with me lately. I will not write about my questions and my doubts and my burdens (real or imagined). Tonight-- as the rain drip drops, I will speak of the good things in my life. The stuff that I have forgotten to acknowledge in the midst of everything.

Things like cute boys spotted on N/W trains and wondering what their stories are. What are their secret dreams, why do they read instead of say, listen to music? And if they listen to music, what kind of music? Or the fact that today, they actually let me put something together on Final Cut Pro--- and how I was totally in that trance-state of creative bliss. Or helping out a friend at this cool theater in Williamsburg and afterwards bonding over coffee and boytalk (yes, I will never outgrow this).

Or how absolutely sexy I think Justin Timberlake's new album is. Of a midnight expedition to this one Halal stand on 53rd and 6th just to see why people line up for ages when there are two other stands a block away in both directions. Or finally jumping on the Battlestar Galactica bandwagon (though Firefly is still the favorite). Or how comforting it is to drink a pot of tea, while rereading George R.R. Martin's A Clash of Kings. And what a joy it is to dance again. These are the things we forget, or we take for granted. The simple things. I think sometimes, it's like I'm holding my breath for life to be perfect, for this or that to fall into place, but if I do that, if I feel like I'm always just waiting-- I miss out on all these great things that are right here, right now.

P.S. I tweaked my portfolio.

rage, rage...

2006-10-13T15:01:00.001-04:00

The days here are growing cooler. Too cold, too soon. I don't know where summer went. Sigh. I've been thinking alot lately, about the notion of faith and love and hope and all manners of abstractions.

My friend's death hit me hard. Harder than I thought. That same weekend after hearing of his death, I went on to celebrate a friend's birthday and the success of his play, I ran into another pair of friends who were celebrating their wedding, and I had finally gotten around to celebrating my own birthday with some dancing as I had hoped.

I raised a glass to him at my party. And I thought: what better way to answer death than witha defiant nod to life? So I did. I danced, I revelled in just being.

And life goes on. Sunday, I scrub the tub, wash a pair of shoes, tackle the stack of dishes in the sink. It feels good. Monday, I get dressed, it's a beautiful day out, there's laundry that needs doing, some things I need to pick up at the grocery store. And for some reason, I can't focus. I cannot get my shit together. I lean with my forehead against the bathroom wall, trying to calm myself. I try to force down the feelings of helplessness, sadness, loss of control. I tell myself I must do what I can, and forgive myself for the things I can't. I tell myself that there are some things beyond my control, and I must learn to accept it. It is a desperate, whispered litany said in the silence of my bathroom.

Sometimes, I think I have forgotten how to pray. I do manage to stumble out of the house on that beautiful Monday. I take some time to walk with my thoughts, and just be in the sunshine. I carry a huge bundle of toilet paper home, the ache in my arms is reassuring. Yes. I am alive.

It is slow at the internship. I doodle, thinking that I will make a piece of art for my friend. In his memory. I don't get very far. In the subway, it strikes me how much faith the act of commuting is. To trap ourselves in steel enclosures with set entrances and exits, that hurtle across other steel structures that are high off the ground or tunnelling under water. How living in this city is an act of faith. And I am reminded of the fragility of things.

Sometimes I whisper. I can't do this.

In the past couple of months, so many things I have taken for granted has been called into question. The ideas of home, family, love, trust, my own health, my mortality. I even question myself. But that is nothing new. It has felt so shaky. And although many things have resolved themselves, the imprint is still there, causing me to question, to doubt. And sometimes the questions are overwhelming.

One question: why? why try? why anything? why? why? why?

I don't have the answers. Maybe I never will. But I will keep trying at this thing called life.

In my journal I write:

"I wish you knew that you were loved enough, the we would have wanted you to live, to continue, to endure and to be happy."

and I read this off of a blog:

Late Fragment

And did you get what you wanted from this life, even so?

I did. And what did you want?

To call myself beloved, to feel myself

beloved on the earth.

Raymond Carver. 1989. A New Path to the Waterfall.

I Remember.

2006-10-06T10:44:00.000-04:00

the last time I saw you,
we were dancing in some bar in Nevada square, to Badjao.
I didn't think that would be it then.
But I heard today,
I heard today that you were gone.
and the memories came flooding back.
how you were always trying to find meaning.
whether it be in that Mel Gibson movie
What Women Want
or in the theories found in a Cosmic Library
in a little organic farm.
I remember how you stayed up one night
at our place to play Diablo II.
I remember how my mother freaked when
we let you stay over after my birthday.
I remember how you, Carla, my brother and I
formed a little family of sorts for that one day and
played that drinking game at Tito E's.
Or how after some graduation ceremony we walked
around, me in a yellow dress, walked into stores
and you looked at me and said, "They're probably thinking
we make a pretty couple."
And I laughed, because we always used to talk about
how in love we were with other people.
Or how on Opening Night of The Actor's Nightmare,
we both panicked when it came to
that part; enter stage left,
and I shoved you onstage, and you fell
in front of a full house, but you got back up again.
Still in character.
I remember all that.
And I always thought,
that you would be okay, that even if you carried
so much hurt with you,
even if you fell, you got back up again.

and you always had such hope, and you
seemed to feel things so much more strongly.
and now you are gone.
but I remember. I always will.

flawed

2006-10-04T12:16:00.001-04:00

burn this body, originally uploaded by RadMadHatter.

These days gone past, I have been atoning. For what? Everything it seems. For making one too many mistakes, for not being where I should be, for being scared shitless all the time, for not being in control, for not being-- not even coming close-- to the girl that I wish I was.

For never being _________ enough. For always having to backpedal fast and do damage control instead of being a level-headed sane girl who knew how to avoid a disaster when she saw one looming on the horizon.

They don't call me Ms. Crash and Burn for nothing.

This is the curse of Virgoes it seems; the insatiable need to be good on the first pass, and the need to beat oneself up if that necessarily does not happen.

So I walk. And I try not to think too hard. I consider cutting myself off from the world. I consider cutting all my hair off. I wonder: how many mistakes is one too many?

On a subway ride home, a friend admits he believes in Fate. We are talking about the upcoming season of Lost. That things do happen for a reason. I believe this too. There are no blatant signs pointing me in one direction or another. And yet...

Last week, I rediscovered a blog I used to read. On that day, she quotes Iyanla Vanzant, "You don't get what you ask for, you get what you believe." And it resonated. Yesterday, trying to distract myself, I explore the rest of the site, and she links to this manifesto. And number two jumped out at me: 'Forget about good.'

And today, she quotes again, "He said--gently--that they believe that when a lot of things start going wrong all at once, it is to protect something big and lovely that is trying to get itself born--and that this something needs for you to be distracted so that it can be born as perfectly as possible."

Another blog that I read regularly has this to say.

It seems that something/someone is trying to tell me, it's completely okay. It occurs to me, that I've been so afraid to mess up, that this has always been so and yet I do, and it doesn't seem so bad. And I've always walked away learning something about myself.

So I am flawed, imperfect, needy, codependant, commitaphobic, weak, cowardly. It feels good to admit that. Because it takes so much more strength to embrace these unloved parts of oneself. To admit they exist in the first place. To keep trying anyway even if you don't think you're not going to get another chance.

Cause as another friend told me, "All I need is one chance. Just one chance."

briefly.

2006-10-03T13:48:00.001-04:00

Somewhere Over the Rainbow, originally uploaded by RadMadHatter.

"Let me give you some counsel, bastard," Lannister said. "Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you." -- George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

apologies for not updating as per usual.
have too much crap in my head right now.
but I'll be back soon. promise.

process

2006-09-25T00:46:00.001-04:00

spatter, originally uploaded by RadMadHatter.

"You must ask yourself in the stillest moment of your night, if it were denied you to create, would you die? And if the answer is yes, then you have no choice. If your answer is no, then please go do something else." ~Rilke

The highlight of my weekend was tagging along with Ryan (the other half of Spawn*Belief) to go shoot some paintings for an artist. Morning person that I'm not, I actually don't mind getting up early for things like this, it reminds me of all those early call-times for Open Space.

The shoot took place in the artist's studio in Hell's Kitchen, and this place... it's the kind of space you think of when you hear 'New York studio' or if you're imagining where the cast of Rent would live. At 1,500 square feet, my head was running away with all the potential that the space offered, if only hypothetically. It had these beautiful big windows, these sturdy floors (the building used to be a piano factory) and high ceilings. The place is lightly run down, but it adds to its appeal. It could've been a small theater, a gallery space, an apartment, a headquarters of everything cool and creative.

I think what I love the most though, is how it was permeated with the artist's presence. It's a huge space to be dominated by one person, but there you go. The wall that she paints against is an art piece in itself. Just by looking at it, you got a sense of her process-- that it was both exuberant and physical. Uninhibited and unapologetic. She talks about how she gets paint on everything, whether it be a fancy digital camera or cell phone. It makes sense. Painting is her life, it is only fitting that it would spill out over everything else.

It got me thinking though, about my own process. Creative processes in general. At the internship, I'm helping out with a project, and the editor let me sit in to watch how he goes about culling massive amounts of footage. He's ridiculously quick, working on the fly, clipping five seconds here, another five there. 'Post Modern' he calls it.

As for me, I think I'm definitely slower with my own process. I tend to let things percolate for ages and ages. Like I'll have an idea, and I'll write it down, but sometimes I don't act on it for weeks at a time, and then something comes up, an image, a phrase, a sound or sensation that collides with it, and then I'm ready to act on it. Sometimes I'll start something, and I'll put it away for a bit. Usually I'm working on two or three things at once. Alot of my own process is absorbing stuff. Sounds like a cop-out, but Natalie Goldberg calls this "composting".

I am trying to become more methodical with my process though. Rather, more disciplined. Since I moved my studio into my bedroom (due to renovations) it's been easier to just sit down and go. I close blinds, put on headphones, (this only works for art pieces, if I write I stick in instrumental stuff) and just zone out. It's also gotten more difficult because of the limited space, and I can't have too much of my art supplies out at one time. Most days, my worktable is a mess, jewelry mixing in with toiletries with bills, with paintbrushes with scraps of paper. It's cool though, my bedroom may not be a 1,500 square feet space, but this is where I make my art, this is where it spills over into the rest of my life.

purge

2006-09-22T14:15:00.001-04:00

purity, originally uploaded by RadMadHatter.

life piles up. covering the layers, the strata that makes up this girl. since I cannot run-- avoidance turned physical, I must settle with ordering the chaos that resides around me. I am an archaeologist, unearthing artifacts of my past. this by no means like my room in Baguio-- where the girl I was, and the woman I want to become, skirmish across my subconscious-- but there are depths here that I haven't trawled in awhile.

I stumble across an old e-mail, from someone I once loved. It does not contain poetry or promises, but it is telling, nonetheless. I am a coward. I fold it up quickly. I do not look too hard at these remnants of something long past. And yet I still carry them with me. I do not ask myself why.

but I need to carve out space, to let new things in. the e-mail is somewhere on my desk, lost in the shuffle of reorganization. I don't know if I will throw it out. I do not ask myself why.

listen. enjoy.

2006-09-17T13:04:00.001-04:00

RJ, originally uploaded by RadMadHatter.

I haven't done one of these in awhile so here it goes, my September playlist.

Dirge by Death In Vegas- that cool song from the Black Dahlia trailer.
World of Vibrations by Blackalicious- whenever this song comes up on my iPod, it never fails to make me smile.
Complexity by The Roots feat. Jill Scott- a sweet track, plus I like the line where he goes, 'your love feeling like a breakdown on the verge."
The Pageant of the Bizarre by Zero 7- already quoted in a previous blog entry.
Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk by Rufus Wainwright- again quoted, makes me wonder why it took me so long to discover him.
Breathless by Corinne Bailey Rae- this song just gets it right.
Turn Da Lights Off by Tweet and Missy Elliot
Storm Coming by Gnarls Barkley- there's something so exuberant about this track'
Ain't Nobody Playin' by Jaguar Wright- a fairly new discovery on my part.
Talk by P.I.C.- because you know, I'm such a fangirl.
All in All by Julian Velard- I saw him play once at MHC. I love his voice.
Oo by UpDharmaDown- my new Filipino-band obsession. This song is so smooth and tongue-in-cheek all at once. And her voice is known to reduce men to tears. Apparently.

Off to the San Genaros (?) festival in Little Italy. Gonna take some pictures. Enjoy your Sunday.

growth.

2006-09-14T16:32:00.000-04:00

growth., originally uploaded by RadMadHatter.

Twenty three. I have to admit, I'm a little reluctant to leave the age of 22 behind. Probably because by the age of 23, I thought I would have had it figured out you know? I'd be on be on top of my ish. And possibly because 22 was, dare I say it? A good year. Lots of firsts. First degree, first apartment, first digital SLR. I moved to New York City, with one of my best friends. I realized what I wanted to do more than anything in the world is tell stories in any way possible. I made alot of choices I wasn't sure I'd be able to make. I surprised myself. Life surprised me [insert goofy smile here].

And there were some tough times too, you only have to read last month's blog entries to figure that out. I had a lot of time to think, to explore, and to figure stuff out for myself. I don't have the answers, at least not all of them, but questions always made life more interesting.

I think I grew up alot in the last year. Strangely enough. One indication is I think of the b-word alot [budget]. Ha.

So this is twenty-three.

Maria

2006-09-13T09:01:00.001-04:00

Maria, originally uploaded by RadMadHatter.

A somewhat late Happy Birthday shout-out to the gorgeous RiaMaria.

For those who aren't in the know, you're never going to find a more giving, more thoughtful person than my girl here. Here's to window-shopping sprees, extended coffee-study breaks, sweet tooths, and late night talks till the crack of dawn.

Happy 23!

version 2.3

2006-09-10T05:05:00.000-04:00

works in progress & the inspiration board

So hey. Five a.m, September 10. Twenty-three. What a wierd up and down birthday. Let's just say... it's complicated, but I'm not complaining. I think I've done enough of that lately. And I will go into the details about how I spend the birthday later, but right now-- I feel..... fearless. Like I've been spending so much of the last couple of weeks so freaked about what's happening, or what's happened, or what I think is going to happen. And right now, I just feel like me. Like I could be anything. like I could do anything. Like it's never been about anybody else, or external circumstances. Right now, I contain the universe. And I'm going to enjoy the moment. So you know, you should too.

P.S. And go dancing and get drunk. Cause that hasn't happened for me yet. But I'll be busting out soon. Don't you worry.
P.P.S Thanks to everyone who said hello. It made my day. Really.

cope.

2006-09-01T22:49:00.000-04:00

Hello.

I meant to write. But there are many, many, many things that have come up. It's been a tough week. A tough month it seems. That damned shoe dropped. Everything else- I thought I was prepared for, but not this. Maybe someday, I will be able to write about this fearlessly, without feeling like I'm going to break down, maybe once the storm has passed, maybe, maybe, maybe.

I tell myself that it's okay. That it isn't that horrible. Nobody is dead. I'm not dead. And hope springs eternal.

On the upside, I finally saw the doctor yesterday, and he says that I can now commence walking on the foot. The foot feels almost normal.

And the wonderful Ria came by to visit via Philadelphia, completing our little trio for a little bit. Even if the world feels like its falling apart-- my 'wows' always pull through for me. So despite the underlying sadness, confusion, and helplessness-- there were moments of illumination. Many, many moments of illumination. For which I am thankful.

The funny thing, about this crisis, is like with the broken foot debacle, it tends to simplify things, tends to distill things. On one hand, there is that defiant urge to continue as you have always done. To make grand plans, look forward to the future, do the little everyday things, to soldier on. On the other hand-- there are parts of your life you reevaluate, and there is a certain recklessness that you take on, because you are suddenly aware of the fragility of things-- and the things you thought so important take a backseat, or get thrown out the window completely.

So what else can I say? Instead I look to these two. Who've taught me that I am stronger than I think I am. Who will carry my crutches and walk extra slow so that I can keep up. Who'll stay up and talk to me if I'm not sure I'm ready to be alone with my thoughts quite yet. Who will always see the humor and the beauty in any given situation. And that is all I need.

And so in closing,

If we deny our happiness, resist our satisfaction, we lessen the importance of their deprivation. We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure, but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must have the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless furnace of this world. To make injustice the only measure of our attention is to praise the Devil. If the locomotive of the Lord runs us down, we should give thanks that the end had magnitude. We must admit there will be music despite everything. -- Jack Gilbert

cryptic

2006-08-28T18:51:00.000-04:00

"Not knowing when the dawn will come, I open every door."-- Emily Dickinson

the world cannot be solved, love.

as a daughter

this is yours to bear.

daughter, daughter.

who loves so, so

fiercely.

you cannot turn away.

you cannot run away.

the world cannot be solved, love.

you are a woman.

you must understand these things.

this is the price you pay

the burden we carry

because we refuse to

draw these lines around

ourselves, our hearts.

no. this isn't about my love-life. there are a myriad of ways that a heart can break. if only it were about my love-life. at least I was braced for that blow.

progress

2006-08-25T21:05:00.000-04:00

snapshot of the worktable

"Tinikling"- Digital Experiment

"Feet, why do I need them if I have wings to fly?" --Frida Kahlo (1907 - 1954)

Still here. Yep.

Anyway. I unwrapped the foot today. It's not the first time, but I let it stay unwrapped for a good three hours or so. Usually, the minute I take it off the splint, I want to wrap it up all over again, because it looks and feels like it'll shatter if I'm not careful. Right now it is not the prettiest thing. It's bruised in all these wierd places, varying from grape purple to this sorta rasberry tinge, and that wonderful green-gray-blue.

It was nice to let the foot breath, though I'm not letting it bear any weight or anything. It's just nice to feel the floor underneath both feet, and curling my toes into the rainbow rug by the bed. I'm encouraged. I think it's getting there. So am I boring you with stories about my foot already? Sorry.

Seriously. I've been getting some interesting things done. Aside from watching Brick, (which did not disappoint.) I've constructed a tunic/dress thing out of an old t-shirt. It's not quite done-- I need to adjust the straps because it's a little low (and I don't actually really sew so it's all improvisation really.) Then I'll probably throw it in the washer and dryer, to shrink it a bit. If it doesn't fall apart at the end of this all, then I'll show it off. It's pretty slinky actually.

The two photos above might give you a sense of what else I've been up to creatively. Trying to get back into collage-making. Or just making art in general. Yesterday I decimated some magazine to replenish the collage box. I've also been obsessively web-surfing in search of inspiration, and there is plenty out there. Alot of the times I get a little overwhelmed by how awesome everyone else is, that I get a little scared to put anything down on paper. Especially right now that I don't have a specific vision in mind or concept that I want to explore.

Sometimes, I just tell myself that I'm 'playing' and see what comes out. During my last semester at MHC in my Advanced Studio class, where we had critiques twice a week-- alot of girls threw out the idea of an art piece not being too "precious". And I have to allow myself to make mistakes, to fumble, and to just let loose, and not so much worry about the outcome but the process, because I'll never make a move if I don't.

Huh.

I can so apply that last sentence to my whole life right now.

my life in song lyrics.

2006-08-23T18:39:00.000-04:00

"surely it's okay to/ use my heart, and not my eyes/ to navigate the darkness?" --Hoobastank, Crawling In the Dark

"Cigarettes and chocolate milk/ These are just a couple of my cravings /Everything it seems I likes a little bit stronger/ A little bit thicker, a little bit harmful for me." -- Rufus Wainwright, Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk

"And I see nations war about whether right is left and whether wrong is right/ And I know storms inside your head can amplify the plight/ But no matter what the weather, you and the clouds will still be beautiful" -XTC, You and the Clouds Will Still be Beautiful.

"It's never gonna be/ Normal, you and me/ What you're signing on for/Is a storm at sea.

So if you think you're tough/ Give me all your love/ And I'll give you every little piece of me "-- Zero 7, Pageant of the Bizarre

As a child, I was told that my love is king/ Seen what it could bring to the lives of those/ That ain't afraid to give with they souls exposed. -- Floetry, Supastar

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For lack of anything better to say. No picture today. Signed up for Blogger Beta, which is pretty cool, but I can't post from Flickr as a result. Or in general it seems. I'm liking the new color scheme, but I'll probably change it up again soon. We'll see.

simple.

2006-08-21T22:39:00.000-04:00

Lily of the Valley, originally uploaded by RadMadHatter.

Still waiting for the foot to heal. Reminding myself to be patient, reminding myself to just be. the days are sunny, as far as I can tell, the patch of sky outside my window has been pristine blue, and by four thirty most afternoons, the sun fills my room, honeyed gold.

I am writing alot, every day over coffee I write. I'm pretty redundant actually. But this has given me some small measure of peace- this act of writing. The taste of coffee, the sound of music filtering from my bedroom, and the flow of ink upright on the page.

Sometimes, my mother calls, and I talk to her in a voice that's a little gravelly from non-use. I am not a hermit, not as cut off from the world as I'd like you to think-- but the shifting of gears is extreme. Friends e-mail from far-off places, of biology, and books and drama and theater.

My existance has been pared down. Writing, reading, thinking, thinking. Sometimes I draw, but I am not as fearless with my artwork as I am with my writing. I wish I was more fearless. To amuse myself I've mastered the art of the cheap thrill.

For example, wearing all the dresses that I've never found the right occasion for (I'm a sneakers and jeans kinda girl.) Painting my nails red. Singing out loud. Eating nutella straight out of the jar. Rediscovering how good toast slathered in butter is. Watching chickflicks. Swooning over Phantom of the Opera. Making lists of all the things I want to do once I finally walk again. Planning my birthday bash.

That's all from me. Till next time.

Happy Birthday RL!

2006-08-18T14:30:00.000-04:00

RL with Aenie and Beng, originally uploaded by RadMadHatter.

So, today marks the birthday of the fabulous RL!
Because, I have a big case of writer's block, I'm repeating myself:
RL is one of thos beautiful people you'd love to hate because well- she's that beautiful. Really. And then she goes and happens to be really talented too. Ranging from cutting hair (she did my bangs!) to acting, to being the only sane person in Open Space (not an easy feat in itself, but try doing it with three kids). But the thing is you can't hate her- she's just too cool for that. She's warm and big-hearted, intelligent, capable and just REAL, and believe me that's rarer than you'd think. I had the honor of getting to bond with her alot this summer, and I'm continually inspired by her wisdom and her openness. She's probably going to hate me for saying this- but when I grow up, I want to grow up to be just like her. :)

Here's to another year of more chicka, 7-11/ Volante binges, orangey goodness, theater, producing, and obsessing over Che. Much love.

still.

2006-08-17T00:19:00.000-04:00

droplets, originally uploaded by RadMadHatter.

So much for writing alot.

The foot is still broken. I am still unable to traverse stairs, though I can now rush to get my phone on my crutches in the off-chance that it starts ringing. I have started doing studies for this new series of art-pieces that I've already entitled, "Traceries". I'll post some pictures soon.

Self-imposed exile. It isn't a burden being alone. The roommates go away for work during the day, and I have adapted to life on one foot pretty easily. I have my library of books, a novel that needs attending to, ideas that have been percolating that need to be manifested, emotions that need exploring. I am stranded in my apartment in Astoria, but life goes on.

I am still impatient, ready to return to normalcy. Ready to be a card-carrying member of society again. Amazing how we define ourselves by the things we do, the places we go, the people we're with. I do alot, I just haven't been around or seen anybody. I miss my commutes, the people watching, the internship, eating out. But I remind myself to breath.

To be still. To enjoy this moment of respite, to make art, to sleep as much as I want to, to write.

Because before I know it, it'll be mad busy again. I'll post soon.

an object lesson in pain

2006-08-12T14:43:00.000-04:00

it's a love thing, originally uploaded by RadMadHatter.

"I have woven a parachute out of everything broken." - William Stafford

For reference, physical pain trumps emotional turmoil any day. It also adds to it. I have managed to sprain my ankle-- then break it under circumstances that can only be classified as a freak accident, or an unfortunate event. Yesterday, when I was explaining this to the triage nurse, she couldn't stop herself from laughing.

I am a solitary creature, more introverted than extroverted, I enjoy other people's company, but I could go without it if need be. However, when you injure yourself and you are in pain-- that is what being alone truly is. Pain is mindless-- there are no words, it's unfathomable-- the only way to verbalize it is to whimper, sob, hiss, gasp. The pain overrides all else-- I can understand now, how easily it can quicken into anger, fear, frustration, embarassment. And it refuses to be disowned, ignored.

Ironically, I had gone for a run right before. A joy I had only recently rediscovered.

Now I have a splint on my leg, and crutches. I am learning to be patient. Strangely that is the hardest lesson to learn. I can be patient with many people to a fault, but with myself? Never. I despise the weak parts of myself. And I am so deathly scared to show any weakness, to reach out and ask for sympathy. But the pain, keeps pulling me back, telling me not to rush, to pay attention, to relearn the act of walking. A hard thing to do, because as I said, my life has gained so much momentum over the last couple of months. So many things about it has become dependant on my newfound sense of mobility. And now it is a struggle to walk to the bathroom.

And I so had my heart set on dancing during my birthday.

The trick is to breath. To be attentive, to not flinch too much from the pain. But I've been flinching all my life. You know how it is. What I hate the most-- is this helplessness. I am not headstrong, or daring, or fearless, those would not be the words I would use to describe myself, but I have always considered myself fairly independant. I have always worked towards the ability to choose for and support myself as much as possible. Now, this sense of self, the very idea of my autonomy, and my strength is being tested. But I read somewhere, that sometimes the hardest thing to do is reach out, and ask for help.

Ironic, for someone who cherishes the idea of community and connecting to have difficulty with this idea. Everyone has been really good though-- Christine has patiently walked with me, inch for painful inch to and from the hospital, and bought me groceries. Seng has brought home fried chicken and sat down to bond with me over Alias. After I reluctantly e-mailed my mother the news (I do not like to worry her) she called almost instantateously on the verge of tears (she really does worry too much) and shortly after my father called offering to send me a ticket so that I can come home. Another friend has promised to bring me movies, and has nicknamed me "crazylegs".

God it was tempting. To just fly back to the Philippines. To veg out on the couch and watch TV all day, to have a flurry of relatives coddle and cater to my every need, to not have to worry about anything except how to get to the bathroom. To just hang with my brother (who has inherited my mother's worrywart tendencies) play video games with him, tell him to bring home Korean noodles. To drive to Ilocos with my dad, and just hang out by the beach and feel the breeze on my skin. To see all my OSP friends again. This would have been the perfect excuse.

But these are the lessons I have to learn on my own. The pain, the patience, the humility, the grace, the frustration. As much as this is a test on the rest of my body to function without one limb, it is also a test on the spirit. This is, whether I wanted or not, a time to be still and to reflect. My arms ache, I've never used crutches before, but I know that my arms, my shoulders, my back will be stronger for it. I will have time to make art and write, and I am looking forward to it.

So, the upside of all this, is that I will probably be bloggin alot more, for the month of August. Here's hoping I'll be dancing again come September.

Lights, camera, all that.

2006-08-07T12:21:00.000-04:00

backlit, originally uploaded by RadMadHatter.

So. I've been neglecting this blog a bit. Not for lack of trying. There is a post that's saved here that I keep re-writing. So in spirit of yet another week, I am startng a new one. Can you believe it's August already? It's been an exciting summer. Come September, I turn 23. Huh. But reflections on getting older will have to wait till then.

Last week, I was asked to take part in another shoot (film-types love semi-free labor) and this one was an industrial video for a corporate company. As opposed to the guerilla film-making feel of the K-Town shoot, this one was shot indoors, and at one point on a soundstage swathed in green. There was a bigger crew, more actors to contend with and I got a somewhat bigger job of script supervisor or the continuity chick. So I was bothering the DP for timecodes of each shot, and keeping my eyes glued to the monitor and taking notes.

Another difference was that we were also hooked into 'walkies'-- with those earpieces that you see on secret service types in movies. Apart from that experience, the only other time I had a voice in my head was when I filled in as an SM for a run of Pangarap last year, and that had been a little traumatizing. This time not so much-- although the earpiece was a tad invasive, and you walk around half-deaf for the day. There were alot of 'welcome to the Matrix' jokes. You get used to it, and if you know what you're supposed to do on-set, that goes a long way to focusing you.

I think what I've been loving about my experience during this internship thus far, is that everyone is refreshingly egoless. And the sense that despite the stresses of a shoot, they are having fun, like they wouldn't be doing anything else, given the choice. What else? The collaboration and the respect-- even for me the very clueless intern. Sometimes, I get a little flustered when they sort of just throw me into the fray, but despite my own doubts about how I will perform, they seem trust that I will deliver. Being me who likes to procrastinate because I work better under pressure-- this seems to work. I think it also helps that all those years of working with OSP, has upped my tolerance for stress, drama, pressure. Which is a handy survival skill.

So that's been what's exciting with me. It's been really hot in New York, record temperatures last week, but it seems to be cooling down. If you'd like to see more from the shoot-- checkit here. I'm out-- but I will try to post again soon.

because it's Neruda

2006-07-25T08:31:00.000-04:00

down a brooklyn street, originally uploaded by RadMadHatter.

I do not love you...
by Pablo Neruda
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from
where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or
pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.