I'm ready for you, 2012.

2011. To put it simply, 2011 wasn't a good year for me. In the words of a wise aunt, it was a year full of heartaches. Indeed, it was. Looking back, it seems that my losses far outweigh my gains. I seem to have cruised through the year juggling crippling disappointments in one hand and little joys in the other. Then again, a year past is a year past, and I have learned a lot this year in ways both big and small.

Fair warning: If you have limited time, watch this video instead. It is much more worthwhile than the word vomit you're about to read.

Here are 11 things I learned in 2011:

1. People are just that, people. They are susceptible to flaws, to likes and dislikes, to prejudices, and to weakness in character. Sometimes, the people you look up to will let you down. I learned that I can't really count on people to stay on my side forever. Sometimes, they think they have a second chance at love and will jump right into it, head first, propriety thrown to the wind, without thinking about the people around them or to how they (should not!) behave.  Sometimes, I may just be not liked for the sake of being not likeable (I kinda am because, as an officemate put it, I am seem suplada). That is okay, too. Actually, that is better. I'd rather have that any day.

The redeeming factor of the people around me is that sometimes, people will surprise you as well. When the chips are down and you have no one to look up to or turn to, there will be people who will come through for you, which is why I won't really give up on myself or on people, in general. Kind souls wander the earth, it's just up to me to find them. This year, I am especially happy about the adults in my family, in that I am fortunate enough to have a handful of good ones always there to guide me or help out even if it's not their responsibility.

2. The past will spring itself on you randomly so it's important to be good and kind. Very recently, I found out I was working in the same organization as an old classmate of mine. I see him around once in a while. We don't greet each other but a part of me deeply regrets that I wasn't a better friend when we were in high school or even when we went to the same university for college. On hindsight, I dealt with (very badly) a lot of my insecurities during my high school and college life and in the process, I forgot to make amends or be really nice, in general. I don't know how he's doing right now but I certainly wish him well.

3. Consistency is just as important as brilliance or hard work. In 2011, I found myself taking the passive and sometimes, the flaky seat in everything I did--work, school, relationships.  I learned later this year that inconsistency is like brewing poison. Sooner or later, it will overflow and the first person who'll catch a whiff will be the very person who brewed it. Next year and in the years after that, I should be consistent in everything I do: Go big or go home, no matter how I'm feeling. (And, of course, I must never pick home or medicines--since I was very sickly this year.)

4. When the stock goes bad, it has to be sold. I am a big fan of holding out and holding on but life doesn't really give you much of a choice in this matter. When something you hold on to starts being bad for you, you have to let go. Food, we have to re-align our relationship in 2012. My obsession for you isn't healthy anymore. Of course, this also applies to bigger things such as relationships that just won't work or mutual understandings that will forever be stuck at a standstill. 

5. It's important to save, save, save for the rainy days. This goes hand in hand with number four. While I am not like most girls who spend their monthly income on gadgets, parties or clothes, I do spend a lot on books and food. I'm already 21 and if I really want to follow through with my Big Relocation Plans for My Adult Life, I should start saving up.

6. You will never know the cards you'll draw and how long you'll be keeping them. This April, we happily celebrated my grandmother's birthday. She had a birthday cake that said 18, and she was laughing because it was such a silly cake. Months later, she was lying in a hospital bed, so weak and so frail from all the tests they had to do. This made me realize that I should really make it a point to be there for the people in my life more, especially the more senior ones and of course, the little monster in our household. Just kidding, Bemmy!

My sister, if you still don't know by now, is the light of my life. She currently occupies that place my father once had in my heart and every day, I am delighted to see how she's growing up into a bright, sprightly little girl with her funny jokes, her little notes and yes, even her temper that can rival mine (but I hope to God and all his glory, not our mother's). I'm happy that we were fortunate enough to spend time with each other a lot this year. While my heart breaks a little whenever I think of all the fun things she won't be able to do with our Papa anymore, I'm really happy that I can take her out on little outings or to buy her toys. I won't be able to fill our dad's shoes but I can at least help her have a happy childhood.

7. Our relationships with people won't always stay the same. I built closer and deeper relationships with some very cool people this year and I also drifted away (sometimes unknowingly, sometimes by circumstance, sometimes because of relocation, sometimes because I just don't like them anymore) from others. I'm very thankful for all the great friends I have made this year and for those who I have been fortunate enough to know better. Sometimes, the girls who look and act the snobbiest are the girls who are most fun. Also, meek looking guys are sometimes wolves in sheep's clothing. Ladies, your shot guns should be locked and loaded. This year, I also learned that there are no awkward or boring moments with true friends even if you haven't seen each other in months or even in a year. That was a nice realization. 

8. I learned that we really do waste it when we're young. Shitty years are also years of so much introspection, which is obvious in every blogger-having-a-shitty-year's posts. I realized that I could have made so much use of my time when I was younger. I could have tried harder in learning and mastering a foreign language, I could have been braver in starting a life elsewhere, so many I could have beens. Something has to be done about that in 2012. We will start with school and work. :)

9. This year, I also learned that it's alright to have poor choices and to own up to it. I made quite a few bad decisions that I would have not made had I known how the rest of my world will turn out afterwards. Then again, if I hadn't done these things, I wouldn't know any better. I will also not know that I am but a speck in this universe. My woes do not even amount to an iota of real life tragedies. I should always be grateful for shallow problems but of course, I stress over them all the time.

8. On a happier note, 2011 is also a year of reading, cooking and baking. It's not just losing, weeping and generally, failing at all things this year. I have had the time to read leisurely but interestingly, I don't have a  Best Book I've Read in 2011. I don't know why but I really want to be a great cook so I'm glad I had a lot of chances to be better in the kitchen this year.  Although honestly, I think I just started an unhealthy addiction to Knorr seasoning (my father won't let me touch the stuff when he was alive) and to romance novels set in 18th/19th century Europe. (*gasps* OH NOOO!) 

10. Beauty is pain. I have the beauty regimen of a genetically blessed, 7ft tall Russian model, in that I get up and go in the morning without any thought or regard to the way I look and to the terror my bare face, unkempt hair and baby whale build brings to humanity. My friends Kat and Rach tell me I have to do something about this. I might but as a perennial lazy ass, I'm not even sure where or how to start. Then again, this is such a shallow learning. I am so sorry the past two numbers are a waste of YOUR time.

11. Lastly, I learned that growing older and wiser is a choice you have to make. I have learned that life's worst tragedies may force a person to step-up, set their priorities straight and be better, in general, but this does not mean that everyone who struggle comes out better. People can always sink lower or be stuck in the rut that they got into. The people who succeed in getting away from baggage chose to get away. It is a slow process and it takes hard work but I am around so many of these people that I know it IS possible. This year, I learned the true definition of priorities and how a myopic life view can be a person's downfall. I wouldn't want that for myself. Thank God, I have all of 2012 and the years after to work on it.

What are the things you've learned in 2011? Kudos for surviving the year and if you had an especially rough and tough year like I did, I hope you come out of 2012 shining. You deserve it. Cheers! Happy New Year.

Oh Octopus, a new year awaits.

Love,

Reisha

Obra Maestras de Hidalgo

Many moons ago, I had the good fortune of visiting my favorite works of art at our city MET. I was there for the Picasso exhibit but since I've already gushed at length about just how much I love Old Man Pablo, let me talk about a local artist that I love as well.

Felix Resurreccion Hidalgo is a renowned Filipino artist of the 19th century. He was born in Binondo, Manila and lived in Barcelona, Spain until 1913, the year he died. In history, he is more prominently known as an inspiration to the reformistas (Rizal, Ponce, del Pilar etc.) as is Juan Luna, when they both won the silver and gold medals respectively for the 1884 Exposición General de Bellas Artes in Madrid, Spain. Most sources site Hidalgo as a political activist and a propagandist, but in my brief reading of Hidalgo's role in history, he never really associated himself directly to the Philippine reform movement. Can someone help me out?

I was surprised to see two of his works in the Master's gallery, as La barca de Aqueronte or Charon's Boat was bought by the Government of Spain in the early 1890s. In my excitement, I wasn't able to read further and see if this painting (like the other one) was a copy. Looking back, it doesn't really matter, I guess. It is a neoclassical painting inspired by Hidalgo's reading of Dante's Inferno while he was in Italy. I especially like this painting, perhaps much more than its accompanying painting, La Laguna Estigia (The River Styx). While I cannot go on and on about the brush strokes or the painting's style (leave that to the experts, eh?), I can tell you that the painting is about Charon, who is the proverbial harvester of souls condemned to spend eternity in one of the circles of hell. The painting is dark and (because it's big) imposing but most importantly, it always, always draws you in. Big snaps to the people who decided wooden benches in front of the paintings are in order.

Mounted next to La barca is another Hidalgo masterpiece, one that has been in the Metro Manila Met for quite some time. It's called Las Virgenes Cristianas Expuestas al Populacho or The Christian Virgins Exposed to the Populace, an incredible painting considered to be a Philippine national treasure. It's sad that the original was destroyed in a fire at a university somewhere in Spain but I am glad that a copy is in the Philippines for all to see. Together with Juan Luna's Spolarium, Las Virgenes was presented to the jurors of the Madrid Exposition of Fine Arts as artworks about human spoilage and human spoils. Las Virgenes represented human spoils depicting the persecution of Christians in Ancient Rome, through two scantily clad Christian female slaves being mocked by Roman men. I especially love the underlying meaning of these women having been stripped of their garments, that in a way Hidalgo was able to expose not just a loss of garment but also of human dignity. I also like the way one of the virgins' head looks up to the high heavens, waiting for help that will ultimately not come. I think it's just a magnificent work of art.

It's a little hard to peddle the wonderful works of art by Felix Hidalgo. Come by the MET and see for yourself if you have the time, they're beautiful obra maestras.

Metropolitan Museum of Manila

Bangko Sentral ng Pilipinas Complex, Roxas Boulevard,

Malate-Manila (1554), Philippines

Memories of my Grandma

 My first memory of my grandmother was when I was three (or four) and she came home from Canada, where she lived and worked most of my childhood. We lived in a smaller house which we rented up until my parents were able to scrape for themselves the money to build our own house, the one I live in right now. She was a tiny but jovial woman. I do not remember much of that day but I know for sure that somebody put on some Waltz music. I didn't know (still don't, actually) how to waltz, of course, but I danced with her anyway, moving so awkwardly right there, in the makeshift ballroom of our very small apartment (and by makeshift, I mean the center table of our very small living room moved to a corner). She took my hands and started leading, with me thinking that I used to see this in the then-VHS format of my favorite Disney movies. I don't know why I always remember that but I like the memory. It is one of my favorites. I like it even more than her 75th birthday party where I sat by her the whole time because she would help me out so that I can get all the prizes. That was also a good day for the both of us, by the way.

When she decided to stay in the Philippines for good, I liked visiting her at home and bringing her small gifts (of the food kind, usually, because she was a very good cook when she was still able to do so). During her last birthdays, especially when I already had money of my own, I brought her cake and token birthday food. She usually feels a little low on her special day, a trait we both share although I'm not entirely sure if that's normal for other birthday celebrants. When she finally came out of her room to blow her cake, my aunt told her not to be sad anymore because her grandchildren were there and that I already brought her food for her celebration. She smiled and said, "Oo, swerte rin ako kahit papaano..." I loved that. I liked seeing her at least a little bit happy. She was such a sweet old lady, not at all like my other grandmothers who are talkative and feisty. This grandmother of mine, my Papa's Mama, was funny, too, when she was in the mood. And like my Papa, she believed that I will achieve big things one day. I will always remember that, and perhaps because I have their blessing, I really will. One day.

Eighty-four years. What more can I ask for? Safe travels, Grandma. You will be missed.

The House of Katsu

The power of suggestion manifests itself through my Twitter feed. These past few weeks, people have been raving on and on about a new tonkatsu place in the Metro, one that is very much reminiscent of Hong Kong's Tonkichi. Yabu is just a few months old but the hype has caught on and suddenly, everybody is hankering for a slice or two of their tonkatsu. I, myself, am not a big tonkatsu fan but I already missed out on the Crazy Katsu craze (as I live  down South) so with Megamall being so accessible, I thought Yabu was worth a try. 

Luckily, one of my good friends, Carl just had his first employee appraisal. Personally, I believe positive feedback from your bosses and a raise are always two good reasons to celebrate. So, off to this new tonkatsu place, we went. 

Since Yabu is still riding the hip train, there were a lot of people and the initial service was a little confusing (we had to transfer seats, no, Angela had to fight for our seats). The food, though, was a different story. 

Honestly, I wish we had the budget to order the Kurobuta pork set, which is made from the sirloin cut of a Berkshire pig, marketed as the Kobe Beef of Pork. I know that it won't be as tasty as Kobe Beef itself but the darker, marbled meat really got me curious. I was satisfied with the Rosu Katsu we ordered though. For less than the price, we get a relatively tender, properly panko-breaded tonkatsu with a bit of fat. I also liked the idea that Yabu offers a complimentary refill of the cabbage salad, just like in Tonkichi. 

Carl pointed out that I wasn't halfway done my tonkatsu towards the end of the meal. I didn't notice this at all. Perhaps it was because I was busy laughing at Angela's work stories but it is with little doubt that this was because the serving was big and very filling. One tonkatsu meal comes in a full set of miso soup, fruit, salad, japanese rice and tonkatsu. I have to tell you that I also enjoyed the appetizers. For 175, you get to pick a choice of two appetizers. The Edamame beans were a little too bland for my taste (I have had softer, saltier ones) but I really liked the Wakame salad because I am a big seaweed fan. Next time, I think it's best to order the silky tofu and the Wakame. 

I didn't get to try some of the other items on the menu like the scallops or the breaded Japanese oysters. These are priced per piece but they look really good. I hope I get to try the scallops in the future. I just need to find myself someone who's willing to pay 100 pesos per piece. Heehee.  Here's Carl enjoying his tonkatsu pork set, if you want to see what he looks like. He's an Arsenal fan, just so you know. I also have other pictures of our meal at Yabu. Here: 

Seaweed salad (Wakame) and Edamame soy beans

Sesame seeds you grind with the small mortar. You mix this one with their tonkatsu sauce, which I also really like. 

I really like the anime story on one side of Yabu's wall but I think a wall of sake cups is so ingenious as a Japanese restaurant's design. It looks awesome in real life! 

A portion of my meal. The Rosu Tonkatsu set, which is a tonkatsu cut with a little bit of fat. I mean, what's life without a little bit of fat? (I know, "A healthy one", but this is my blog so screw you.)

Yabu: House of Katsu
2nd Floor The Atrium, SM Megamall,
EDSA corner Julia Vargas Avenue,
Mandaluyong City
Tel. No. (0927) 398-7962, 576-3900
Open from 10 a.m. to 10 p.m.

Chanel in Paris and Bombay!

I've always thought Karl Lagerfeld had something against food, being once fat himself and eventually shedding off so much weight to sport that gaunt look he's had for quite some time now. Uncle Karl (He who has an incredibly terrifying library. I mean, seriously, have you seen just how much books he has crammed in there? You think he's read them all?) said clothes are the best motivation for losing weight. This saying will probably be true if only couture has monopoly over the market, but then fashion is a brainchild of capitalism. If you factor in the cost of production, advertising, and the general marketability of a brand only a few percentile can afford, it would be dumb not to open a retail line for real people with real dress sizes.

Anyway, this is Chanel's Paris-Bombay Metiers d'Art Pre-Fall 2012 show held in the Grand Palais, Paris (as usual). If there are two things I think Chanel could do best, simplicity and opulence would be it. Clearly, this is a take on the latter. Look at that spread! It might be a little insensitive to the notion that all models have eating disorders but I couldn't care less, really. It's a spread fit for a maharani or a maharaja and I really like it. I'm loving the over all extravagance of the collection, which is a little inappropriate for a failing Western economy but perhaps, with all the nouveau rich in China and India, Chanel will come through thriving. I especially like the heavily-embroidered bags and the shoes. I am also quite tacky when it comes to excessories so I really like the crystal-embellished bags. There's also a nod to Eastern opulence, in that there were a lot of bring pink and blue hues incorporated with gold jewelry. These dresses remind me of a high-end Bollywood production and I think that's nice. The clothes with a more subdued tone--with whites, reds, and grays--seem like the kind rich Russian princesses would wear (and by princesses, I mean the daughters of Russian Mafia bosses). It's a really cohesive collection and the banquet is rather awesome. I also noticed Uncle Karl's make-up minions are trying to bring the kohl effect back. I have to say, I like that even if I will never be able to pull it off. Congratulations, Uncle Karl. You are a class act. 

Oh, and this is my favorite look (I still have a soft spot for Chanel because they have the uncanny ability of making every interpretation of their classic tweed jacket fantastic):

I didn't get Chanel this year but I sure do appreciate Bombay (!),

Reisha

Birthday Diaries: The John Lennon edition

In which I write something about a date John Lennon and I share

When Adele was 21, she was writing about her pain, translating the heartache into beautiful lyrics full of passion, emotion and intesity. Now that I am 21, I am writing...well, blogs. Clearly, one of us has the hard luck case of underachieving and that is definitely not Adele. 

Anyway, I'm not here to talk about Adele. I will, however, talk about another music phenom, one that still influences me heavily thirty-one years after his death. People say rock stars are gods, now I don't know about you but I think John Lennon really lived up to that saying. In many ways, he was a visionary, a political activist and a music legend. And like real rock stars, he went away, not with a fizzle, but with a bang. It was 10:50pm of December 08, 1980, when a deranged fan (an insane hater is a more fitting description but "fan" is widely used) named Mark Chapman shot John Lennon in front of his building's driveway, at West 22nd Street in New York City. 

He had seven gunshot wounds, two of which ultimately ended his life. The details of his death are a little bit fuzzy to me but as a fan, I know a few details:

• That on that day, John and Yoko welcomed Annie Leibovitz into their home to shoot a few portraits of the couple and then of John alone, later on. This was at about 3 in the afternoon and the outcome of the said shoot are now considered iconic photographs. One of the photos was used as Rolling Stone's January 22, 1981 cover. 
• That on a mid-morning stroll with his nanny in the nearby Central Park, Sean Lennon met his father's killer. He was five then, and I'm pretty sure he can't even remember what the encounter was like.
• That John Lennon signed an autograph for Mark Chapman, before entering his building's driveway. He asked him, "Is this all you want?" and Chapman sheepishly nodded yes. After the shooting, Chapman calmly took off his jacket to show the police that he's not concealing any weapons. He sat on the sidewalk, waiting for the police to arrive. 
• That once he was shot, John Lennon staggered into the steps of the building, saying "I'm shot, I'm shot!" Some people believe his last words were "Yes, I am", in response to the standard police question testing a victim's level of consciousness but the severity of his injuries make this impossible. He was most likely bleeding profusely from the mouth. 
• That there was no funeral for John Lennon, but a crowd of over 225,000 gathered in the nearby Central Park to offer ten minutes of silent prayer for Mr. Lennon. 

I was born ten years later on the very same day. I am nowhere near the legend that is Mr. Lennon but I like the fact that I share something with one of my favorite artists even if it's a little macabre. It makes me feel a bit special for sentimental reasons, Lennon's music speaks volumes to me. 

On a trip to New York, I was able to visit the building where John & Yoko lived and see for myself the driveway where Mr. Lennon breathed his last. It was an ultimate trek for any Beatles fan (NYC is not really a place to do a Beatles pilgrimage but it is my favorite place, so I like that it has at least a bit of Beatles history) and though it was pretty far from where I stayed, I still went there because I thought it would make someone I used to know very happy, wherever he is. 

Indulge me, because not many great things happen on December 08. The United States entered WW2 in 1941. Jim Morrison was born in 1943 but then I am not a big Doors fan. Then, there's the feast day of the Immaculate Concepcion but I am not the most religious person in the world (if Jesus was indeed born on the 25th of December--I did watch a documentary that said he was, in fact, a September baby--, the Virgin Mary's pregnancy is one of the longest gestation periods in mammalian history). I guess it's fitting that I choose to tell  the story of John Lennon's death on my birth date because I am more inclined to be familiar with his work than to anything else I have mentioned above.

The Dakota is located at the Upper West Side. It's at West 72nd Street, Central Park West. Right across it is the Strawberry Fields Park (inside Central Park, park within a park!), which was once the favorite walking spot of John and Yoko, a two and a half acre park with trees donated from all over the world. It's also home to the Imagine memorial, with the plate and stones donated by different nations in commemoration of John Lennon's musical influence. 

The Dakota is guarded by security 24/7, which means the property itself is closed to visitors. Securing a spot in The Dakota is also super hard because they are selective, I read that the association even rejects the applications of rich industry magnates and famous celebrities but hey! It's a pretty sexy building. Yoko Ono still lives in the same building up to this day. It's also the setting for Roman Polanski's beautiful film, Rosemary's Baby. I'm not fan of horror movies but I do like that one. I also have a picture in the memorial because I am a cheesy fangirl. Heh. The best times to visit would be during Lennon's birthday or his death anniversary, but I hope you liked my pictures even if they were taken on a simple Saturday morning.

The Dakota

1 W 72nd St

(between W Central Park and 72nd St Transverse) 

New York, NY 10023

Upper West Side

I've loved and I've lost

This cover combines two of my favorites: the great singing from Florence and the Machine and Drake's Take Care. This is just so awesome. I find it fitting because Ceremonials (Florence and the Machine) and Take Care (Drake's) are the two albums I have on repeat right now. Isn't Florence so precious? :)

I know you've been hurt by someone else
I can tell by the way you carry yourself
If you let me, here's what i'll do
I'll take care of you
I've loved and lost

HAPPY FRIDAY! ♥

The proof of the pudding

I realized my entries are a little heavy so let's have a bit of "light reading". Let me give you one reason why I love being in school again: I like it because it pushes me to be better. You know how it's so easy to want things and how it's very, very easy to dream about being this and that? It is, no? But really, how many people follow through and do the groundwork? Exactly. I also like that I can never (probably, will never) be complacent in grad school. There are always so many things I have to work on and every class is a reminder for improvement.

Truth be told, I don't think I'm at the level where I'm supposed to be but the mere fact that I enjoy being in class (despite the equivalent strain grad school brings to say, finances or work) means my learning is going somewhere (I hope to God it is). What I like best about graduate school is that I get to learn so many valuable things from such great people. My teacher, for one, gave sage advice for us who are pursuing further studies. Sure, these are related to our academic concerns (the first one for a published dissertation, the next one on a competitive master's program and the third, for presenting a paper without an outline or a thesis in an international conference) but I thought they're great stuff we could all apply in our lives.

The proof of the pudding is in the eating.

I've always believed that anything worth doing is not worth doing badly.

It is so easy to earn a reputation for crap but it is not easy to live it down. 

Then, I have my classmates who are all awesome in their own way. It's a little disturbing how we're always together in and out of class (or is that my loner tendencies talking?) but I find it nice that we all make an effort to build a relationship with one another, no matter how different we all are. We're currently in that phase where a lot of us quit our old work and have started new jobs, so some of us (like my friend Rach!) get to buy celebratory desserts after a rigorous three (sometimes, three and a half) hour class.  (This time, we just finished a three hour and a half discussion on Quants! Quantitative methods! Homoscedasticity! The Central Limit Theorem! Hehe, I enjoyed it though.) 

We had our weekly Friday chicken dinner at Manang's.  One distinct trait of this group is that we have a propensity for eating so much chicken. I, being a big chicken fan myself, like that the structure was shaped that way (O, YOU SEE WHAT I DID THERE?) If you're a weekend market fan, you'd know that Manang's is a famous stall in Mercato. They sell fried chicken coated with a special sauce (in original, spicy and some other thing. I usually just stick to the original, it's sweet and it tastes like soy garlic). I like Manang's better than Bon Chon but honestly, not better than Flaming Wings because the thick coating could use a little work. Anyway, eating at Manang's is cheap. A meal is only a little over 120 pesos and it makes for a satisfying dinner. Try it yourself! ;)

Then, we moved to Starbucks for even more talking over coffee and cakes. It was great. Although sometimes, I think Starbucks is the Meralco of coffee shops, in that the charges are steep but we all avail of the services anyway.  

I really hope I get to be where my teachers are right now (On an IR level, of course. My teachers are really accomplished but still super cool! Although, I can't really talk about them extensively because they have incredible Google and Twitter-fu and it would be awkward in real life.) For now, I'm trying to figure out how to balance school and work better. There must be a system I haven't worked out just yet. After all, anything worth doing is not worth doing badly. ;)

Let me leave you with a funny clip from 30 Rock about graduate students:

Honestly, I don't even know if it's a satire or not. It can bring out the worst in people, or you know, the crazy. But it works, so hey! :)

La Flaneur

Le Flâneur (music by The XX) from Luke Shepard on Vimeo

A magical video of Paris. This is so beautiful!

Sitting there, alone in a foreign country, far from my job and everyone I know, a feeling came over me. It was like remembering something I'd never known before or had always been waiting for, but I didn't know what. Maybe it was something I'd forgotten or something I've been missing all my life. All I can say is that I felt, at the same time, joy and sadness. But not too much sadness, because I felt alive. Yes, alive. That was the moment I fell in love with Paris. And I felt Paris fall in love with me.

~ Paris, Je T'Aime (2006)

The Other Benjamin

I really like this picture of my grandparents that my cousin posted. My grandmother is 84 today but one of the things I love to do when I'm at her house is to look at their photo albums. The whole family wore such great clothes in the years past. My favorites are pictures from the fifties to the seventies because they were such colorful photos. My father and his siblings wore loud prints that clashed, bell-bottoms and those nifty aviator Raybans. It was a happy time. I loved those pictures. 

I never got to meet my grandfather. He died when my dad was in his early twenties. I've heard a lot of great stories about him, people say he's a lot like my dad in that they look alike and they had the same gentle demeanor. I hear my Grandpa was, like my dad, also quite a fan of skincare products and smart dressing. He must have been a remarkable man. I can tell my father loved him dearly with the way he's always telling stories about him or what life was like when his dad was still around. I know he idolized him a lot. Once, on a book run (I used to make my Papa buy books I read for fun on any given weekend), my father was very pleased to find out I had Sinatra songs on my shuffle. He told me these songs were his dad's songs, and then he kept singing along until we got home. That was a very nice moment between Ben, Benjie, and I.  

It will be December in a few hours. I lost my dad on a Thursday in December, two years ago. It was five days before my birthday and our conversations that day were simple but great, from what gift would I like to have (I said a Blackberry, he said, "Okay."), my plans after graduation (I only had a term left, he was so excited because he wanted me to go law school or take master's), and if I'd like to invite family over on my birthday (my uncle told me later on that he was in fact looking for crabs to cook on my birthday, they're my favorite so I know finding mud crabs in December is very hard). I still don't know what went wrong that day but I now know how to turn the switch off when I begin thinking about it. 

You don't really forget the pain, you just learn how to live through it. Later on, I will find out that this valuable lesson is applicable to everything in life. You live through things. Nothing is ever that big of a deal because you can and will carry on. I never really imagined that he would never see me grow older or be the person he always wanted me to be, which is why I like this picture of my Grandpa. 

I'd like to think this is how my Papa would've looked like had he grown older, same bushy eyebrows and that very friendly face. He is, after all, my grandfather's junior. Hello, Benjamins. I hope you're both enjoying heaven. 

The Juice is Worth the Squeeze

“Keep your dreams alive. Understand to achieve anything requires faith and belief in yourself, vision, hard work, determination, and dedication. Remember all things are possible for those who believe.”

The Impostor's Daughter

This is my cousin's book and it's awesome so I thought I could write about it a bit to take my mind off the book I am currently reading (An expat's memoir about France, one that is so honestly written that it's just full of raw beauty. I am filled with so much wanderlust and I am not even halfway through! I guess it also helps that for every French man a heroine meets, I instantly imagine Yoann Gourcuff). 

First, a summary: Laurie Sandell grew up in awe (and sometimes in terror) of her larger-than-life father, who told jaw-dropping tales of a privileged childhood in Buenos Aires, academic triumphs, heroism during Vietnam, friendships with Kissinger and the Pope. As a young woman, Laurie unconsciously mirrors her dad, trying on several outsized personalities (Tokyo stripper, lesbian seductress, Ambien addict). Later, she lucks into the perfect job–interviewing celebrities for a top women’s magazine. Growing up with her extraordinary father has given Laurie a knack for relating to the stars. But while researching an article on her dad’s life, she makes an astonishing discovery: he’s not the man he says he is–not even close. Now, Laurie begins to puzzle together three decades of lies and the splintered person that resulted from them–herself.

This will be short. You see, it's kind of hard to talk about graphic novels at length without getting into the illustration or giving away the story itself. Now that I already gave you the summary, I can also go ahead and say that this gem of a book has wonderful coloring (which is the only thing I could say about the technical aspect of the illustration, as I am not an expert). Truth be told, I've seen better drawings from, say, Craig Thompson, Adrian Tomine or even Lucy Knisley, but this book aces coloring (I realize it's completely wrong to compare illustrators because they differ in technique but I am a Philistine in illustration. I am not useful in articulating drawing differences or peculiarities at length). A story this complicated and somewhat dark can easily be translated into even darker drawings but this book did not. The illustrations remained warm and lively, and I really liked that. It didn't give the story any added weight, and it gave me (as a reader) something nice to look at, no matter how depressing Laurie's story got. There was balance and it was really essential in holding my attention, especially when everything got messy (and just atrocious). It is especially disconcerting for me because like Laurie, I loved my father a lot. It made me realize that even our greatest heroes are people too. And as most people, they are susceptible to shortcomings and human frailty. I admit I have the tendency to put the people I love in pedestals. This book made me realize that it shouldn't be that way all the time and if I insist, I'd have to always look away. I don't want that. In my book, blind deference is almost as ugly as the bitter truth.

In the end, (and I'll try not to spoil you as much as I can) Laurie was able to overcome the truth that she has unraveled by turning the other cheek. Giving people a free pass on their many shortcomings may be unacceptable to some, and I will be the first to admit that I am yet to learn the redeeming value in forgiveness of that kind, but Laurie and her siblings were able to do it. They were able to love their father the same way, even if he wasn't what he said he was. I first thought it was a little bit defeatist, letting things be like that but later on, I realized that forgiveness, in whatever form, is great.

Then, of course, the book has frames of this kind which I found raw but funny. Although I would never advocate what Laurie did, (the whole blame game, I'm lost with a lot of daddy issues thing? Just no) I enjoyed reading about it. Two wrongs don't make a right, kids, but they make for one hell of a story (and a book deal, if you're as lucky):

PS. You can learn more about the book (there are excerpts!) and the author in this interview with Jezebel. 

Everybody hurts

“Do you know what happens when you hurt people?’ Ammu said. ‘When you hurt people, they begin to love you less. That’s what careless words do. They make people love you a little less.”

― Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things

The Great Perhaps: Seattle & ferry boats

I'm a little down because someone I look up to has let me down.  And when I'm a little down, when I cannot make sense of strong women sinking into a level so low, I like writing about the places I love even when it's been years after I have been in them. I guess I do it to remind me of happier times, of where I can go, of what I can do and of how happy I can still be even on my own. 

I didn't realize I took so many photos aboard ferries, which neighboring residents use to shuttle to and from the city proper. From Bremerton, it takes roughly thirty minutes to get to the Seattle ferry port but those thirty minutes are glorious. It is a comfortable medley of the sea breeze, birds flying overhead, wonderful boats you wave to when you pass them by, and smiling people under the sun. Late in the afternoon, the deck is a good place for people lost in thought or for people like me, who fancy watching the last fire of the setting sun. I like to watch the sky and sea bathe in the golden orange blaze of the afternoon sun, I like watching as it turns  dark pink and then indigo, and then transition slowly into complete darkness as the ferry moves farther away from the city and the sun descends. At night, the ferry's deck becomes a place for lovers admiring the faint glow of the city lights and it just perfect. Perfectly lonely. 

This is a short photo set of that glorious thirty minutes of oneness, of mornings between the sea and self. A small reminder to ourselves of the vast oceans beyond us and the little that it takes to sail away. 

Seattle is a nice place. Personally, I think it is a cross between San Francisco and New York City, two of my favorite places in the world. It has the climate and the relaxed easiness of North California, and it's also surrounded by so much water much like that small but magnetic island on the Eastern Seaboard. I could live here, if neither New York nor San Francisco works out. It is a beautiful place, beautiful enough to be a part of my personal version of The Great Perhaps. It is so easy to develop a thing for ferry boats, Derek Shepherd style. Like the fictional McDreamy, I didn't plan on liking Seattle but I do now. It is a lovely place.