I wonder if I should upload my CV for easier job perusal. Ah, perhaps I could add a passcode. I think I have been a failure at 'selling' myself... or maybe I've just grown tired of the HK scene.

All right I'm modifying already, but at least I didn't eat rice nor meat today. I hope I continue to persevere.

Yes, I'm going GAUNT! Because gaunt is exactly what one looks like when one no longer tends to the plump.

Food and Drink

1. Blueberry Muffin and Clotted Cream (I need my dairy!)
2. Cuttlefish Balls and Squidballs with Chiu Chow Oil and Soy Sauce (street food yum!)
3. Water, 3 glasses (I need to increase this amount, I know.)
4. Carrot, Watermelon and Orange Juice, 1 1/2 glasses
5. Ube, 1 bowl (not encouraging, this)
6. Chocolate Scone and Clotted Cream (tea with clotted cream is unheard of! Hahaha, excuses!)
7. Pineapple Coconut milk (add electrolytes while you don't taste it)

Exercise

Pilates Reformer
Walking


Wellness

Cinetherapy - 'Capturing Mary' by Stephen Poliakoff
Watching the Watoto Children's Choir
Daydreaming about Boys (Again?!)

I'll be documenting my food intake from now on, because I've reached the end of my tether at hating the way my body looks... Food and Drink 1. Water, 6 glasses 2. Banana with Chocolate Ice-Cream (last indulgence) 3. Turkey Caesar Salad 4. Banana Smoothie 5. Spinach Quiche 6. Apple Tart 7. Calamares 8. White Wine, one glass 9. Mango Lemonade, one glass Exercise Walking yesterday I went hillclimbing Wellness Foot Massage Keeping company

“It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by the dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions and spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who, at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly; so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory or defeat."

THEODORE ROOSEVELT
(Paris Sorbonne, 1910)

I think it is time for me to get into the arena. In my veins run the blood of swordsmen from the South and spear-hunters from the North. I love how my Filipino heritage comes from both ends of the country, and how my existence makes true nationhood possible.

I thank my mother for choosing to elope with my dad against by grandparents' will, for at the time, it was considered a social faux pas for Northerners to marry Southerners to the small-minded, it still is.

But with every generation comes a broader view...I need to be braver still to do the things I'd like to do in the next few months. And I'm praying for luck and guidance from above.

In memory of my late grandmother....and all the lost opportunities. I'm sorry, I really didn't know, and whenever things were revealed to me, it was all too late to act upon anything.



The Dying Live


The dying live this season--
In Spring as compost weds
Fuel growing daffodils at night,
As the waning moon draws the
Sea into a calm and as the nether world
Disturbs the insomniacs
And watches their bodies lift.

They are souls deprived of spirit
Who thirst for the glistening
Of poor, ill-timed youth-- O,
Those who fester in their beings with
The passing, mere passing of days
Of not doing much save
Revels and rebellions and answering all
With a non serviam vote.

It is sad how the brightest angel of
Them all, back when Heaven and Earth
Were one in the same realm,
Was young and hungry, too.
Yet he desired a mountain of nothing
And fathoms below, the Kingdom
He dreamt of rose from the void,
Pulled him down, invisible nereids'
Eyes of charcoal embers, pleading
Rule nothing, Hunger always
Down here, where the dying live
For naught, and the Fall.


31 March 2009
Lantau

Copyright 2009 The Alchemist's Daughter.

I finally figured out how to rearrange the flat without making it look too small, so now, I suppose I'm ready to entertain. It's lunchtime, so bring out the table extension, and let's have a slice of the cafe life, Rue Monge--where I once got lost and figured I was hungry enough to eat while retracing my steps.

I'll probably reduce this menu to 2/3 its size, but this is my ideal portion for a party of 5-6.

1. Foie Gras with Blueberry Stilton Spinach or Rocket Salad
2. L'Onion gratinee with Sauteed Asparagus
3. Mussels in White Wine
4. Crepe Complete
5. 3-cheese platter
6. Zabaglione (borrowed from the Italians, of course) - If I suddenly quake at the task, I'll make the Portuguese/Macanese Serradura instead.

Rich flavour, generous portions and our cups shall overflow.

We shall listen to strains of Chopin, Debussy and Satie in the background.

Now I know what's been bugging me. I never have enough time to PRIMP in front of a MIRROR! I wake up in the morning and I attend to S; doing this has made me cultivate the habit of stepping out without having a good look at myself before stepping out the way I used to.

I grew up with a lifesize mirror in my bedroom and another last-minute mirror by the stairway to double-check myself before stepping out. This is how I used to manage dressing up within 10 minutes. It was something my B appreciated about me: he never had to wait.

These days it takes me about an hour to finish my ablutions and 'blade-work', another half-hour to do my make-up because I need to moisturise more than I used to owing to Hong Kong's wind-burning winter to spring weather; and another half-hour to blow my hair dry! I often wondered how was it that I managed to take care of myself back in college and yet not manage today. Well, this is the reason. I don't primp anymore. Truth be told, I don't like what I see. And this entry sounds like I've been watching too much Tim Gunn, Gok and Trinny and Susannah. But these shows tell us women the same thing: when our life statuses change, we inevitably let ourselves go without our knowing. And for those who have been utterly devoted to raising a child and keeping the hearth warm, it seems we've gone cold on ourselves, our bodies, our needs, our joie de vivre.

And then the other imbalances occur: social imbalances such has being too eager to meet friends or relying too much on friends or not wanting at all to meet new people or see old friends; relationship imbalances such as taking every single look, remark or nose-twitch to heart even if it doesn't concern you; emotional imbalances such as craving more attention and yet wanting to be left alone.

This has got to stop. Next week I'm getting what every woman in her 30s should be getting every 3 weeks.

And I will spend more time in front of that mirror--my trusty ally, my true friend, sans the vanity judgment and that 'malignant excessive earthiness' (Come on, the world is gloomy enough as it is, and I for one don't want to add to it by looking shabby, so there!) -- to put on some make-up and fix my hair.

I want to be a girl for a change, because my darling S's spontaneity and cheeriness depend on it! MY spontaneity and cheeriness depend on it!

And then there were the wonderful things my aunts, grandma and grand-aunt did for me: dressmaker visits. I will have to look for a good dressmaker in my district; I'll get the cloth myself. I remember the one-of-a-kind dresses I used to wear and my favourites back in college: while shorts and tees were the usual fare, or the white shirt and jeans were the usual ICTUS fare, and then black and boots did their own little turn with Pearl Jam being our favourite band then, I showed up at times in the occasional dress. There was the salmon Louise Brooks V-neck with a dainty little ribbon; yes, I looked like a WW II nurse, but I remember a feller who liked it very much and married me for it--hahaha, B! Then there was the batik A-line...pseudo-activist without having to dress down 'too much'. And finally, my favourite that sparked a bit of gentle reminder (M, your 'chest' is showing...ad nauseam), was the 'summery' (an ICTUS friend called it) sundress with flowers in squirrel and pheasant brown.

I mentioned elsewhere that the months April to June are my weird, changeling months every year. If you want to know what book gave me the impetus--and you wouldn't believe it--it was _St. Augustine's Search for God_ by Donald X. Burt. I read it on Mardi Gras and on my way home, it seemed the whole idea of relinquishing the perfection of this one life on earth on all possible levels bothered me immensely.

There are days when one feels like the least productive member of society for not holding down a full-time job. Then, there are other days when one feels at the height of one's creative powers, at the mercy of no one and completely invincible.

I felt that way every time I saw _Measure for Measure_ each night from the backstage television and, just once, in the audience with my daughter Sofia.

It is far too expensive to create theatre this serious; Hong Kong hardly provides support for local non-Chinese groups, even if they do have a smacking of Asians in the cast.

I have a family to tend to and a household to keep. In the next few weeks, after I've settled all accounts and recorded our losses (yes, financial losses - reality sets in quickly, you know), I shall start looking for a full-time job in Hong Kong to buffer what my beloved B sees as our most challenging year yet.

And then there's the off-chance that I just might pave the way for moving elsewhere, the way I would like...to the city where S may just flourish as a teenager and a ballerina of her choosing.

So why did I pick up my heels to stage _Measure for Measure_ at probably the worst time in financial history? I had to. That is all. There are events and occurrences in my life that I needed to shake off in order to move forward; I felt it best to move forward by way of a play. Most people cry their hearts out, seek God, switch jobs or travel. I have opted to stage a play. Did I bring joy to the people who were in that theatre for 7 evenings? Yes. Did the whole event bring me joy? Yes. I feel that the generosity of spirit that occurred between the actors, the crew and the audience during those seven evenings was enough to tide anyone over any crisis. Some things need to be placed in perspective.

Finally, the most important thing I needed to do was to pay tribute to the people who raised me; sadly, they are no longer alive to see me flourish--I am but a feckless late-bloomer in my own estimation, though my dear grandparents have always described me as 'adelantado,' someone always trying to get ahead of herself.

Perhaps I have done that all throughout my life that it was merely time to look back and remember. I hope I did so, in the best way I possibly could. I've surrendered a great part of myself to the past now. Whatever I do from now on is no longer a means to compensate for past mistakes or past care, but only to solidify my daughter's future.

She is no ordinary creature. That is what my dear B fears. I see in her all the abilities a kind, compassionate and perceptive human being can exhibit. It is no wonder then that she is able to convey her intellect at such an early age through several media--the strongest and most imaginative of which is in dance.

There are a few cities in the world that can nurture this gift. Left alone in one of the Asian cities, she would become all-too complacent and similar to her father who would oftentimes make excuses for himself: 'If I had studied hard enough....if I had made an effort, then I would be..."

But her mother finds this line of reasoning erroneous, if at times arrogant. We do as we do, and become as we ought because we choose to act upon our dreams and wishes. If the choice be a mistake, then so be it, but the attempt in itself is noble--and certainly a chance that my daughter deserves out of this one life.

The Philippine Arts Festival in Hong Kong is scheduled in August 2009, instead of the usual June. That way, we don't run into Le French May or the Italian Month. Fine. Unfortunately, I don't think I would have anything ready for August.

Perhaps late this year instead. After 3 plays I believe I would have a repertory big enough to rotate for a continuous audience in Manila. I just need to fix the production book--close it, more like--record the light design for filing purposes and then get on with my life.

But first: The book tour. I need to venture to different cities again to read poems from my old book.

I am grateful for this experience. Shakespeare never fails to light up my soul. Perhaps I should take up painting; that way, I'd have more excuses to draw everything inward and lose myself in a white room full of space and a blank canvas upon which to draw, write, act and conceive.

Sigh...I must be growing old. Three years ago, if someone had told me that I was a boring person then I would have tried to change my interests and inclinations in a heart-beat. Now that I'm nearing 35, honestly, I don't care much if people don't call me anymore because I'm boring. I'm boring. Most people who love what I love and all the obscure stuff that seems to appeal to me tend to be perceived as boring. I'm not going to change a thing. I like being friends with books. So off to school I shall go again...soon.