“We all need somebody to look at us. We can be divided into four categories according to the kind of look we wish to live under. The first category longs for the look of an infinite number of anonymous eyes, in other words, for the look of the public…

The second category is made up of people who have a vital need to be looked at by many known eyes. They are the tireless hosts of cocktail parties and dinners…

Then there is the third category, the category of people who need to be constantly before the eyes of the person they love. Their situation is as dangerous as the situation of people in the first category. One day the eyes of their beloved will close, and the room will go dark..

And finally there is the fourth category, the rarest, the category of people who live in the imaginary eyes of those who are not present. They are the dreamers.”

– Milan Kundera’s “The Unbearable Lightness of Being”

(I have blog entries in another site that I haven’t posted on this blog page but here’s a post I’d like to share now.) 

I
woke up last night at 11, July 13th, to yet another lucid dream.  I
found myself in a rustic hilly town, winding roads turn from one uphill
or downhill to another street.  These are the key images and events
that are still stuck in my mind, in particular order:

1)  children playing mindlessly on the paved roads

2)  me seeing the scenic view from the top of somewhere (a mountain? a lodging house? It doesn’t matter)

3)  me looking up in the sky, time suddenly stops for a moment…

4)  everyone feels a sandy, dry, big wind coming from nowhere but now turning in all directions…

5)  the noise of the townsfolk, scampering away

6)  I looked at the sky and saw half of the sky turned black

7)
people evacuating the area… the people don’t know what’s happening
but they knew something’s up.  They can feel the piercing wind on their
skin.  I could feel it too.

8)  I was inside the jeepney and a few others — fugitives running for dear precious moments

…And
then I woke up.  You don’t want to be in my situation when and where I
was there.  I just hope it’s not a warning for something catastrophic,
but rather the state of my mind. 

     After I shared with my friend my recent road-trip and island-hopping in
Quezon last Good Friday, unbeknownst to me, he just laid one big fact
that I have already circled two ends of the Pacific Ocean.  That’s
within a five-month span.  The first one was during my trip to San
Francisco.  When I heard that, I was nonchalant then, but I knew deep
in my heart that there’s a bigger reason I was brought here, right at
this place, on October 25th, 2007.   

Friends of mine would think I’m one damn lucky person for having
traveled without really spending anything (an understatement).  I have
traveled far and wide, yes, but little did they know that this family
trip was also a spiritual journey of mine.  I have had several
intimate  experiences of that alone and my interaction with others.  I
want to honor that now that I’m still sane.

      If my first
view of the bursting of the waves in the above pics show, truly there
were many times in my life I have been pushed around by external forces
of guilt, shame and inadequacy beyond my control.  I went through all
the tough times of wanting to be accepted but myself.  I have been shut
off, put down, ignored, demoralized, abused by others, and sometimes
there were self-inflicted wounds that won’t heal.  I have been laughed
at, been called all sorts of names.  They have somehow regained controI
over the first 25 years of my life.

      Your opponents
seemed to speak different voices, but these voices tell you one thing:
they want you to feel inferior more than them and they want you to
self-destruct. 

      That won’t happen in my case.  I may
have committed the same old mistakes, but one thing is for sure, I’d
strive to be better.  One has many chances to correct oneself and even
if it will take me a lifetime to stand up for my convictions, I shall
do it.  I have half a dozen stories why my life have been saved (near
accidents, sickness, thoughts of suicide, etc) by a Higher Being. The
deep appreciation that I’m still alive is enough cause for me to live.
I know hundreds of people who have worked their way by giving off
themselves and I want to thank these people, those who have touched me
and those who will.  I will post some stories about you at a later
time. 

       Ironically, the onrushing currents at a San
Francisco seashore was one unforgettable scene.  I caught a man
standing (if you can, please maximize the second picture) along the
sturdiest of all foundation, with his dog in tow, looking at the
horizon in a meditative gaze.  This is no different from the calm and
reassuring sea I saw in Quezon Province last Good Friday.   We will
come full circle at some point wherever we are, whether by land, or by
the two ends of the biggest ocean that is the Pacific.  By then, I’ll
be ready for you.                                   

     New England, specifically the state of Maine, afforded me to take a
glimpse not only of the cottage-style houses found in the rustic towns,
but also of railways and bridges. If this would have been another
booming city, these structures would have been torn down.

     Something
I learned about myself when I cross under them, I just feel "weird."
It’s something ethereal, enigmatic, and romantic. Like I’m hearing
age-old stories told to me again, the keeper of their secrets.

   Mama, my mother, prefigures
in my life more than anyone I can think of. 
We are in a love-hate
relationship thing, she and I being both under the sign of Scorpio –
an exciting combination of ego-complementing-ego-fighting in the
household. Mostly the latter.  I terribly miss her lang siguro,
she’s in Tagaytay for yet another seminar I guess.  My mom is turning
59 this year and she’s the most active and workaholic person I know.  A
major chunk of her work at the Bureau of Alternative Learning System at
Department of Education (DepEd) requires travelling, and more
travelling.  She has been from the northernmost tip to the southernmost
end of the Philippines, from Aparri to Tawi-tawi.  I am waiting for the
day when she gets promoted as Chief of the department, a position she
so rightfully-deserved for her more than 30 years of service. 

     Anyway, an epiphany about Mama happened
of all places — in Disneyland, Anaheim.  I was with my Mama and Papa,
my first in Disneyland; and they, their second time.  The Mama I
saw in Disneyland was different from what I saw at the house who’s
domineering, strong-willed, provider, and all the strong qualities I
have of her.  In Disneyland, she was the trouper.  She and I
easily bonded and rode the rides together, unwittingly leaving Papa on
some rides.  The first ride we rode was "Grizzly River Run," the the
lame circling, rising and falling motions, soaked-wet.  Piece of cake
for me.    Our second ride (with Papa) was the favorite of Mama.  It’s
called "Soaring Over California."   You’re waist-strapped on a board
and you’ll be soared over a moving screen of images.  The illusion was
as if you feel you’re flying so fast over a vast of images.  It’s great
though. 

     I was beginning to get sweaty palms because I
know we would encounter gravity-defying rides after.  I have fear of
heights. That meant facing that fear head-on sooner than expected.  But
that vanished when Mama did
want to take the rides again (where she took the rides 3 months ago),
and with me.  In making the decision whether to ride or not, you don’t
even have time to tinker about it.  When your companion wants to, you
are forced to join the fun, else you’ll be left behind.  So, I
"enthusiastically" joined her in that ONE, BIG Freefall Drop, where I
felt my insides were turned over suddenly. 

     Moreover, I
had to tackle yet another staple in theme parks — the dreaded
roller-coaster. I was never a fan of roller coaster.  I have only
ridden three of those in my life, and they didn’t have the loops.
Anyways, here in Disneyland, they have "California Screaming," where
part of the attraction was gliding the 360-degree loop around Mickey
Mouse’s large outline.  The picture below was the aftermath of the said
ride, with Mama showing
composure (for the camera? heheh) and me, exhilaration.  I should have
really enjoyed it for I wanted to do it again but coudn’t, were it not
for the incredible queue. 

     Now, going on a loop was not even in my list of 100 things to do before I die, but thanks to Mama, I should add it in my list and checked it off right away.

     After all that’s been said and done, I think we are going to mark this off as one of icing on the cake.  I feel that Mama and
I are being thrown away against each other it seems, but we
unbelievably keep on holding on to each other.  And enjoying the ride
as well.                               

Originally written on March 27, 2008:  http://paraiggy.multiply.com/

     Serendipity happened yesterday as I looked over to one of my care-worn pictures
posted here below.   My five maternal aunts, together with three young cousins to boot, stayed in our house at their week and a half long reunion/bonding time with their eldest sister, my mom.  The "girl-siblings reunion" were complete: four came from our home province in Masbate, another came from Kuwait, and my workaholic mom who’s on the go all the time.  When there’s a reunion, especially among first-degree relatives, one almost always has anecdotes, present concerns and plans to fill the time.  I got my own piece of simple, factual info from a first-hand source, my aunt, after I showed this family picture — she has not just one, but few baby pictures of me!  It happened on the day they were about to leave.  I thought my quest for a baby picture is a lost case.    

That’s me on my lollipop with my family, early 80’s

     To others you’d wonder why fuss over baby pictures.  Without falling into sentimental trap,   keeping them would be a
priceless treasure-trove to one’s identity.  It’s one aspect to self-knowledge.

 
     I recall one homework in my preparatory school where I could not produce my baby picture. I made an alibi which I have forgotten.  Another of that
“show-me-your-baby-pic” homework came when I was in second or third
grade.  Mama said I ought to have my sister’s pic when she was just a
couple of months’ old or so.  Much to my apprehension, I had to make a
white lie, anxious lest I lose my face.  As early as that time in my life, I made an awkward smile
when I heard from classmates I was a cute, chubby baby.   Looking back now, I tried to take them for a ride but we really didn’t know how to distinguish between a 1979 (my birth year) picture to an older, grayish one.  For all we know, I could have submitted my mom or dad’s birth pic and the reactions were similar.   Nonetheless, I was glad I had an adorable baby pic, in my sister’s
image. 

   
From my early teens up until my early 20’s, I had continued searching for every family
picture and failing miserably that I didn’t have one solo baby pic.  I begun to completely understand our family situation then.  Ours started as a really humble
beginning.    My father left
for Saudi when I was four or five.  I had photos alright at my
baptismal ceremony, but they’re too old for me simply because I was baptized when I was 5 years old.  My baptism had to be compromised in favor of immediacy and practicality.  Maybe we didn’t own a camera then. I couldn’t argue with that. 
 

    Ohh, I have another one which is considered a
baby picture since it was taken when I was about 3 years old. But I won’t post it here unless it’s completely
restored or if there’s any hope if at all. I was the ring-bearer (??) of
an aunt’s wedding. The lone picture was me at the round dinner table looking up at the camera. My face there is so mangled, it’s being
slowly being eaten out by ghastly-looking dirt over my face. 
 

I am excited about my oncoming photos to be transported from the province.  My aunt, who owned the camera, was trying her darn best to make me remember a swimming outing at Tierra
Pura that time, to no avail.  So I assume I must’ve been really young to frolic au naturel. I’m semi-excited about that one too. But it’s
very nice if I can have a glimpse of my past , have a baby Iggy picture I can truly call
my own.

    Since yesterday (Saturday, Manila time), I’ve been conjuring up words, ideas and how to form them about one topic I’m strongly passionate about — writers and their rights. When American guild writers in Hollywood ‘can’ have their own picket lines, ‘can’ disrupt tv shows and ‘can’ influence A-list stars to have no-show appearances in the likes of Golden Globe (well, let’s see), it’s something that Filipino writers, especially television writers, find a brazen act.  Anyhow, I will have to skip this and give way to a more fitting entry for the new year, 2008. 

        My gift came in the form of a dream, rather, my gift was/is my dream.  It happened on the first day of the year.  I’ve posted some of my dream entries here before because of searing visuals and their latent interpretation, but the question of "when" were just aside from the dream.  This time around, having a significant dream on the first day has impacted my life more than ever. 

     Doom!  How many times have I dreamt of scenarios of deluge, burning pot of fire, an asteroid explosion (at UP Sunken Garden), UFOs, ghastly sightings, a flashy conveyor-like tunnel to heaven, more extraterrestrial invasions, wars.  I’ve seen and heard each of them.  Did I tell you, I’m also in those scenes (I wasn’t the UFO, okay?).   Scary, eh?   

        The dream on January 1st 2008 was no different, but with a twist.  I had two different dreams, one personal, the other, prophetic.  I will choose to share the latter coz one must take notice of this. 

            I am somewhere at one coastal area.  I don’t know why I am here and I don’t even see the coast from where I stand, except for the cool ocean breeze. I see myself standing at a big vacated lot, an empty outdoor basketball area filling up one mid-section area of steeply cliff private island.  It’s been newly vacated, and I could sense something ominous is in the air.  In one flash, I see in my mind some people scampering away, I hear one dominant male voice empathetically tell others to "run away, there’s flood."  I was frozen for one sec.  The eerie silence suffocates. Realizing I am the only one left in the area, I had to take action and leave promptly.

         I hear the sound of thunder.  Then a drizzle.  Instead of going up, I skid past rows of small terraced steps until…until I end up in a sprawling cliff.  What I see around the cliff are a few lifeless trees bending sideways or just lying there on the ground.  They’re young black trees with thin trunks.    

         I see the ocean, there’s none going on.  It’s calm.  Then I hear a girl/woman close to my back, telling me to "hold on."  I turned around from the origin of the voice and saw "her" clutching to the one tiny dead trunk. Big cries from heaven suddenly roared.  I follow what she says, that is, to hold on to my own tiny dead trunk within my grasp.  But before I could begin to sense the portending thunder, I saw the massive ocean across horrendously turns into…ONE, INCREDIBLE TSUNAMI.  It not only overwhelmed me because of its massive size, I also see IT coming from the horizon and beginning to create chunks of inner waves from all sides, gaining strength.  Its sheer magnitude never before imagined.  I am so afraid, trying to hold on to dear life in one lifeless trunk.  I see the prussian blue wave matching the color of the sky one last time bracing towards me.  Its expanse covers an estimate of 100-ft in height by 200-ft (or a mile! I dont know) in width.  It’s almost reaching the sky in perfect illusion and zooming in towards my direction, just a few hundreds of feet away from me.  She/he wants to devour me and the lifeless cliff. 

           Then, like a horse rider, I hold on to the lifeless trunk, bend my body upward and close my eyes.  Slowly, fragments of rain from the waves wash me down.  I pray to the high heavens to stop it…I hear only drizzles. 

           Moments after, I stand up…I only see a clear, blue horizon.  No waves.  Only the dark clouds clear up.  It’s as if nothing prophetic happened.

          Not asking for another "show," but I see one thing falling down at me.  Just like a visual representation of tears, a big, crystal-clear white drop of rain the size of a quarter coin slowly and carefully heads to touch my right cheek. It is the most pleasant sensation of all:  minty cold, fresh, and alive.  End of dream. 

          Upon finishing this, why all of a sudden I am humming to Luther Vandross’ "So Amazing."  Yes, if I have to borrow the lyrics from it, "God, You’re So Amazing!" 

         And can my artist-friends please show up and sketch this dream. Paging Lara K. This latest dream behooves a visual representation. 

    So what will be the day’s news for our country during the holidays? Reduced crimes or no petty crimes at all? Cool. Even the communist rebels vowed a four-day ceasefire against the government forces. Great. Just because it’s Christmas — uncool.

     Reading an international news engine today at latimes.com, I read that a family of atheists in Illinois is seeking to overturn a state law requiring public schools to have a moment of silence everyday for "reflection and student prayer." You couldn’t have a more interesting news on Christmas like that. This is only the tip of the iceberg. What I’m driving at is time and again we have used the holiday season as a vain reason to be considerate and kind (not bad), be merry and joyful (not bad as well) to achieve…World peace? Let’s set aside issues and rest? Then what?

     If travelling for some is for pure pleasure, it has afforded me that and has also expanded my perspective. In the state of Maine I have learned, business establishments and some residence have flags in their own frontyard at half-mast. They are opposed to their government whose soldiers are being deployed and hoping if they could see their shadows back home. In America, people wear their self-imposed beliefs in their flag-bearing yard. Can we say that to Filipinos without the fear of being threatened, sued, lost or killed? Or do you still care?

     Last December 14, it was my first to attend the annual UP-College of Arts and Letters Faculty Follies (that is after my six-year undergrad). I was expecting the staff and the professors of each department would do a romp, a riot and fun althroughout, as what previously have been done. The Art Studies Department, with just a two-man show and a couple of musical accompaniers, performed a mini-"Pasyon" (Passion Play) with a twist. Prof. Edru Abraham (founder of the Kontra-Gapi fame) skillfully and gamely performed with the different masks and movements that represented the main characters at hand, while Prof. Roselle Pineda sang an otherwise painful journey of the Lenten characters vis-à-vis contemporary Filipinos’ wretched plight. While ‘Mam Roselle, my former teacher, was wailing for Edita Burgos (the real-life mother of her still-missing activist-son, Jonas Burgos); Mr. Abraham echoed the parallelism of the profound anguish that Mother Mary was feeling at her crucified son Jesus.

    At that moment, something roused in me.

    At the UP Lantern Parade a few days later, it was STAND-UP’s (the leftist University student group) turn for their presentation and while they made noise about their causes, I overheard these two young female UP students at my back who deridedly said, “andyan na naman sila (here they are again).” They said that repeatedly until they finished.

     Have we totally lost our nationhood to indifference? Columnist Conrado de Quiros said so in his article, please click: http://opinion.inquirer.net/inquireropinion/columns/view/20071217-107249/Dysfunctional. I hope not. I’d rather whine this Christmas and do something than do nothing.

Breaking news: another broadcast journalist was slain in Davao. No zero crime today this Christmas.

    I was egged on by my good friend to post a blog again, this time about my travels in the US.  He was expecting not another goody-goody entry like giving up my airplane seat to someone and receiving a compli drink for that (hey, haven’t I got a right to post anything?).  I got his point, it’s very "untravel-like," to say the least.  Ironically, I have not had posted a travel piece at length here, pakagat-kagat lang, or in bits and pieces.   Before the prodding, I was on the verge of planning to write about the places I’ve been in recently — the bountiful Davao, the private Talikud Island and Boracay (more on those soon). 

     I have not given anyone a reason why I havent wrote anything about my travels.  That’s because I didn’t think I have it in me to show it off other than what people see obviously in my pictures.  Another heavy reason is the places I found were ineffable and deeply personal, hence, the need to value the sense of anonymity.  Try as I my attempt to write here, I feel I am only touching the surface. 

     When we arrived in Manila from the US, it was Halloween.  Something had been bothering me thereafter.  I was being led to look back about the myriad colors I saw during my wandering times.  I felt haunted by that constant daydreaming, those lingering memories that stayed with me.  By what I meant by haunted, it’s not the way I looked in this picture when I first set foot at Times Square in Manhattan last May, aptly called "City Lights." 

      
   This moment seemed magical; however, it only lasted as the glittering lights went off (which in Manhattan, never goes off until early morning).  The beautifully-framed boards were there to look at, but could I feel them?  To me, they just blinded and swallowed everything up. 

      If the commercial lights at Times Square didn’t tickle my fancy, I have learned to appreciate the subdued colors of gray in paved roads and streets while bright yellow cabs passed me by; and the long-standing structures that borne the prevalent architectural times. 

     I have been a fan of sepia.  When I was three or four, I remember I saw a bird’s eye view picture of a massive cathedral.  In it, I could only see dot-sized people swarming around the cathedral.  I was amazed to see the cathedral in sepia, washed aglow by the sun’s rays.  I didn’t know I could see a world of sepia and a semblance of that picture in flesh at St. Patrick’s Cathedral at Madison Avenue. Though it is made of white marble, the church turns to sepia when the bright sun hits it. 

    Among the fewer buildings that I saw (given the limited time) in NY and had me astounded, color and otherwise, was when I saw the western entrance of the "Cathedral of Saint John the Divine" along Amsterdam Avenue.  THAT thing (and I mean THAT, being the third largest Christian church in the world) is massive.   My family and I were on the way to eat after the commencement ceremony and before the doctoral hooding of my sister, snaking our way to the avenues and streets.  When we turned around another side of the street, we saw this Gothic cathedral, comfortably sitting on its own grayish elegance and magnificence. I had to stop for a sec and took a snap.  I hardly breathed and gaped.  (My friendster’s barring me to post another pic, so, no pic…).  I was completely awed I didn’t even notice there’s a scaffolding (an ongoing reconstruction was in place) at the right side of the facade.  I’m hardly a church-goer, but If I’m going to visit NYC again, I’ll pay a visit to the cathedral, feel its cathartic presence, and make a wish. 

Next up:  The green and the whites

    I have an anecdote from the 2007 Teachers College Doctoral Hooding Ceremony at the Riverside Church, New York where my sister, Charisse, finished her Doctorate.  The Gothic-style church is so staggering, (see sample photo at http://www.flickr.com/photos/biotron/6203718/), that you’d feel you’re being transported back in the 13th century in an instant.  My parents and I were stricken with fatigue already, what with the University Commencement held at the Columbia Univ’s Morningside Campus held earlier mid-morning of May 16th. 

      Anyways, we were seated at the balcony of the Church.  As they were calling out the names for the hooding, I went down to the center aisle and stood quietly.  Armed with a camera and the program as cue, I shouted at the top of my lungs when my sister’s name was called out and said "Mabuhay" and followed it up with a "whoooo, whoooo."  I got a faint, amused laughter from the conferred doctors.  Each family had their own kind of cheers, why should we be left out?  It was a proud moment, not only that a Filipina, my sister, has achieved this far, but also a moment for our family.  I knew my voice bounced all the way up the balcony, to my parents.  I was also cheering them in a way that they have instilled the value of hard work in us.   

     My father worked in Saudi Arabia even before I learned the real meaning of the initials — OCW were (overseas contract worker); meanwhile, my mother was then working in Bureau of Education as a researcher.  Our money wasn’t enough for the family and for our other relatives.  I realized we didn’t have enough money when I was like 5 years old, a cotton candy seller was plying our neighborhood, I excitedly called my mama for that sweet rolled-up candy.  I was refused, then I thought to myself, "that was just 25 cents."  And then twenty-two years later, I was standing in front of my sister, a scholar in one of the best universities in the world.  Amazing. 

     I THINK WE RIGHTFULLY DESERVE THIS TRIP, IF NOT FOR MY PARENTS.

     The speech was by Thomas Sobol.  He used a beautiful poem towards the end of the speech.  It behooved me to download this and share this with you, knowing that humanity is going in this direction. 

In Time Like Air

by May Sarton

Consider the mysterious salt;

In water it must disappear.

It has no self.  It knows no fault.

Not even sight may apprehend it.

No one may gather it, or spend it.

It is dissolved, and everywhere.

But, out of water into air,

It must resolve into a presence,

Precise and tangible and here.

Faultlessly pure, faultlessly white,

It crystallizes in our sight,

And has defined itself to essence.

What element dissolves the soul

So it may be both found and lost,

In what suspended as a whole?

What is the element so blest

That there identity can rest

As salt in the clear water cast?

Love, in its early transformation,

And only love may so design it

That the self flows in pure sensation

Is all dissolved and found at last

Without a future or a past,

And a whole life suspended in it.

The faultless crystal of detachment

Comes after, cannot be created

Without the first intense attachment.

Even the saints achieve this slowly;

For us, more human and less holy,

In time like air is essence stated.

      This poem stands on its own, but for those who want to have the bigger picture and how it was used contextually, please click http://www.tc.columbia.edu/i/media/tomsobolmedalspeech.doc for the full transcript.