At St. Luke's

I went with Ice and his colleagues to the hospital to visit their friend. This particular visit is worthy of note because it was a real visit, something of rarity. It wasn't the ceremonial kind like a visit of formality, which is just something one must do lest he be branded impolite. No, Ice and his colleagues did not simply drop by the hospital, drop off food and flowers, feign concern, and promptly leave. For two whole hours, all eleven of us stayed in the small, cramped space, which clearly has not anticipated guests who linger. I stood quietly by, smiling at the sight, and listening to the group talk about just about anything. There were talks of concern, of laughter, of work, of Christmas parties, of catheters, of pretty nurses. It was nice to see them all together like that. It comforted me to know Ice has such wonderful friends.

Serendipity and the Wine Connoisseur

I do not think I will ever outgrow Serendipity. It will always make me want to believe in destiny, in true love, and in really, really, really attractive couples. Ice, whom I caught with mammoth tears in his eyes at least twice during the movie, describes it as the perfect rom-com. I do not think I will object to that.

On a side note, Ice also observed that in some angles, Beckinsale looks remarkably like Eva Longoria. What a disgrace! It broke my heart to see what he meant. Sadly, it cannot be denied that he speaks the truth. One of Hollywood's most beautiful faces is now, at least in my eyes, forever marred. She will no longer be the perfect creature I once deemed her to be.

Tomorrow, we will watch Rope and Notting Hill. I think I have very good reason to believe that I am one of the very few people who has yet to see the latter. I fervently hope that it lives up to all the hype it caused years ago, and the overwhelming influence it continues to have today (especially on Philippine cinema and advertising).

Have I told you about my weird thing about movies? I almost never watch a blockbuster film, or at least not during the era it was premiered. I don't know why exactly, I just never understood the urge of people to go to the movie house in throngs because they "simply must watch the film right away." Name a blockbuster and I bet you I haven't seen it. Spiderman, Superman, Batman, and all the rest of the superhero movies, for starters. Oh, an epiphany: I think that maybe this is because I have the same philosophy toward movies as connoisseurs do with wine. Maybe I think they get better with age, and so I wait. That's a sophisticated way of explaining things. :)

Hinahon

Hindi ba't tumungo na't natunton ang
Bahagharing nagpasilip ng bukas
Bakit nananatiling wagas ang dampi
Ng pangako sa pisngi

Tumahan na't nanaig
Ang liwanag sa dilim
Ngunit hindi pa rin nalilimutan
Ang namasdan ng pikit na mga mata

Umuwi na't nanahan sa lilim
Ng karangyaan ng dalisay
Na kalungkutang
Tanging hinahon ang pangarap.

The Librarian

I'm not sure I would like to continue reading Summer. Charity Royall's resemblance to someone hurtful I know is just unbelievably striking that every word said of the character pierces my heart. My father, in turn, I see in Lawyer Royall, although, in their little world, I think he is considered a Lucius Harney.

Edith Wharton, as always, is magnificent. I just have never encountered a fictional character more vile. I do not think I'm ready for Charity. Next year, maybe.

Good morning, Tuesday.

I turned in fairly early last night. I'm sure I have had enough sleep, yet I'm feeling especially sleepy this morning. I have been trying to get up for two hours now, you see, and to no avail. Even as I type this entry, my body is reclined in the laziest manner imaginable. I look like a drunk Cleopatra on her chaise lounge. Hail the queen of sloths!

My fingers are taking forever to type, but if I try really, really hard, I can tap a letter every 5 seconds. My eyelids are so heavy I can barely read this thing I'm writing. My head dangles from the edge of the bed, waiting to be hoisted up by someone, something. Now I remind myself of a bad actor playing an action hero on the brink of death-- still determined to carry out his mission! But of course, my mission probably isn't as noble.

What's weird about this morning's sleepiness, I think, is that it is a sleepiness not only of the physiological kind. It seems that even my spirit is finding it extremely difficult to wake up. Nothing rouses me. My person has apparently decided to stage a coup de tat today. Clarise absolutely refuses to partake in any social activity. Let her be.

Around 2 hours of Summer

I received a text from a very upset MM the other day. She refuses to believe that I do not think 500 Days of Summer, which seems to be everyone's current favorite film, a work of art. How dare I dismiss a movie she thinks equals Woody Allen's genius? What was I thinking?

Allow me to explain.

The identity theory of communication tells us that we like a medium, say a film, because it mirrors our own experiences. Given this, let's just say that 500 Days of Summer was not a big hit with me because no matter how hard I try, I just cannot identify with any of the characters. Let's just leave it at that. Let us not attempt to explore the possibility that it is simply a poorly made film lest I further provoke my sister's feelings of resentment. And anyway, I actually rather appreciate the director's efforts to model it after Jean Pierre Jeunet's works, which, of course, are simply spectacular. 500 Days could not find a better role model, I think. So there.

I guess I have nothing to blame for this feeling of discontent but my age. I fear I am getting to old for this kind of things. Another simple joy gone. I am starting to really understand the Little Prince.

The Man Who Knew Too Much

"You have muddled everything from the start, taking that child with you from Marrakesh. Don't you realize that Americans dislike having their children stolen?"
-- The Ambassador, The Man Who Knew Too Much

The Hitchcock Movie Marathon begins!

For opening weekend, Ice and I watched The Man Who Knew Too Much. Actually, our first choice for this- ahem- momentous event was Shadow of a Doubt, which the master of suspense himself regarded as his best film. This bit of trivia rendered us curious-- Ice was curious a normal amount, I was bordering on hysteria. We thought it the perfect movie to start off our little marathon. Nevertheless, due to a technical difficulty, we had to settle for The Man. I say "settle" because while the fact that it is a James Stewart starrer made it very promising, I was less enthusiastic about his leading lady, Doris Day, whom I think annoyingly bouncy. I mean, don't you?

Anyway, Doris Day or no Doris Day, The Man is just wonderful. I was at the edge of my seat all two hours of the film. Indeed, Hitchcock never disappoints! No other filmmaker can send my heart racing the way he does. I love everything about his movies. I love how every single detail in a Hitchcock movie is important-- nothing is there just because, everything has a purpose. I love guessing how every character's every little movement, and how every seemingly nonsensical prop will figure in the almost absurd puzzle. Such attention to detail can only come from a man so dedicated to his craft. I admire Hitchcock for his passion, most of all. I think he draws his remarkable genius from that.

What about next week? I am dying to introduce Ice to Rope, my favorite Hitchcock film of all time. I cannot, cannot wait! That movie is just amazing. Amazing, I tell you. Amazing.

Simple Joy #2

Today I came home with my forehead streaked with marker ink, nails all dirty, and hair in utter disarray.

I feel great!

***

Here's Simple Joy #1:

1.1 Finding a 1980-edition of Roald Dahl's James and the Giant Peach in Booksale
1.2 Succumbing to Ice's prodding to buy the 80%-off copy of Hollywood Picks the Classics at Fully-Booked
1.3 Buying focaccia outside Bizu while eating yogurt with Ice
1.4 Watching That's Entertainment
1.5 Watching 30Rock and The Office with Ice
1.6 De Pickles!
1.7 Watching Ice watch the Pacquiao fight (Did I get his name right?). I forgot I was against boxing. Watching Ice stare at the TV screen with such concentration was just priceless.
1.8 Chatting with my siblings
1.9 Alfred Hitchcock, my man

Great weekend. :)

That's Entertainment

"Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine."
-- Rick, Casablanca (1942)

"Old movies always make me cry."

My love affair with old movies started when I was very young. I do not know exactly how this came to be, but even now it holds me a most willing captive. There is just something about an old movie that is undeniably magical and compelling. There is just something about it that breaks the heart. Je ne sais quoi.

For a film major, I was never the prolific movie watcher. What shame. You can rely on me to be perfectly clueless about contemporary cinema. It is a disgrace, I tell you. Nonetheless, when it comes to oldies, oh boy, have I seen a lot of those! And I do not mean important films like Fellini's or Bunuel's. No, I will not even attempt to dignify my brand of cinephilia. I love formulas-- sappy, simple, predictable, and yet magically, to this girl, still very new.

Hence

Hello, I'm Clarise.
Just in case you think I'm a decent person:

1. I start things that I cannot (or will not, for some reason) finish. Hence, there is not a single thing I am amazingly good at. I have about a handful of mediocre, underdeveloped talents, though.

2. I am not a multitasker. On the contrary, I am extremely obsessive. Hence, my every activity demands 100% of me. And hence, if you give me two things to do all at once, I will promptly obsess my way to insanity.

3. My ultimate coping mechanism is to read books. For reasons I think is related to my relationship with my mother, I believe that people will like me better (and hence, my life will be better) if I am smarter.

4. I cannot talk about money. Hence, I will inevitably die very, very poor.

5. I know I should be in the missionary (or something like that), but I love myself too much to give myself up. Someday I will have to start thinking about other people. Grant me charity and selflessness, but not yet.

6. I am in desperate need to meet someone like myself-- not just someone who shares my interests, but someone who shares my reasons behind those interests. This quest drives me insane.

7. I am a sloth, but I secretly think that I have the right to be so because I deem my interests "important." Also, I believe to think about one's interests this way is just nauseating (What arrogance!) but I somehow cannot stop.

8. I honestly, sincerely believe that I am not qualified for anything. I refuse to wallow in self-pity, though. I'm working on the growth of my sad person, hence the books.

Clarise, meet Roald.

So today I read Roald Dahl's The Twits and Esio Trot. Tomorrow I think I'll read Matilda and Witches. And then some Geronimo Stiltons. Now there is an unexplored path, children's literature.

And my English. I have to practice speaking in kid English. Note to self: Refrain from using "perhaps," "so as to," "otherwise," etcetera. Sentences have to be as simple as ever can be. What a daunting task. I expect my vocabulary to deteriorate, and fast.

The other night, I came home dead tired and burdened with emotions. Usually, when I'm like that, what I do is I write. I'm usually fairly articulate when it comes to writing about my feelings, but somehow, that night, all that came out was the poem in the previous entry. My emotions have learned a new language, apparently-- kid speak! One day with Shel Silverstein and my painfully-acquired vocabulary (all those hours spent with the thesaurus!) is down the drain.

Oh well.

***

Yesterday my very pretty student told me, "You are a nice teacher!" Oh that made my day.

Last week I overheard a little boy tell his teacher, "Teacher, when the other teacher (ahem, me) comes out of the washroom, you won't be my teacher anymore. I like her. She'll be my new teacher." That was awkward, I admit, but nonetheless very cute!

Last, last week, a student from the baby class threw a fit at dismissal time. She was crying so hard, refusing to go home. She insisted on staying with Teacher Clarise, you see! The next day, she made me carry her all throughout the class. From then on, whenever she would cry, I would call her to me and she would sit on my lap, appeased. Oh what cuteness!

That same week, a girl from another class demanded that I sit beside her all the time. Whenever she would notice that I am someplace else, she would loudly say in a singsong voice, "Someone's not sitting beside me!"

I hope to never forget these. :)

Mrs. Moon

There was a teacher by the name of Mrs. Moon,
Her students, they chased her with a gigantic spoon.
"Mrs. Moon, do try our jam, it's yummy strawberry!"
To which she replied, "No thanks, it's too gooey!"

Her students, upon hearing this, all became very sad,
And then in a second, they became very very mad!
They tied Mrs. Moon to the school's smelly flag pole,
And force-fed her jam from a super humongous bowl!

Poor Mrs. Moon, she went home extremely full,
Her tummy was so round-- this wasn't at all cool.
When Mr. Moon saw her, he just had to laugh and laugh,
And then he poked her belly with his magic purple staff.

Sure, Mrs. Moon's tummy soon became quite small,
But, oh dear oh dear, was Mr. Moon in such big trouble!
For head to toe Mrs. Moon turned a bright, bright purple!

The Phoenix

I think it was Nietzsche who once said that man is something to be overcome. I cannot even begin to attempt to understand what he meant by that (I don't think I'm entitled), but I like the sound of that line. I like the idea of a clean slate, of new beginnings. Transform, transform.

If I were to start anew, what would I make of myself? I wonder. I cannot see even a miasmic figure in the horizon. No, not anymore. I wonder if that could be a good thing.


"You cannot step into the same river twice."
-- Heraclitus

Daydreaming in the morning

I confess, I am a sloth.

If my life were up to me, I will not work. Anyway, I do not care for a career. Instead, I will fill my days with hours and hours of pleasure.

My idea of pleasure is this: I will read all the books I want, paint all I want, watch movie after movie after movie, learn to cook French food and feed them to anyone who'd take them, write about things that matter to me, maybe even study sculpture, backpack across Europe and, eventually, retire in a quaint apartment in Paris with the love of my life and spend the rest of our days lovingly raising a family.


***

I never wanted a big house, never had a thing for mansions with their countless rooms and sprawling gardens. I have always wanted a small home, snug and cozy. I do wish for a library, though. The room could be miniscule, but I am very particular about the bookshelves. Often, I dream about wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, complete with a sliding ladder. Oh how lovely my books would look on them! Sometimes, I find myself buying books not because I have any intention of reading them but because I think they would look simply divine in our little library.

***

In a well-lit corner of the library would be my workstation, alongside my Ice's little nook. There he would read or type away, and I would paint and do carpentry for hours on end. I have always wanted to make a Louis XIV chair. I wonder if I will ever get to make one.

I miss the smell of paint. I miss how it makes me feel oh-so-important, like I'm creating something that will someday matter.

***

Always, when I study my life so far, I find myself complaining, "This is not the way to live." And so, I try to make amends. I get out of my current job and search for a new, "fulfilling" one. I discard old habits, and form new, "better" ones. I have destroyed and rebuilt myself quite a number of times already, but, every single time, ended up feeling terribly unsatisfied. "This is not the way to live."

Sometimes I fear getting my dream life. I fear that it would disappoint me. And when it does, I fear not knowing what I am to do next.

Aristotle's Great Crime

"The development of thought since Aristotle could, I think, be summed up by saying that every discipline, as long as it used the Aristotelian method of definition, has remained arrested in a state of empty verbiage and barren scholasticism, and the degree to which the various sciences have been able to make any progress depended on the degree to which they have been able to get rid of this essentialist method."

--Karl Popper

Hehehehe.

The Precocious Adult

There is something very poignant about Eloise. Here is a six-year-old who is outwardly most happy. She is not quite fooling me.