A Peep Through the Holocaust

I just walked through it - The New England Holocaust Memorial - one brutally chilly evening in Boston. My sister and I were threading the path from Hanover St. leading to the nearest Orange Line station where we were to catch the train going home.

Our icy breath. I wasn’t aware of it at first, but the smoke pushed by our mouths and nostrils, they suddenly seemed to chase a larger congregation of smokes. And it was both surprising and surreal to realize that having just completed my Freedom Trail walk, how come I missed that. That in that small patch of grassy land, fronting the historic Union Oyster House, stands
a moving memorial to the victims of history’s greatest tragedy - the Holocaust. Despite the cold, my sister said that we could stop by for a few minutes. She pointed to the six luminous glass pillars which was 54 feet high each. Each tower represents the 6 concentration camps (Belzec, Auschwitz-Birkenau, Sobibor, Majdanek, Treblinka, and Chelmno) of the Nazi regime. They are internally lit by a subdued light. Small ones that are  stationary and one moving light. Then from underneath the towers, warm air was coming out, passes through the tower and on to catch the cold wind above. From afar, they looked like smoky breath, like they gathered the last breaths of all murdered Jews, passed them through a chimney and made them travel upward until they could reach heaven. And all of them, the six million Jews who perished, stripped of all material belongings, they died stripped as well of the only lasting possession they could have had - their name. They died represented by a number. These six million registration numbers were etched in all the six glass towers in an orderly manner.

Standing there,taking in all scenes and the stories of the survivors etched as well in black granite tablets, was purely one of the most powerful moments I’ve ever had. Here I am, in a convenient part of history, equipped with a wide array of choices , from choosing what clothes to wear in the morning to choosing the next president in 2010, what right have I to complain for
having a shitty life? How can I even complain of having a bad hair day when 7 decades ago, Jews in Auschwitz don’t even have a single strand of hair to speak of? One survivor told of a story featured in the memorial wherein a girl named Ille, while in a death camp was holding a raspberry. She was holding on to it so tightly and waited for him the whole day so she could
present the raspberry on a leaf. He said “Imagine a life where all your possessions are in a raspberry, and you have to give it to a friend.”

This is why people who take lengths to prove that Holocaust never happened evoke such a strong emotion in me. There is a growing number of them in YouTube and there are still a lot of them under the umbrella of racist movements. For the life of me, how could they? How dare they even try?

What, in my humble and limited capabilities, can I do so no more Holocaust will happen? I guess, just standing there and be moved is one thing, writing about it and affect others is another.

Dreaming in Las Vegas

It was called the Dream Match. But how far it was from that. True, Oscar Dela Hoya was my long-time crush a few years back by virtue of a face and a body to die for, and a throw-in of a great personality. I was indeed anticipating the much-awaited bout between him and our dear “Pambansang Kamao (National Fist)”, Manny Pacquiao. In fact, If I had my way (and my cash), I would have booked a hotel near MGM Grand Garden to watch this historic fight, and then try my hands on casinos after….oh just for the experience.

But as luck would have it, I kept on forgetting joining that long queues towards lotto outlets and my budget could only afford me a MLA-BOS-MLA route a week after the so-called Dream Match (Dec 15th to be exact to spend the Christmas holidays with my sister’s family). Indeed that extra trip to Las Vegas still remain a dream at this point. So what to do yesterday? Of course, settle for the TV coverage first, then look for the best online casino second…haha.

On to the fight. O. my O.Dela Hoya, looking different downsized. And old. But I still love him for that sympathetic look, a charisma that stood him out all those glory boxing days. Then I saw Manny, there was this confidence in him that was too infectious, a ferocity that made me fear for my dear Oscar for a few moment. Yet as the fight stretched on to 5 rounds, that few seconds fear for Dela Hoya also extended for such stretch and never waivered since. Of course, even if it was given…I don’t know why I can’t cheer much for Manny. Oscar was too tame for me to do that. But as he kept on receiving the quick and penetrating punches from Pacquiao and rarely punching back, I knew then something is wrong with the advertorial campaign.

That as I expected someone as ferocious and aggressive and young as Manny for this bout, it turned out not really a Dream Match as they said.

Getting that Cash (and other engaging thoughts)

Many times I forget to line up for the lotto, just when the million-peso stake is getting higher and higher (a whooping Php140 million todate). Maybe it’s because the holiday stress is getting to me. Or I’m thinking way too much of what (and what not) to pack in my limited luggage. Or I’m preoccupied by the fact that tomorrow will be another December 9 – my birthday. (My friends are resigned to calling my birthday , “oh, your nth birthday”.)

Still, I want to nail the jackpot. I want to win. I want to get rich. Funny how creative people can get imagining what to do with the million peso jackpot but get rather mental-blocked once the cash is at hand. But may God and my readers trust me that I have noble purposes for wanting that cash. Why, If I could only translate that million into billion, then I would have something to spare for the bailout plan of the Big 3 automakers currently in dire financial troubles. And that’s beside the fact that I could save a mission souls from the torments of an economic downfall both here and abroad.

I know there are plenty of ways to have cold cash. But I’m not as crooked as Filipino politicians. Well, on the way more acceptable side,  I’m not yet a regular in casinos, nor have tried my luck in any slot machine in online casinos while idly surfing the Internet (or maybe I should, right?). Well, maybe one of these days.

But darn, I keep forgetting buying lotto tickets.

Tonight, I know exactly where to go. No excuses this time.

Like a Paperboat

Fragile,

I sail into the sea

With mighty sun to keep me dry

and the current beneath to move me

Helped only by the wind

At some point in the sea

I know I will perish

But how far I can go

that is the challenge

So as collected as can be

I’ll befriend the sun, the wind, the sea

Even the vast mammals

swimming around me 

For one day, some rainstorm

May whip and ravage me 

But I’ll rest in the thought

that…

The hands that created me,

folded me with certainty.

Casualties (a poem written on 3/14/2006)

As I pull these stringy strands

from Riza’s head

and drop them one by one

into chaotic tangles,

my heart is seized,

my eyes transfixed

as the news unrolled

and the screen unfold

mud-colored bodies 

from the South.

A heartbreaking landslide.

Then a flying cockroach

hit me on the shoulder.

So chase it I did,

till in the bathroom,

I crushed it.

As I ended up ramming down more

of them,

I felt tired somewhat.

It was nothing of an effort

usually,

yet as I reflect on my own life,

I see a dying spirit too.

Unwrapped.

Now I see why

these flying insects,

abound.

There are times

when what surround you

speak only of one thing,

like Death.

And soon as you become aware,

it is shouting.

If only I that landslide

buried instead

these things I pronounce

DEAD. 

My Powerbooks Saga

Five days.

First day, I was casually browsing through the fiction section and grabbed that book whose cover page shows a woman slumped to the couch, her back to the camera, with colored shirt and pants, while the rest of her and the room was in black and white.

Delirium: Laura Restrepo is brutally one heck of a writer, that I decided while I was holding on tightly to the first 3 pages of the book. Around me, few people were milling around, scouring for carefully memorized titles, others illegally tearing off plastic covering of the books, others smiling inwardly alone at what they are reading and discovering. At that particular point, in the second level of that bookstore, every seated and standing fellow is transported to a brand new cosmos woven by printed words and images.

Then I was taken over, by the web of the story, by Colombia and its dangerous elements, and how it was a factor in the madness that has become Augustina, the central character. Restrepo laid bare how telling a story in an inverted triangle could be very powerful in capturing a reader. The 4 distinct voices she put into her narrative made for an intriguing detective-type story that all lead to answer the question; "Why did Augustina go mad?"; there was Augustina herself; Aguilar her loving husband; Midas Mc Allister, Augustina’s former lover, a money-launderer and a drug-trafficker; and Nicolas Portulinus, Augustina’s grandfather. It started with Aguilar finding his beautiful, young wife not quite herself anymore, in a hotel in Bogota, Colombia, seated in a corner where only a dropped telephone would be found seated, staring into the clouds outside, after he left her days earlier seemingly in a good spirit, painting the walls of their home. What ensued was a series of recitations of the past as mind-blowing as they were shocking.

For four more days, I allowed myself to be spellbound by the book. Four more days I would stand alert at exactly 5:30pm so I could claim my fave seat at the bookstore and uncover the mystery 3 or 4 chapters by 3 or four chapters. Within those days, I would patiently search for the book in the bookstore’s ever-changing physical arrangements. Within those days, I tried to avoid the crew’s suspicious looks and even a guy’s corniest excuse for a conversation, "excuse me ms., but you seem to be so much into books, do you think this one is worth a read?".

Following the heels of Gabriel Garcia Marquez in literary brilliance, I have just added Restrepo among my idols of great writers, and made me crave for Colombia and it’s complex society. In this nation slowly vanishing in the face of increasing drug traffickers terrorism and growing guerilla insurgency, the likes of Marquez and Restrepo are truly a gift. And yesterday, just yesterday, I finished the book and finally solved the big "Why", never forgetting those exceptional lines in Midas voice, when as he tried to escape the slowly slipping away Augustina from the deceipts and lies of her own mother, by running away on his RMT motorcycle, he narrated, "I, clinging to my motorcycle, Augustina, clinging to me, her insanity clinging to her - the four of us were travelling 5 kilometers away from Sasaima…".

Yes after some stolen hours in 5 days, I finished the book. I finished it because 5 pages before the story has to end, as if slightly inspired by Augustina’s shortness of reason, I bought it at last.

One Starry, Starry Night

I Am a child of the Universe…no less than the trees and the stars. As a young girl, I used to internalize this line of Desiderata each time I reach the bottom of our stairs. My mom hung a beaten-looking poster of the poem which never failed to catch my attention each time I reach the bottom step or was about to ascend the stairs. In fact, as soon as learned how to read, it was one of the first poems I memorized. All because it tells me I am one among the stars.

On clear nights, I remember how our dad used to take us outside after dinner to teach the basics of constellations, his fat finger connecting each point to reveal the Belt of Orion, Little Dipper or the Big Dipper.  How I love those nights! And the nights I would imagine shooting stars dropping on the vacant lot adjacent to ours. I wished then I could see them closer to check whether they indeed have 5 points the way I drew them then.

Anyway, I was again that child last Saturday, Feb 23, when me and younger sister Carms went to Mall of Asia’s San Miguel by the Bay for the Starry, Starry Night (An Evening of Stargazing). We were supposed to attend the 4:30PM workshop at the Science Discovery Center but Carms came home almost  noon that day from work and I did not bother wake her up at 3 lest I might be accused of sleep deprivation. So we got there just in time for the stargazing. There was something different there lining up for the 6 telescopes showing different planets and stars. People from all walks of life, of all ages gathered to witness the throbbing wonders that have been there all along. And it was almost surreal to find a crowd of people whose fists are not punched to the air in protest but are raised and poised to where the Winter Triangle or Orion was. Right that evening, people were awed as fireworks competed with the heavenly bodies, which are both mammoth and myriad. Long after the last ash of the fire display fell and disappeared however, Sirius has remained as the brightest star up there, still blinking…beckoning. Then people became aware which was the real thing. We also got to see Pleiades (a great cluster of stars), Orion Nebula, Mars and magnificent Saturn with it’s mighty ring.

I’ve been raring for these moments. Moments when one look at the sky, you could almost see God. God right there telling us that He’s way bigger than all our daily struggles combined, even bigger than the worldwideweb, or Abalos’ alleged bribe to Neri or the damage caused by the ongoing La Nina. As my spirit is fed by these moments, I am inspired to go on in life despite many odds anyway the stars I have great affinity with since I was a child, are there with me. Always. To quote a line from prayer (found in Fr. Orbos’ Inquirer Moments)…

Stir us O Lord
To dare more boldly
To venture seas where storms shall show thy mastery
Where losing sight of land
We shall find the stars.

Confessions of a Shopaholic - A Review

A week ago, my friend Mitz e-mailed me a series of e-books by Sophie Kinsella with a note that the novel was so hilarious she had "to go out of the room to keep myself from loughing out loud". Well Mitz, I got to read the very first of them, "Confessions of A Shopaholic" and what can I say?? Really, Becky Bloomwood , (the series' central character), "how hilariously imaginative can you get, in personifying the shopping habit gone bad. Terribly bad.”

Indeed, how do you really solve a problem like Becky Bloomwood? Fresh from college, 25-year old Becky just landed a job as a financial journalist for Successful Savings. In this job, she regularly sits down on press conferences where she doodles on her notebook rather than pay attention or ask questions.  She’s every inch what a shallow worker is, cares more for how she looks, what brand of clothing she wears than what quality of work she turns up. Irresponsible? Bordering to, but as she still shows up with her articles, no matter how unthought of they are, she hardly is, yet. (more…)

Sweet Ina

Yesterday, I attended my 7-year old cousin Ina's birthday celebration. The girl is just so sweet and precocious how can I say no when she invited us thru chat (yes this kid uses YM) several times a day and thru text. When asked whom she shares her birthday with, she'd immediately say "siyempre si Daddy Ross" (my dad), a fact she never forgets since she was 3. As soon as we arrived, she immediately led us to the dining area pointing to the table, "that's my cake, and it's worth a million pesos!" hahaha.

After a while, my sister and I went to their computer room and hooked ourselves to the first few episodes of a new romantic korean novela "Coffee Prince" (currently one of the hottest series in South Korea). It stars Goong Yoo and Yoon Eun Hye (Princes Hours). I am not actually a fan of korean tv or films but upon my sis' influence, i got to watch a few episodes straight without really complaining hehe. Anyway, we were in the middle of this internet watching when I felt a small hand slip from my back and folded letters appeared in front of us. Apparently, one was for my sister and another one was for me.

Basically, she just wanted to say "Thank You" or "I love You Ninang"or "I love you Ategirl". Aww, if there's one thing that could make up for the hassle of a long-distance travel to attend a young child's birthday, it would be the innocent face of that young girl telling you just how glad she is you came.

'Love you too Ina and Happy Birthday!

Of Wakeboarding and…Beggars

So when was the last time you did something for the first time?

I have never been the athletic type nor someone you could consider physically fit at this point. I just happen to be an extremely curious person who seeks education in almost anything. And so finding myself in a group of office buddies who all trooped to Lago de Oro in Calatagan last Saturday to try out wakeboarding, came as, well…just a little surprise. 

So what exactly is wakeboarding? Coming into Lago, the only idea I have about it is that it is an aquatic sports similar to water-skiing and surfing. But nothing really prepared me for what it was specifically. Arriving there around 9:30 AM, we were met by an empty man-made lake hovered by a closed-course cable. As we were heading to the registration desk, we passed by 1 or 2 seemingly-professional wakeboarders already preparing in the takeoff area. We were all first-time riders and judging from my companions’ physiques, I must have the least developed muscle for this yet untested endeavor (well eza, you are more fit than I am). During the registration, I got a little scared when I had to sign this disclaimer stating that the resort owners are freed of any responsibility in case of death or injuries arising from the activity. I thought, “Wow, I could really die doing this, hehe.” (more…)