Category: Dilly Dallies on the Dailies

Musings on the blessed, mundane, seemingly flat, and monotonous days

WHAT HAVE I DONE

Thinking about whether this trip was worth it or not, I feel guilty. So I write the names of those who will receive these gifts I bought– after all, Christmas is coming. When you have 200 dollars and a host apartment, you can do a lot in Bangkok. But me, I went to the malls.

My impression is that Bangkok life revolve literally and figuratively around commerce. Endless rows of clothes, branded and generic, lure people into the malls. Then they shop, locals and tourists, yes, until they drop. Plus who would want to walk the hot streets? Walking the BTS walkways isn’t as stressful as walking in between train stations in Manila  which of course, one should not do. In Manila LRT and MRT, you have to begin and end at the right stations. There is only one linkage, the Taft interchange, which is always understandably crowded. As you line up for the train ride, you need to have taken the strongest multi-vitamins that would protect you from air microbes roaming and hugging the dirty streets. But no sweat nor tears when you walk the BTS walkways in spite of the rush hours. No road-litter as well, which is what I really like.

Everything within walking distance from Chidlom to the National station via BTS consists of shops. I always tell my second sibling that once you see a mall, then you’ve seen them all, but in Bangkok, each mall has a unique character. My favorite is Siam Discovery for the simple reason that upstairs, on the fourth floor, is a display of household whatnots that makes me think of spaces as canvases for àrtistic expression. Of course given my limitation of 15 kilos I would not be able to bring home every bit and piece of cute decor. But then again, I tell myself that maybe, I could also find them in Manila.

Siam Discovery is a high end mall. On the extreme opposite are the night markets which open at around 4 AM and close at 6, and the wholesale stalls that begin at 6 and end at 8. Before 6AM today, my host and I went to BoBei, a wholesale market not very far from MBK. At Platinum mall, one can buy goods at very low prices, but whoever is trading can’t miss Bobei. Platinum price for cotton blouse 150 bht, Bobei 60. Platinum dress 250, Bobei 140 ; Toddler Tshirt at Asiatique 150, toddler Polo at Bobei 100, and so on. As you calculate and convert, you are definitely lured to buy more than one, to sell some.

Then at Central Embassy, there is a bookstore of coffee-table books. The books are displayed from floor to ceiling that the shelves are as wallpaper in the entire book space which is one floor big. The bookstore is called Open House. There are cozy sofas where you can fall asleep and cozy cafes and restaurants where business people talk to their clients . The Cinemas are in this same floor, but unless you are wearing expensive high heels and signature clothes, you will probably not even attempt going up, unless you love books. Because there is a certain look that fits the place, I somehow felt like a faint translation register. Those expensive books are obviously patronized by the rich in Thailand, how else would one explain their mere exibitionist display, thousands of them, in Open House. The coffee-tables are mostly on art and other hobbies, and the hardbound novels are all in Thai.

We also took a free Ferry to Asiatique, a bazaar organized into 12 warehouses. Who can exhaust even just Warehouse number 1 in an hour? But surely, Asiatique is also for people who loves sunset by the bay, a river cruise, some exotic Asian cuisine and products, and some truly organic food. The Asia goods are simply overwhelming, and in my panic, I ended up buying a generic T-shirt for my toddler nephew and a backpack for my sister. I really wanted to buy soft sculpure elephants but well, I just thought that to be really self indulgent, because what would I do with them? I also wanted the owls with free embroidered names of family members, only that I coudn’t be final with names of members of my core family, since If I have one, it is a tenuous one.

Mostly then, what I did was shop little for myself, window shop a lot, and shop for gifts. Therefore It seems as if this trip has been a complete waste of time and money. Did I feel some satisfaction in having bought something for my nephews and nieces, godmother, sisters and brother and brothers and sisters in law? Only a tiny little bit of satisfaction I guess. To make me feel better, I tell myself that at least I won’t be shopping for Christmas anymore. I had, in fact, advanced my Christmas shopping.

If I planned my itinerary, my 200 USD would have been stretched enough to buy street food good for five days, pay for entrances to Royal palaces and museums, and maybe even for the river cruise. Instead I let my host weave our city wanderings around her routine and schedule. We ended up eating in her spare but wonderful kitchen, and she treated me out most of the time. We had lunches and dinners in featured foodshops in the malls and enjoyed the international cuisine. We shared bits and pieces about our life updates and we encouraged each other in some domestic struggles.  She is very generous. I shopped for gifts in Bangkok because I had this extra money because of her generosity.

Between the two of us, she was the one more excited to buy things she could resell. At Platinum where I said I would buy a navy blue dress for my niece’s wedding, she seemed upset when after two visits,  and after having looked around quite a lot, I still couldn’t find what would suit my taste. When I finally, found one she remarked that that was just as well so our trip was not wasted.

Right now, my excess baggage requires that I rebook and buy additional kilos of luggage. I did not expect this of course. My academic self would have squirmed at the idea of “consumerism“. My perennial struggle as a christian is how to be the best steward of my time. Time wasted is creative output down the drain. But Bangkok is relentless. What it promotes on the surface is really this inexhaustible desire to buy and acquire. My host, whose contract ends next year after two years of working here exclaimed after paying only 700bht for six pieces of lovely blouses, “Had I been wiser, I should have bought more when I had the chance so I would have enough inventory to sell back home.” I wonder why this exclamation somehow makes me feel a lot less remorseful.

BEFORE I GO AND MEET ACHERA AT WONG-WAI STATION

After a while, gym can get boring. If I do this everyday, I would certainly live longer, I think, given the number of calories I burn everytime I hit the treadmill, and after having consumed in the past three days plenty of fruits and vegetables. (Whatever the nutritionists say however, this is an expensive life). But this privilege of space and quiet here at Virgin Active lounge, Siam Discovery bldg. — at least in the morning because in the afternoon, it’s too noisy out here — is one other precious blessing (the gym is also a blessing) that I have indulged in through the kindness of Josil and Nor these past three days. Here I can have free coffee as I wait or blog or bum around after my quick exercise (treadmill 10 mins. Salt room 15 mins. Stretching 1min). I yet have to see some sights because after tonight, I will be done with the malls. What strikes me is that I can buy many clothes here at very cheap prices and then sell them for profit back in Manila. But right now, Cebu Pacific allows me only 7 kilos of luggage.

I had planned to write some of the dissertation proposal during this week-long holiday, but I have not done that of course, given the schedule Nor has provided with her working during the day. Tomorrow I will visit some sights and see some palaces. I will take pictures at Lumpini then I will go around the City. But tonight I need to buy my navy blue dress (but I wonder if this is more to please Nor than to satisfy myself.)

I’m seeing Bangkok, the “City of Angels”. Two days ago, I was mesmerized by the lights framing the Siam Building Square. I envy the railway tracks and walkways, so clean and systematic. I think about my daily train ride back in Manila, and I feel shortchanged. But then again, the lines here won’t be able to show me some real pictures about the heart of the people, the same corruption, the same impatience towards others, the same fight against poverty for some through illegal means. However progressive, Bangkok still have the pickpockets and the bag snatchers (beware of bag snatchers posts are installed so permanently on sidewalks) scouring the city for vulnerable locals and foreigners, child traficking and prostitution, and uncaring taxi drivers.

In Indonesia, I saw Art, but that’s because I went to Bali. I wonder what Jakarta had to offer. In Singapore what impressed me was the almost excessive compulsive orderliness. Public transportation is so efficient, and trash is nowhere to be found. In Cambodia, I saw maimed beggars, and heard sad stories of those who suffered under the Polpot regime.  In Sri Lanka I saw crows and other black things which somehow made it seem gloomy; during the time (2008) civil war was ongoing and I could feel the depression.

So countries can leave me only quick impressions which may not always be true. Yet what will always remain in memory is the kindness extended to visitors, the hospitality. I’m meeting Achera, an acquaintance, at 11 AM. I will take the BTS and I should be on my way now so I can leave allowances for getting lost and other contingencies. But I’m quite excited that this is going to be a break in a three day routine. My hosts are wonderful. And Nor said I should be back by 5pm so we could go to Platinum mall early. That is probably a tall order since I have no idea what Achera has in mind for me. But I’m going to comply.  I should at least make it easy for Nor who has given me plenty of time. Without Nor and Josil’s generosity and selflessness, this trip would have been completely meaningless. I’m going now — let me see a little bit more of Bangkok.

OFFICIAL YA DAY IS FRIDAY, AND I WROTE NOTHING

But it is Holy Friday — My sister, her son Joseph, and myself, are in my brother’s resort in Batangas. I will have to baby sit today because my sister is going out to clean my mother’s house. That is a full day’s agenda which means that I probably won’t be able to write at all. However, I have windows like this hour, when she feeds her child breakfast. They both eat the Batangas tulingan (from the tuna family, I suppose) and rice, while I sip my coffee as I blog this. Seven fifty six and what can I do while my concentration suffers these domestic distractions. Later, I will be officially on my own taking care of Joseph and my best bet so he will not be hyperactive is to put him on permanent tablet mode, that is, let him play with the toddler apps for as long as he likes, the only way to keep him on his seat. Right now, the child is still playing a shapes app and I am free for a while to write this blog on my PC. However, I am completely in attention just in case he decides to run and bolt out the door. This house which my sister-in-law manages is a three story structure and we’re on the second floor.The stairs to the first floor is a winding, railed, twenty steps of cement. The house dog is permanently settled on the second step on the way down. Once my nephew Joseph runs, there won’t be anything to stop him from falling down those stairs. But after five minutes of his continued staring on the tablet screen, I thought he should be weaned for a while from his virtual world.

(continued today, April 19, 2017) So just to give him the real world for a while, I put his shoes on and then we went downstairs, to the view deck. He brought his toy car, and when he saw a bench, he rolled his car on the bench. But he ran too fast, and then…… just like that, his feet got caught on the bench’s leg, he fell face down, his jaw bled, he cried so hard, I picked him up and hugged him and kissed him so he would calm down as I panicked.

I made my way to the nearest faucet a fast as I could, washed his wound, carried him back upstairs and applied betadine on his cut. The wound was 3/4th inch long, and it was open, like a minute red lip. I could not see it properlybecause it was under the chin, and Joseph resisted my attempts of making him look up. I tried my best to make him feel better, and in fact, he was all right immediately. When he finally slept and I got the chance to view it fully, I got scared. However, he often scratched his chin so the wound would bleed over and over. I tried to dress it up with some gauze, but he kept removing my dressing because maybe, it felt itchy. In the end, I just kept vigilant watch on his hands to keep him from scratching his wound. All the time, I kept examinining it, because even as Joseph wasn’t anymore crying, I feared that he was in pain.

Joseph tripped on that bench around 10 AM. It took me until 4 PM before I was able to tell his mother who got the news on her way back to the site (traffic was very slow because there was a procession of the dead nazarene). When she finally arrived home, she was not satisfied with my first aid. She managed to buy some additional betadine on her way back, but she did not buy the anti-biotic ointment I asked her to buy.

The following day, she took him to St Patrick’s clinic and they injected him with anti-tetanus drug. I thought this was completely unnecessary; Joseph vomitted all the milk he had that morning as he was traumatized by the injection. I thought his mother was insane for making him go through with that, when all that his wound needed by that time was a fresh dressing.

The irony of it all is that in my intention to have the child enjoy the outdoors the exact opposite happened. He fell flat on his face, his chin was cut, he went through a painful injection. Maybe, next time, I will just have to be content with him playing apps on the tablet. His virtual world is definitely safer.

Ruminating on this unfortunate event, I thought about a controlling character. What could happen to a child raised by a hypochondriac and a paranoid Mother? And so now, I’m into my other necessary pre-occupation – research. After all, these are clinical and psychological conditions. I can only hope that my sister isn’t both. It’s heartbreaking to be merely an aunt, not being in control of the situation, and seeing the mother of my nephew mishandling her own child.

 

MOVING ON JOB ORDER “WrNg-YA” (OR WRITING THE YA)

Fridays should be non-negotiable days for writing. Last week, I was able to steal some precious hours and plot some of the possible chapters to develop for this “work order”. The official code for this is WrEng-YA (and the invoice number is 17032277).

In an apple green notebook with spring, I have jotted down B’s official time of writing her diary. The year is 2020 and in the diary, she is going back to the most difficult years of her young life — 2017. Also plotted were the milestone years of her relatives, but I have yet to finalize her family tree for easy recall.

The chapter I began drafting last Friday, March 18, is B overhearing the details of a memory which, in my plotline can serve as a frame for a kind of before and after scenario. The happy memory which, in the plot going through my head, will say something about the family’s congenial relationship before everything turned sour in 2017 for B specifically, and for the family in general — is going to be repeated in the form of a similar event, but in a later celebration where B will be a participant. (B was still a baby the first time this same event happened).

In other words, I have found my dramatic situation. There is that very real conflict which B is going to process in her diary, after everything has happened. In a sense, this can be a bildungsroman, albeit late for my young heroine because now, she just sees all the ruins and is trying to make sense of what she perceives as something unnatural or reversible.

The plan is to jot down the chapters that should be included using a main event of a month as setting or memory or situation or scene. So for example, the chapter called “First Niece” is a January entry because B points out that she’s watching the “Nazareno” on TV. This led the narrative to divulge her faith orientation which will be a major factor in the turn of events in this story.

So far so good.

But well, although I’m keen about tomorrow — I should block out the following:

I need to deliver the Bernardino manuscript to OMF – edited and finalized.

I need to deliver the module for Junior High featuring the play “Oedipus Rex”

I need to check student papers and quizzes, record them and finalize their grades.

In other words, I should stop this meandering on this blog and do some work already so I can have my Friday free for WrEng-YA.

PS

I can’t spell the plot out in this blog because it will still change, I think. And besides, everything is not yet that clear in my head. But I know that this YA novel is about family, and one can go back to “Tanging Yaman” and realize that Filipinos ought to write more about families because we have always boasted about it and yet, are we truly a nation of strong family relations?

 

JUST SIT DOWN AND WRITE BUT WHEN

Placeholder ImageTime spent earning extra income, (because reduced teaching load salary isn’t enough to pay the bills) takes up a huge chunk of my schedules. Using the desktop computer here at the faculty center, I am able to type these words now  about writing because I don’t have an urgent email that requires me to translate, edit, proofread, or validate a translation ASAP. But last week, a series of small urgent job orders that totalled to about three hundred dollars gave me no time to write.  Every job was “URGENT” as the subject line of client emails had always indicated. There was no way I could default at each step of the job, from acceptance of the PO to answering client feedback. Happy about the number of job orders, I set aside all writing agenda for the week. I spent zero moment in thinking about how Bianca’s Diary should proceed
(after the teenager and her mom watched a play).

A novelist friend (she has written two award-winning novels) tells me that when she writes, she needs “creative space”. This is a time to just be quiet and stare, observe and absorb evocations from the stir of people and events. To meet this need, she goes out of town, the farther and more isolated, the better. The trick she says is to just savor this creative moment, to sit down, and to write.

Right now, all alone at this spacious faculty center at the library, I can enjoy some creative time and space. So I sit down and write.

But the task of writing is really more than sitting down and writing. Writing is thinking clearly, logically, meticulously. Not a word should end up where it doesn’t need to be. Not a sentence longer for a thoroughly thought out idea.

I began this blog here at 11:00 AM. By this time, 11:31, it isn’t finished. There is no time to polish the final outcome of this in the next thirty minutes because I have to leave this desk and attend a writer’s meeting. I will come back to the blog later and edit it until it becomes useful for a target reader. Outside, the muted street sounds hardly inspire me to write. I am tempted right now to sleep on the sofa. It takes about twenty seconds before I am able to type the next sentence that will keep the focus of this blog to the thought of “creative space”. This paragraph meanders.

Bianca’s Diary can’t be put on hold any longer. It deserves its creative space. The best way to work this out I think is to impose a deadline on myself, to treat this YA novel like a job order, to work like Bianca’s Diary is a client that needs to be served with utmost professionalism.  Then, once in the “pipeline” of my freelance job calendar, I should dive to the task with urgency, meticulousness, and diligence. I should deliver on deadline and expect a return on investment, so to speak. This is work. Writing.