Love in the Time of LOTR

Eowyn and Faramir. Image from here.

"Do not scorn pity that is a gift of a gentle heart, Eowyn! But I do not offer you my pity. For you are a lady high and valiant and have yourself won renown that shall not be forgotten; and you are a lady beautiful, I deem, beyond even the words of the Elven-tongue to tell. And I love you. Once I pitied your sorrow. But now, were you sorrowless, without fear or any lack, were you the blissful Queen of Gondor, still I would love you. Eowyn, do you not love me?"

(The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, JRR Tolkien)

Five things I learned from Swimming (that can be applied to real life)

1. Keep your eyes open. Whether you're going to jump into the water or just doing laps, it's best if you see where you are headed. 
2. It's all about pacing. It's not a race. The goal is to keep your body in rhythm so you can keep yourself afloat. 
3. When you're in the middle of the pool and you realize that you're in really deep water (excuse the pun) and you start to panic, remember: Glide, kick, kick, pull. Keep moving, don't let the circumstances scare you. Remember what you have to do to get through.
4. Remember a mouthful of water cannot drown you, but panic can. (This I learned from "Life of Pi" HAHAHA but it's applicable anyway).
5. After every pull, raise your head from the surface and do not forget to BREATHE.

Adele on a Wednesday Morning

Found this Adele playlist on Youtube. Currently listening to it while working :)

New discoveries: "I'll be waiting" (Track 2) and "One and Only" (Track 4).
Love her version of "Love Song" as well (Track 3).

Rejection Slips and Rewrites (Overhauled)

**Here's the revised :)

“Jump!”

I look down and my toes start to curl around the edge of the rock I’m standing on as if trying to hold on and say: No way. It is a long way down. I flatten myself against the cave wall. I am jolted forward in surprise as a protruding stone lodges itself on the small of my sweat-soaked back.  I almost fall, if not for my life vest, one of its many strings got tangled on the stone’s edge.  Even the stone’s giving me a little push. I unknot my life vest, checked that there was no damage, and resumed hesitating to jump on the precipice.

“Come on, at the count of three ha!”

I can see five neon green life vests below, not quite blending into the emerald water. My friends, all five of them, already took the plunge and they were egging me on, their cheers resonant inside the cave walls. Every summer we go out of town. This year we’re backpacking in the Northern Philippines. We were in Bolinao just yesterday. Tonight we’re heading off to Baguio. Right now, I’m standing inside a cave on Marcos Island, one of the Hundred Isles in Alaminos, Pangasinan. The cave’s main attraction is the 20 feet of free fall into the pool of water below.

Why do we always end up doing some kind of risky activity each time we go on vacation? My friends have this penchant for trying out new (and dangerous) experiences like zip lining, canyon swings, and helmet diving. For them it’s fun; for me it’s tempting fate. I usually sit out on these activities. But, when I absolutely have no choice, I dawdle when it’s my turn - like what I’m doing now. It takes loads of cheering (which sometimes leads to bullying) and reassurance that everything will be okay before I’d be convinced to get it done and over with.

I’d like to think that I was adventurous when I was younger. I used to climb mountains. I’ve rock climbed Mt. Batulao’s old trail without any rope for support when I was 18. I used to surf, too. When I get bored at home, I go up our roof and lie down on it. So, no, I don’t have acrophobia. I’m no aquaphobe either.   

Everything changed when I turned twenty. I’m 26 now, by the way. Our next door neighbor’s kid died in a car accident. Shiela was her name. Her dad lost control of the car and they crashed into a concrete barrier. The roads were slippery because there was a storm that day. Her dad survived but Shiela, well, she wasn’t wearing her seatbelt. We were of the same age.

I stopped going up the roof shortly after her death. I turned down invites to climb. And, yes, I stopped surfing. Back then, I was bewildered. I didn’t know why I stopped. Sheila and I were not close but her death left a bad taste in my mouth.

Thinking about it now, I figured what she gave me was a taste of my own mortality. Before she passed away, death was just an abstraction to me – a far-off notion applicable to those who were 60 and up only. I never knew anyone close to me who died in their 20s until Shiela’s passing away. The effect was I no longer wanted to tempt fate by doing the things I used to.

 “Talon na. At the count of three ha!”

I don’t know how long I have been standing on the precipice but my legs were starting to feel numb. As my friends start to count, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and utter a silent prayer. Well, not really a prayer but more of a question: “Lord, oras ko na ba?”

I hear my friends shout. “One, two, three!”

I wanted to jump but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Rejection Slips and Rewrites

           “Jump!”

I look down and my toes start to curl around the edge of the rock I’m standing on as if trying to hold on and say: No way. It is a long way down.

“Come on, at the count of three ha!”

My friends, all five of them, already took the plunge and they were trying to egg me on, their cheers echoing inside the cave walls. I check my life vest for the nth time, making sure that everything is in place, that it was secure.

We go out of town every summer. We’re backpacking in the Northern part of the country this year. We were in Bolinao just yesterday. Tonight we’re heading off to Baguio. Right now, I’m standing inside a cave on Marcos Island, one of the Hundred Isles in Alaminos, Pangasinan. The only way out of the cave is to jump, 20 feet of free fall, into the pool of emerald water below.

Why do we always end up doing some kind of risky activity each time we go on vacation? I don’t know why my friends have this penchant for trying out new (and dangerous) experiences like zip lining, canyon swings, and helmet diving. I try to avoid these activities. When I absolutely have no choice, I dawdle when it’s my turn, like what I’m doing now. It takes loads of cheering and reassurance that everything will be okay before I’d be convinced to get it done and over with.

I’m twenty six now and it’s a shame that I’ve lost my childlike wonder. I wasn’t like this in my teenage years. I used to climb mountains. I’ve rock climbed Mt. Batulao’s old trail without any rope for support when I was 18. I used to surf, too. I go up our roof and lie down on it just because I can. When I turned twenty, everything changed. I stopped hiking because I worry about slipping into a cliff and be left for dead. I don’t surf anymore. What would happen to me if there’s suddenly a tsunami? And I wonder why the hell I go up on the roof anyway. I became scared of adventure and I don’t know why. Really, I don’t know.

At this very moment, of course, I’m scared. Of what? Of heights? Water? Caves? No. I’m scared that everything might go wrong -like if I jump, what if my head hits a rock? Or if my life vest doesn’t work? Or if I forget how to swim? I guess as you age, you start to become more paranoid thus you tend to choose the “safe” route and avoid anything that might put your life in peril before you’ve accomplished all the things you dream of. Or maybe, I am just being a coward, plain and simple.

“Talon na. At the count of three ha!”

As my friends start to count, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and utter a silent prayer. Well, not really a prayer but more of a question: “Lord, oras ko na ba?”

I hear my friends shout. “One, two –“

I don’t wait for three and just jump.

*Verdict: IN but needs an overhaul.

Uyyy nakaka-relate...

Lover to Lover by Florence + The Machine

I’ve been losin' sleep,
I’ve been keepin' myself awake,
I’ve been wandering the streets,
For days and days and days,

Oh if I’m row to row,
Back to back,
Lover to lover,
And black to red,

But I believe,
I believe

There’s no salvation for me now,
No space among the clouds,
And I’ve seen that I’m heading down,
But that’s alright,
That’s alright,
That’s alright..
That’s alright..

And I’ve been taking chances,
I’ve been setting myself up for the fall,
I’ve been keeping secrets,
From my heart and from and from my soul.

Going from row to row,
Back to back,
Lover to lover,
Black to red,

But I believe,
I believe
There’s no salvation for me now,
No space among the clouds,
And I’ve seen that I’m heading down,
But that’s alright,
That’s alright,
That’s alright!
That’s alright!

Row to row,
Back to back,
And lover to lover,
And black to red,
And row to row,
Back to back,
And lover to lover!

No space among the clouds…
And I feel I’m heading down…
But that’s alright,
That’s alright,
That’s alright!
That’s alright!
That’s alright!
That’s alright!

Row to row!
Back to back!
And lover to lover!
And black to red!
And row to row!
Back to back!
Lover to lover
To lover to lover
To lover to lover
To lover to lover
To lover to lover
To lover to lover…

No salvation for me now…
No salvation for me now…
No salvation for me now…
No salvation for me now…

This Week in Music: Finding comfort in Metallica

Enter Sandman - Metallica

Dendendendendendendendendenden. (Me attempting to hum the intro notes of the song)

I listen to this song whenever I want to feel calm. Seems counter-intuitive? Nah. Close your eyes and listen to the melody, the divine guitar riffs, the certain sultry rage in James Hetfield's voice and find yourself enveloped in a delicious symphony that's somewhat reassuring. I'm probably not making sense. Nevertheless, try it out: plug your earphones, turn the volume up, and just listen to the song.

Train of thought

Trains are time vacuums. Once you're inside and seated (if you're lucky enough) you enter into an enclosed space where you can get lost inside your head for 45 minutes. That's the case for me: with or without earphones; seated or standing inside fighting for space. Twice a day, I ride a train and then, I slip into my own blackhole of varying thoughts.

I like trains. They're like my own personal coccoons. It keeps me sheltered from the outside world even for just a few moments. Here I can brood about a range of topics, from the most minute like what to eat for lunch to the most complex ones such as how can I afford that MA. Or better yet, I daydream. It's my favorite pastime nowadays. I can conjure up a luxurious vacation in my mind, smile to myself, and linger in that moment. Sometimes, I busy myself looking at the shoes of my co-passengers, thinking about how they came to have those shoes. I make up stories about who gave it to them or if they bought it themselves, what kind of persons they are: whether the loafer-wearing college boy seated next to me is a nerd or is there an adventurous facet to his personality hidden beneath, inconspicuous to the naked eye.

For 45 minutes, twice a day, I enter a meditative state. It's almost like me-time until it's time to get off, cocoon time's over. Trains and their ability to suck you into your own blackhole. Trains as 'thin' places. Me and my 'thin' places. They get weirder and weirder each time. I get weirder and weirder all the time.    

Magic Mike

Me: Look, we don't have to put a bet on the odds of a game. That's fine. I get it. I don't care whether we win by 17+ points or just even one. But, you know, I just... I need some consistency.


Mike Silungan: I know.

Me: I need to know that you're not gonna wake up in the morning and play differently, or moodily. Like those games with AdU and ADMU. You hardly made any field goals.

Mike Silungan: And I can't give you that. Nobody can.

Me: Marvin Cruz did. Back in 2007. We might've lost but he was a consistent, good player.


Image from here.
*Excerpts from 500 Days of Summer

Art Appreciation 101

Me, Jonna, and Shara



It was Shara's idea to interpret jewelry designs found on Pinterest in an attempt to break the monotony of everyday work.This exercise provides comic relief as well. From eccentric rings and comic facial expressions to house architecture, we have now moved on to interpret abstract paintings. It's interesting since Jonna attended painting classes and she was able to educate us on how to make out patterns/meanings in abstract works of art. Our interpretations have improved; we now know that we need to step back and squint, if necessary, to look at the bigger picture, instead of focusing on the nitty-gritty details which, sometimes, hinder authentic understanding. You need to step back and look at the bigger picture. True in art, true in life. Sometimes, all you need is a change of perspective.

Happy Monday everyone! :)

Flee

Focus on a sole purpose

Of putting one foot in front of the other

Concentrate on breathing as my lungs gasp for air

Stay standing when my knees begin to buckle

And my legs start to shake at the weight of my own existence

Run until my legs are weak

Speed blurring the boundaries of certainty and uncertainty

Run until my lungs seem to burst and the drumming song muted, just another tune

All that would be left is me running around the orbit of my own world

Chase away all other thoughts

Save for the track, only the track is present

Save for what is here and now

Empty out all anxious thoughts

All words I long to say but will never express

Turn all emotional turmoil into a tangible, physical pain

Which I can endure

This is what I can endure

This is the reason why I run.

*Image from here.

Backbends

Well, you can say I'm pretty out of sorts lately. Frustrated might even be the right term. So when I went to belly dance class last night, I was in a distracted mood. Not to make excuses of my not so perfect performance, but to describe how worse it even became given the funk that I am in. Usually, I look forward to dance class because it provides some form of comic relief from my manic Mondays. My class is on Monday nights, by the way.

Nobody ever warned me that belly dancing is difficult. I have always marveled at how belly dancers can shake their booties effortlessly and always wanted to embody the same grace that they exude when dancing. Think Shakira! It looked pretty manageable from what I see in TV talent shows and so I gave it a try. It's actually in my bucket list.

When I attended my first class, I discovered that there was more to it than what meets the eye. Flexibility is important but control is more crucial. I have to learn how to move certain parts of my body - my shoulders, my hips - in isolation. I'm proud to say that I'm improving when it comes to the shoulder movements but when it comes to the hips, err, let's just say I need more practice. More practice and more swag.

There are days when I don't like myself; you know, days when all your little flaws annoy you. Last night was one of those days. And with so many things running through my mind last night, my dancing skills can be compared to a tree stump reluctant to bend at the slightest touch of the wind. Well, you can say I was depressed. And somehow, I thought of quitting altogether.





But I will not.

Remembering Batulao

I came across a news article last Tuesday about a 27-year old, first time, female hiker who was killed in Mt. Batulao after she fell down a cliff while taking pictures at Camp 8. They didn't have a guide with them. Reading about it saddened me; condolences to the people affected, including the hiking community. I cannot imagine the loss and trauma the group is going through because of this. :(

It was my first time, too, when we climbed Mt. Batulao. We were an almost all-girl group; Euge was the only male. We were accompanied by our 17-year old guide, Chris, who knew the terrain by heart. I could remember that he was only wearing rubber slippers back then. We were supposed to stop at Camp 6 of the old trail and head back but there was a group of male bystanders who told us that, even if we tried, it was beyond our capacity to go all the way to the summit. The old trail mandates you to go rock climbing to reach Camps 8 and 9 before reaching the summit at Camp 10. And, solely because of wounded women's pride, we persevered - without enough water to sustain us and without any rope/rappelling gear to see us through.

I remember I was already on auto-pilot mode when we were rock climbing. There were moments when I couldn't move because of sheer fear. I remember asking Euge regularly where I should put my feet, what rock I should hold on to. Wala e, mabablanko ka talaga (Your mind will really go blank.) Nervous laughter helped. It's the same story going down. We traversed to the new trail which proved to be very difficult. We couldn't see the trail when we're standing so we went down on our butts and slid down the dusty trail.

That's why Batulao left a lasting impression on me. Sometimes when we are discussing how we were able to make it back down, we are still amazed. I know some hikers who enjoy hiking up Batulao and I respect that. Every hiker's experience is uniquely his/her own. I'm not saying I did not enjoy the experience because friendships were woven deeper because of that shared experience. It's just that the stress was in equal amounts with the enjoyment I felt. And it was my first mountain so I guess there's a bit of trauma hinged to that experience (I know someone who's first mountain was Pulag and he didn't want to go back there, too). But, hey, as I said to each his own and I'm not saying you shouldn't go to Mt. Batulao. What I'm trying to say, I think, is that this mountain isn't ideal for first-timers.

Up Up Here We Go: The Mt. Manalmon Experience

Nightfall, rain, and steep, muddy trails are a novice climber’s worst nightmare – and all of these present as we climbed up the mountain last Saturday. The ecstatic feeling was mingled with fear as we trudged blindly into the realm of Mt. Manalmon. I barely noticed the weight of my backpack; my full concentration was on the sticky marshland which tends to engulf my two feet and makes falling face first into the mud an absolute possibility. It wasn’t that hard to concentrate anyway, when you realize that to your left is a ravine and your life’s on the line, quite literally.

The “I Care for Manalmon” climb was made possible by the Bundokero mountaineers, a group that we met during the Pulag overnight hike. It was a climb for a cause: an outreach to grade school students preceded the trek and we were mandated to take all trash down the mountain as we made our descent. Mt. Manalmon is a level 1 mountain. They say that on a good day, 1 – 2 hours were enough to reach the summit which is two minutes away from base camp.

This is my 3^rd mountain and my post-Pulag mentality (read: self-assuredness) told me this will be peanuts. Level 1? Yakang-yaka. How come I never learn! When you’re at the mercy of Mother Nature, there’s no such thing as easy. I’ve got to say this ranks second to Mt. Batulao, in terms of difficulty. The trail was full of surprises, an extreme adventurer’s heaven. Slippery boulders, shallow marshes, thorny plants, rivers with overwhelming currents – name it and Manalmon has it.

Joining Euge, Teej, and me were Shara and first timers, Che and Mike. The day before, we went shopping for outdoor sandals (those Sandugo/Tribu types) because we knew that we will be crossing a river along the way and regular rubber shoes will not do. This turned out to be a good thing because we had to go through areas flooded with mud. Unfortunately, Che’s sandals gave up on her and there was a time when she, brave girl that she was, had to walk barefooted on the trail.

It was still raining when we reached base camp and we had no choice but to pitch our tents in the wet grounds. Good thing, Euge brought garbage bags and raincoats which we used as earth mats to prevent the water from seeping in our tents. There was little time for socializing that night as the rain continued to pour down in isolated bursts, confining us to our tents. When I woke up, the sun was already shining. No sunrise watching, unlike in Pulag :). Nevertheless, the view at the summit was breathtaking; you can see the Madlum river below, snaking its way across the area. This is always my favorite part – reaching the summit. There’s such a feeling of elation and all your day-to-day worries seem to be far away.When I'm at the top and all the lushness is before me, I always tell myself that this is the reason why I climb.

The way down proved to be as challenging as the ascend. More swamps, sneaky trails, and rivers on the way down. Despite these, I was enjoying myself. Climbing a mountain, for me, is always rewarding. It boosts your self-confidence (in a good way) but also teaches you how to be humble since most factors will be beyond your control once you start hiking.

Another highlight for me was dipping into the river when we were nearing the end of our descent. Refreshing is an understatement. We were even reluctant to get up when the group decided it was time to go on the trail. Then came the scariest part for me - we had to pass through a cave. If it weren't necessary I would just definitely walk away but unfortunately it was the only way we can reach the community at the foot of the mountain. When you have to go, you have to go. I was in a cold, clammy sweat all the time we were inside the cave. But once outside, I was really thankful to see that we have reached our destination.

I've conquered my third mountain! How cool is that hahaha! Upon close inspection a day after, I have a slew of wounds on my feet and legs, bruises on both knees, and sun burn to top it all off. But I'm not complaining! These are my battle scars and I'm proud of them.

I'm sorry I don't have photos for this trip. But my friend Che also did a very good account of our experience in her blog and there are photos in her post, so you might want to check it out: http://cheden.multiply.com/journal/item/36/its_the_climb

The Mt. Pulag Project

The breathtaking sunrise at the peak of the highest mountain in Luzon is worth the hypothermia-inducing weather at Camp 2. Mt. Pulag is the second mountain that I had the courage to scale and, so far, I have fallen in love with its valleys and peaks, the rolling hills, and even with the unpredictable weather.

The climb was never too difficult especially when you're accompanied by two of your good friends. Being the only girl in our group, I was, nevertheless, 'pampered' and spoiled by Teej and Euge (uyyy, rhyme haha!). It was also awesome that the other campers who joined the hike and trail leaders were a cool and happy bunch that, instantly, we made new friends.

As I said, the hike itself was not too difficult because there were clear pathways and the incline was not too steep. What was rather challenging was carrying a 35L (or 50L bags in the case of my two kuyas) bag all the way 2,922 masl. It was, on an average, 1 - 2 hour hike to reach Camp 2 where the whole crew would be spending the night before the much-anticipated peak assault.

When we reached Camp 2, we were immediately greeted by a cool breeze that later on signalled the coming of rain. It was soooo cold - the coldest I have ever experienced in my life and I am not exaggerating. I was ordered (coerced) to stay inside the tent under my warm sleeping bag as my brothers prepared dinner. Dinner was composed of Nido soup, Spam, and brown rice (which took an hour to cook haha!). It was the best soup I've tasted and I didn't even bother to cool it off because I was practically shaking. I guess the highlight of the night, aside from the delicious dinner, was the view of the night sky. The stars were the only illumination we had during that night and even if it was occassionally drizzling, the sky remained bright. Unfortunately, there weren't any shooting stars but we did see Venus and The little dipper that night.

Dawn was another story. If it was cold during the night, it was freezing by dawn. Before I could get out of the tent, I'd put on 6 layers of clothing, 2 socks, a bonnet, gloves, and a scarf. I was afraid I could not move around easily because of the layers but I did get on without difficulty. We commenced the assault at 3.30am and reached the peak of Pulag around 5 am. It was pitch black with only our head lamps/flashligths providing guidance. An occasional cloud or two would pass by and it would be zero visibility for a second. Upon arriving at the peak, we drank coffee while waiting for the majestic sunrise.

Back at camp, Euge unfolded his cooking skills and made us breakfast - scrambled eggs with basil and cream, corned beef, and brown rice. Heaven on earth! :)After decamping, we trudged on as we descended one of nature's wonders. I was one of the first hikers to complete the descent - I guess when you haven't taken a bath for 2 days, you'll be motivated by the promise of being able to take a bath - no matter how freezing the water is - at the ranger station.

Thank God that we did not experience any extreme weather conditions while trekking. I would definitely go back to Mt. Pulag. Cliche as it may sound but up there, I realized how beautiful simple living is, how nice it is to go back to the essentials. In this day and age of excess, Pulag taught me how to live with what I cannot live without and do away with things that I do not need at all and would only make my journey heavier.