Libra (Sept. 23–Oct. 22)
I'd love to see you puff up your chest and take dominant control of a situation. I'm picturing you—perhaps dressed in black leather and wielding a whip—barking commands and dishing out consequences for others' mistakes. You're probably laughing at me, though, because you know even better than I do that this just ain't your style. You tend to opt for more diplomatic, polite, nonconfrontational methods. However, I hope that even if you forgo the black leather, you'll consider being more direct and forceful this week. The situation requires it, since tact and gentle reminders won't get the job done.
*****
So politeness just won't cut it anymore, huh? Well then, hand me my whip, boy-o. It's time to get things cracking. Whup-pack!
*****
I had a fight with my Dad last night. And though this was not our first, it was the first over the phone and with me yelling to high heaven. The thing is, it wasn't even between us, but between me and someone else. Suffice it to say, I'd been quiet too long, she's being a bitchy little coward, and my dad thought he could still ride to our rescue. And yes, this is my side of the story, so fuck off.
After that 100-decibel shouting match on a very cheap 10-peso unlimited PLDT-to-Smart long-distance phonecall, I blew my nose and wiped my face, took out a cigarette (My Dad had told me to stop smoking. Again.) and slammed the door on my way out. Went to join some friends for a drink despite being mad enough to walk through the middle of the road and to hell with the traffic (and despite the fact that my nose was red and my eyes puffy). Three hours later I had spent more than I wanted to on alcohol, but I was numb=happy.
*****
Alone, Looking for Blossoms Along the River
Tu Fu
The sorrow of riverside blossoms inexplicable,
And nowhere to complain -- I've gone half crazy.
I look up our southern neighbor. But my friend in wine
Gone ten days drinking. I find only an empty bed.
A thick frenzy of blossoms shrouding the riverside,
I stroll, listing dangerously, in full fear of spring.
Poems, wine -- even this profusely driven, I endure.
Arrangements for this old, white-haired man can wait.
A deep river, two or three houses in bamboo quiet,
And such goings on: red blossoms glaring with white!
Among spring's vociferous glories, I too have my place:
With a lovely wine, bidding life's affairs bon voyage.
Looking east to Shao, its smoke filled with blossoms,
I admire that stately Po-hua wineshop even more.
To empty golden wine cups, calling such beautiful
Dancing girls to embroidered mats -- who could bear it?
East of the river, before Abbot Huang's grave,
Spring is a frail splendor among gentle breezes.
In this crush of peach blossoms opening ownerless,
Shall I treasure light reds, or treasure them dark?
At Madame Huang's house, blossoms fill the paths:
Thousands, tens of thousands haul the branches down.
And butterflies linger playfully -- an unbroken
Dance floating to songs orioles sing at their ease.
I don't so love blossoms I want to die. I'm afraid,
Once they are gone, of old age still more impetuous.
And they scatter gladly, by the branchful. Let's talk
Things over, little buds -- open delicately, sparingly.
*****
Now I want to be a Chinese poet. Or write Japanese haikus for that matter. Listen to this for example--
Nothing in the voice
Of the cicada intimates
How soon it will die.
Isn't that magnificent? I don't want to write about relationships anymore. I'm sick of that shit. As Teddy says in J.D. Salinger's Teddy, "[Poets are] always sticking their emotions in things that have no emotions." He quoted that haiku, too.
*****
As for taking the weather personally--especially our weather of late--don't. My mom says our daily afternoon rains is caused by the DA's cloud-seeding efforts to help counter drought. So you see, the rain isn't sad because you're sad. It's man-made rain made to help man in these hard times made by man. As for that sadness you're feeling, let me guess. Perhaps it's caused--on the whole or partially--by the realization that the world doesn't revolve around you after all. And you know what, it really doesn't. So might as well take everything as it is--artificial rain and all.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Friday, May 04, 2007
No contest!
Golden State 111, Dallas 86
What can I say, except "No contest"? With a deficit as long as Dirk's chin and as wide as Jerry Stackhouse's forehead, well, Dirk's chinny-chin-chin said it better, "...this season is pretty much over."
You guys might be asking why I don't like Dallas a lot. It can't be because I love the Spurs, because--Mark Cuban's money-making, rivalry-mongering insults aside--there really is no bad blood between the two Texas teams. I don't have anything against Dirk either, except I can't deny that his chinny-chin-chin (and yes, that's how I'll refer to it from now on) is a bit longish and Jerry Stackhouse does look like a Neanderthal. But wait...
Flashback. Last year. Playoffs 2nd round. Spurs vs. Mavs. Game 5. Jason Terry punched Michael Finley in the balls--and I don't mean basketballs. Yep, now I remember why I hate Dallas. I mean why I really hate them.
I won't even mention that Mark Cuban--especially with this new The-playoffs-is-so-intense-I-don't-have-time-to-shave-and-Look! -My-hair-is-turning-grey! look--looks like something I'd mop the floor of the Oracle Arena with. (Count how many "look"s were in that sentence.)
So, where was I? Oh, right. No fuckin' contest.
What can I say, except "No contest"? With a deficit as long as Dirk's chin and as wide as Jerry Stackhouse's forehead, well, Dirk's chinny-chin-chin said it better, "...this season is pretty much over."
You guys might be asking why I don't like Dallas a lot. It can't be because I love the Spurs, because--Mark Cuban's money-making, rivalry-mongering insults aside--there really is no bad blood between the two Texas teams. I don't have anything against Dirk either, except I can't deny that his chinny-chin-chin (and yes, that's how I'll refer to it from now on) is a bit longish and Jerry Stackhouse does look like a Neanderthal. But wait...
Flashback. Last year. Playoffs 2nd round. Spurs vs. Mavs. Game 5. Jason Terry punched Michael Finley in the balls--and I don't mean basketballs. Yep, now I remember why I hate Dallas. I mean why I really hate them.
I won't even mention that Mark Cuban--especially with this new The-playoffs-is-so-intense-I-don't-have-time-to-shave-and-Look! -My-hair-is-turning-grey! look--looks like something I'd mop the floor of the Oracle Arena with. (Count how many "look"s were in that sentence.)
So, where was I? Oh, right. No fuckin' contest.
Fight Night
Because it's the NBA Playoffs (Go Spurs! Go!), and there's that Dela Hoya-Mayweather, Jr. fight on Sunday. And of course, elections are nearing in the Philippines--
It's time to count the score.
It's time to count the score.
- In a few minutes is Game 6 of the Mavs-GSW matchup that nobody expected to come out the way it has. But then again, playoff season is the time for surprises. As one GSW fan says about the Mavs' last minute win in Game 5, "Wow Dirk, wow. By the hair of your chinny-chin-chin you escaped." As for me, I'll be having another lunch-out I can't afford just so I can catch Baron Davis and his Warriors send Dirk--chinny-chin-chin and all--packing home. SCORE: GSW fan 1, Dirk 0
- I am not a boxing fan, so I may have gotten my facts wrong--or it could be one of those stranger-than-fiction things. Floyd, Sr. once trained Oscar dela Hoya. And is only now siding on his son's corner for this fight-of-a-lifetime/money-making-venture. And only because Dela Hoya refused to pay him $2M for training. Wow. Talk about fatherly love. SCORE: Oscar $23M, Floyd, Jr. $10M, Floyd, Sr. 0, Freddie Roach $1.3M
- I thought Ilonggos had enough to be embarrassed about with Miriam Santiago and her awful accent, hair, pretensions, etc. Who knew that good ol' Raul could actually dethrone her and take the "brain-damaged" (si-raul-o) title for himself? I haven't been home to Iloilo in quite some time, but the food there has always been excellent. But maybe it's time we have the DOH check for mad cow or red tide or just plain "foot-in-mouth" disease--because Raul, Sr. is foaming at the mouth, Raul, Jr. is Iloilo's congressman, and I see Miriam on TV again these days. SCORE: Miriam +1, Raul, Jr. 0, Raul, Sr. -100,000
- It's always been nice walking around the Katipunan area, but now it's entertaining too, what with crazy jingles from people running for office. There's Banal with his "Banal-Banal-Banal. Banal-sa-Konsehal." to the tune of that old folksong or something that's used in old computer game tunes (Helpful, Drey. Very helpful.) and Wency Lagumbay's adaptation of the "Aaaaaah-awitin mo, at isasayaw ko" by VST&Co or whatever that Eat Bulaga bunch was called before one became a senator, and the others, well... But what topped it all was Pichay's slogan and poster. When I first read his "Pichay: Itanim sa Senado" slogan, I wasn't sure if it was stupid or brilliant. But when I noticed that the poster background actually had a drawing of a pechay, well, that fuckin' killed me. SCORE: Pichay 1, Pechay 0
- I was walking along Katipunan one day, deaf to the world for the Rolling Stones screaming in my ear, when a street kid tapped me on my elbow. Thinking I knew what he wanted, I shook my head No-I-don't-have-money and continued walking. He stuck with me for a block or so, and all the time he was tapping my arm, and I was saying no. Finally I took off my earphones in exasperation, and for the first time, heard the kid ask, "Ate, anong oras na po?" SCORE: Kid 1, Andrea 0
And so, life goes on. Or, "That's life," as someone famously put it. Now, let's talk basketball.
Joey Crawford, for all his "suspended indefinitely" crap, has actually achieved something for that Dallas-Phoenix rivalry people are hoping for in the Western Conference Finals. The Spurs in losing that last game to the Mavs in regular season stayed in the #3 spot, and now will be facing Phoenix early morning Monday for their first game of the second round. What all these people forgot is that the Spurs can easily win against the Suns when they have control of the game's pace, and--no this has to be in all caps--AND, IT MIGHT NOT EVEN BE DALLAS WAITING FOR EITHER TEAM AT THE OTHER END. NYAHAHAHAHAHAHA! or, [Insert Evil Laughter here.]
And there, my friends, is the rub.
It can't get any better than this.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Let's fun!!!
Is my favorite Japanese-Engrish phrase. Which, by the way, is a valid translation of the Japanese. For example, those of you who've eaten at Teriyaki Boy have been invited to dine by the wait staff--"Tabemashou", which is literally, "Let's eat". They just didn't know that "fun" is not a verb.
Besides, they translated "futotta shounen" (literally, "fat boy") into Teriyaki Boy. Pretty smart, don't you think?
Yes, I lile it very much, too.
Puper, wruppers, your gurbage here.
Only we give you that casual hump...
... for that Asian rear.
Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore.
Be afraid, be very afraid!
For famous people.
Yes, our VIPs have spare pricks.
It's been getting hotter and hotter lately. I've been stirred from sleep drenched in sweat, what with no airconditioning, and my sister hogging the lone fan in our apartment--the lone fan that doesn't turn. Things could get sticky soon.
*****
A couple of days ago, I went with a friend to Makati to submit a bunch of poems for a contest. Cross your fingers, pray, knock on wood, throw salt over your left shoulder,paint the blood of a freshly killed chicken on the door in the shape of the cross, whatever. Please.
*****
More than a couple days ago, I went drinking at a friend's place and almost turned my insides out puking on her garden. I've been told her plants are growing beautifully. Talk about ressurection. Happy Easter!
Besides, they translated "futotta shounen" (literally, "fat boy") into Teriyaki Boy. Pretty smart, don't you think?
Yes, I lile it very much, too. 
Puper, wruppers, your gurbage here.
Enough said.
Only we give you that casual hump...
... for that Asian rear.
Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore.
Be afraid, be very afraid!
For famous people.
Yes, our VIPs have spare pricks.*****
Anyway, let's more fun!
It's been getting hotter and hotter lately. I've been stirred from sleep drenched in sweat, what with no airconditioning, and my sister hogging the lone fan in our apartment--the lone fan that doesn't turn. Things could get sticky soon.
*****
A couple of days ago, I went with a friend to Makati to submit a bunch of poems for a contest. Cross your fingers, pray, knock on wood, throw salt over your left shoulder,paint the blood of a freshly killed chicken on the door in the shape of the cross, whatever. Please.
*****
More than a couple days ago, I went drinking at a friend's place and almost turned my insides out puking on her garden. I've been told her plants are growing beautifully. Talk about ressurection. Happy Easter!
Monday, March 26, 2007
An F for EFFort.
Dahil finals week. At masakit ang ulo ko dahil kulang ako sa tulog at alak.
*****
I. Multiple Choice. Choose the best answer among the choices provided.
1. I'm not sure whether March was
(A) busy
(B) boring
(C) lazy
(D) depressing
2. All I can remember is that I didn't feel like writing anything in this blog. But I kinda made a promise
(A) to post here at least once a month
(B) to post here once a week!
(C) to try to keep my promises
(D) not to promise anything to anyone at all
3. So anyway, in order to be able to come up with an answer, I decided to look through my very bulky and cumbersome Starbucks planner which I
(A) "got for free" by collecting the required number of stickers
(B) received from a friend for Christmas
(C) got to use religiously for the month of January only
(D) use as a pillow
4. And to my surprise, only two things were particularly worthy of note. The best of which was
(A) replacing my contact lenses
(B) The Vagina Monologues
(C) my best friend leaving for Japan
(D) writing papers for Medieval Lit
5. and the worst being
(A) replacing my contact lenses
(B) The Vagina Monologues
(C) my best friend leaving for Japan
(D) writing papers for Medieval Lit
6. But that isn't really the point. How can a whole month, which is composed of
(A) 31 days
(B) 4 weeks
(C) a whole lunar cycle
(D) all of the above
7. can only have two events worth looking back on? Which leads me to the conclusion that my life
(A) is static
(B) sucks
(C) is quiet and peaceful and stress-free
(D) does not deserve a Starbucks planner
8. But then again, summer is nearing and that should at the very least be
(A) awfully hot
(B) restful
(C) boring
(D) beach season
9. Aaaargh! But I forgot! This summer, I won't have
(A) sex
(B) work
(C) friends
(D) time
10. And therefore, I won't have
(A) STDs
(B) money
(C) a social life
(D) a boring time
II. Bonus. Fill in the blanks.
Talk about _________________! (Hint: Put your answer in Part I, #1 here.)
*****
At siguro, dahil sa mga linyang 'to:
" you are a miracle but that is not all
you are also a stiff drink and i am on call
you are a party and i am a school night
and i'm lookin' for my door key
but you are my porch light"
--Galing sa "School Night" ni Ani DiFranco
*****
I. Multiple Choice. Choose the best answer among the choices provided.
1. I'm not sure whether March was
(A) busy
(B) boring
(C) lazy
(D) depressing
2. All I can remember is that I didn't feel like writing anything in this blog. But I kinda made a promise
(A) to post here at least once a month
(B) to post here once a week!
(C) to try to keep my promises
(D) not to promise anything to anyone at all
3. So anyway, in order to be able to come up with an answer, I decided to look through my very bulky and cumbersome Starbucks planner which I
(A) "got for free" by collecting the required number of stickers
(B) received from a friend for Christmas
(C) got to use religiously for the month of January only
(D) use as a pillow
4. And to my surprise, only two things were particularly worthy of note. The best of which was
(A) replacing my contact lenses
(B) The Vagina Monologues
(C) my best friend leaving for Japan
(D) writing papers for Medieval Lit
5. and the worst being
(A) replacing my contact lenses
(B) The Vagina Monologues
(C) my best friend leaving for Japan
(D) writing papers for Medieval Lit
6. But that isn't really the point. How can a whole month, which is composed of
(A) 31 days
(B) 4 weeks
(C) a whole lunar cycle
(D) all of the above
7. can only have two events worth looking back on? Which leads me to the conclusion that my life
(A) is static
(B) sucks
(C) is quiet and peaceful and stress-free
(D) does not deserve a Starbucks planner
8. But then again, summer is nearing and that should at the very least be
(A) awfully hot
(B) restful
(C) boring
(D) beach season
9. Aaaargh! But I forgot! This summer, I won't have
(A) sex
(B) work
(C) friends
(D) time
10. And therefore, I won't have
(A) STDs
(B) money
(C) a social life
(D) a boring time
II. Bonus. Fill in the blanks.
Talk about _________________! (Hint: Put your answer in Part I, #1 here.)
*****
At siguro, dahil sa mga linyang 'to:
" you are a miracle but that is not all
you are also a stiff drink and i am on call
you are a party and i am a school night
and i'm lookin' for my door key
but you are my porch light"
--Galing sa "School Night" ni Ani DiFranco
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Facts versus Romance
Case in point: I want to be a good woman. But my immediate wants are just bad, bad, bad.
*****
Next, a song:
Science Vs. Romance
Rilo Kiley
I used to think if I could realize I'd die
then I would be a lot nicer
used to believe in a lot more
now I just see straight ahead
That's not to say I don't have good times
but as for my days
I spend them waiting
Crash sites keep me up at night
impact division it splits in two
directly underneath you
As for those things
that act as markers in your life
but in between
you can't remember
and so it seems
that you've grown up and over me
and these silly things
I like to dwell on
Test sites keep me up at night
chainlink and meters
I talk to you
it's cold out there
but I'm telling you
I'm lonely too
Facts versus romance
you go and call yourself the boss
but we're not robots inside a grid
Text versus romance
you go and add it all you want
still we're not robots inside a grid
Zeroes and ones
*****
I remember having this awful English teacher before--Let's say his name is Bernadette--He made a joke about how mathematicians are insisting that math is the universal language, and that we might as well do without the comlicated, uh, compiclated, grr, com-plicated (there you go!) study of English. Bernadette, for the class' entertainment, even acted out two Martians (presumably) telling jokes in binary code:
Martian 1: 10110010001. 010000001011?
Martian 0: 00111001?
Martian 1: 00101. 111001001001!!!
Get it? 111001001001!!! Hahahahahahahahaha! Ha-ha-haaaay.
*****
I've been trying to write these four stories into poems lately--a writing project, if you will--one of which became Stone Turtle. Except that I'm supposed to be writing a sonnet and a villanelle for my Poetry writing class! Ha! Maybe then I can finally show my poetry to my Dad, and then he won't have to ask why my poems don't rhyme... Ayayay.
Anyway, here it is
The Fall
That lake-mirror
should show the monkey
a rippling moon--
aaaaaadrowning twin
And that he should
fall for it--
aaaaaaheadlong
aaahead-
aaaaafirst into
aaamere-water
aamere
aaaaaaaaawater
aaaaaaO,
but that he would
save what is
aaaaaaaathere
aaaaa((not there))
*****
Next, a song:
Science Vs. Romance
Rilo Kiley
I used to think if I could realize I'd die
then I would be a lot nicer
used to believe in a lot more
now I just see straight ahead
That's not to say I don't have good times
but as for my days
I spend them waiting
Crash sites keep me up at night
impact division it splits in two
directly underneath you
As for those things
that act as markers in your life
but in between
you can't remember
and so it seems
that you've grown up and over me
and these silly things
I like to dwell on
Test sites keep me up at night
chainlink and meters
I talk to you
it's cold out there
but I'm telling you
I'm lonely too
Facts versus romance
you go and call yourself the boss
but we're not robots inside a grid
Text versus romance
you go and add it all you want
still we're not robots inside a grid
Zeroes and ones
*****
I remember having this awful English teacher before--Let's say his name is Bernadette--He made a joke about how mathematicians are insisting that math is the universal language, and that we might as well do without the comlicated, uh, compiclated, grr, com-plicated (there you go!) study of English. Bernadette, for the class' entertainment, even acted out two Martians (presumably) telling jokes in binary code:
Martian 1: 10110010001. 010000001011?
Martian 0: 00111001?
Martian 1: 00101. 111001001001!!!
Get it? 111001001001!!! Hahahahahahahahaha! Ha-ha-haaaay.
*****
I've been trying to write these four stories into poems lately--a writing project, if you will--one of which became Stone Turtle. Except that I'm supposed to be writing a sonnet and a villanelle for my Poetry writing class! Ha! Maybe then I can finally show my poetry to my Dad, and then he won't have to ask why my poems don't rhyme... Ayayay.
Anyway, here it is
The Fall
That lake-mirror
should show the monkey
a rippling moon--
aaaaaadrowning twin
And that he should
fall for it--
aaaaaaheadlong
aaahead-
aaaaafirst into
aaamere-water
aamere
aaaaaaaaawater
aaaaaaO,
but that he would
save what is
aaaaaaaathere
aaaaa((not there))
Saturday, February 10, 2007
i have been a stranger in a strange land.
Most of you who's been around me the last couple of weeks know this. But listen anyway.
There's this girl at the office, (No guys, this is not that kind of story. No girl-on-girl action happening here. At least not until after the coming weekend.) and we're not friends or anything, just the usual hi-hello when we meet through the little hallway leading to her cubicle and my office. (Ha, that sounds I'm the boss of her of something, which is not true, but it sounds good. My "office" is a tiny room filled chest-high with papers, and I cannot even enjoy one good swivel on my chair without bumping into a desk, a filing cabinet and the computer table.)
Enough asides. There's this girl. We are not friends. We don't talk. We smile, nod, say hi, etc. One day, we caught each other at the rest room, (get your minds outta the gutter!) and smile to each other on the mirror. The out of nowhere, and of what context, I have no idea, she asks me:
Are you Filipino at all?
[Significant pause here.]
It took me a while to realize I was holding my breath, and to let it out, then whoosh out a very breathy "yes!". Actually it sounded more like a "huh-yeesss...???" Because all I could think about that moment was, "Oh, she so cannot think this is my natural hair color..."
Don't get me wrong. I've been through this all my life. I've been Indian, Arab (and therefore terrorist), Portuguese, Turk, and the topper, Japanese(!) at one time or another. My best friend in high school, so unconvinced of my having no Arab ancestry, even invented a whole history where my ancestors in my father's side in Spain lived in Granada during the years of the invasion of the moors and someone must have fallen in love with someone from the other side, got married and begot mongrels, and thus my looks. But yes, I've been through this so many times that more often than not, I recognize a certain look on people's faces they get just before they ask me that particular question.
Case in point: I was talking to this old lady once, you know, things-under-the-sun conversation. Then she gets this awkward, speculative look on her face before she starts with the usual, "Can I ask you a question?" And I just get it. I say, "Let me guess. 'Are you Indian?' No. No, I'm not." And I just smile a bit to take the sting out of my impatience. I've had this conversation so many times that, as you can see, I can hold both sides of it by myself.
So what was wrong with that question? Why was I so out-of-whack? Well, it could be I was just having a bad day--it sounded so like the go-to-your-own-corner-geek playground tortures of my elementary days--but then I was mulling it over and mulling over it and mulling over it and it comes to me. Of all the this conversations I've had, all my life--Including the one that went like this:
Japanese DOM: Firipinjin desu ka?
So Mistakenly Happy Me: Hai! Hai! Sou desu.
DOM: Sou ka. Ee, Omise ha?--
this is the first time I've been asked if I'm Filipino AT ALL. I mean really. AT fucking ALL??? Really! What gives?
(Quick English Lesson. The use of "at all" in a sentence: (a) "If you were thinking at all, you wouldn't have said that." (b) "Do you have any manners at all?" (c) "I didn't like that at all!")
But see, I don't have a stupid pretentious highfallutin accent. I don't have the Tagalog accent either, because fuck it, I am not Tagalog. I have semi-red, semi-blond (I can't say orange. I won't.) hair now, but Hell-o! The roots are so showing and I need another trip to the salon soon, except that I'm broke, so how much more obvious can it be that my hair color came from a bottle? I didn't grow up in the States, only to return and become a pop idol, much to my regret (Another story for another day). So what is it? Whaaaaaaat?
If you figure it out. Let me know. At all. Duh.
*****
Here's a funny story.
When I was 15 or 16, my mom asked me to pay our phone bill at the local Iloilo PLDT office. This was my first time to do it, so I was a bit insecure about what to do. When I got there, I went to the end of the first line I saw, which took forever to get to the counter. Unsure and impatient to get it over with, I asked a lady beside me if this was the line for paying bills. Nothing wrong with that, right? Wrong. Whenever I'm in this weird situation where I'm insecure or a little lost (or spitting mad), I usually speak in English. Don't ask me why. So anyway, there I was, Indian looking Ilonggo little girl, asking this Ilonggo woman in English, if I was on the right line. The poor woman took one look at me and started sputtering, "Ah, no, no. This line, no. See that woman over there? Yellow dress? Woman yellow, go, go. There," then sighed in relief. I was so mortified, I forced myself to speak in English the whole awful transaction, because God forbid if that old lady found out I could speak Ilonggo. She would have blistered me with the best swear words anywhere in this country--cursing me, my mother, my father and their genitals, for having had the gall to have sex and create such an arrogant moron.
*****
Hmmm. Are you Filipino at all? Did she have a point, after all? Ay, lilinti-an.
There's this girl at the office, (No guys, this is not that kind of story. No girl-on-girl action happening here. At least not until after the coming weekend.) and we're not friends or anything, just the usual hi-hello when we meet through the little hallway leading to her cubicle and my office. (Ha, that sounds I'm the boss of her of something, which is not true, but it sounds good. My "office" is a tiny room filled chest-high with papers, and I cannot even enjoy one good swivel on my chair without bumping into a desk, a filing cabinet and the computer table.)
Enough asides. There's this girl. We are not friends. We don't talk. We smile, nod, say hi, etc. One day, we caught each other at the rest room, (get your minds outta the gutter!) and smile to each other on the mirror. The out of nowhere, and of what context, I have no idea, she asks me:
Are you Filipino at all?
[Significant pause here.]
It took me a while to realize I was holding my breath, and to let it out, then whoosh out a very breathy "yes!". Actually it sounded more like a "huh-yeesss...???" Because all I could think about that moment was, "Oh, she so cannot think this is my natural hair color..."
Don't get me wrong. I've been through this all my life. I've been Indian, Arab (and therefore terrorist), Portuguese, Turk, and the topper, Japanese(!) at one time or another. My best friend in high school, so unconvinced of my having no Arab ancestry, even invented a whole history where my ancestors in my father's side in Spain lived in Granada during the years of the invasion of the moors and someone must have fallen in love with someone from the other side, got married and begot mongrels, and thus my looks. But yes, I've been through this so many times that more often than not, I recognize a certain look on people's faces they get just before they ask me that particular question.
Case in point: I was talking to this old lady once, you know, things-under-the-sun conversation. Then she gets this awkward, speculative look on her face before she starts with the usual, "Can I ask you a question?" And I just get it. I say, "Let me guess. 'Are you Indian?' No. No, I'm not." And I just smile a bit to take the sting out of my impatience. I've had this conversation so many times that, as you can see, I can hold both sides of it by myself.
So what was wrong with that question? Why was I so out-of-whack? Well, it could be I was just having a bad day--it sounded so like the go-to-your-own-corner-geek playground tortures of my elementary days--but then I was mulling it over and mulling over it and mulling over it and it comes to me. Of all the this conversations I've had, all my life--Including the one that went like this:
Japanese DOM: Firipinjin desu ka?
So Mistakenly Happy Me: Hai! Hai! Sou desu.
DOM: Sou ka. Ee, Omise ha?--
this is the first time I've been asked if I'm Filipino AT ALL. I mean really. AT fucking ALL??? Really! What gives?
(Quick English Lesson. The use of "at all" in a sentence: (a) "If you were thinking at all, you wouldn't have said that." (b) "Do you have any manners at all?" (c) "I didn't like that at all!")
But see, I don't have a stupid pretentious highfallutin accent. I don't have the Tagalog accent either, because fuck it, I am not Tagalog. I have semi-red, semi-blond (I can't say orange. I won't.) hair now, but Hell-o! The roots are so showing and I need another trip to the salon soon, except that I'm broke, so how much more obvious can it be that my hair color came from a bottle? I didn't grow up in the States, only to return and become a pop idol, much to my regret (Another story for another day). So what is it? Whaaaaaaat?
If you figure it out. Let me know. At all. Duh.
*****
Here's a funny story.
When I was 15 or 16, my mom asked me to pay our phone bill at the local Iloilo PLDT office. This was my first time to do it, so I was a bit insecure about what to do. When I got there, I went to the end of the first line I saw, which took forever to get to the counter. Unsure and impatient to get it over with, I asked a lady beside me if this was the line for paying bills. Nothing wrong with that, right? Wrong. Whenever I'm in this weird situation where I'm insecure or a little lost (or spitting mad), I usually speak in English. Don't ask me why. So anyway, there I was, Indian looking Ilonggo little girl, asking this Ilonggo woman in English, if I was on the right line. The poor woman took one look at me and started sputtering, "Ah, no, no. This line, no. See that woman over there? Yellow dress? Woman yellow, go, go. There," then sighed in relief. I was so mortified, I forced myself to speak in English the whole awful transaction, because God forbid if that old lady found out I could speak Ilonggo. She would have blistered me with the best swear words anywhere in this country--cursing me, my mother, my father and their genitals, for having had the gall to have sex and create such an arrogant moron.
*****
Hmmm. Are you Filipino at all? Did she have a point, after all? Ay, lilinti-an.
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