vivalogos

memory 1

2010-12-01T00:57:00.000+08:00

we were out constantly when we were kids. my mom and papa took us all over. it stopped when B was in his teens. maybe earlier. i don't know why. but when A and i were small, i remember going to paco park a lot. my mom and papa got married there, in the small chapel. st pancratius chapel, i think it's called. she wore a gown of old lace and a yellow belt. and three-inch stack heels with a snub

come visit my tumblr blog

2010-08-07T07:46:00.000+08:00

i've been posting more regularly on my tumblr, vivalogos.tumblr, and started a new blog with yahoo southeast asia (ph.yfittopostblog.com). i realized tumblr's more user-friendly when it comes to posting photos, and well, yahoo pays me. haha. so come, check me out :)

lost...and well, lost. full stop.

2010-04-26T01:50:00.000+08:00

i just realized something. when he was happy, or claimed to be, he hid it. there are two things a man cannot hide, goes a saying: a cough, and if he is in love. he was very good at hiding the latter. but when things got bad, and sour, he showed it immediately. the silence. the facebook posts. the bitterness of his actions and his words. "sino yan," he asked M, when M answered one of my phone

chaperone

2010-04-18T18:49:00.000+08:00

when i was in high school, the nuns taught us how to sit. well, not really the nuns, but our home economics teacher did. and she could have very well been a nun. slightly overweight, with a low, tiny twitter that she hid behind a fan. she once told us that when having sex--oh, excuse me, making love--with our future husbands, we should always disrobe with THE LIGHTS OFF. sit perched on the edge

simone and her secret to happiness

2010-04-09T18:14:00.000+08:00

we are in the car, simone and i. she had just completed the Yes! course of Art of Living Foundation, a four-day course tailored for teens (meditation and yoga, as well as age-appropriate issues self-esteem, peer pressure, etc., are tackled). Simone is not yet a teen--she'll turn 13 in June--but, according to her tita dona (and i totally agree), Sim has been through much in her young life. her

drunkan (sic), we

2010-04-02T04:39:00.000+08:00

my younger sister A rapping at my bedroom door: "nang (term for 'older sister'). nang. help me." A is there. drunk as a skunk. i help her to the toilet and she worships the porcelain god. years after: "B, where are you? come pick me up." my baby brother, then 20 or so, drives to where i tell him. holds me by the back of my blouse, at the collar, nape, like a mommy cat guiding a kitten, and

project Me, day 6

2010-03-13T12:49:00.000+08:00

had the Girlfriend Magazine team over for dinner and waaaayyyyy too many drinks last night. hahaha. Nikki brought pizza and cake. i prepared tinapa pesto with wholewheat pasta, olives marinated in balsamic vinegar, chocolate-cinnamon pudding. i like feeding my friends :) after the weird barcino-tabu fiasco with Mr Maharlika and Rockstar Photographer tuesday night--Maharlika went off for a

check!

2010-03-11T02:12:00.000+08:00

when you choose a mate, choose someone curious about who you are, what made you be this way, yet totally non-judgmental about who you are. there's a sublime pleasure in seeing the interest in his eyes, the unfolding of understanding and the delight and compassion in discovering why and how you are.

project Me, day 2

2010-03-09T11:38:00.000+08:00

why day 2? because the words felt forced on day 1. a trial dose of meso, my syringoma cauterized, and two shots of jack. chatting with my daughter, who's growing more beautiful everyday, and i notice a heightened blush to her cheeks, her smile more luminous than usual, when we talk about E. soon, soon, she'll have her puppy love soon, i balk. pesto with cheese and dried chili. four more shots

the past 16 hours

2010-03-06T17:27:00.000+08:00

i post a blog entry post-haste, trill over it with a friend, take it down the next morning, apologize to everyone for deleting it. i look up old songs, experiment with the 'link' feature. post a song, take it down again. the hairs on my back stand; i feel hot and creepy crawly all over. i flirt half-heartedly with a friend from across the globe, skip around his nuances, thinking i'll be alone

normalcy, overdue

2010-03-01T18:34:00.001+08:00

I open the ref we brought from his apartment, way over a year ago. The stickers he stuck on the door are still there—Fujitake mineral water delivery, Dial 1898 Singtel to call overseas, OCBC Rewards. The Elvis magnets, I moved to the bigger ref downstairs, thinking he’d get a kick out of seeing them holding up drawings my kids made in school. Inside, his pepperoncinis—almost gone—are still

clamming up

2010-02-19T16:50:00.000+08:00

this, in Girlfriend April 06 issue (magazine now defunct) My Pisalayan experience Subhead: Gina Abuyuan goes back to the basics to try to give a wee back to the sea We are told to conserve water. When we bathe, we are to use only a small pail, and use the tabo slowly. So slowly, our hostess jests, that we’d have enough time to imagine bathing with another. When we rinse, we are to step into

slices of life in carlsbad

2010-02-17T18:33:00.002+08:00

a newborn who likes to spit up.a two year old who likes to perform a robot dance and 'in the library', even when in costco.a sister, now a mom, who cleans the spit up and sings for the two year old so he can dance his little dances. a man, now a husband, father, and brother-in-law, who puts the two year old to sleep every night and is washing bottles again, for another year, for his new

What The Fuck Do I Know

2010-01-18T01:01:00.006+08:00

I won “Youngest Sigma Deltan” in 1989. It was at an alumnae function in the Mondragon House. I was newly initiated and inducted, 16 going on 24 (a good friend would later say, “24 going on 88”), a freshman when freshman weren’t allowed to join sororities, and I won P2,500. Which of course my new ka-batches and I spent at once on beer and perhaps some ghastly pulutan like sizzling red hotdogs and

My 37th Birthday

2010-01-12T02:48:00.009+08:00

My mother was 33 when she relocated to the States, my papa, Ali, and I in tow. She was going back to University of Wisconsin, where she had taken up one of her many MAs a couple years before, to finish her doctorate. I was six, Ali was three. My papa had a fuller head of hair and liked KISS (or at least attended a concert of theirs once). I marveled at the swings with rubber seats. Ali was a cry

all at play

2009-07-23T00:15:00.005+08:00

This, from a travel magazine I contributed to two years ago: “From Aparri, Baler, Surigao del Sur to Zambales, surfers have a term for what they do: ‘laro.’ Play. Because that’s what surfing is. It’s a game, played with abandon, where your body and Mother Nature are one. If you’re more concerned about poise and looking good than

carom-bola

2009-07-03T20:31:00.006+08:00

billiards.i remember the time when Ali and i had nothing to do, for about four months or so, except play pool. carom, to be exact, in the most pedestrian sense of the word. for some reason, there was no working TV in the house. mom was out of town. my papa was too busy doing something else to properly stock up the refrigerator with real food, so Ali and i had no choice but to play carom day in

trying out hyperlink. check out red's blog. now.

2009-07-03T06:43:00.003+08:00

red's SMS to me june 21, 09."when you stroll down the path of fabricated personal deficits, that's when things become difficult. enjoy your paella and curse the gods for making so many imperfect men."

ex-husband's dream of uncle dalmacio, late '06

2009-07-03T05:56:00.005+08:00

at the end of this entry is mardy's text to me after i reminded him about uncle dalmacio, how we visited him in the hospital just before he passed away. he was so different--well, at least his body was--from what we remembered him. he had turned into skin and bones, dark, dry, paper-thin skin stretched over the distinct, gangly Abuyuan frame.i loved that man. he was the one who wrote the Ybanag

sms to myself: april 1, 2006

2009-07-03T05:46:00.001+08:00

I am 33 years old. The age reeks of botox, tennis bracelets, lacoste shirts w upturned collars. SUVs and perhaps a desire to grow my own herbs. Instead i have a fading henna tattoo on my arm, a dead palm on my balcony, and a deluge of deadlines i have yet to meet. The sky is pink, my babies squeal in the background. My mouth tastes of marlboros and i'm wondering if i can ever kick san mig lite.I

harvest moon, neil young

2009-07-03T05:31:00.002+08:00

Come a little bit closerHear what I have to sayJust like children sleepin'We could dream this night away.But there's a full moon risin'Lets go dancin' in the lightWe know where the musics playin'Let's go out and feel the night.Because I'm still in love with youI want to see you dance againBecause I'm still in love with youOn this harvest moon.When we were strangersI watched you from afarWhen we

sweet mateo

2009-07-02T14:34:00.001+08:00

beautiful surprise of the day from mateo: plastic container with pieces of paper with "mommy," a heart, and a flower drawn on them. yaya said he was loitering outside my door waiting for me to wake up so i could see his "surprise". sweet, sweet boy. he's going to break some hearts, this one.

-_-

2009-07-01T03:19:00.003+08:00

Twenty minutes past the witching hour, and i'm still awake.feeling like i'm going to implode. but still.plodding on, plodding on.been through worse before.kicking in the door, seven months pregnant,finding a den full of porn.plans to clean out a bank.i should've sank.but no.plodded on, plodded on.like i do now.'love's got nothing to do with it,'he said.'this is self-preservation.'and so i

:(

2009-06-30T01:18:00.003+08:00

glenfiddich tonight. after all the beers have gone.glenfiddich, i remember, when times were much simpler and i, young.Er. he called me to his house that night. said he needed company.but i left the other one in the bar that night. and he too, needed.Me.but of coursei chosethe white horse.he made everything more.MORE.joy. more.sadness. more.hate. more.and i saw forevermore.like i thought ma and pa

simone, my original baby

2009-04-21T02:44:00.006+08:00

I came home after a 20 hour workday, hoping to catch some brainless action on Facebook or Twitter to de-stress, and lo and behold--what should greet me when I opened my laptop? A small swarm of red ants swimming in and out of the keys.Simone.She had complained about the same thing happening to her a few days ago--that ants were invading her desk, to which I replied: then don't eat there. "But all

A good Good Friday

2009-04-11T13:17:00.019+08:00

I've always associated Good Friday with the unrelenting heat of summer, somewhat akin to the fires of hell. I remember pabasas in our ancestral home in Larion (20-30 minutes away from Tuguegarao by tricycle), us cousins being powerless against our parents' rules of 'no-swimming-in-the-river-today-BAWAL', so all we were left to do was to sit on the squat staircase leading from the bedrooms to the

angry johnny by poe

2009-03-02T00:54:00.003+08:00

this song brings me back to 1997 or so, just before i gave birth to simone. it's angry and poignant and beautiful at the same time. i don't know exactly what to feel when i listen to it, even now. not because of the memories of sim's biological father, but because of how poe sings it. low, clean, husky voice, classy yet pained and shameful--of what? why?--all at once. i think that's why i like it

sunday lunch with sim

2009-03-01T14:38:00.006+08:00

The twins are staying with their tatay this weekend, which means Sim and I are all alone here (of course, Giz is here too, and the cats). I let An and Ric go as soon as I got back yesterday from Greenhills with Josh. So last night was Yellowcab night. Even Giz had a slice. But today...ah...I stuck to my plan to actually cook something instead of ordering in.Behold:Rib-eye with paprika/salt/pepper

one sunday night

2009-02-23T00:13:00.008+08:00

this is not healthy. at least, i don't think it is. but edgar allan poe and ernest hemmingway resorted to the same devices, so why can't i? (uh, because you're NOT them!).anyway.consciously unstable again because of the last dredges of my pastis--which, i realized in horror, was not ricard, but a rip-off of ricard (but who cares)--and i sit here again, wanting, needing to talk to someone, but

this is why i love my job

2009-02-17T04:46:00.003+08:00

sometime in 2005, i wrote an editor's note that touched someone so vividly that she was moved to adopt a child, even if she was still single and about to be married. i remember reading her email that day, and shouting to marla to "come! read this!" only then did i fully realize the impact of what i was doing. i wasn't just editing a magazine. i was changing lives. i was influencing their

working mom ed's note, nov 05

2009-02-17T04:35:00.002+08:00

i was looking for something in my old CDs when i came across this--an ed's note i had done for the november 05 issue of working mom, which had the theme "passion". i remember jose enrique soriano shot the cover (a problematic one, because it was uncharacteristically de focado [well maybe not, as i later learned], and pixelized to the core). that frederick peralta designed the gowns and knorr had

2008-09-06T08:09:00.007+08:00

I recently had the opportunity to contribute to a new men's magazine, Blue, published by Atlas. I'm posting the following since this is the version I told them to use--NOT the one you'll see printed in its pages. This one doesn't have "TK" after the names of Edru Abraham and Jani Moldero ("TK" being mag lingo for "to come", meaning "info to be supplied"); and it mentions other Malate hotspots in

Journey to Health and Healing

2007-06-30T12:11:00.001+08:00

(for July issue of Personal Fortune magazine)My acupuncturist’s clinic smells like healing.Every week I visit Dr. Eddie Concepcion at Centro Maginhawa Acupuncture Clinic, 97 Maginhawa St, Teacher’s Village, Quezon City. His patients range from young to old, of all sizes and walks of life, recovering stroke victims to ladies-who-lunch who need to lose weight. He sees his patients on a

Happy (solo) mom's day to us!

2007-04-26T15:11:00.000+08:00

...for May issue of Personal Fortune Magazine (Business Mirror)(part 1 of 2)The thing I’m most proud about being a solo mom is how I am raising my daughter Simone. I don’t know how I did it, but she’s amazingly well-adjusted, never a spoiled brat, and is one of those ‘cool kids’ that even grown-ups want to have around. Maybe it’s the prayer I lifted up, everyday, while she was in my womb, knowing

just another day in michel

2007-03-25T17:37:00.001+08:00

(account of march 18, 2007)It strikes me in mid-chop, as I help Berto prepare his dinakdakan. It's a typical day in Michel, that old pre-war apartment building on Mabini St, Malate, inhabited by a motley crew of artists and eccentrics. It's a Sunday afternoon. The sun is merciful today. None of the psycho summer heat it's been threatening us with the past few days. That we're a couple blocks away

tabaco exhibit

2007-03-22T21:03:00.001+08:00

Photo exhibit pays tribute to dying native tobacco culture“I grew up on my lolo’s lap,” says Jose Enrique Soriano, “and he used to smoke cigars and pipes. So the aroma of tobacco always brings him back.”His current exhibit, Tabaco, is inspired by memories of his grandfather and the hours of joy spent on his grandfather’s knee, enveloped in a comforting scent of habanas, Half and Half, and Mixture