Lorenzo Carcaterra’s ‘A Safe Place’. Disarming Provocative. Very.

We hugged and kissed in the summer heat, Grandma Maria caressing my face, wiping away my tears.
“Remember this place, this island,” she said. “It’s as important to you as any one person. Your history is here. Your blood.”
“I won’t forget it,” I said.
“Good,” Grandma Maria said. “Now go. Don’t miss your plane. I don’t need to hear your mother yell at me. Not at my age.”
I picked up my suitcases and made my way down the curving stone steps, putting them down again when I reached the base. I turned and waved a final goodbye to Grandma Maria.
“Remember,” I yelled up to her. “You promised to save that coffee for me.”
“I have to,” she said with a laugh. “Can’t get anybody else to drink it. Especially in this heat. They’re afraid they’ll die from it.”
“Gotta die of something,” I said.
“Gotta die of something,” Grandma Maria agreed, turning away from me and walking back, head down, into the only home she had ever lived in.

Kat S. and I decided to write each other snail mails. Fun! Funny, because it was borne out of our musings about how our numerous Internet accounts are taking over our sanity hehehehe.

And because it is good juju Friday (it’s about to rain, always a sign of blessing), I am giving out my office address for anyone who will care to send me a letter, hand written, on paper. A letter which is written on paper. With pen ink. Ang sarap! Kat S., if you want, you can just write me here na rin, but the address I gave you will be just fine. (-:

Baguio Midland Courier
16 Kisad Road, Baguio City
2600

My last name can be found here. Let’s send each other small projects, cards, notes, yey! Email me your snail mail address if you want to join in our little ‘Revive the Snail Mail’ movement. Ang saya lang talaga.

Jason Castro is out of American Idol 7 and somehow it hurt more when the Michael Johns was booted out, because this time, with Jason, his elimination was kind of expected already.

It was high noon in Paete, Laguna and we were preparing to travel back to Manila after a family gathering. I was blowing bubbles in your direction from inside a red Tamaraw and you asked me to alight so you could fix my hair. You chose to fix my hair into a pony tail beside Tito Tony’s Tamaraw, in view of the whole street, in broad daylight. I was wearing a pair of red jumper shorts and both of us had thick bangs. I’m sure of this, there’s a photo of this moment in one of our dusty albums in Mandaluyong. I think Papa took that photo.

That is the only memory I have of you fussing over my hair. Without the photograph, I doubt if I would even remember it. When you still had the hotel job, you were always the ‘busy mom’, never having enough time to do ‘motherly duties’ such as help us with our assignments or prepare our breakfast.

I remember that one time when we were leaving in a one-room apartment, we were locked out of the house and you were very tired from work. You kicked off your shoes in frustration and we just watched you cry, not knowing how to approach you.

I remember the only times we really got to spend time together were on Sundays (Luneta day) and later on Tuesdays (your day-off). It didn’t seem to matter then that Kuya, I, and Byron only got to be with you for a few hours a day. Who knew it would matter big time later on?

I remember the first few weeks after you resigned from the hotel, I remember having difficulty getting used to you being in the house all day, I remember the slow and pleasant way by which we got to know each other better over plastic cups of halo-halo or steaming banana-cues.

I can only laugh imagining what you would say when you see how messy my apartment is now. ‘Messy’ in your standards, of course. In the ref there is stale bread, stale coffee grounds (cinnamon flavor, you would’ve loved it), stale butter, stale tikoy, noodle packs, and a plastic cup of labuyo. I wonder what you would do to them if ever you’d come visit.

You’ll be home in less than a month and I am very excited to see you again, smell you again, hug you again. I miss you every day, Ma, and you might think all I ever see now is the fact that you disapprove of the way I handle my life and you might think I resent you for that, but I don’t.

Yesterday I called your house. A woman answered the call and when I asked for you, she asked me who I was. I said “Anak niya po.” Then she said, “Sandali lang,” and I heard her call you. “Lolet, anak mo daw.”

“Babae?” I heard you ask.

I smiled upon hearing you assume that it was me.

Somehow I felt that through 15 hours of time difference and God knows how many miles keeping us apart, that you will more often than not ‘sense’ that it is your only daughter waiting on the other end of whatever line there is. Because you’re my mother. That’s the only explanation there is, isn’t it?

I love you.

Sniffles are here again. Bleah. Was in Aringay, La Union for three days with workmates, it was fun but on the first night onset of the flu came and it hit me full-blast on second night. Back in Baguio now pumping my system with meds because I don’t want a repeat of the January fever wherein mucus overtook my system and killed me for two weeks.

Missing Jang and the kids so bad. Boo.

This is the article that I wrote for our paper’s 61st anniversary. I cried about this piece because Jang, after reading it, commented that I was holding myself back (maybe because I wasn’t gushing like I was in this post). I have to hold back, I said (in retrospect, bakit?). I now see what she was trying to say. It may not be evident in this piece that we fell so much in love with Apayao. But we did. If Apayao had feet, I will kneel down and kiss them as often as Apayao wants me to.
______________________________________________

A PEEK INTO CORDILLERA’S LAST NATURE FRONTIER

The grueling journey from Baguio belied what is in Kabugao — Apayao’s capital town.

At first, pushing through with the Apayao trip was a big question, as details about how to go there were hazy. Looking at the Northern Philippines map, one would surmise that it would be a short trip from Baguio, it turned out we had to pass through La Union, Pangasinan, Nueva Ecija, Nueva Vizcaya, and Isabela, taking 10 hours to reach Tuguegarao City in Cagayan. From there, it was a four-hour drive to Poblacion in Kabugao. In Tuao, Cagayan, long dirt roads welcomed us all the way to Kabugao.

In a stop in the municipality of Conner, Apayao, I asked one of our companions about the mode of transportation in Poblacion. He said there is none. I was told that people walk within the town, and for a few seconds I panicked, how would we go around? Then he assured me that it is a very small place and that we could go around just by walking.

An hour later we were in Poblacion. The first impression would be that it really is a small place.

And it was astounding in its simplicity.

Complete article here.

(photo by Jang)

Jang left for a vacation last Wednesday.

She’ll be gone for a month and a half and it’s been barely two days since she left and I miss her so much already. Also, I miss her nieces, Daniele and Danica, maybe more than I miss Jang (hehehe). They’ve been my playmates since I got here last June and now they’ve gone back home.

Anyway, Jang took her oath as a lawyer and signed in the roll of attorneys before she left and here she is posing for a Supreme Court photographer.

I would like to tell the Internet so many things but as of now I would just like to say that I am in love with the Jason Castro and the Michael Johns and that I have bangs again and after a lo-hong spell of heat, ladies and gentlemen, it is now officially cold in Baguio again. Amen.

Below is a Letter to the Editor that Jang is submitting for our community paper’s issue this Sunday. Yesterday was a very, very, very, annoying day at SM for both us, but her annoying encounters beat mine by miles.

________________________________________________________

I am writing to agree with Pablito Sanidad when he wrote in his column that “Baguio has stagnated, if not deteriorated.” I think this also holds true for its people. And from what I’ve seen lately, ‘deteriorated’ is the apt term.

Three weeks ago while working out, I tore a ligament and broke a bone in my right knee. As a result, I have to use crutches and a knee brace to reduce pressure on that knee.

This caused my movements to be deliberately slow and I haven’t been able to go out of the house except for very important errands. Once, I had to go to the market and there I experienced first-hand how most people in Baguio are now very inconsiderate and rude. People sideswiped and bumped me from behind; there were many instances when I nearly fell over. Nobody even stopped to apologize, these people did not care that I had limited capability of supporting my body.

In SM the other day during my check-up at Benguet Lab, nobody in the waiting area offered me a seat even if they already saw me hobbling on my crutches in front of them. For a while I just stood by the door, waiting for a vacant seat.

And then while I was waiting for an elevator ride, there was this couple waiting behind me. The guy kept on subtly pushing me, maybe to get ahead. I didn’t move aside, because, didn’t he see the sign that said “Please give priority to the elderly, handicapped, and pregnant women”? He didn’t even have to read it; the universal sign of ‘handicapped’ was plastered there. When the elevator door opened, I was expecting for him to at least let me in the elevator first, but what he did was sideswipe me, tagging his girlfriend with him. The other people behind them followed, leaving no space for me inside the elevator, and I just stood there, annoyed and disappointed.

I would like to commend the elevator operator, Darryl Navarro, for his effort to let me in the elevator when he saw that the other passengers did not give me a chance to do so. Mr. Navarro went out of the elevator, asked the passengers to move back, and offered his space for me, but because of my annoyance at that time I just told him I’d wait for the next ride. When the elevator came again, Mr. Navarro made sure that I went in first and that I had enough space, he was my one ray of hope for Baguio that day.

The Baguio people of my early memories aren’t anything like what these rude people are. Then, I could go out without having to think or worry about how people are going to annoy me on a certain day by being inconsiderate. Now, I have to steel myself for the random rudeness I know I would experience. I know I am not all that ‘handicapped’ and I would be able to walk normally again. But what if I were really disabled? Would I have to get used to being ignored and bumped around? Are Baguio people really this thick now? My heart goes out to the disabled, those who would have to get this boorish treatment from thoughtless individuals all their life.

More people like Mr. Navarro are what Baguio City needs — people who know the right thing to do and choose to do it.

Onyok Velasco was one of the contestants in the Hep Hep Hoorah segment today. One by one, Willie Revillame made all the contestants greet the viewers and audience, Onyok was second to the last to do so. Next to him was Tado. Willie spent a considerable amount of time chatting up the other contestants (there were about eight of them) but when he got to Onyok, Willie only made him say “Magandang hapon po.”

Yon lang then he proceeded to introduce Tado with “Eto na po ang idol ng bayan!”

Whoa.

Onyok may have been a comedian hasbeen (a never been, if you like) but he was an Olympic silver medalist! He is only the last person to have given Filipinos that honor, and that’s way back in 1996! “The last four Olympic medals garnered by the Philippines came from boxing. And the Philippines has not won an Olympic medal since lightflyweight boxer Onyok Velasco’s silver in 1996.” (Joaquin Henson, PhilStar.com)

Remember our outrage then when he was given the silver when it was evident that he deserved the gold? And then what did people do to him? After he was somehow put on a pedestal after the 1996 Olympics, he was hired as a comedian and then was ridiculed on TV shows. Binabatuk-batukan lang siya sa mga sitcom. E Olympic medalist siya! Every time I saw him being belittled on TV then (even if it was just acting), I would cringe at the fact that THE Onyok Velasco was letting non-Olympic medalists do that to him, and the studio head or director of the show just let that happen.

Sure, I had a Tado phase, naging crush ko siya because of Strangebrew, but when he started appearing in Channel 2 he somehow lost his charm , basta. Sure, magaling siya, matalino, astig. Pero naman, anyone, even if he is like Willie Revillame who is maybe not all that interested in the Olympics or sports for that matter, would at the least accord Onyok the respect he deserves.

That segment really pissed me off…kasi Onyok being robbed of an Olympic gold and how it made me feel angry (but extremely proud) as a Filipino will always be a major part of my memory. It was in 1996 when that happened, I was 14, and come on, sino pa dyan ang naging idol si Onyok nung mga panahong iyon? Itaas ang kamay!

In my mind and heart, Onyok will always, always deserve my respect, more than I am willing to give that respect to Pacquiao. But that’s another story.

There is a whole lot of things I want to tell you, but most of them come only when you are asleep, or when I am not with you. So I just look at you while you’re sleeping, or make a note of what it is I want to tell you, because these are the kind of things that a text message or a phone call can’t make justice of, and so I wait until we’re face to face, but then I still often forget.

Thing is, your presence still jars me; still makes my thinking a little hazy; still clouds my senses; makes me shiver, but in a good way.

It still excites me how it is now possiblle for us to be together physically every day. Didn’t we use to complain before (for about five years) how distance is making almost every thing difficult for us? But we made it work and now I see that we are in a good place.

You’re going on a trip next month and I am both excited and sad. Excited, because you deserve to unwind, you deserve this trip, you deserve to spend uninterrupted time with your family, I know this vacation will do you good. For a month you will be feasting on pizza and pasta in the place where it all originated, what can be cooler than that? It will be like eating shawarma in heaven (because surely, shawarma originated from heaven, right?).

I’m sad because I will miss you. I always do, anyway. That’s going to be easy to deal with, it’s just that, well, you know, I’m emotional like that. Plus, you’re going to be taking your nieces, whom I have constantly been falling in love with. I have yet to let it sink in, the fact that they aren’t going to be in Asin Road any more when I come visit. No more little girls who’ll bug me with incessant “Auntie Kat! Auntie Kat!” We’ll deal with that other kind of ‘missing’ when you come back.

I will miss doing the best two activities in the world with you (sleeping and eating) and I know you’ll understand that your vacation is also a good thing for me, because for a month I will have the chance to lose weight. (-:

I love you. I love how you know Baclaran and Divisoria more than I do, and lately you have been showing signs of knowing more about Quiapo than I do, of course I won’t let that happen, pride thing, I’m sure you understand. (-:

I love how you can get obsessive about the littlest of things, and I love your surprises, your complaints, the way you sometimes get annoying, yes I do, I love that, too. I just want you to know, I don’t think you can ever do anything that will make me completely hate you.

Enjoy the month of May, Miss Attorney. And take care of that knee, okay?

I’m quite sure this year is going to be good for us, too. Thank you for expertly dealing with my craziness. I am so glad to be spending this part of my life with you.

*from Out of my League by Stephen Speaks

And yes, this is about Las Vegas again.

The LV journal, which is purple, is here in Baguio but the would-be scrapbook materials are in Mandaluyong. The point is, I still haven’t come to terms about what that trip turned out to be. Basically when I landed in Manila on an August morning I decided (unconsciously?) that that part of my life, the five-month LV part, was over.

I was sure, up until that February night when I flew to San Francisco, that I was going on that trip to soul search, to try to really put a finger on what I want to do with my life, to get away from it all. But what happened during the trip is beyond me. It’s sad and disturbing how most of what I remember are the bad experiences, the moments when I was wishing I was home. Didn’t I want this so bad, why am I whining now, I would ask myself.

There were beautiful moments, too, certainly.

If I go into detail I might discover that there are more good moments than bad ones. And then I wouldn’t have a reason to be vague about those five months, and I don’t know why but that possible truth scares me.

Things is, I have this suspicion that the reason I am clogged (in all senses) in my present life is because the LV trip kind of scarred me, made an irreparable dent, did something, something I was not aware of—which makes it more toxic, nasty, strong.

I would like to go back, yes; to see if I can handle the experience better. I’ll bring a digital camera this time (the SLR served its purposes, but, let’s just say I learned a very valuable lesson the hard way), and maybe save harder for a cross-country trip. But most of all I just want to spend time with my father again. Eat bagels slathered with cream cheese with him, go to an iHop at 2 in the morning, demolish pints of ice cream in freezing weather, with him. And why not, maybe even accompany him to an almost all-nighter at the casino again, all in the spirit of having fun, but I would be more firm this time, more involved in his life and decisions, more comfortable with the situation that I Am With My Father.

I would like to lay out the day by day accounts of my February to August 2006 so that I can pick at the particulars; determine what, how, when, who; and finally decide that this LV trip may have been the best thing that ever happened to me.

At the jeepney stop this morning there were two middle-aged women counting a bulk of P1,000 bills. The stash was at least book-thick. And that got me thinking, coveting even, how come I haven’t held that much money in my hands? How come I am contented with my job, my life, my so-called accomplishments?

And the answer would be: I don’t know.

Sometimes it really is a bad idea to ask yourself this kind of questions.