Perfection

If the creator of all things is the one and only perfection in this world, then we, His creatures and subsequently, all our creations, can never be truly perfect.

But we do achieve or experience perfection to some degree. But it never stays long; it is always fleeting, which makes it all the more precious. In life, perfection only comes in moments.

I remember reading The Trouble with Thirteen when I was in high school, and the main character Annie was talking about a perfect moment. She was on their porch steps with her best friend and her dog, and they were quietly gazing at the street. At that moment, she knew that she wouldn’t have life any other way. All was perfect. Her dog was snoozing at her feet, she and her best friend were happy in their silent companionship, and the sun was quietly sinking in the horizon. But she was aware that everything could be ruined with just the tiniest gesture. Her friend might suddenly say something or her dog might suddenly wake up and the moment would fade away.

And it did. Her dog yawned and stretched its legs. Her best friend scratched her knee, got up, and said, “It’s getting late, I better go home.” And the main character is left alone, sitting on the steps with only a memory of that perfection.

One of my recent perfect moments happened a few weeks ago in Spanky’s pad. After badminton, Dex, Spanky, his nephew G and I went to the mall. Spanky and Dex bought speakers to achieve that home theater sound in their pad. Talissa was texting me that she wanted to have dinner with me. Originally, I planned to eat with Talissa while the three guys had their own dinner. But plans changed and we all ended up in the pad, with the newly installed speakers boasting of their potential.

Spanky and I prepared dinner while G played a wrestling game on playstation, while Dex tinkered with the speakers, and while Talissa made small talk. Somewhere between pan-grilling the chicken breast, boiling the potatoes, sautéing the sukiyaki-cut beef in onions, and putting the carinderia-bought rice and sinigang na bangus in bowls, I felt perfection creeping in. I quietly acknowledged its presence in my surroundings. I didn’t voice it out lest I scared it away.

By the time we set down the food, plates, and utensils on the small, dining table, I could feel my hairs standing on end. I felt sure that the universe would conspire to make this a perfect moment. Spanky asked G to put away his game and we switched to cable TV instead. I asked Dex if we could put on John Mayer’s live DVD instead, and he said he was thinking of the same thing.

We had dinner, peppered with quiet conversation, while John Mayer crooned in perfection from the shiny, new woofers. My senses were on a high. The sukiyaki was tender; the chicken, topped with cream cheese was heavenly; the sinigang provided the perfect, sour sabaw. When John finished his set, we put on Kenny Loggins. He sang Conviction of the Heart and reunited with Michael McDonald for a soulful rendition of What a Fool Believes. I felt like I was ready to burst. Everyone felt like family thought I wasn’t related to any one of them. Everything felt warm and cozy and perfect. I wouldn’t have life any other way.

But like all things, it ended. The food was eaten. The bowls and plates had to be put away and washed. The table was wiped clean. Talissa and I had to go home. Still, I didn’t say, “Wasn’t this a perfect dinner?” To say that was to acknowledge that the moment has passed. I could still feel the perfection in shimmering remnants; it was too early to let it go. It’s only now that I feel ready to share it with others.

Perfect moments are fragile and divine gifts. You’ll never know when they will come and you will never be prepared for them. But be prepared to remember them. Write them down, illustrate them or sing about them. For if you don’t remember them, then you’ll never experience perfection at all.

Fumbling with Shadows

Why do some of us get more adventurous when we age? Or maybe we were already adventurous when we were children; we just didn't ponder about it. That high, thin ledge of our childhood looked like a bridge above an imaginary sea with imaginary ferocious sharks. We crossed it gingerly but bravely while our mothers scolded us to get down because it was "Delikado!" We took no heed to the warnings and sans adult sensibility, off we went and learned how to ride a bike (I actually didn't learn this), swim, or climb that perilous mango tree.

And as we grew older, we realize that we're not invincible. Being adventurous had its painful price of cuts and bruises, sprains and swells. We decided to take things easy, to avoid injury by avoiding the unfamiliar.

I am one of those safe people. And after years of trying to avoid pain, I've decided to take charge of my life. Inspired by J's yearly practice, I got my own small notebook and jotted down all my dreams of my lifetime. Every so often, I get it out of my drawer and cancel those dreams I've fulfilled and write about the experience. It can be as simple as get a pedicure (which I've already done for the first time last year) or as complicated as wear a bikini. Strangely enough, I don't fulfill those dreams consciously. I found that just having an open attitude to new, seemingly scary experiences helped me achieve more items on my notebook effortlessly. And then I have room for more. Sometimes, I'm not even aware I've fulfilled a certain dream until I check the list. I've been so caught up living the experience that the fact that it's a fulfilled goal becomes just a bonus.

Dreams fulfilled:

• joined Kuting
• have started my own business (with Spanky)
• am mastering a sport (badminton)
• traveled around Ilocos
• heard Joey Ayala and Cynthia Alexander sing live
• gone to Batanes (sa uulitin!)
• joined a writing contest
• gone to a spa
• seen the dolphins (in Tanon strait)
• visited China

And last Tuesday night, I performed a shadow play (Magnificent Benito and his Two Front Teeth by Augie and Mike Rivera, and illustrated by Jason Moss) with Nonski (of Anino) and Liwa (who made the cut-outs) in Conspiracy. I didn't know what to do and I was fumbling most of the time, but it was a great experience. It was a dream fulfilled and I didn't even know it. :)

a scene from the Magnificent Benito shadow play (photo by Astrid)

Old School Pogi (ayon kay Spanky)

This no-job life...

is absolutely unpredictable. It's a rainy Sunday afternoon (again) and I welcome the break as much as the raindrops. Even if I have no job, my days are filled with little things. I love the variety. I love waking up in the morning and not know what will happen.

Marvels of the Universe lie ahead!

(mentioned in this quiet but lovely Hallmark movie)

Badminton fills my afternoons around twice or thrice a week. I still don't know how to do a smash on purpose, and I still have to master the backhand. Still, I enjoy the game even if my playmates have overtaken me on the skills. I just really want to be focused on something simple--like hitting the shuttlecock over the net--instead of worrying about things I have no control of. Plus, I enjoy the exercise. I've always wanted to be a jock. Jocks are so cool and so in control. Mental note: Buy proper badminton shoes. The fake Adidas pair I bought in Greenhills doesn't have proper cushioning for my poor soles. As a result, I have a huge, peeling, yucky corn beneath each of my big toe. :( Still, it's an excuse for a foot spa! Which I have yet to try. :)

Last Thursday, I went with Spanky to Makati to check on his beloved Old School (see above.)This 1982 classic is spending its days in a repair shop to get ready for this month's drag racing. When we got there, the mechanic told Spanky to give it a try. Itakbo mo! he urged. And Spanky did just that. He whizzed past the road in a flash with Old School's engine purring, no, ROARING in full throttle. I only saw him in a split-sec, as he passed by the shop a second time. But I could feel his adrenaline pumping. Old School was left behind for more primping as we took off for lunch...

Which was supposed to be in Fat Michael's-- a resto Spanky read about in some magazine. It's a hole-in-the-wall eatery with a menu (fusion cuisine) as interesting as its interiors. Needless to say, we had a difficult time finding it. After getting off a cab with an equally clueless (but nice) driver, we stopped by an internet cafe to surf its exact addy. We roamed the backroads of Barangay Bangkal (which didn't have the usual Makati corporate ambience) and I was getting irritably hungry. It was, after all, 2 pm. After passing by countless talyers and getting helpful and not-so-helpful tips from strangers, we finally found the place.

It was in a residential area where I wouldn't want to be caught walking at night. Still, a promising small garden greeted us outside. When we came in, I was reminded of past cozy restos we visited-- Bellini's, Truben Jaeger (Cubao), and Vieux Chalet (Antipolo). A man, who was reading a book, looked up at us and asked, "For two?" We chose a big table with a comfy-looking couch. From their blackboard menu, we ordered a Rosemary Chicken Salad (balsamic vinegar, yum!), Seafood Pizza with kesong puti (I'll order this again when we go back to this place--IF we find it again.) and for dessert, Pancake ala mode.

Getting lost for it was worth it.

Yesterday, we had lunch at Italliani's in Greenbelt for the Meister's despedida. It was also Siomai's 18th birthday. It was nice to see the kids again, but I couldn't help feeling nostalgic seeing them all so grown up. Almost all of them drive their own cars now. The waiters/waitresses gathered around us to belt out the birthday tune for Siomai. And one of them piped up, "5 and Up!" And then it hit me, the show's viewers are old enough to be waiters/waitresses.

After that, Mawj, Jang, and I hitched a ride with Justonix (who now drives too!) and she dropped us off at Timog. Mawj went to work but Jang and I had something else in mind.

We went to a salon and I had a hair spa (on my virgin hair!) and Jang had something like an extenso to make her hair shiny. After the spa, the stylist came up to me and said, "Di ko type hair mo. I-sa-style ko ng iba." Who am I to argue with such expertise? So "Ruffa" snipped my hair into more stylish layers, blow-dried it and combed it out. And I love it. But I think I loved the experience more. :)

Rainy Sunday Afternoon

pittER pattER

drip and s p l a t

sudden WHOOSH then

trip tap trapped.

Early Riser

I woke up prematurely to the sound of incessant crunching a few feet from my window. It turned out that the carpenters of our soon-to-be neighbors decided to shovel gravel from their truck so early in the morning, at 6:15. But it wasn’t that a big deal for me; I usually wake up at around that time anyway. Actually, 6:15 is a little late for me.

I always wake up at 5:30 to 6 am no matter how late I have slept the night before. Don’t ask me why. I guess the genes are partly to blame. My mom, the forever insomniac, wakes up at around 3 am and just stares at the ceiling for 2 to 3 hours before going down to prepare breakfast. If she ever completes the required 8-hour sleep, it would be a miracle—as amazing as turning water into wine. On the other hand, my dad always hits the 8-hour mark (even exceeding it) but he’s already skipping rope and working out at the gym as early as 4 am. Do the math and find out how early he’s slept the previous night.

The other culprit for my early wakefulness is my childhood school bus. At just 6 years old, I was forced to wake up at 5:30 am to take a shower, dress up, and eat breakfast before the bus picked me up at 6 am. Talk about child stress. This went on for a decade, until I graduated from high school.

Now a full-grown adult, I still struggle with my biological clock. For 5 years, I worked in TV production and would have no sleep at all. Since I’d always wake up early even if I slept in the wee hours of the morning, I’d twiddle my thumbs and walk around like a zombie, until late afternoon, when I’d fall asleep. So even if I wake up at 5 am the following day, I would feel refreshed because I retired at 5 pm the afternoon before.

I apply the same principle after gimmicks. I just pray that my zombie self won’t encounter an intellectually or physically tasking errand the day after. When that happens, I am doubly tired.

Early to bed, early to rise— miss out on the nightlife is a line from a song I heard years ago. Sometimes, I’d rather skip a late night-out and snuggle in my bed at 8 or 9 pm. But I wake up the following morning to bright sunshine, chirping birds and the crisp, fresh air. I go to the mall, just as it opens, and do my shopping without the madding crowd. I drive home without contending with traffic, which has only begun to build up on the incoming lane. Once at home, I take a quick nap with the smug satisfaction that I’ve finished my errands, with still much of the day left.

Too bad the late risers miss out on that.