Occam’s Razor

August 29, 2007


Filed under: drivel, friends, movies, music, travel — lesturla @ 11:12 am

I miss Manila. Not that I am terribly lonely or bored, in fact I’m neither one of those. It’s just that sometimes it kicks you in the balls so hard that you can’t ignore it anymore — I miss home. Darn it!

Now, before you go all “deep” on me about “home” being where the heart is (which is nothing but a poetic excuse for the nomadic) and get into a purely semantics debate let me make it clear: I miss my country. Home. Physical place. No heart talk here. This is not one of those days. Aren’t you glad?

Even for those who are together with family but are living abroad, it comes — the kick in the balls I mean. Although we try to avoid it as much as we could, TJ and I were discussing some of the things that we miss about home. Lookie:

  1. Powerbooks, A Different Bookstore, Fully Booked — we want books lots of them. Send us books!
  2. Driving along C-5 on Saturday mornings bereft of traffic
  3. Driving along C-5 on Friday nights with ALL the traffic
  4. Sunday afternoons in UP Diliman — those trees are phenomenal!
  5. Rare times when Megamall is not swarmed with people
  6. Walking around and deciding on which restaurant to eat at in Greenbelt 3 and 2…
  7. … And bumping into friends while making that decision
  8. Sunday lunches at the Shang (both Mactan and Makati)
  9. TJ’s shopping haunts
  10. Eluding wiseass traffic enforcers (lalo na pag coding and we just vroom pag hinuhuli na! Whatta trip!)
  11. Inuman with the gang (Kroc, and that tiny place near Makati Med, NSG, Big Sky at QC — actually kahit saan basta may…)
  12. San Mig Light! — dayum I almost forgot how this beer tasted
  13. The Fort — nights of making the rounds (dinners at Le Souffle, beers at Pier 1, then Embassy or Cuisine for more beers)
  14. Krispy Kreme
  15. SM Home Appliance Center — oo trying to imagine how our home would look like when we’re all trippy
  16. Eastwood on Sunday afternoons — swarmed with kids and fellow ‘rents, so we basically find out who recently got knocked up and is with a child
  17. Cuisine — feeling VIP kasi parati free
  18. Redbox — it’s still the only karaoke joint that has Pearl Jam’s Black in their playlist. When I visit next sana they have DMBs Grace is Gone
  19. Embassy (funny story about elections at “The Embassy” — feeling VIP rin kasi parati free)
  20. Flyovers — I don’t why pero nakaka miss lalo na the one from EDSA going to LSGH
  21. Chats with pet-owners in Eastwood
  22. Carousels for Cullen lalo na the one at Shang Ortigas
  23. Ortigas Center at 5 am weekday or early Saturday afternoon
  24. Highstreet/ Serendra before we left it was kinda the new place eh I wonder if it picked up from the initial curiosity
  25. Philippe the French stylist from F Salon — still the only stylist that doesn’t make me feel I am being played with and I always walk out happy after some sniping

I could go on and on but there’s really no place like Manila.


August 27, 2007

The Answer

Filed under: drivel, music, play, senseless drivel — lesturla @ 1:51 pm

How deep do you want to sink yourself into it?

This was a question I asked myself one post torrential Sunday afternoon here in Hanoi. This city provides for many venues of melancholy and my apartment’s vast high rise view is no exception. So on a lazy Sunday afternoon which led Cullen on his usual Tom and Jerry frenzy and Thea on her Sweet Spy marathon, I pulled myself out of my thick blanket confused at why I keep the room’s temperature at 18 degrees only to cover myself up with layers of blanket. I haven’t had much physical activity either since the past week had been horrendously tiresome that the bed served as an irresistible invite. But instead of mobilizing myself I light a cigarette to celebrate the 3 pounds I have just gained from this sedentary weekend.

It was then that I drifted into a self effacing albeit short-lived existential drivel. This is not uncommon at all for my Sunday afternoons. I lamely asked myself, “All this, what does all this mean?” (Trust me, Viktor Frankl drove me nuts too.) Confused at my own question I took a second look of my view.

I played jigsaw puzzle in my mind with the small puddle of rain at my veranda’s tiles. Inordinately tucked in huge flower pots are my half-smoked cigarettes – I procrastinate even in finishing cigarettes. Through the glass windows I can see Thea secretly giggling over some Korean dude she watches at the computer in my home office. Farther in front of me is a city raring to aggressively claim its position in the Asian Business scene. Down the streets are motorbikes. As I further struggle for an answer I closed my eyes. The honking of motorbike horns sped through my ears and raced through my brain with irreverent steps.

I hear Sigur Ros’ Ágætis byrjun playing somewhere and suddenly I am transported to my old condo in Makati almost three years ago staring outside the veranda asking the same question: “All this, what does all this mean?” I remember not having the answer then. And now as I opened my eyes in an incredible fit of predictability and scoping from yet another veranda in another country, I still don’t have an answer. Instead I have conveniently resolved to yet another question: How deep do you want to sink yourself into it?

So I asked Thea, “Do we still have Oreos?”

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