Filament, filament, filament...and we sighed. How he is able to capture human condition with imagery and grace is something we enjoy and strive for. We spent the rest of the afternoon lying on the grass and reading 19th century poetry - which still speaks to our contemporary experience. There was wind, fluffy clouds overhead, trees protecting us from the sun, and a view of the lake. How romantical, in the words of Anne Shirley Cuthbert. … Continue reading Spontaneous roadtrip to Lucban Quezon for pancit and poetry
It's past midnight, my most potent time of the day. Every one in the house is asleep including the dog. I have Van Morrison singing in the background. The man's music is cool and soothing, like camphor. He keeps me company as I read the introduction of The Art Of Personal Essay, a two-inch, two-pound … Continue reading Post Winter Olympic thoughts, or why I’m envious of Virtue and Moir
This last week has been the hardest. Never have I experienced more physical pain or emotional strain. I've been in the hospital for nine days now. I have a huge incision that runs across my mid-section. Right now it has infection. They've already removed the tumor in my pancreas and, surprise, surprise, the cyst in … Continue reading Tubes and Hospital Bed
Diagnosis is now official: pancreatic tumor and ovarian cyst. Doctors wouldn't know if the tumor is malignant or benign until they get a sample. I flew back to Manila last October sixth. Medical practice in Dubai is not as advance as it is here. I don’t want to be their guinea pig. Plus my parents are … Continue reading I need surgery, they will cut open my belly
I’m a killer. Figured, it was only a tiny mouse, not yet full grown. But it invaded the cupboard where we keep our plates. The ones we use everyday. It started when I saw a shadow moved in my periphery. I was typing on my laptop in the dining table. I snapped my head up … Continue reading I committed murder in the middle of the night
Doctors are masters of half-truths. They don’t tell you the whole thing. Their sentences are always careful and calculated. The silence is awkward and deafening when they’re reading your radiology report. I try to judge their honesty and trustworthiness based on their word usage, tone of speech, and the way they treat their nurses. I am most worried for the things they don’t say.
Some men feel their masculinity can only be proven if they play out in their own life all the locker-room stories, smugly confident that what a wife doesn't know won't hurt her. The truth is, somehow, way down inside, without her ever finding lipstick on the collar or catching a man in the flimsy excuse of where he was till three A.M., a wife does know, and with that knowing, some of the magic of this relationship disappears.
The other radiologist came in and they started talking in Urdu. I heard pancreas and CT. Is there something wrong, I asked. Don’t worry darling, we’re checking. She called me darling. That’s when I knew something’s wrong.
I miss you. Or as the French say it, you are missing from me. You have been the most constant person in my life, I don't remember a part of it where you are not present. You're always there, sharing the clothes, bedroom, mattress. The person I can have spontaneous conversations with anytime, anywhere. The … Continue reading a letter to my person
My pink and white suitcase sits quietly in a corner under the stairs, a looming reminder of the things to come. I'm leaving next week. If all go as planned, I'll probably build a life there, not permanently, but it all depends on His Majesty. What's for sure is I'll be away for months. I … Continue reading Why I Left My Comfort Zone For The Desert