two to tango

they two are so different. but when i think of one, i inevitably, invariably think of the other also. they both left, by the way. one because he cares, the other other because he doesn't.

i don't tango anyway. i don't dance.

feathery thoughts

helping out in the wedding preparations is one of the maid-of-honor's sworn duties. the others, i imagine, include arriving on time and making sure the bridal train looks photogenic all throughout the ceremony.

the "helping out" part was how i found myself cross-legged on the floor of a surplus store in downtown Davao, wading through the shining, shimmering, splendid blues and greens of about a million peacock feathers.

i needed 130 of the almost-surreal plumes that Joan wants to decorate the wedding invites with.

choosing the tenth feather, i just had to ask the saleslady how long i had before the shop closed. two hours. decent.


i considered the two tall baskets in front of me and realized that peacock feathers, like most things beautiful, are fragile. each of the feathers had to be examined for damages.

the shaft is a cross between plastic and very flimsy bamboo, and is very breakable, the feathers velvety and iridescent, and the "eye" at the tip a most amazing metallic blue.

call me silly, but i remember the prettiest feathers i picked: choice # 64, 67, and 94.

it was really rather sad that i couldn't think too much as i handpicked all 130 plumes. besides evaluating each of them, i also had to keep a mental count (which i kept losing anyway). the thoughts i would have had. i managed a few though:

...cool of joan to think of peacock feathers to fasten the invites with. talk about flair.

...of course, if any birds at all were harmed in the gathering of these dreamy feathers. (i read somewhere that peacocks shed them, so no.)

...if anyone's ever thought of a peacock-inspired wedding. most probably.

i think i'd want one. peacock feathers not only on the invites but on the dresses too. peacock feathers for corsages and bouquets. peacock feathers instead of tulips or long-stemmed roses. and feather girls instead of flower ones.

dreamy.

but nah. i think i'll just buy two hundred peacock feathers and skip the entire wedding idea, then buy books and fruit tarts with the money i'd save.

learning from my own journal

so i was browsing through my journal this afternoon, and i found this entry dated june18, 2009. reading it, i find myself relearning the lessons of that day.

there is so much to write about: love and friendship and laughter and tears and people and skies and stars and children and jeepney rides and rain and endless possibilities. there is so much to dream of. so much to see, so much to give.

i think, "where does happiness go when it is not with me?"

when we went to visit pompoy last week, uncle Ben quoted Job. God had said to Job what i think i am hearing Him say to me today. until i can follow the wind and know where it goes each time it blows, until i can trace the movement of each wave, the ebb and flow of each tide, until i have numbered the birds and the fish, until i have known the desire of each human heart, i am no [true] judge of what is fair and what is not. it'll be alright. i'll be alright.

Like Stars

To the stranger who was my friend and is most my friend in this never-ending end, thank you. Let's think of ourselves as stars, shall we?

pimply puff

maid of honor!

so my friends are finally getting married after being together for ten years. and they've picked me to be maid of honor. and i am just so honored, seriously.

i was first told by the groom yesterday, and all i could say was "what?! wow! why?"

you see, the bride and i aren't what you'd call best friends exactly. which is not to say that we aren't good friends, because we are. we've shared millions of conversations, some of them laced with tears and most streaked with downright laughter.

still, i could think of at least five other people who are better qualified.

i've been told that the wedding has been planned to be really exclusive. and i even doubted my chances of getting an invitation. and now, maid of honor! wow! why?

come to think of it, i don't remember ever being with either groom or bride outside the workplace, with the exception of the regular workpeople eat-outs. so yes, wow! why?

the other workpeople have started to tease me about wearing make-up and a gown. i am so clumsy with make-up and gowns (actually, i hate make-up; gowns i could probably live with). and the groom has already thought of a way to make the torture of it a little more lasting: photos, lots and lots of photos.

gladys in a gown, and looking all girly. that really would make an interesting addition to the rather long list of things the workpeople tease me for (just when i thought they couldn't possibly come up with more).

just thinking of it all makes me feel downright abashed. but know what i really think? what i really really think? i think i don't care too much. so what if i have to wear an uber-girly dress (that's most probably glossy)? so what if i have to endure a solo march (solo march?! please let it not be the slow type, please!) down a church aisle (a not particularly long aisle, i hope)? so what if there'd be photos (lots and lots of photos) to document it all and serve as evidence for years (and years) after?

i don't care. i think the honor of having been chosen is all worth it.

thank you very much, joan and orvil! for even considering me. i'll be there, in the glossy dress with heels (waaah! heels!) to match.

august 6, 2009

My Little Copycat*

My lola's birthday was yesterday, but we only got to visit her today. She was, of course, glad to see my mother, my sister (especially my sister), and myself. And we were really glad to see that she was well.

But what I found really interesting about this little trip of ours (besides the different route we took to get there and back home) was Shaira, my cousin's two-year-old daughter.

She's a sweet little thing with a chubby face, large eyes that are black as coal, plump limbs, and energy so boundless we can only complain about it. When she's up, she leaves you hoping she'll get tired real soon. But you're still bound to get tired just watching her before she tires herself.

And she adores me. That's my favorite part. :)

I was not allowed to sit anywhere else in the house but on the floor with her. I was introduced to her puppet Wabbit, her latest, and therefore her best-loved, stuffed animal (a gift from her bully-of-a-cousin Aiken who I also love.. and bully :D ). And major sign that I was loved: she turns up her chubby cheeks to me, bats her eyelashes, hands me her plastic cup, and says "tubig please." Yep, only her favorite people get to be asked. And I made a total of five trips to the kitchen in 10 minutes, getting a sweet "tik yu" each time. (Don't ask me where she put all that water, I don't know either.)

She follows me everywhere and does everything I do, to the delight of relatives all around. She handed me one of lolo's straw hats, put another one on her own head, and we strutted around in them for a while. I sit, she sits. I cross my legs, she tries to cross her short stubby ones (not that mine are long. well, they're definitely longer than hers). When she noticed that I had slippers on, she took mama's slippers. when those proved to be too big, she took lolo's, then finally lola's. i touch my nose, she touches hers. i rub my tummy, she rubs hers. i pretend to sleep, well she won't fall for that one.

In the middle of it all, my cellphone rings, and of course, little copycat had to have her phone too. so she snatches my sister's. everyone was laughing and i didn't even notice. she had the phone to her ear and was repeating after me, saying only the last word of each statement. the relatives' favorite was "char!"

I was on the phone for almost five minutes and she followed my every gesture. touched her face, lifted her legs on to the chair, flicked her hair, rested a hand on her knee. i only noticed what she was doing when i started fumbling with the belt loop of my shorts and she couldn't find one on her pajamas.

i love my little niece.

When she wasn’t copying me, she was all over me like I was some climbing tree, whether I’m standing, seated, or flat on my back. And my small bony self was expected to support every move of her plump, heavy body.

The only time she ever sat still was when my mother drilled her on the names of different body parts (where’s your nose? And etc) and the sounds made by farm animals (unsay tingug sa baka? And etc). She answered all of them correctly, mind you.

And then it was time for us to go. But first, I had to walk her back to their house which was a short distance from my grandparents’. Along the way, she told me, in garbled and disjointed words, of the cobra she saw under the footbridge – a story I understood only because her grandmother had told us about it earlier.

Once we were inside the house, she closed the door – meaning I had to STAY inside. She was all over me as soon as I sat down. And even when her eyes were drooping, she wouldn’t stay in her hammock. She sat on my lap and planted wet kisses all over my face. She hugged me and said “adabyu ta lai (when she was younger, her mother referred to me as “tita ganda.” She apparently does not remember).”

That’s how it was decided that I wouldn’t leave until she fell asleep, which was around thirty minutes, introduction to 10 stuffed animals, and two milk bottles later.

(*this is a repost from an entry dated august 3,2009)