Leaves Over Water

I never thought I’d actually do it. It had played in my mind plenty of times, but I didn’t think I’d get right down to it. Now I’m surprise at how much I like doing it after all.

I’ve been skipping rice for about a month now – not just reducing my intake or avoiding it only during dinner, but totally eliminating it from my meals. The final straw was when our kumare Eyna stressed that you could eat anything and still reduce your weight simply by avoiding rice, which, according to her, is the main culprit that really piles on the poundage. I’ve heard all the diet solutions there are and I guess the thought of dieting had been ingrained deeply in my mind for some time and her advice came at just the right moment because I really soaked it in good. There may or may not be some fancy science to back it up. The only thing I know is that I always felt heavy after every rice meal I took – so much so that I really had to sleep in the office after eating lunch or else I wouldn’t be able to think straight.

Besides, the timing was right. I stopped playing badminton around mid-October, loaded myself up with lots of food during the holidays, and by January was worried that my knees might give way or that I might be too sluggish in court if I start playing again because of my excessive weight. So there was the perfect solution – the only carbohydrate I need to cut is rice; anything else, such as pasta and pancit canton, is ok (of course, in moderation).

I think it worked. My stomach is not as bloated as it was after meals, and I don’t feel lethargic after eating. Plus it feels good to be taking in salads or wheat bread along with my baon, after years of gorging on rice. It’s a break from the routine, an out of the box experience for someone like me who has painfully limited food preferences. When I first started, I told myself I’d do this only for a month. But now the thought of going back to eating rice seems unpalatable already. When my boss Lorenz treated me to lunch about a week ago, I only managed to eat half a cup of rice for politeness’ sake.

Playing badminton is still my main motivation for doing this diet thing — however imperfect it may be, and even if my officemates tease me about it. I know my body best. My three hard sessions of training seem to have paid off, I’m lighter on my feet, my footwork is great, and my cardio is back to enduring the rigors of the game. I’ll take whatever unpolished road to health presents itself, all in good time.

* * *

Surprisingly, most surprisingly, the year 2007 still blessed me in the end. There were months of trials, frustrations and disappointments. But there were also deep places in the heart or in the soul that truly vibrate with the promise of hope and eventual miracle.

A profound principle, yes, but alas, it was affirmed by something that’s quite mundane …

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An 80’s song that must still resonate to those who have some pretty bad hang-ups about the past. We are all connected, however imperfectly, however lamentably. And, yes, the trick to end the cycle of grief lies always in forgiveness…

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After the long (and largely self-sustained) draught, words are crystallizing in the air around my head again, impinging like light rain in my brain. I can hardly wait to get to where I know this process is taking me – back to the willed silence and solitude of the study room, with the clean desk before me, fresh sheaves of paper, and the thrill of exploring more words and worlds.

I’m also in a reading frenzy again, thank goodness. It has taken a while for the mind to latch on tightly to the pages, but last weekend was the first in such a long long time that I’ve really been engrossed with what I was reading…            

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In the shuttle going to Makati to work this morning, I was reading a poetry collection by Marne Kilates, incidentally called “Poems En Route.” I bought it six years ago, and apparently still have to plumb through its depths and intricacies because I just recently encountered at least two poems there that are really to be treasured – and the book holds more than 60 poems dating from the mid-80s till the mid-90s.

I’ve made it a point to bring it with me every day to fill up my commuting time. Thanks to the soaring gas prices and the recent increase in highway toll, I’m forced to go back home to leave the car after bringing Pam to her Alabang office. It’s quite a roundtrip effort, I know, but it’s much more preferable than…..

  (www.freewebs.com/alex0825/myjournal.htm)

“I’m older than you, I’m 31.”

“Look at Jerry, I think he’s also old, maybe he’s around 37.”

“When you look at him he really looks old, right?”

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t say he’s older than he looks. When you ask how old he is and he says he’s just 33 or 34, you should say, ‘Really? So you’re still young eh? I didn’t know you’re still young.’ You should stop there and don’t say he looks old.”

This conversation took place last Friday night in a badminton court….                                                                                                       

(www.freewebs.com/alex0825/myjournal.htm)

Babylove.

I wish I could commit these times to memory and retrieve them as crisp and light as they currently are five to ten years from now.

But the pain lies in its impossibility. I recall the surprise I felt when I looked at pictures of Cae when she was in her earlier years of grade school. And that was just three to five years ago. Even more surprising was how she looked as a newborn, so babyish, so tender, much like my Caehl today.

And back then, I remember telling myself ……. 

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Quit yakking and start writing. LOL. 

(www.freewebs.com/alex0825/myjournal.htm)

After two and a half years of being an unabashedly self-confessed “baddict,” the guilt-pangs that I’ve been feeling at the thought of having practically deserted my artistic pursuits in favor of the physical kind is finally catching up with me. I’ve given to it a high level of dedication once reserved for my non-physical activity involving the pen and paper; but lately I’m beginning to wonder if it will just turn out to be a futile diversion, something really best reserved for younger and more agile bodies, and that the greatest casualty will only be my writing.

So when I learned that one of my most respected and even venerated writers has partly traded his time with the pen …

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In the library of my mind, books are laid end to end, from floor to ceiling, and every vital passage is marked and traceable in a heart’s whim.

In the library of my mind, it is perpetually afternoon, the time of siestas and lazy poring over pages and pages. While the world is indulgently indolent, my thoughts would be racing and I’d be flying, for hours and hours without even getting up.

The library of my mind would be located ….

(www.freewebs.com/alex0825/myjournal.htm)