Road Scenes

On the way home from work...

 

I like mirrors. I like this one scene that rearview mirror caught. Bus driver, and the getting-to-know-you couple in the back.

"It's a long long road, with many a winding turn..." 

I just hope this man makes it home in time for dinner. :-)

"Siesta"

A few minutes from where I work, they're building a wall that'll keep the rocks from falling down onto the highway below. As that part of the highway is cliffside, the congresswoman is making it part of her platform.

Would you strike up a conversation on the bus with a random stranger? 

The locals call this the "pedicab", the usual form of transportation from one town to the next (short distances), if you're carless.

 

Boy selling pig feed. 

Elsa. Owner of the little carinderia/sari-sari store/ Gossip center nearest the hospital.

"Convenience store". In those parts, stores are few and far in between. This just happens to be the closest. Pretty versatile too. They even sell hot water in the mornings.

"My Sister's Keeper." At first glance, I thought she was leading her daughter behind her. It turned out to be her older sister.  

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Last night while I was on-duty at the hospital, I found this e-book in my files about Street Photography, by Chris Weeks.  A short book, it was all of 160 pages of tips and mostly thoughts of the man. He was into capturing the moment, and being unabashedly passionately profane about it. Still, it was an entertaining, informative read.

Now I'll probably never own a Leica Rangefinder, but I'll always love telling stories. So here are some. He was right though, you can't make a photo "stick" with digital photography in the same way that it would on the Leica, but we can try, right? 

Our lives offer rich material. And, as recent memory holds true: 

 If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it; blame yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches; for the Creator, there is no poverty. 

Rainer Maria Rilke 

(I took these with my trusty Canon SX 100 IS on the way home, just 'cause.)

Let it Be.

Tonight I ended a love affair.

A love affair that I had carefully cultivated, put my heart and soul into, and slept with repeatedly; a silent witness to my joys and tears (very minimal, of course) over the last few months. As with all good things, this too had reached its inevitable end. 

The journal I bought back in July, as an August birthday present to myself is now filled up to its last three pages. I took my time in filling them up, I wanted to go slow and to savor the moment. This hard-bound notebook, which I bought from Powerbooks has been one of the best journals I've ever owned. It is pretty, and girly no doubt, with its design of tiny multi-colored flowers lined with gold on a background of light cream, and an inner lining of fuchsia, my favorite color. It comes with an inner pocket, and closes with an elastic pagemarker. 

Turning it over in my hands, I noticed that it's become heavier than when I bought it. 

    From the ink? 

    Maybe, I use a fountain pen to write in it most of the time.

    From the contents of the pocket? 

    Probably. I stuff all sorts of things in it; a 500 peso bill from my Lola who secretly pressed it in my hand before I left for Manila, "For snacks,"she said, a napkin from Chef d' Angelo, a receipt for a chicken meal at Kenny's, a tag from a dress I bought at Karimadon, a receipt for the two application forms for PGH, snapshots of a lap procedure of that Pheochromocytoma patient that I had diagnosed some months ago, and a flyer for Cowboy Grill which a lady handed to me at the mall entrance (which I'll take my cousins to when they come to manila in december) and other odds and ends, as well. <-;-- Don't ask me why I keep these, though. :-)

    From me?    


 Because it's mine, it understandably becomes a temporary extension of myself for the past few months. It contains my thoughts, memories I want to keep, my secrets, entries of pet peeves, likes and dislikes, or commentaries on this and that. A journal just happens to be a perfect purgative. It brings out the best and worst in you, as it offers you safety, and secure safe-keeping.

    My journal smells like a man. A handsome, desirable man, strong and sexy, capable of leaping tall buildings in a single bound...but still "snuggly-wuggly". :-p

    I have this thing for scents. One time I got curious about what a particular scent smelled like, so I asked this guy at the perfume counter to help me. Actually, he seemed taciturn at first, but the story I made up about getting so and so perfume for my [imaginary] boyfriend had him opening up bottles and spritzing me samples (a paper tab of which I kept between the pages, thus the smell), which was very nice of him. I told him I'd think about it, though. He said they offered a discount during the holidays (but this was like months ago.) And no, I'm not being a creepy stalker, I'm just being a curious girl with a crush. lol.

    My family in the house, is pretty much used to the idea of me buying notebooks for writing in, that after the initial comment of my mother, "Hmm...that looks expensive.", I'm basically left alone to indulge in my vice of writing. My favorite spot to write is on the dinner table, where the chair and the table are just of the right height. They don't read my journals (I've got lots of them already in open view in my book-case at home), and I think they would find the deed too tedious.

    (Even I myself don't read my journals on a regular basis. It's mostly only out of curiosity, or nostalgia. And funnily enough, reading what I had written in the past makes me either cringe or chuckle in embarrassment. What seemed like such a heavy emotional burden at the time it was written, in retrospect only seems like a funny anecdote, and you wonder why you ever felt and did such a silly thing.

    i.e. " Even if I won't admit it out loud to anyone, I'm a pathologic believer in fairy tales and all things magical. " (Right. :-p)

    Of course, the stories aren't always pretty. They could be all sorts of things...things you need to keep to yourself because not everyone will understand, or they could be willful, spirited debates inside you that need to be sorted out, and all that.

    Reading about someone in their journal "humanizes" them. My cousin learned more about my paternal aunt from her journals after she died of cancer and left him her house. He later said that she was a totally different person after all. (I hope no one has read any of my journals. It would be absolutely mortifying, I can say that now.)

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The end of my current journal also coincides with the conclusion (or near-conclusion) of other things in my life...

My job: Although it lacks for many things, mostly on Logistics and supplies, my one year (almost) stint in a primary hospital was a good way of making me realize how much people needed general practitioners in the rural areas. Most of the time, it is enjoyable and fulfilling. Last duty, I delivered a 17 year-old girl's baby without a hitch, and even got to name the little bugger. And because it was my brother's birthday that time, the kid got Steven (and another name) on his birth certificate. it was a fair deal. Those names were very...manly and would serve him well in the future. (Delivering babies is one of my favorite jobs ever.)

A teacher in Psychiatry that I'm fond of, Dr. Baltazar V. Reyes, who I've written about before, is in the ICU currently. The latest news I've heard was that he had coded, but they managed to revive him. This saddens me greatly, because it sounds an awful lot like the way my grandfather had gone. Just when you've started to love someone, and have them wrenched away from you just like that is cruel. As much as I want him to pull through, and see him again in those early morning teaching sessions on Psychoanalysis, I don't have the heart to let him suffer through codes again and again. He won't ever be teaching again from the looks of it. (I remembered how my grandfather could only contort his face in pain, some time before he died. )

The end of my self-imposed "vacation" is near. Training in the Psychiatry program starts in January. That would mean 3 years of living in Manila and working there to earn my stripes. I'm excited, yes, but it is only now that I've realized that I'm going to miss my family, and the comforts of home. Manila (unlike Iloilo City) is not somewhere they can take the car and drive to as easily. (That is a bit sad, yes.)

(I can picture myself going, "Goodbye, Have a nice life...", with much trepidation. )

I wish I could see my future. Talk to my future self. Anything.

I want to get an inkling of how this "new adventure" will fare.

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Pop and I were driving home from my nephew's birthday party earlier this afternoon. One of my favorite Beatles' songs was playing, and we were singing along.

    "When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me,

    Speaking words of wisdom...Let it Be."

Shielding my eyes with my hand, from the afternoon glare, I sang along,

"And in my hours of darkness, she is standing right in front of me,

    Speaking words of wisdom, let it be..."

Who knows what will happen, really. As of this point, I'm just hoping and praying they'll turn out well in my favor.:-)

(Oh, and I also learned that songs shouldn't be taken literally all the time. Sorry.)

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For my new journal, I've decided to adopt a Kurt Vonnegut technique. "Write with a particular reader in mind." For him, it was his sister. For myself, I think I'll use...someone I know, a friend I'd want to confide in. He's great, but harmless since he is never going to know about it anyway.

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Got work in a few hours. See you all again next time. J

 

Disclosure

Hi. :-) 

 :-) Just some stuff I've been up to lately...(I've been catching up on hospital paperwork and I'v been busy. I still take snapshots every now and then, though, so, here are a few. (Every picture has a little story to it, the best I can do at the present circumstances. )

Happy 5th birthday Nate!

Saisaki buffet, and I could eat heaps of this stuff.  (the next time i'm in Manila.:-))

"Parmesan" on pasta. at the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf

Nickel, Pettie and Bermoy who came to visit. Congrats Petula!! :-) <-- She made it to the PGH Pediatrics Residency Training program. 

They don't actually allow pets where I live. But this one got through. She's not mine, but she is one cute fluffy ball of fur.

Can you guess what this is? No? 


Well, it's the other end of the pencil...the eraser end.

 Fished it out of a 4 year-old kid's nostril. 

In kid terms, it was gigantic.

His Ma's bringing me fruit when I go back to the hospital.

(Doctors will never go hungry. :-p )

One time, when Ma and I passed by the Ukay-ukay stands on the way to Lola's, I saw this kid, fast asleep on the merchandise. 

And last, but definitely not the least...Moleskine notebooks that cost 1/3 the original price at the local department store. I almost peed in my pants (I love notebooks, and I've always wanted a Moleskine.)


 How come? Knock-offs, probably. I don't mind very much, they pretty much feel the same way, and i like the binding.

And...I'm pretty much going to have to keep bits of the "personal life" in these for now,and not on the blog.

(I recently got misconstrued and flamed. And misunderstood.) <--- somebody was paranoid-ish, and was gravely mistaken. (It turned out to be pretty amusing anyway.)

But still, to be on the safe side. I better to stick to Medical/Fun stuff. 

Strictly no "emo" from now on. 

Or maybe some other time. 

:-p

I shouldn't wear my heart on my blog...all the time, right?

Fans

My pop and I are essentially Manny Fans. :-)

("Community-watching" the Pacquiao-Margarito Match at my uncle Nyoti's place. lol...and I do mean "community", 'cause a lot of people turned up.)

Go Manny. 

Brooke Fraser, Love is Waiting

My cousin Christo sent me this link (his earworm)last night while we were chatting, and now, I've been playing it ever since this morning. (It's funny how music sticks to you. )


Give it a try. It's sweet. So full of promise and longing, which is totally not subliminal. 

"Love Is Waiting"

In the autumn on the ground,

between the traffic and the ordinary sounds

I am thinking signs and seasons while a north wind blows through

I watch as lovers pass me by

Walking stories - whos and hows and whys

Musing lazily on love

Pondering you

I'll give it time, give it space and be still for a spell

When it's time to walk that way we wanna walk it well

[CHORUS:]

I'll be waiting for you baby

I'll be holding back the darkest night

Love is waiting til we're ready, til it's right

Love is waiting

It's my caution not the cold

there's no other hand that i would rather hold

the climate changes, I'm singing for the strangers about you

don't keep time, slow the pace

Honey hold on if you can

the bets are getting surer now that you're my man

[CHORUS]

[BRIDGE:]

I could write a million songs about the way you say my name

I could live a lifetime with you and then do it all again

and like I can't force the sun to rise or hasten summer's start,

neither should I rush my way into your heart 

A walk down Maria Orosa

 Tonight, I received a message from the chief resident of the Psychiatry Department, saying that Dr. Baltazar V. Reyes (BVR) was admitted at the Makati Medical Center ICU for Acute Pancreatitis, and that prayers were requested, and the message had to be passed on.

Knowing that he was in a fragile enough state as he is, I am actually worried. In the short time that I've known him, I've likened him to a genteel teacher, warm and sage-like, almost like my grandfather. (I hope he'll be ok.)

I took these some weeks ago on one of our walks to and from BVR Hour...

"BVR Hour" is every held every Thursday, at 7AM, at Dr. Baltazar V. Reyes' clinic at MadDocs...

That's him, that kindly old guy sitting in the middle.


(As I was saying to my cousin Yakee, "He's a grandfather type who sounds like Lolo, and speaks like Sigmund Freud. Extra Nice!"

"Wonderment" 
MadDocs has a fountain in front.

 (I like looking at fountains. They can be very entrancing. I remember this anecdote in the Reader's Digest that I read once about how one boy learned a thing or two from some guy (who turned out to be THE Albert Einstein), who said, that above all else, he should never lose his ability to "wonder", because that was going to make all the difference later... :-))

 Kids playing craps on the sidewalk curb. 

Up to now, I can't figure out why the little kid in the middle is squeezing his eyes shut. 

Praying to get lucky, eh?

Pink Pomelo Heaven.

These were sold at 60 pesos a kilo near the McDonald's we were on our way to. Shoot. I love these. The pre-packed ones at the mall just aren't the same...

Come-as-you-are breakfast, kiddie version.

If I were a kid, I'd have Ma order for me Hash Browns for breakfast everyday... :-) 

"Sarap Buhay"

The driver has a great sense of humor. Don't you agree? :-)

Good for Business?

You don't see many establishments with this name...but it's good, I'm all for the freedom of good journalism (Al-Jazeera). 

"Risk-Taking Behavior"

In life, Manila (and everywhere else, it seems), one really has to take risks. And that includes parking one's car in places like these. 

------------------------- 

That's all from me folks. It's late and I've got work tomorrow. I just needed to get some anxiety off  getting news about BVR's confinement. It's like my lolo all over again. It seems corny, but transference is unavoidable. Anyway, just in case you were wondering what walking down Maria Orosa St., Ermita Manila, Philippines, was like, at 8AM, these pictures are for you. 

Thanks, you've been a great audience. :-)

Ensconced (Dreams and their interpretation)

He was a nightmare.

With his enormous painted eyes, his wild orange matted hair and that evil grin plastered on his face…Chuckie the doll was every kid’s nightmare come to life…

In my worst dreams, he’d be cackling loudly, a most evil laugh…his pudgy little plastic hands gripped on the bloody handle of a large meat cleaver, stabbing at a man over and over and over again…

And it was mostly at this time in the dream when I’d wake up, sweating heavily and panting loudly. My hair would be sticking to my head, and I would feel my heart hammering against my chest, as I try to catch my breath. I’d try to move, but my legs and arms wouldn’t let me…they were as heavy as lead.  I was held down by a force I could not overcome…my fear.

I sometimes didn’t know whether I should open my eyes or just squeeze them shut. In the first few seconds of waking up, I usually would be in a disoriented, groggy state, not knowing where I was, or whether I really should be opening my eyes in the first place. And then I’d realize that I was in a dark room, lit only by an amber nightlight, a bedroom that I shared with my brother. The first thing I’d see when I wake up was the toy shelf on top of the altar…with my brother robots and that…doll. She had blond, flaxen hair and was tall, and she could dance. She even had this creepy music-box tinkle tones that would play after you wind her up and set her to dance. (I believe it was Mozart’s Minuet.)

I would then yell out for my mother (my parents were probably watching TV downstairs),almost in anger, because I was scared and frustrated that nobody was around. Then a few seconds later, either she or my father would come up  and lie down in my bed and hold me. Papa would say, “It’s ok, I’m here…” and then presently, I’d fall asleep again, safe in their arms.

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CHILDHOOD NIGHTMARES

“I’m Chuckie..wanna play?”

For most of my days as a kid, Chuckie was the ultimate bad guy, the evil monster who scared me more than anything else. My Bogeyman wasn’t any mysterious shapeless formless thing that hid in the closet…he was an effing doll.  Now that I’m older, I kind of laugh at myself for being so silly and obsessively scared of the freaking doll. I even had my dancing doll taken down and hidden somewhere else, because I was afraid that one night she just might be possessed by some evil spirit and come down from the shelf to strangle me in my sleep, and I would die.

It was a number of years (when I was in high school, I think) when I had it put back to where it was. It was a silly childish thing to be afraid of an inanimate object, but hey, man, you don’t know Chuckie. He can induce scary nightmares (although, as an afterthought, those “Bride of Chucky” movies were really just very comedic.)

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THE ROYAL ROAD TO THE UNCONSCIOUS

In Psychiatry, dreams are a peek into our subconscious, a subject of great importance. Why, even the great Sigmund Freud, in his book The Interpretation of Dreams (1900), had this to say… 

“In no other phenomenon of normal psychic life are so many of the unconscious processes of the mind revealed so clearly and made so accessible to study. Dreams are indeed a royal road to the unconscious reaches of the mind.”

The royal road to the unconscious, it has been said. There is no better way to see into a person’s subconscious and unconscious thought processes than his dreams. Dreams, to a psychoanalyst, offer up a piecemeal view of what a person is, and how all of his past experiences are coming together to help make sense of himself. To the dreamer, dreams are a manifest work, an impressive collaboration of psychic energy, made up of his (or her) current sensations, his current concerns, and most powerfully, of his inherent or hidden wishes or fantasies.

As children, dreams are simpler. Like, for mine, since I was horrified by the infamous Chuckie doll, I had a dream of recurring images of the scary thing when I was a child. As we grow older, and as our subconscious matures, our dreams become more subliminal, yet still symbolic. To protect ourselves from losing valuable restful sleep, our egos (that all-important aspect of ourselves that make us who we are and how we function), allow us to dream. It allows stimuli and sensations from our waking life, along with our memories, our current problems and joys, and even our deepest (secret) wishes and desires to be made into something visual. It may be coherent or not, or, it might not mean anything at all, just a hodge-podge of images that seem familiar, yet otherworldly.

Dream interpretation should not be taken lightly, and it would be erroneous to say that they could also predict the future. The guidebooks would help, but dream interpretation is an aspect of psychoanalysis that requires a lot of study. A famous psychiatrist advised that you need to know the patient first before you can decipher what the dream means to him.

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DREAM MEANINGS

I remember chuckling to myself one time when I was wandering around in Powerbooks and I saw this card bearing the title, “Dreams and their Meanings.” Hmm…I mused, and checked out what “Vampires” meant.  Freud wrote a whole book on the subject, and now popular psychology has relegated the whole profound matter to but a card with a list. Will wonders never cease? I thought wryly.

“Emotional anxiety.” (or something or other), it said.

Recently (but not very), I’ve had this dream of vampires…and although I didn’t get bitten or anything, it still made me feel uncomfortable.  I dreamt that I was with a vampire guy, and as hard as I tried to open my eyes and to run away from him, I couldn’t.  

He was beautiful… and I had the feeling that it was dangerous to be around him. I think I was in love with him in that dream, but I couldn’t be sure now. He was trying to tell me to get away, because the other vampires were going to come, but the strangest thing was, I couldn’t will myself to get away, I was too weak. I couldn’t even open my eyes fully, because my eyelids were so heavy, and all I could see was half my field of vision.

I can’t remember what else happened in the dream, but all I know was, in the end…I ended up in a big dining hall, in servants’ clothes…and along with other servant girls, serving a roomful of vampires their dinner. In the dream, I was resigned. It felt as if I had resigned my fate to that of serving people…and I didn’t feel anything else. Just, well, dead.

Such a loss of control. I had surrendered in the end.

It scared me, you know.

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OF VAMPIRES

Although it might seem as if I might be joining the vampire genre bandwagon after my mentioning the vampire dream…I can’t help it, corny as it may be. Vampires are pretty contemporary, and they symbolize many things.

Dreams become harder to figure out, the older and more complicated our personalities. become. That doesn’t take away the fact that they can still strike fear in our hearts, or confuse us. They’re supposed to make sense out of our inner turmoil.

That will never change.

Most times, we might wake up in the middle of the night because of some bad, worrisome nightmare, but we won’t always have someone to hold us or pat our fears away. Or maybe even just hold us to protect us from whatever it is that worries us or troubles us.

There is no better joy of comfort and safety than sleeping in the arms of someone you love and trust, ensconced in the warmth of their protection. As a child, it put me to a dreamless, restful sleep. As I got older, it gave me the utmost feeling of peace…that somehow, despite the turmoil and the many ways I could have messed up, it was all somehow going to be ok. #