we're all stories in the end
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Over on my blog, I talked about two questions that I was attempting to answer: How did I get here and what were the things I read that made me the reader and writer I am today? This is in light of the panel on writers as readers at today’s Filipino Readercon, where authors talked about the books that influenced their writing. So I guess I just wanted to throw my (very, very, tiny and insignificant) voice into the conversation.
So I really wanted to like this film.
To be fair: I hadn’t watched any Cinemalaya film in years, owing to the fact that I seem to have been stuck in another era for the past five years and it’s only now that I’m trying to shift back and catch up with the things I’ve missed. This includes figuring out how to get to Makati, the local music scene, and local indie films. And I wanted to go into watching this film without knowing much - I’ve heard things about it, about how it’s the post-EDSA 2 generation’s movie, and how it represents those who are now in their early and mid-twenties, those going through their own quarter-life crises. But I had no clue about the storyline, about the characters, about the people who were involved in making this film.
I legitimately stared at the email for a good five minutes, wondering if I read it right. (Taken with instagram)
So my best friend Zebra (you can find her here) and I had dinner this Wednesday. I bought her a copy of The Fault in Our Stars and she’s in the middle of reading it. While eating our respective salads and soups - and she was stealing about half my plate of pesto spaghetti - she said to me, “You sound a lot like that main character in The Fault in Our Stars. What was her name again?”
“Hazel,” I said. “Hazel Grace Lancaster.”
“Yeah. Even the way she thinks and her parenthetical remarks remind me of you.”
[BEST. COMPLIMENT. EVER.]
Back from the mountains. Banaue, Ifugao was a beautiful, mystical place. But I’m glad to be home.
Because FF.NET won’t let me upload a .doc right now. Pfft.
*
Title: Every time
Pairing: Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose, Eleven/Rose
Summary: Throughout all the ages of the world, he still loved her. Loves her. Will love her. A timey-wimey story of red bicycles, ivory dresses, and cracks in the universe. Written for Challenge 94 at then_theres_us LiveJournal community.
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. Doctor Who and its characters belong to the BBC and RTD and the Grand Moff and all the other writers and movers and shakers of the Whoniverse. I promise I put them back where I found them.
Follow the link to the story:
Join MoveForMove.org on 28 January 2012, 4-8 AM at Nuvali, Laguna to listen and record and interpret the stories of first-time runners participating in the upcoming Dream Marathon! To confirm your attendance, please message elbert@ripple100.com
- (in the train, on the way home)
- Me: You're as callous as a female praying mantis!
- The Boyfriend: Like what now?
- Me: Oh good lord, didn't you know? A praying mantis... *figures out that explaining the metaphor gives away the whole point* You know, never mind. I forgot that you're not a nerd.
- The Boyfriend: *proud* Damn right, I'm not a nerd!
- Me: "Nerd" isn't insulting, you know.
How to layer a box of books.
Rain in November
It is a Saturday afternoon. Rain
washes away all traces of dead
leaves along the winding snake-stone
path beneath my single window.
Drops of water roll along the ridges
of my palm, charting a lake
from finger to wrist to ground.
This is how cartographers draw lines.
I wish everything fit neatly in the palm
of my hand: bills to be paid, letters to send,
hearts to be broken. I imagine a small
island in the middle of the ocean’s cupped
hands. Between the shallow gap
of skin against skin, water dribbles
seeking spaces in these fingers that curve
upwards, as though in prayer.
