temporarily posting this here as I ask permission from the image owner, Lord Jit, here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/jityanga/339554347/
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Author: gege
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FLUmmoxed
It was a bit surreal. To be standing alone in the school corridor because everyone has left.
One foreign student confirmed to have AH1N1. The school will be closed for 10 days. Some might think that’s a bit much. But it’s standard procedure they say. According to WHO. Just the same, it was pretty hard to believe that school was being shut down.
They’re not revealing identities. But I suppose they’re rounding up the possible contact points. And those who might have been exposed are probably in quarantine now.
Only rumors to go by. So far, I’ve heard the pronoun “she.” And which college “she” is from. Not our college. Whew.
I’m in school 2 days a week. I interact with only a few people from the department, and my students are enrolled in major subjects. I don’t go around much. The chances that her virus has somehow got to me is almost nil.
Unless she went to the library and used the desk a few minutes before I used it. Or had a kiwi strawberry shake like I did and sneezed on the straw holder, from which I picked up my straw. Or we walked together from the parking lot, and she exhaled a bit much. Insert suspense horror movie sound effects here.
Who knows where she’s been? I certainly don’t want to panic. But the mind is actively imagining scenarios. The erstwhile invisible air suddenly acquires a psychedelic haze and neon green dust enlarge and fly around like spring fluff landing on every throbbing surface. Every epidemic panic movie gets replayed in my head.
The second the rumors were confirmed by a memo in black in white, I started feeling psychosomatically hot and slightly diarrheic.
But really, I’m okay. Maybe I should just enjoy the extended vacation. Though a 10-day quarantine of just reading would be nice.
Ugh. I dread the repercussions of making up for lost time. Makeup classes are a pain. And my 2 sections are not on the same page anymore. Bummer.
I pray that “she” gets better and that will not be as traumatized as I imagine she’d be. It’s not a cool way to get famous. I pray that no one else is infected. I pray that this scare blows over. Paranoia is not a pretty emotion.
Life in the time of the AH1N1.
The panic reminds me a bit of Saramago’s Blindness. Surreal.
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I Didn’t Know You Well Enough
I didn’t know you well enough
Didn’t know your favorite color was pink
Didn’t know whom you lived with
What you did
When you weren’t with me
Who you were
When your guard was down
Beneath the layers
You chose to reveal
What you dreamed of
Ached for
What you’re made of
I didn’t know you well enough
Didn’t have enough of you
Didn’t hear enough speeches
Didn’t hear enough stories
Didn’t spend enough time
Before you left
So abruptly
Too early
Didn’t know this was coming
Didn’t try hard enough
To reach out to you
To know you
Didn’t share all I wanted to tell
Didn’t tell all I wanted you to hear
Didn’t say goodbye
Didn’t get the chance
And now no amount of wishing
Can give me time with you
No amount of regret
Can bring back time
This tragic death
Is suffered not by the one who’s gone
But by the ones left behind
Those who didn’t know you well enough
A record of sorts. Beating my personal bests.
No. of hours in pajamas – 25 (maybe barring the times I’ve been in my sickbed)
No. of kilometers traveled in pajamas – app. 394
Bontoc. I put on my pajamas at roughly 10PM. The next morning, we were traveling to Baguio to spend the night there en route to Manila. I decided I would shower in Baguio. The Baguio Country Club shower, a gazillion stars better than the one at Bontoc, beckoned. I went coffee-shopping in Bontoc and had lunch at Cafe by the Ruins in my snowflake riddled jammies. And then some people, without asking my pajamas, decided to go straight back to Manila. The country club lodging was canceled. And so my pajamas and I arrived home past 10 in the evening. My pajamas practically walked itself to the hamper.
And that, my dear friends, is another installment of utterly useless facts about me.
There is no bottom to the well of inanities I can think of.
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A Permanent Stance
I won’t argue with you, my friend.
I will lose; that’s the expected end.
I will balk.
I will hesitate.
I will hold back.
For I am not trained to pounce.
Or hurt.
I am not in battle form.
My energies focused elsewhere.
Not on winning,
But on bonding,
On seeking truths,
And reaching out,
On finding common threads
And positions of peace.
And you,
In your permanent stance
Of fight and fear,
Are well versed in battles of wits and words
Your intellect, your arms.
Your condescension, your barbs.
Your mocking tone, your shield.
Don’t you get tired?
Don’t your fists want to ease up?
Doesn’t your back break
And heart ache?
Doesn’t your upturned chin and your clenched jaw
Just rob the energy and soul out of you
As you permanently stand
Ready to bite, to hurl, and to fight?
Maybe you think it’s cool.
Maybe it’s the hard shell you put up in defense.
Maybe you’re just giving back life’s bad throws.
Maybe somebody did it to you.
Maybe it’s just sport
For fun
For the thrill of the win.
But your dour old soul
Makes winning look like no fun at all.
You win.
So what?
You may be surprised to know that I’m not all that fond of junk food. Except for clover chips, which is comfort food that brings me back to childhood when my dad would bring a pack home for me knowing it was my favorite.
I’m not even a snacker. No, I developed this lush fleshiness through the willful consumption of the real goodness of dead animals combined with the carbo-laden staple of the masses. Real meals for real women and voracious manual laborers. With extra rice.
I discovered this evil snack through this blog — lafang nation’s. Intrigued, I bought a pack each of the cheese and the chocolate for a long trip. I tried the cheese flavor first. I did not expect that my first bite would make my tongue feel what being in love feels like.
Well, it’s just crud, really. There is no one main ingredient except for some starch combination, the elements of which may not necessarily come from nature. Starch shaped into little letter o’s by machines and then dipped in an evil cheeselike flavoring. Soaked in cheese product. And sugar. And when you put it on your tongue, the crud and cheeselike substance and the sugar and all the additives melt deliciously coating your tongue with heaven, and your tastebuds take control of your brain and you feel like you did when you had your first kiss, and you understand why that tree was called the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. It’s so good it’s disgusting.
The zip lock comes very handy, because you can really only have a couple of pieces at a time because it’s sickeningly rich and cheesy and sweet. A couple of bites that add a couple of pounds to your hips. Agh. Oishi is the anti-Christ!
If you caught Anthony Bourdain’s Philippine stopover episode, then you have seen Claude Tayag. He entertained Tony at his restaurant/home/art gallery, Bale Dutung, in Pampanga, presenting a very posh, telegenic rendition of kare kare. He also introduced Tony to sisig.
And if you’re not Kapampangan, maybe you were offended by his assertion that Filipino food is Pampanga food. But I got what he meant. He meant to say that Filipino food is different for everyone, depending on your own experience and cultural milieu. The food you grew up with as you lived in the region you grew up in, the food served by your mom and/or your lola, the food that comforted you as a child and continues to comfort you now is your definition of Filipino food.
But this is not about Claude Tayag’s Tony Bourdain guesting. This is about his book.
If you are a foodie worth your salts, if you take every three day weekend as an excuse, an opportunity to discover the regions and their cuisines, then grab a copy of this book, and keep it close to your sunglasses and favorite weekend jaunt outfit.
It will be your guide, your handbook as you traverse the country and its neighbors, searching for fantastic culinary experiences that sate the appetite for food as well as for culture. It presents helpful information including contact details so you can replicate the food tours he has taken. Really, get a copy. I can see myself bringing this with me as I go south and north of the Philippines.
The book is actually a compilation of his columns in the Philippine Star. At the end of each entry is a recipe.
It is not the best written food and travel book I’ve ever read. Claude Tayag is not an awful writer, but let’s just say his core talents lie in the visual and the culinary. He writes well enough in a breezy, conversational manner with no pretensions. Maybe a little unimaginative with a tendency to interject using the word “burp” a lot. But hey, you’re not buying this book because of its literary merits. You’re buying this because it will inspire and enlighten the hungry gourmand and antsy vagabond in you.
There are 3 things I didn’t like about this book. The first one is its size — bigger than your standard trade paperback, it is not very handy. The next one is its price — P550; I think it’s worth it because I will get a lot of use from the book. I also like the quality of its binding and paper stock, and that alone makes it worth it for me, but it’s a prohibitive price if you want to spread the word about it and want each of your friends to get a copy. The last thing that lessened my enjoyment of this book is that the entries are verbatim lifts from his columns, and sometimes they would include captions for photos that were part of the original newspaper articles but were not included in the book. It was a bit frustrating not having the visuals that go with the captions.
But the things I liked about the book compensated for the above flaws. I liked the history of sisig, his dining guidelines, the healthy balance of street food and fine dining experiences, how he communicated his lip-smacking love of food with no apologies, and his practical traveler tips. I love the way his stories include his wife Maryann as his partner in gourmanding and traveling. He makes fun of her a lot, but he is obviously head over heels in love with her. And best of all, I like the pen sketches that accompany each article; they add so much value, art, and charm to the book.
Oh, and one more thing, don’t read this hungry.
To write persuasively, you must establish your credibility. Acknowledging your expertise, without sounding pompous and boastful, would help. Talking about your information sources and the amount of research you’ve done, without boring your readers with the methods and research minutiae, would also go a long way. The content, the tone, and the writing style also matter.
Here are four things you can do to write credibly and persuasively:
SPECIFY – Avoid sweeping declarations or vague assertions that people call motherhood statements. Do you really think people would believe you when you say you are striving for world peace? How about talking about how you are serving as a peacemaker by being a mediator in your barangay meetings? Be specific. Paint as precise a picture as possible so that your readers can visualize something real, something tangible.
TESTIFY – Submit testimony. Yours and others’. Always establish that the testimony is borne out of personal experience. Give specific names and dates. Use quotation marks, and make sure you have the testifier’s permission. There is nothing wrong with editing the testimony for syntax and conciseness, but make sure you don’t tamper with the quotes so much that veracity is sacrificed.
AMPLIFY – Bring the focus closer by giving examples to illustrate your point. When you say your resort has 5-star amenities, then enumerate what those facilities are. Better yet, focus on the benefits they will get by patronizing your establishment.
QUANTIFY – Hard data is almost always better than words. Use the language of numbers. Using superlatives like best, most, highest, biggest can ring false; your reader might doubt you or ignore your claims as exaggerations. But saying you have been voted Retailer of the Year for 3 consecutive years since 2007 or that you are the number 1 reseller of XYZ laptops outselling your closest competitor by 207% would better catch their attention and aid their retention.
Remember: In writing persuasively, remember the STAQ formula: Specify, Testify, Amplify, Quantify.
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Musing Mondays: Mommy’s Fault
Musing Mondays are hosted by Rebecca!.
Do you remember how you developed a love for reading? Was it from a particular person, or person(s)? Do you remember any books that you read, or were read to you, as a young child? (question courtesy of Diane)
I blame it all on my mom. I’m not sure how old I was when my mom started teaching me to read, but I remember that I wasn’t in school yet, so I must have been 3. My mom would give me a newspaper and ask/command me to read in front of my relatives. Most moms would ask their kid to sing or to dance. My mom would show off my reading prowess. I remember mispronouncing the word highway, and they got a chuckle out of that.
Mom started me off with Ladybug fairy tales. Rumpelstiltskin just might be my very first book. In my mind’s eye, I can still see one of my favorite books then, Little Match Girl. What a sad, sad story. Every birthday and Christmas, I would get 5 Nancy Drew books until finally I had the complete series. To this day, that collection is still in my must-save-in-a-fire list. I didn’t really grow up with many toys so I had to rely on books for entertainment.
I blame my mom for this addiction to books. And I thank her much for it.
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The Ultimate Bookworm Gift
I want one for Christmas! No, I can’t wait. I want one for Independence Day. Slurp. Slurp.
Gosh, I just might never leave the house with something like this in my room.