Caramoan

We took the long and winded road. The road less traveled. And got here after 15hrs. That's how long it takes to get from Cubao to Caramaon by bus. I wouldn't have minded it so much if we expected it. But ETA seems a foreign concept with bus lines plying this route. We'll get there when we get there. That's the vibe I got from the driver and his assistant. No wonder people took their time in the pee stops.

The bus had a TV onboard. They showed local soaps until we got too far for the network signals. Then they screened an old Sylvester Stallone psycho killer film. Then at sunrise they played a medley of covers. The chairs were as comfortable as could be expected of refurbished buses. Overall, it was not very unpleasant, except the trip got too long.

Upon getting to Caramoan Centro, we took a tricycle to Bgy. Patiman. The dirt road was horrible. I can't imagine what it would be like if it rained. We were not in a very good mood when we got here. We were tired and hungry and badly needed a bath. It didn't help that our homestay hosts weren't there to meet us.

After waiting a while at a sari-sari store, we decided to ditch the homestay option and go bigtime. We got an AC room at a resort owned by a relative of our homestay host, just across where we were supposed to stay. That means we would be earmarking P700 more per day for lodging.

The room has two single beds; a tiny bathroom, a third of which is occupied by a plastic water container; a small side table just enough a lamp, but too far from the electrical outlet we can't use it; and hooks on the wall where we can hang towels or clothes. That's all. No lockers or work desks. So now we put all our stuff on one bed and we'll share the other bed.

At least there's AC.

Bus butt

Been on the road 2hrs. Stopped at a terminal where drivers eat and people pee. Dunno what place this is. It's somewhere beyond the south super highway. Don't know where exactly we exited. Would've preferred the nice gas station stops. But don't think this bus ply those neighborhoods. There's a soap showing on TV, but it's all gray and grainy. So i'm playing Percy Jackson on my iPod. The 4th book about the labyrinth. Percy and Annabeth just discovered the pit leading to the labyrinth. Just as they were fighting giant scorpions in the forest by the camp. If it's not obvious by now, i'm blogging from my phone.

Dang, I forgot what I wanted to say

There was a reason I wasted not a few minutes for the 'New Post' page to open. I had something really profound or witty or angry to say. But now that I got this up, I can't think of anything to write. Dang this crappy blog engine. Why does it take forever to load?

Anyway, we're leaving for Caramoan tomorrow. So see you when I see you!

The curse of Eve

I'm menstruating. I got my period.

There, I said it.

All women since the time of Eve had it, but menstruation is strangely a hidden experience. It's seldom mentioned outside medical references or health and women's magazines.

Having it is not something you just say out loud. It's not a subject for polite conversations. It's like saying 'tae' or discussing Fringe episodes at the dinner table. The way even us women whisper when we talk about it, or use codes like 'red flag' or 'those days' for it, you'd think menstruation is a dirtier subject than sex.

Why?

Beats me.

If men got periods, would this experience still be as hidden? Or would it be treated like the stubbles they shave in the morning--annoying, but nothing to get embarrassed about?

Sometimes all this sexual politics drives me crazy. Where did all this come from anyway? Does this story go back to the time of the cave people, when physical strength was the major currency?

I have no idea. And I don't really care. I'm just feeling really hormonal right now. I feel there's something majorly wrong in my world, but I can't put my finger on it. I'm touchy and sensitive, fat and bloated.

There's no cure to this. Womanhood is technically not a disease. It's just an inconvenience.

My drink of habit

The URL of this blog has 'javaphilia' in it, giving the impression that this is about coffee. Then there's that overly orange cup of hot drink with a fancy signature on the froth. That this blog is called 'Coffeebreak' further affirms the impression.

But I never meant for this space to be about coffee, or my love for it. Truth be told, I was having a cup of coffee and was feeling warm and cozy when I thought of starting this blog, thus the references to the drink.

To be honest, I can't tell Arabica apart from Robusta. Heck I probably didn't spell those right because I see red, squiggly lines there. That coffee is harvested from mid-sized trees that look like shrubs is all I know. They have white flowers and green berries that turn red when ripe. We had those behind our house in the 70s.

Coffee and I actually have a strange relationship. I like how it clears my mind, how it perks me up, and makes me feel in control. I don't really care if it's a 3-in-1 Kopiko or some Latin American recipe from a pretentious coffeeshop. Just let have my cup and we're cool.

On the other hand, not having my cup is, well, disastrous. I get migraines. My body--particularly that tiny, albeit critical part called the tongue--fails to connect with my mind. If my mind is awake at all. Sometimes I feel like I'm looking out from a stranger's body. I'm in it but I don't control it. It's like my thoughts jump around at random, not following any logical flow. I fee like a surgeon staring at a patient's open chest, wondering what to do next, or why I cracked open that chest in the first place.

Guess you can call me a caffeine junkie. I won't argue with you there. I won't go through the whole denial stage. I'm waiting for the anger to set in but I don't feel anywhere near it at the moment. Perhaps if you skip the first stage the second stage takes a while. Oh well, I'll go get my my dose of UCC iced coffee in the meantime.