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.

His Dark Materials

I finally got it over with a couple of weeks back. Apologies to fans of Philip Pullman, but I found the trilogy too much of a drag. It didn't help that my copy is the 3-in-1 paperback that was so bulky I developed biceps from carrying it around.

Just offhand, I thought the attempt at religious subversion was so unsubtle it felt crude. It's possible that my traditional Christian sensibilities were ruffled a bit, thus my less-than-glowing review. But then again, this isn't the first book I've read that challenged the givens of the Christian faith. I just think this one lacked finesse.

So angels fall in love with each other like gay men? Okay, granted, Balthamos and Baruch probably didn't have sex, but their devotion to each other was clearly different from that of regular friends. I won't call it Platonic either because it went beyond the intellectual level. There was obviously something homoerotic there. Only a lover would pine away for a dead beloved like that. It reminded me of vampires, particularly the Antonio Banderas character in Interview With The Vampire who got so taken with the Brad Pitt character (sorry their names escape me now) it broke him when the latter left.

Now this gay thing between angels is probably a jibe at Roman Catholic priests. Not entirely undeserved, true. But was there a need to play it out that much? Did Balthamos have to be depicted as cantankerous and sarcastic, and given to bouts of emotional meltdown, like a stereotypical elderly gay man?

But why am I so hung up on Balthamos and Baruch? I don't know. A lot can be said about the storytelling technique in general, but it's the gay angels that stand out in my mind. Oh, and the 'Ancient of Days' depicted as an aged angel so shriveled up he's like a grotesque-looking baby. I thought that was somewhat funny if not overdone.

The fantasy elements--multiple parallel worlds--were nicely done. The science behind the plot felt solid. The philosophy, although it felt flawed to me, was strongly presented. The language was in keeping with the complexity of the plot, but at some points seemed uppity. If this was written for young adults, I'm not too sure it succeeded to connect. That there's an effort to reach adult readers is obvious to me. But I'm not about to take that against Pullman. It's not easy to write for kids and still impress their parents. That's why reading His Dark Materials affirmed my fanhood for J.K. Rowling and Harry Potter.

On the whole, I give it 3 out 5 stars (5 being the Harry Potter series).

Homicidal in Manila

My sunburn from our Gigantes and Guimaras weekend is not even peeling yet, but already I can't stand it in Manila. The sticky heat, the horrible traffic, the pollution--they stir up my inner Kraken. I don't know where all this rage is coming from. I feel like acting it out on an overcharging cab driver. Maybe I just need to run tonight. Yeah, I'll do that.