November 5, 2010
Backpacking with a Book

An Act of Returning

Ex-stasis: where one does not belong to any place, where anything can lead to something, where something can lead to nothing, where the self is not located nearby, where the self is left somewhere else. Notes on Baguio Houses constructed on mountains’ shoulders looked like painted boxes arranged drastically like they are about to stumble, somersault, and then fall, pulp into pieces on the mountain’s foot. They are like moments frozen, stilled in photographs. It reminds me of Kiran Desai’s Darjeeling’s houses: “the weight of more concrete pressing downward had spurred the town’s lopsided descent and caused more landslides than […]
October 31, 2010
Backpacking with a Book

Boracay: Traveling with Llosa

Life gets difficult when a person goes to live somewhere else. . . Luckily we know how to walk. Luckily we’ve been walking for such a long time. Luckily we’re always moving from one place to another. What would have become of us if we were the sort of people who never move. We’d have disappeared who knows where. —Mario Vargas Llosa, “The Storyteller” NOTES TO SELF: 1. You’re not a tourist rather a fleeting visitor, a place sniffer. So, please, don’t be treated like royalty. You want to see the place as it is, without the pampering, without the […]
October 18, 2010
Backpacking with a Book

CURRENT READS: Llosa and Munro

Currently reading Mario Vargas Llosa’s The Storyteller. Halfway through Munro’s The Progress of Love, which I started first before Sacks’s The Island of Colorblind.  Why did I temporarily stop reading it? Because Munro penetrated the border one created: the wall between what is labeled as personal and what is knowledge. Yes, because it is all about love—the one I consider scariest.
October 15, 2010

Adrienne Rich: Cartographies of Silence

1. A conversation begins with a lie. and each speaker of the so-called common language feels the ice-floe split, the drift apart as if powerless, as if up against a force of nature A poem can begin with a lie. And be torn up. A conversation has other laws recharges itself with its own false energy, Cannot be torn up. Infiltrates our blood. Repeats itself. Inscribes with its unreturning stylus the isolation it denies. 2. The classical music station playing hour upon hour in the apartment the picking up and picking up and again picking up the telephone The syllables […]