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.
“What rot, I didn’t mean it, did you mean it?” (“No, of course not, of course I didn’t mean it.”) They laughed in recognition of their extremity, just as they might have laughed at another time, in the middle of quite different, astoundingly tender declarations. They trembled with murderous pleasure, with the excitement of saying what could never be retracted, they exulted in wounds inflicted but also in wounds received, and one of the other said at some point, “This is the first time we’ve spoken the truth since we’ve known each other!” For even things that came to them […]
“I love reading books,” a certain Japanese answered the trivial getting-to-know-each-other question, “what are your hobbies?” though we both know to know was misplaced. I expected another bout of suspense thrillers since most Japanese find Haruki Murakami too baffling. “Do you know Kobo Abe?” The science of coincidence! My eyes widened because Kobo Abe’s The Woman in the Dunes was on my desk—to reacquaint myself to the ambiguousness of his sand for a travel essay. Rewriting is a painful process; it is an emotional and intellectual bloodshed. While rereading doubles the pleasure. Every read, another layer of meaning, understanding peels […]
Zambales Photo Essay: To Zambales to Mend What did I do to deserve this extravagance of my color: green? Do I deserve this much happiness? Yes, the color of happiness. Brown. Blue. And I, a woman, with uncontrollable black hair. I had the guts because I was alone. Ah, no, the boatman was watching me from the distance. 🙂 It is a great sky and a great island How to model a sickle locally called “tabas”The madwoman at Anawangin CoveAnawangin Cove Traveling, in many ways, is an act of mending, of coming to terms with reality. Traveling is always, always […]