Archive for the ‘Internal Monologue’ Category

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Almost home.

Farewell, land of wheat products and cold food.

I can’t believe how much I’ve missed food, my food, not these yes-beautiful-but-hollow sandwiches and salads and strips of pancetta on pasta. I want spicy peanuts, adobo and the rogan josh across the street from the office. I want sinigang and green papaya salad and the buta kakuni at Shinjuku.

I am wanting all these while munching on yet another variation on the croissant.

I fly out from Paris tomorrow, connect to Amsterdam then take the lights-out-everyone-sleep flight to Manila. It will be the morning of the 26th when I arrive, many Euros poorer but richer in so many other ways that count aside from money.

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I wrote this poem in 1996, put it up on my old blog, and rereading it now, eyelids heavy with a week’s worth of sleep, I realized it had no title.

Who abandons these cars
and allows them to live anew:
cat motels, dust magnets,
flutes when the city’s hot winds

go through one cracked window
then another:
who? And who smears hasty hearts
on all those windshields,

made-to-fade messages of love
to Veronica or just anyone
passing by? Take a number,
then any street,

find that door and knock on it.
Whoever answers can be
the woman who is always the question,
freshly arrived from the airport,

smelling of lavender and
sex on the beach.
“Who are you?” she asks, and
dizzy with love, you can’t answer.

Was it Robert Frost who said the title is the clasp that holds the necklace together?

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you’re sideswiped by possibility?


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I bought a yoyo in the same week I read Daniel Pink’s A Whole New Mind. I bought the book two years ago but my sister took it away, to the Hinterlands, which shares the space-time continuum her dorm room and the planet of misplaced ballpens occupy. It returned from the journey with age spots, so I assume time runs differently over there.

One of the most interesting takes on the book is on PresentationZen. I didn’t know Garr Reynolds existed before googling A Whole New Mind. So, one more blog for me to follow. I am supposed to give a “Presentation 101” talk in the office any time this year. (This decade, my schedule willing.) Methinks it will be easier – and faster – to just order the Presentation Zen book.

The yoyo. I walked into Hobbes and Landes looking for a Bop It for Lucien. They had Mimobots, model soldiers and a shelf of dog toys, but no Bop Its. A video was running on the Active Toys display, so I watched. Minutes later, I was hypnotized into buying a high-tech yoyo. Oops, [YO]2. Following high-tech product nomenclature conventions, Active Toys took a simple toy name and added brackets and a superscript.

I played with the yoyo all day at work. It came with a tricks CD, so I watched that. I have been practicing looping, alternating between my left and right hands. I am surprised at how addicting it can be, learning a new skill. I tied the string to Lucien’s tiny finger last night and he ended up walking the dog. Just the walking part, not the spinning part – unless I stand him up on a chair, the string’s too long for him to actually use the yoyo.

I don’t have a labyrinth to walk (in a Whole New Mind, labyrinth walking is said to quiet the mind and free the right brain to do some thinking on its own), but I can pack the yoyo.

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Happy Havarti.

I like cheese. Roquefort, raclette, havarti, emmental and good old cheddar make me happy. Actually, cheese of any kind makes me happy. So tonight it is havarti and a can of Coke Zero. Coke Zero launched today with a newspaper wrap, four or five ful-page sequential ads in the Inquirer and Star and a building drop-down. It felt like an obscene amount of media money, the kind that says, “I’m a leader brand and don’t you forget it!”

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Thinking about one thing (and the many things that come with it) for three weeks straight nudges you into a fugue, a drunkard’s walk that ends in a slump underneath a streetlamp. I feel this way at the end of every new business pitch. The hyper-concentration drains away with the adrenalin. I am tired and my keyboard has ink blots.

The happy bit about post-pitch fugue is everyone is extra nice to you, and doesn’t bug you too much. So today I decided to bring the PSP and zone out on arcade games, which demand only my fingers and eyes, and some part of my brain that isn’t wondering what day it is. Oh, and there’s lunch to be figured out, but I can spare a couple of neurons for that.

It’s a good Monday.

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