16th December, Thursday

Of course I’d resign from work if I won the lottery. But not right away because not only would that be rude, but I’m not that sort of person.

But I would definitely fly home to the Philippines and to hell with MIQ. Maybe I could fly to Australia and find a yacht to hire and cross the Tasman, as some have done it that way. Imagine quarantining in the ocean, eating lobster and drinking champagne for breakfast.

But I do need to go home. Mom had a small accident recently doing something she could have done at another time and I’m beginning to see myself in the same situations- loving independence, proud of my efficiency and checking off chores as if my life depended on it. Like my mom, I hate relaxing and my idea of it, is having finished a million things and to be finally in bed watching something or reading.

But she needs to slow down. I need to slow down.

With a couple of extra million, money you don’t really need, maybe it would buy some time to put the manic work and life ethic away for a year or two.

I could:
1. Revisit drawing and painting
2. Write that novel and not worry that it turns out to be shit (I’m pretty sure it won’t be).
3. Build a body good enough to grace an ‘influencer’ Instagram account
4. Visit old relatives in the US (though still wary of Covid).
5. Rebuild the old house in Pangasinan
6. Rebuild my dad’s ancestral home

2nd Dec/Thursday

It’s so hot that my armpits feel as if something sticky is plastered on them (the anti-perspirant which does nothing anyway). For the longest time, I used this anti-perspirant called Old Spice Endurance. It was so industrial strength that not even soap could wash it off. I would use it everyday without realising that I was creating this layer of product that eventually transferred onto the armpits of my clothes, staining them white and ruining the; and my shirts aren’t necessarily cheap so..

I switched to a spray one that promises no staining but now I’ve learned to live with sweaty pits; I just need to remind myself not to raise my arms in public to stretch and displaying wet pits but who the fuck cares.

The more you worry about it I realised, the more you actually sweat.

Anyhow, it’s only 22 degrees in Auckland- but feels twice that and I’m thinking, I won’t be able to live in the Philippines anymore unless I confine myself in an air-conditioned prison. But no I don’t want to anymore to be honest.

Anyhow, welcome to the last 28 days or so for the shit-show that is 2021 (the world that is, and not my life).

It’s been so hot, Lily has taken to hanging out back where the sun never shines and sleeps on the cool concrete

27th Nov

22 Monday

Shoulder-day

When you eat or have sex or buy a pair of new shoes, the pleasure is immediate; it’s a shame that when you exercise, it’s not. You have to wait afterwards, and only if you’ve done it right.

I never liked exercise, but it’s all a matter of conditioning your mind. There are days when I give in, but that’s rare now and are usually the days when I need to rest anyway and recover.

I don’t have a six-pack yet, or a 25-inch bicep (that would make me look way asymmetrical so NO), or big legs (I’m short at 5’8 and I don’t want to look like I came from a farming family- and not the one who owns the hacienda- not that there’s anything wrong with that 😅), but I actually feel good, and that’s all you’d ever need.

Ugh

Friday should be a day of celebration, because it’s the end of (another hard) working week; but then life just continues to be the suck-fest that it has been since 2020. Like one of my favourite singers of all time, Carrie Underwood is a vaccination card non-carrier because she’s not only anti-vax, but also anti-mask, and most likely voted for Trump. They’re all the same really that fun bunch.

And to cap off a long work day- even if I get off at 2pm- the 3D file I had been working on for the last three days suddenly won’t open and I may have to redo the whole goddamned thing again.

FUCK YOUR STUPID EXPENSIVE PRODUCTS THAT WON’T WORK PROPERLY ADOBE!

Sunday extremes

From a chilly 10 degree morning to a sweltering (1) 21 degrees. It was so hot that doing chores felt like swimming through water. This is why I can never live in the tropics again.

Even Fridays can be exhausting

Because that’s life.

• It rains when it shouldn't.

• You get a spot of sunshine for your run and it’s too humid that when you get home, you fall into a fitful nap.

• You have a fitful dream you can’t remember when you wake up, but leaves you too tired to do anything but scroll through stupid TikTok vids.

• Work is relentless and you can’t help but be relentless (even when you’re on leave) because you’re super fucking competitive and the winner has to be you.

• Everyone decides to jump the government just because it had a bad week, half of which is not even its fault and you feel like wishing these useless people to just drop dead but you can’t because you’re being Twitter good, even if that and all the Facebook/Instagram policing will not change the fact that people are nasty (like you are when you choose to).

• You can’t get fireworks even if it's Guy Fawke’s Day because the regulations get tighter and tighter and I just don’t get it. You want to allow marijuana use but ban fireworks?

Be (stylishly) masked

But of course! Though I wouldn't go as far as buying and wearing Will.i.am’s dystopian looking Xupermask. I’m actually lying- I would actually buy it (at $299, it’s far from being the most expensive non-essential thing I’ve bought) if I could compete with the bots (it’s all sold out). Will is your poor man’s version of Steve Jobs/Jony Ive (remember the Puls smartwatch and the ugly ass Dolce Gusto coffee machine?), but I’m liking the aesthetics of this mask.

But moving on, I’ll settle for something cheaper like $30 masks from Herschel (+ get one free as per a product promotion). I love Herschel- have a couple of their bags- but sometimes I wonder if I still fit their demographic (high-schoolers to freshman college).

The masks took a million years to ship from Australia, but they’re here and while they seem a bit flimsy, the fit around the nose is what matters most; it curves downward which means it doesn’t allow your stinky breath to fog your glasses, yay!

I took a snapchat of them and while I was putting in my topic labels, a couple of similar ones popped up like #maskssuck #masksoff. A suggestion for people who are inclined to use these hashtags; try snap chatting how cool you look in a hospital bed dying from Covid coz that would get a million views…

A whiff of summer

It was warm today, very warm. An almost tropical-like 22 degrees.

When you hear of climate change, it seems inconceivable to think of temperatures so unbearable that it goes beyond being annoyed that your armpits are soaked; that your face and head are oily; that your thighs are sticking to each other.

Even as recent as the mid-2000s, I was already consciously reconfiguring my life around the heat; most of my clothes were Nikes as they had that sweat-wicking fabric; I secretly had baby powder pressed inside a hanky to absorb the oil on my face, not to mention the habit of washing my face at least five times a day. But of course, I only realised later that the best remedy was to leave the tropics altogether for a country with a temperate climate.

Auckland however can still get hot, but just enough that makes you think- shall we shell out $$$ for an AC? But not yet. We hope, maybe not in the next 5 years, two?

When the sun drops, so does the temperature to 10 or 8 degrees and that is still cold for me. Rare are the nights when it gets so humid that you end up in your underwear (I can’t remember a time that I DID NOT use the duvet which I still use 24/7).

Anyhow, enjoy the pleasantness while it lasts.

The lockdown goes on

I should feel terrible when I say, I don’t really care if lockdown goes on and on. And on.

When you’re fine and comfortable, someone out there is suffering, or worse, getting crazy- because they’re crazy to begin with- and only waiting for that trigger.

Which could be anything- the lockdown; their spouse’s nagging; the All Blacks losing; or a two-hour wait for KFC. Again.

The whole world is triggered and you have to watch out for your own triggers, and I do have mine. I spent the entire Sunday, cleaning and putting things in order as if my life depended on it. I ironed, dusted, vacuumed, sorted my clothes (a feat in itself); took stock of what was in the freezer, made a meal plan, did laundry and even managed to sketch a portrait of Lily which I didn't finish; I was using water-colour pens which can be a bit limiting. I also managed to exercise and watch two episodes of my current favourite show on Apple TV and all before bedtime at 9:30pm.

If that wasn’t being productive (if not verging on being OCD), I don’t know what is.

You can choose how you’re triggered is all I’m saying. And more importantly, you can find a way to cope with the current situation, and if you can’t, ask for help.

Multi-tasking. Sunday night. In bed

Can’t commit to watching new movies so I watch stuff I’ve seen before. In the opening sequence of ‘The Wild’, the 2014 film starring Reese Witherspoon, she takes off her hiking boots to inspect her bloodied foot. I wince, cover my eyes partly with my hand as she pries off a toe-nail and screams. The pain causes her to jerk, knocking the boot she has taken off tumbling into the cliff below. She looks at it in disbelief and seized with rage and frustration, she throws the other pair off the cliff and screams bitch.

I want to scream too when I bump into doorways and table edges because I’m either wrapped up in thought, or that my eyes are not working properly like they used to. I also want to scream when I put my glasses on and see everything up close in their gory, chaotic detail; the sinks that are always wet because they’re cheap and designed poorly and water collects on the surface; the shavings of hair pooled around the drain that I never could quite wash off.

Chicken. I prefer the darker thigh meat, but when we have breasts, my favourite way to cook it is a variation of lemon piccata, but without the capers. You dredge the breasts in flour, pan-fry them a bit until browned, melt about 220 grams of butter- yup, that much - in a pan with garlic, take the garlic out before they burn, put the chicken back in with a cup and a half of lemon juice and some chicken stock, leave to simmer for about 30 minutes until the liquid reduces to this golden, buttery syrup.

Now I have to try a different recipe for a change. Here’s a NY Times recipe for pineapple-marinated chicken breasts.

The landscape changes to spruce and pine. There are patches of snow up and ahead and about 3 miles up, a blanket of new snow glistens in the sun. In her camp, kneeling in snow, Cheryl looks up and sees a fox watching her with what she thinks are human-like eyes. A shaft of sun on the animal gives the illusion that its yellow-red pelt is on fire.

I want a puffer jacket. I have every fall-winter garment available except for a puffer jacket. The only problem is that it never really gets that cold in Auckland and there wouldn’t be much of a chance to wear it.

In the TV series, Little Big Lies, Reese and Laura Dern are friends who look like their ages are not that far off. In The Wild, they play daughter and mother.

I want to make lemon curd. In the microwave.

“We are never prepared for what we expect”

— James Michener & Cheryl Strayed

Lockdown part 5

Life wouldn’t be without its biggest moaners, so really thankful that I’m still suspended from Twitter because I’d be sticking my unwanted opinions in if I had the chance.

It won’t be the same, but here it is anyway:

1. To that Papatoetoe family who claimed to not have received 15 text/email messages from the government, you’re all a bunch of FUCKING GODDAMNED LIARS.

2. To those Indians caught playing cricket in the park during lockdown and claiming they didn’t hear anything or couldn’t understand what the government is saying, you’re all a bunch of FUCKING GODDAMNED LIARS.

3. To the Republican Party, hope you all catch Covid and….(see? This is why I was suspended)

A list

1. A list brought to you by a cute kitten from the SPCA. We went to the SPCA the other day and it was intense. Each animal had case histories, a list of dos and dont’s, an actual character. We were warned that kittens were hard work- and not only that, the expense was equivalent to raising two kids (at least in the Philippines). But there was no harm in looking and hoping that you would fall in love- and be heart-broken- all over again.

2. I think I’m making some head-way in mentally conditioning myself not to get worked up when I read the news. I feel a little bit better not using the NY Times app that much lately- the pain of reading through nothing but chaos, despair and stupidity - because I was able to renegotiate my subscription which used to cost me NZ$40 a month. Today, I read Laura Ingraham’s tweets and was amazed at how easy it was for me to wish her and her kind a thousand painful deaths without even feeling remorse or shame; but I didn’t tweet it! I didn’t feel super aggravated! This is what Trump and Duterte have inflicted on this world- a legitimisation of behaviour we would have thought unthinkable and horrifying.

3. Whether they lose or remain in power (if not them, their minions will), how do we undo this? How do we unsay every horrible thing we’ve said; unthink every evil thought?

4. All this negativity I think has aged me. I sit up in bed, looking at myself in selfie mode with my phone and thinking, my neck looks slack. There’s a crease at the corners of my mouth. And my eyes seem worse. The consolation is when I take my glasses off, there is a comforting blurness to everything.

5. Thinking of putting a moratorium on all clothes-buying for the next 6 months; save all of it for one go at the dermatologist’s clinic; at the dentist (now that getting dental care overseas is out of the question); for customised meals and a personal trainer. Throw in a couple of hundred dollars for pilates classes.

6. Write a novel. Yup!

What gets your vote?

Since buying a house, I haven’t had the chance to change my electorate- so it’s still Papakura with Doyet and family walking down to Chini’s school to cast our votes (Toni can vote now, how time flies) and it feels like old, old times when dad was running for office and we would all be dressed, smiling very hard smiles as we voted at our precinct in Naguilayan, waving to people, our eyes meeting familiar faces and thinking, is this stupid cunt voting for my dad or not?

Always that small hard knot at the pit of your stomach, a flash of premonition and of the question- how much of your future will ride on the results?

But dad got felled by a stroke while in office and while he wasn’t fine, we actually were but we didn't know it yet. It would take time for reality to catch up with fear, with uncertainty. And one day, we found ourselves at the beach without dad and while his absence was a small, omnipresent shadow, the day was bright and glorious; we were truly fine.

I deactivated my Twitter account just the other day because I realised that the amount of energy I was putting into it didn't translate to anything tangible really; because who am I, a nobody with zero influence, with my persistent stabs at the status quo? The comfort you think you get believing that your opinion somehow counts is outrageously inconsequential compared to how others actually profit from it. Fuck Twitter and fuck Facebook.

And guess what- the majority really don’t vote the way they should. The dissonance has grown to a point where I just give up because you know what, whoever wins, I’m fine. I’ll live. I’ll survive. I’m buying a new $2,000 iPhone when my current one is barely a year old because I could.

But I voted today because I could and because in this country at least, there’s still more than a fistful of hope; and who am I to begrudge others that?

Monday

I think this is the problem- we try to push ourselves to do things that are not always inherently natural.

Where you at?

There’s this friend who only communicates with me via What’s App- just a hello or a how are you every now and then for the last couple of years. My response has always been, ‘I’m busy’ or variations thereof. Always that, always busy.

But then it’s true. The world shudders underneath the weight of chaos and continued idiocy and I wince, but it’s far off in the distance, like a clap of thunder on an otherwise sunny day and you wonder if it’s even real. So you carry on because yes, you’re busy.

And it’s beautiful here where you are, in splendid isolation. Just the other day, there were strawberries at the supermarket grown from somewhere down south where there is a pocket of land with a warm micro-climate. Strawberries in winter would you believe? Maybe this is where we should go- do our own thing. Eat and grow our own stuff. Keep the door closed. Indefinitely. What would we miss??

Well, we were hoping to go to the cinema again. There’s a boutique one that opened just before the pandemic went full blast and everything closed; it had individual recliners, only 16 plush seats to a theatre and a discrete button you could push to summon house sauvignon and pork-belly bites slathered in spicy hoisin. The sequel to A Quiet Place had a September date we were looking forward to and then it was pulled out. But then really, just get a tub of ice-cream, a packet of crisps and there’s all the streaming you could ever want. Cinemas don’t know it yet, but they’re doomed.

Lately when I get home, I don’t even glance at my emails. The line has been pushed to the very edge that finally, it’s clear and defined. When I hear my Apple Watch beeping to remind me to stand up and walk for a bit, I am able to think of strategies, refine ideas and remember tasks in those 5 minutes between standing up, walking through the expanse of the office and and back to my station. Not a minute is wasted.

Because I’m busy and because finally, there is clarity in what we’re supposed to do and of my role in it. The pandemic made that happen.

I just wish maybe that I had more time to do other things on the days when everything that needed to be done has been done and I only have my concerns to think about, which I realised, aren’t much. You don’t really count laundry, house maintenance and meals as concerns. I do them on auto-pilot and perfectly at that.

We had a couple of spring-onions from the supermarket and I decided to do this hack that everyone did during quarantine. By putting the cut bulb ends with roots in a container filled with water, you could have an endless supply of spring onions.

I wonder though as to why you would need an endless supply of them- nonetheless, the hack worked. The plants have grown tremendously fast and i’ve transferred them into a jar so they could grow upwards, held neatly in place inside it.

Looking at it, I feel oddly comforted at the idea that it doesn't take much really to grow, to survive. All you need is to somehow still be intact at the core, at the root- to put yourself on a spot, to stay there and do what you need to do for now, because yes, you’re very busy.