Written at 1150 pm, Feb 26, 2003 (Paris time)
Its almost midnight and I’m still very much awake. Its not because I cant sleep. That isn’t me after all. I love sleep. The minute I lie down I can doze off almost immediately…well most of the time, that is.
But tonight I choose to not sleep yet. I’m trying a little experiment. See, since I got here, I’ve never had a good night’s sleep. I always wake up some time in the middle of the night. Okay, I wake up at an ungodly hour. Think 3 am, 4 am, 5 am. And that just isn’t the kind of restful sleep that I need or want.
Someone once told me that not being able to sleep well (either getting too much or getting too little) means that something’s wrong. Something’s up.
Honestly I don’t know what could be bothering me. I don’t know of anything new that bothers me. I just have the usual things that I think of, the usual questions that I have. Nothing new. Nothing to have wrong sleep patterns over.
So I just sit here at my little desk in my little rented studio (which I’m not paying for by the way) and type away at my borrowed laptop. I have a football game on TV, but I’m not really watching. I have a book right beside me, but I’m not really reading.
I’m typing but not really writing.
I’m bothered but not really.
I am….or am I really?
Feb 27, 2003
Lets talk about food in Paris.
I noticed that the French aren’t particularly fond of heavy food. The daily Parisian fare wont let you walk away from a restaurant with one hand supporting your back and the other rubbing your oh-so-stuffed stomach. Here’s what they eat.
1. Baguette. A French staple. In Manila, we call it (what else?) French bread. Unlike our local bread though, baguettes aren’t necessarily that long.
Think Subway’s one foot sandwich. That’s typical baguette size. What remains the same is the fact that they’re pretty hard to eat. Expect crumbs,
expect plenty of jaw exercise….
2. Salads. Green, leafy and filled really juicy tomatoes. Yum. Nuff said.
3. Cheese. I thought Netherlands was THE cheese capital of the world (and maybe it is?) but I see more cheese here. (Or maybe its because I spent just a day in
Amsterdam.) I've tried fondue already!! Oh no, that was Raclette...the difference is, instead of having melted cheese in a pot, they give you the cheese and this small
"stove" with a flat bottom "pan" where you melt your cheese. Once melted, you tip the pan and all that creamy cheese unto your plate of cold cuts, baked potato, etc...
4. Wine. Red, white and rose. Rose is that interesting concoction which is a mix of both. The best of both worlds…needless to say, I still haven’t increased my alcohol
tolerance, but that doesn’t stop me from having my wine glass at dinner.
5. Tarts, Flan and oodles of strawberry dessert. Their flans taste like egg pie so I haven’t really had too much of that. The tarts? I have yet to try them…
but the strawberry dessert…oooohhh…my first office day lunch included that yummy, juicy, lovely glass of that sumptuous red fruit topped with whipped cream
and with strawberry icing (I don’t know what its called) at the bottom. So you think you’ll lose weight with just sandwiches and salads? The desserts will
make sure you have enough fat and sugar to make you gain more than a pound.
6. Café. And I don’t mean Frapuccino’s or Javanillas. I mean strong, eye-opening Espresso shots. In little cups, no less. Yes, they have Café Au Lait
(which has milk) but damn! Those espresso shots aren’t as bitter as you think they would be…you wouldn’t mind having double or triple shots.
I noticed that the French aren’t particularly fond of heavy food. The daily Parisian fare wont let you walk away from a restaurant with one hand supporting your back and the other rubbing your oh-so-stuffed stomach. Here’s what they eat.
1. Baguette. A French staple. In Manila, we call it (what else?) French bread. Unlike our local bread though, baguettes aren’t necessarily that long.
Think Subway’s one foot sandwich. That’s typical baguette size. What remains the same is the fact that they’re pretty hard to eat. Expect crumbs,
expect plenty of jaw exercise….
2. Salads. Green, leafy and filled really juicy tomatoes. Yum. Nuff said.
3. Cheese. I thought Netherlands was THE cheese capital of the world (and maybe it is?) but I see more cheese here. (Or maybe its because I spent just a day in
Amsterdam.) I've tried fondue already!! Oh no, that was Raclette...the difference is, instead of having melted cheese in a pot, they give you the cheese and this small
"stove" with a flat bottom "pan" where you melt your cheese. Once melted, you tip the pan and all that creamy cheese unto your plate of cold cuts, baked potato, etc...
4. Wine. Red, white and rose. Rose is that interesting concoction which is a mix of both. The best of both worlds…needless to say, I still haven’t increased my alcohol
tolerance, but that doesn’t stop me from having my wine glass at dinner.
5. Tarts, Flan and oodles of strawberry dessert. Their flans taste like egg pie so I haven’t really had too much of that. The tarts? I have yet to try them…
but the strawberry dessert…oooohhh…my first office day lunch included that yummy, juicy, lovely glass of that sumptuous red fruit topped with whipped cream
and with strawberry icing (I don’t know what its called) at the bottom. So you think you’ll lose weight with just sandwiches and salads? The desserts will
make sure you have enough fat and sugar to make you gain more than a pound.
6. Café. And I don’t mean Frapuccino’s or Javanillas. I mean strong, eye-opening Espresso shots. In little cups, no less. Yes, they have Café Au Lait
(which has milk) but damn! Those espresso shots aren’t as bitter as you think they would be…you wouldn’t mind having double or triple shots.
Feb 24, 2003
Today while going around Paris, I bought a Poetry book, “Staying Alive – Real Poems for Unreal Times”. It was really not my intention to buy a book, I was just there in the store to accompany my friends who were looking for something English to read. What tourist after all would think of buying a book while in Paris? This is Paris! This is Europe! This is not the place where you spend the night reading a book. But I made the mistake of looking for the poetry section, made the mistake of going through the titles, made the mistake of leafing through the pages….Hence, I stayed behind in the bookstore and half an hour later, came out with a new book in hand. Worth 20 Euros. Worth two days lunch and dinner. But hell, it’s a poetry book…and for that I can sacrifice other purchases I may have had in mind.
What is it about poetry that makes it so unresistable, at least for me personally? I don’t really know. Its like that classic question that people would ask, especially those you’re getting to know for the first time, “What kind of music do you like?”. To this question, I have my generic, straight to the point and somewhat unexciting answer…”Various kinds, but I lean towards Rock/Blues/Band music.” And then there’s the other answer which I rarely give out, only to those I wouldn’t mind talking to at least, since it requires more talk and longer conversation…”I don’t have a particular preference. I like songs that have soul. Songs with a beat that matches its words.” Songs with soul. I don’t really know the best way to explain it, but that’s the best I can do.
The same thing goes with poetry. I don’t prefer any particular, any particular period or any particular writer. The poems I like best are the poems that speak to me. Whether they talk of an emotion I’ve had, an experience I’ve had or something I can emphatize with determines the extent of just how much the poem “speaks to me”.
I’ve had my book with me for only a few hours, and already something is worth quoting. At the first few pages are some thoughts on poetry by poets themselves. Here’s one which can begin to explain this fixation I have:
“Poetry is that which arrives at the intellect by way of the heart.”
- R.S. Thomas
What is it about poetry that makes it so unresistable, at least for me personally? I don’t really know. Its like that classic question that people would ask, especially those you’re getting to know for the first time, “What kind of music do you like?”. To this question, I have my generic, straight to the point and somewhat unexciting answer…”Various kinds, but I lean towards Rock/Blues/Band music.” And then there’s the other answer which I rarely give out, only to those I wouldn’t mind talking to at least, since it requires more talk and longer conversation…”I don’t have a particular preference. I like songs that have soul. Songs with a beat that matches its words.” Songs with soul. I don’t really know the best way to explain it, but that’s the best I can do.
The same thing goes with poetry. I don’t prefer any particular, any particular period or any particular writer. The poems I like best are the poems that speak to me. Whether they talk of an emotion I’ve had, an experience I’ve had or something I can emphatize with determines the extent of just how much the poem “speaks to me”.
I’ve had my book with me for only a few hours, and already something is worth quoting. At the first few pages are some thoughts on poetry by poets themselves. Here’s one which can begin to explain this fixation I have:
“Poetry is that which arrives at the intellect by way of the heart.”
- R.S. Thomas
Feb 21, 2003
I know this may sound grossly exaggerated considering I’ve only been away for a few days,
but I’m enjoying being away from home. The more I think about it, the more I’m beginning to see that I here I have what I have always dreamt of…my own place, my own laptop, privacy, independence…
Every day I wake up at 7 am, and then make my way to the office along with other 9-5ers. Here everybody takes the Metro – the subway – to work. And here, when you say “corporate” attire, they don’t look like cheesy banktellers. Its mean I know, but here, people wear coats and suits. Or maybe its just because its still winter and coats are needed to survive. My point isn’t to criticize those at home, its just that here, people are noticeably more well-dressed.
The trip to the office takes 30 minutes at the most and when you get to work, people are really working. Give them a few minutes to check their mail and get organized, after that..its work. (Either that or they’re very good pretenders, either way, its pretty impressive.)
Common lunch fare means a sandwich or salad or baguette with cheese and something for dessert, perhaps a fruit tart (strawberry is common) or flan. There’s also the glass of beer or wine, the most interesting of which is what is called a “Rose”…a mix between white and red wine. Interesting how people who are biologically bigger than Filipinos eat so little in the middle of the day.
At the end of the day, people head home (well at least I do since I seem to be even more of a sleep addict now more than ever) and rest. I suspect most still go out at night…something that I am yet to discover.
To someone like me who’s only here on a temporary basis, it’s a very ideal way to live. Of course this is because I don’t have to think of my living expenses…but still…I’m enjoying my borrowed time in Paris. For a few months at least, I can play pretend.
(Hmm…borrowed time and pretending? Sounds all too familiar…but then again…that calls for another blog entry.)
but I’m enjoying being away from home. The more I think about it, the more I’m beginning to see that I here I have what I have always dreamt of…my own place, my own laptop, privacy, independence…
Every day I wake up at 7 am, and then make my way to the office along with other 9-5ers. Here everybody takes the Metro – the subway – to work. And here, when you say “corporate” attire, they don’t look like cheesy banktellers. Its mean I know, but here, people wear coats and suits. Or maybe its just because its still winter and coats are needed to survive. My point isn’t to criticize those at home, its just that here, people are noticeably more well-dressed.
The trip to the office takes 30 minutes at the most and when you get to work, people are really working. Give them a few minutes to check their mail and get organized, after that..its work. (Either that or they’re very good pretenders, either way, its pretty impressive.)
Common lunch fare means a sandwich or salad or baguette with cheese and something for dessert, perhaps a fruit tart (strawberry is common) or flan. There’s also the glass of beer or wine, the most interesting of which is what is called a “Rose”…a mix between white and red wine. Interesting how people who are biologically bigger than Filipinos eat so little in the middle of the day.
At the end of the day, people head home (well at least I do since I seem to be even more of a sleep addict now more than ever) and rest. I suspect most still go out at night…something that I am yet to discover.
To someone like me who’s only here on a temporary basis, it’s a very ideal way to live. Of course this is because I don’t have to think of my living expenses…but still…I’m enjoying my borrowed time in Paris. For a few months at least, I can play pretend.
(Hmm…borrowed time and pretending? Sounds all too familiar…but then again…that calls for another blog entry.)
Feb 18, 2003
WELCOME TO PARIS!!!
What do you think is the first indicator, the first honest-to-goodness sign that says "You are in Europe"? The presence of blondes, brunettes, leather jacket-clad people? Maybe....
But for my group, it was one particular blonde French female walking ahead of us towards the taxi line. She was met at the gate by her boyfriend....and then there it was....
the kiss. in public.
I kept walking past them before I turned to my companions and saw them stiffling their giggles. One of them came to me and said....
"Ma c culture shock nga talaga ko dito."
hehehe..Welcome to Paris!
What do you think is the first indicator, the first honest-to-goodness sign that says "You are in Europe"? The presence of blondes, brunettes, leather jacket-clad people? Maybe....
But for my group, it was one particular blonde French female walking ahead of us towards the taxi line. She was met at the gate by her boyfriend....and then there it was....
the kiss. in public.
I kept walking past them before I turned to my companions and saw them stiffling their giggles. One of them came to me and said....
"Ma c culture shock nga talaga ko dito."
hehehe..Welcome to Paris!
Feb 17, 2003
The plane landed at around noon on Sunday, Manila time
which in Paris was 5 am-ish also Sunday. My concern at that time was really getting past Immigration and then finding a cab to the hotel. I have never really had problems with Immigration before and there really wasnt anything to worry about but I have long been hearing about tales of other people spending hours just being questioned. And after a 13-hour flight from Singapore in a very crowded plane, the last thing I need is further delay in the airport.
So anyway, we made our way out of the plane and out into the Paris airport. It was a relatively old airport and for the life of me, I cant figure out which one it is...the Roissy or the something-or-other. We had to go thru this really long tunnel out of the gates and into Immigration. The whole time, I was thinking...no more delays please, no more delays..
And thank god there were none in Immigration. The officer took our passports, did whatever they had to do with them...and then let us through...Whatever was I worried about????
which in Paris was 5 am-ish also Sunday. My concern at that time was really getting past Immigration and then finding a cab to the hotel. I have never really had problems with Immigration before and there really wasnt anything to worry about but I have long been hearing about tales of other people spending hours just being questioned. And after a 13-hour flight from Singapore in a very crowded plane, the last thing I need is further delay in the airport.
So anyway, we made our way out of the plane and out into the Paris airport. It was a relatively old airport and for the life of me, I cant figure out which one it is...the Roissy or the something-or-other. We had to go thru this really long tunnel out of the gates and into Immigration. The whole time, I was thinking...no more delays please, no more delays..
And thank god there were none in Immigration. The officer took our passports, did whatever they had to do with them...and then let us through...Whatever was I worried about????
Feb 11, 2003
I wonder how it feels like to fall from the 20th (or higher) floor of a building?
No I am not becoming suicidal. There's too much to miss if I die this young. I'm wondering. Would be anything like those dreams we have sometimes? You know the type where you wake up with a jolt because you were falling...the kind of dreams that some people say signifies that you're actually growing taller. Maybe...only multiply that 40 or 50 times. Oooh. Scary. So much for wanting to try sky diving, or even bungee jumping. I'm too much of a coward to do that.
Feb 8, 2003
Weeks ago I wrote something down that never quite made it to my blog.
That was around the same time when the work came piling in and I became preoccupied. But anyway, here it is. I can't quite relate to it anymore, well, not as much as I could at the time. I suppose it is due in part to the fact that I dont understand a single point I was trying to make. Bottom line is, I was a little messed up then. Shaken up. Incoherent. And in case I end up being and feeling like that one of these days again, I'll have my blog to come back to.
(written Jan 13, 2002)
I found myself unable to work at all today. I figure it must be because its Monday. Mondays are always slow days. Only today.....I don't think it's really slow....today was purely, simply unproductive. So maybe its not just because its Monday.
I admit it, something's up. I made a big mistake, now I'm paying for it. Work takes more effort just so I can concentrate. Nights seem shorter because I can't get enough sleep. I suppose I could say "I should've known better." but I DID know better. Only, I ignored those little voices from my very limited wisdom. Like all those times when logic told me to not do anything I shouldn't do, I ignored it. I ignored myself. My sane self. My logical self.
What is it about pure logic, pure pragmatism that turns people off? Specifically, me? Its ironic since I've always thought myself to be a practical person. Do I, at certain times/moments in my life forego my practicality? I obviously do. But for what? And when? What good does this do for me?
I guess the answer is, I'm really not a practical person. Whoever says that I am, do not know me well. And it probably goes to show that I don't know myself that well to actually even think I am practical. Thinking about it really, people just believe me when I tell them that I am. Truth be told, I am a very emotional person. I forego logic at the slightest hint of emotion. This is not to say that I do not possess logic. Only, that I choose to ignore it.
I believe that life is experienced fully when you crash and burn. And crashing and burning isnt practical. Its purely impulsive. Everything that comes after crashing and being burnt deals with emotion. You're left with all the markings, the spoils of war, the raw pain that comes with going through such an experience.
I believe in living life fully. Unfortunately, after living my life fully for just a few years, I find I am not left with just scars. I've been damaged. Real bad. I crashed and got burned (burnt?). Now I'm struggling to stay alive.
And this is my idea of living? Maybe I should rethink what I believe, otherwise I'll be left with more Mondays (and non-Mondays) as unproductive as today. And as incoherent.
That was around the same time when the work came piling in and I became preoccupied. But anyway, here it is. I can't quite relate to it anymore, well, not as much as I could at the time. I suppose it is due in part to the fact that I dont understand a single point I was trying to make. Bottom line is, I was a little messed up then. Shaken up. Incoherent. And in case I end up being and feeling like that one of these days again, I'll have my blog to come back to.
(written Jan 13, 2002)
I found myself unable to work at all today. I figure it must be because its Monday. Mondays are always slow days. Only today.....I don't think it's really slow....today was purely, simply unproductive. So maybe its not just because its Monday.
I admit it, something's up. I made a big mistake, now I'm paying for it. Work takes more effort just so I can concentrate. Nights seem shorter because I can't get enough sleep. I suppose I could say "I should've known better." but I DID know better. Only, I ignored those little voices from my very limited wisdom. Like all those times when logic told me to not do anything I shouldn't do, I ignored it. I ignored myself. My sane self. My logical self.
What is it about pure logic, pure pragmatism that turns people off? Specifically, me? Its ironic since I've always thought myself to be a practical person. Do I, at certain times/moments in my life forego my practicality? I obviously do. But for what? And when? What good does this do for me?
I guess the answer is, I'm really not a practical person. Whoever says that I am, do not know me well. And it probably goes to show that I don't know myself that well to actually even think I am practical. Thinking about it really, people just believe me when I tell them that I am. Truth be told, I am a very emotional person. I forego logic at the slightest hint of emotion. This is not to say that I do not possess logic. Only, that I choose to ignore it.
I believe that life is experienced fully when you crash and burn. And crashing and burning isnt practical. Its purely impulsive. Everything that comes after crashing and being burnt deals with emotion. You're left with all the markings, the spoils of war, the raw pain that comes with going through such an experience.
I believe in living life fully. Unfortunately, after living my life fully for just a few years, I find I am not left with just scars. I've been damaged. Real bad. I crashed and got burned (burnt?). Now I'm struggling to stay alive.
And this is my idea of living? Maybe I should rethink what I believe, otherwise I'll be left with more Mondays (and non-Mondays) as unproductive as today. And as incoherent.
Feb 7, 2003
The songs that suddenly find their way into your lives
are the songs that may have come from completely unexpected sources. A few weeks ago, someone told me about this Tori Amos (gasp!!! Tori Amos!!!) cover of a Stevie Nicks song. It became an instant hit among my very varied and very often played mp3 collection. Here are the words to my latest guaranteed-to-make-you-stop-coding song...
I took my love and I took it down
Climbed a mountain and turned around
And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills
'til the landslide brought it down
Oh, mirror in the sky -What is love?
Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail through the changin'...ocean tides
Can I handle the seasons of my life?
I don't know.....I don't know
Well I've been afraid of changin'
because I've built my life around you
But time makes you bolder, even children get older
And I'm getting older too....
So, take my love...take it down
Climb a mountain and turn around
and if you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills...
well the landslide will bring it down
The landslide will bring it down
As much as I'd like to explain why it makes such a big impact on me, I don't want to start. Otherwise, I might not end.
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