B.B. at 81

Blues has been one of my favorite music genres that is why i got so excited when i found out we got tickets to a B.B. King with Etta James concert. Not long after, we were all seated at a concert by the bay, amused, watching and listening to Etta's outstanding performance at 70 years old.

By God, I can't even imagine my grandaunt who's now 69 years old singing, grooving so beautifully as she was! And her voice! Regine Velasquez wouldn't dare come near her lest she'd be eaten alive.

And now B.B. How old? Whopping 81. He grew bigger, been suffering from diabetes, and now with weak knees making him perform onstage sitting down all throughout. I got no problems with that. Man, what more could you ask for than seeing an 81-year-old "king of the blues" (he stood by his name) play his guitar so passionately that even (i think) Keith Richards would drool over the entire show; that some stinky bands like Cueshe would just want to go home and kill themselves with so much frustration?

Forgive the meanness, but here's the thing:

B.B. surely knew what he was called for till the last chapter of his life. He found it silly how organizers have always been plugging his recent concerts as his "last concert". At the concert we've seen, he laughed about it and said something like: "should i live a couple more years, will i still be welcome to play for you here?" He asked this that not one smelled any doubt inside him. He was as if he knew when he'd die though he never would have an idea when. No fear, no sorrow in his eyes while mentioning life nearing its end. Because he knew. He understood. He did his job and has used his life to benefit mankind yet still wanted to contribute some more. And with this the crowd cheered in approval with an applause that ended so glorious. Wow.

To A Colorful Reading

Cheeers!

A dear someone confided in me when he said he'd rather be friends with books than with humans. I contemplated for a nanosecond and gave him a hint that a part of me wanted to agree while another part wanted a duel. I always do that. This time around it's because i wanted to convey how interaction with humans are as important as interaction with pages.

I hate it. I hate it when a fiction that you find too cheesy to read leaves you a piercing mark right after that all you want to do is lie down, reflect, and cry.

I love it. I love it when the same book suddenly switches your mode then puts you in a knight-in-shining-armorish stance that you're all revved up all of a sudden. The power of hope, the piercing light paves the way for a new path.

Hmmmmm, hmmmmmm....... The same dork (who'd spend eternity with his books) handed me some of his a-list reads. I read some of them. I'm actually on one of the cute, cheesy novels right now. But they're just as moving! I don't know how these writers do it. They're just so amazing. Crazy geniuses. Someday i'd be one of them.

Geniuses though they may be, i have always believed that their gifts have been bestowed upon to make this world a better place. They were called not only to reflect society, not only to aid us in voicing out to reveal truths, but also to imbibe and equip so that we, humans, would not only care to animate books but would care to understand what it means to be in a human world.

Make it Happen

Two years. I've been toiling myself seeking for the best school, the best fashion course that i'd be mastering in. But none has ever materialized. All the while i thought it was only because i have never seriously sat down on it, but thank God, i came to realize it was just not the one i was dying to take.

Thanks to Rei Kawakubo, founder - Comme Des Garcons. She quite showed me the way to my discovery; one of the biggest names, if not a legend in the fashion industry. Her foundation? Having studied Philosophy, Fine Arts and Literature. Can you imagine? When a door finally opened for her to enter into the fashion industry, she didn't even know what a lace looked like. A lace, i know. Even a macho guy from some uptown Bronx would know what a lace is. But she didn't. Come to think of it, France won't be history when it comes to fashion if not for the lace factories. And funny she came up with the brand "Comme Des Garcons" - a french term for "like some boys". But she didn't care. People around didn't care what she new about fashion history. All her life she just commited herself to bringing about new discoveries, breaking new grounds, and making history. And that was it.

And so, when one day i was brought to some daydreaming, my lifelong dream quite popped in my head - taking up Art History. OMG. I felt some sugarless sugar rush all of a sudden. It suddenly became possible; i felt my call as a designer and all this now seemed that they would work out so well altogether. I began thinking, if i pursue the field i really love, not only would i master more than one skill but by merging these disciplines altogether i would, in no time, establish my niche. Right. The substance i've been talking about. I can be a Kawakubo who stuck to what gifts she has, honed them, so that in the end she offered something called intellectual fashion. I can be like her, that even now at age 64, she's still rockin', continuously venturing even into a much younger market! And mind you, she still never runs out of new and interesting things to show her worldwide audience. She, in fact, still drives the fashion scene mad! Only because she followed what was in her heart, what truly represented her as a being. And amen to that!

I'm on my way. I've heard Kenneth Cobonpue's (a world-renowned, Cebu-based furniture designer) been asked to teach in U.P. Cebu, College of Fine Arts, Industrial Design. And this is so much inspiration! Thank goodness for this light expected to be at the end of a tunnel. Oh, did i tell you? I have always dreamed of being an Art History teacher. And i'm not giving up that dream. I know someday my Creator would converge things that are close to my heart, because i know He was the one who instilled that dream in me. For now i'd do whatever needs to be done. I'd start, of course, by looking for the best school (now as serious), next would be by renewing my driver's license (in case i end up taking it at my Alma Mater, which i don't mind doing), and the rest would be my continuous self-study. Wooothooo!!!

Calling all dreamers! Find the right people that will help you get to your field. They don't necessarily have to be those whom you can have a tete-a-tete with. They can be a Kawakubo who wouldn't even know you exist!

Caffeine Overload and Ceaselessly Dreaming

Kinda back to my groove again.

Except for some nauseating morning pains (but not a preggy thing, don't worry). They still come once in a while, reminding me i'm still alive. I just cry.

But towards the end of the day, i'm so much filled with dreams that i could not sleep over them sometimes. Or maybe because Starbucks now came out with venti cups for hot drinks (although they serve them an eighth short of the entire cup). I don't care. I'm beginning to love the caffeine overload: one ginormous Starbucks souvenir mug of black coffee in the morning, green tea in the afternoon, a venti cup of hazelnut cappuccino in the evening. I don't mind staining my teeth anymore. i'm a caffeine slave now. It's my new vanity.

I'm grateful for having a few weeks' rest from whatever i have been accustomed to doing. My diverted focus taught me to pray for little things. It's the sweetest thing so far, learning how God works in the minutest details.

And God will work also for the grander things. The great and personal God - one and the same. I will not lose hope. I will keep fighting, for He wants me not just to finish the race, but to finish it strong.

My Tomboy Beginnings

I went to a wake the other night. It was my dad's brother-in-law's mother who passed away (forgive me, but that's the shortest way i could describe it). While at the wake spending time, chatting with my long-lost cousins (those i have not seen for nearly three months), my dad called for my attention. He wanted to introduce me to his long-lost friend (whom he hasn't seen for years), so i went and met him. I was giving the man a polite nod while we were being introduced when my dad asked me, "Anak, natatandaan mo ba si tito lito mo [do you remember your uncle lito]?" I thought for a minute. Yep, he looked familiar to me. And so i acknowledged with a second nod signifying that i somehow recognize him. So the man looked me straight in the eye and claimed how he perfectly knew me. Here goes: "Oo. Alam mo, maliit ka pa noon. Ikaw yung batang parang lalaki kung kumilos [yes, i remember you. You were so little then. You were the little girl who acted as if she was a boy]."

All right, there goes my secret past. Not so secret. I've always been bragging about how tomboy i was when i was a kid. I've never fancied wearing a dress, not even a baby-tee for goodness' sake (although i remember playing BARBIE back in HIGH SCHOOL)! My mom even had her darkest time trying to convince me to wear an evening dress on my 18th birthday.

I've changed. Though the typical tinay would still be a carefree t-shirt-and-jeans lady, my taste has evolved. This i can be proud of, hihi. So when my tito lito told me how he found me years back, i just gave him my third nod and politely said, "opo, ako nga iyon. Tomboy po ako dati [Yes, it was me. I was a tomboy before]." Then i left and went back to my cousins who made a huge laugh when i told them what conversation i had.

People, a tiny reminder: a tomboy is the boyish type. A lesbian is another story. I was never the latter.