my blahblah luminaries

You are my six-pointed star.

I am your eight-pointed star.

Together, we create a cosmic order.

Balance.

To Bruce:


This February, it would have been five years since you died. How come I feel like I am cheating on you. You left me, remember?

(inspired by Frank Warren's book, Post Secrets)

And then, everything becomes so beautiful.

I'm quite excited for Cebu (November 10-15). Just six days but hell, it's going to be crazy.

Bridal shower. Photoshoot fixations. Reunions. Wedding.

I need that breather.

A friend asked me how I handle healing gracefully. I didn't know how to react. I don't have an answer.

I woke up this morning and all I wanted to do was to call you, ask you to fly across the ocean and be my lover.



I didn't.


-Post Secrets, Frank Warren

HIM: You look beautiful even in broken pieces.
HER: Yes, it sucks. He broke my heart.
HIM: Can I fix it?

Oh, you have such charm.

I've gotta save myself first and then, I'm yours.

(Post Secrets, Frank Warren)

For every SUMMER who broke your heart, there's always an AUTUMN lurking in the end. And this time, you may wake up with the very thing you weren't sure of with the first one. So when you're broken, fix it and heal, then live again.

Because I don't have shoot today and my sisters just got off from their semester-ender exams, we will hit the theaters for 500 DAYS OF SUMMER, CARAMEL and COCO AVANT CHANEL.

And some cocktails for the Cinemanila Awards Night.

And a nocturnal dose of jogging (and people-watching) in Boni High Street.

Oh, I love free days. Then, I start to miss working again. Why am I so inlove with my craft?

Breathe in. Breathe out.

I know that when I start writing this down in public and openly talk about it without flinching, I must have healed pretty soon. This is it. I'm over the pain. I have a brand new heart.

Here goes:

The past month was difficult because it felt like I got my heart broken for the first time. I cringe whenever I think of how we let go of the the years we fought for and the years we drove ourselves crazy by just being too into love. Then it ends, just like that, not because we don't love each other anymore but because it has to. We parted ways, we suffered, I recovered, I have moved on.

I drowned myself with work, which is a good tool for healing. Friends have been a big help in making me see a better view of the world. Family were always there to make me feel happy every time my heart seems to lose hope in beating. Then, I start to see myself smiling. Life does not stop, not even when we're miserable.

I close the book and never plan on opening it again. I don't have any regrets because he has been a big part of the whole process that made me the person I am today. He remains to be my friend.

This heart is breathing on a new air, and loving it.

So yes, this is what they call heartache and life after that.

Marry me, Luke Mably.

You and your English accent. So hot.

Death is merely just another beginning.

When you decide to be with someone, do not give it your all.
Because when he leaves and drops his promises to ground zero, nothing is left with you.

Be careful who you give your heart to, feel it. With that you will know who the stars have planned for you. You will just know. No inch of wrong will prevail.

Love does not allow you to hurt. Love protects you. Love makes you be a better person. Love gives you faith.

And I heard from somewhere, "The more time you spend with the wrong person is less time spent with the right one." So feel and believe. It's magic. Know if it's him that's made for you. Then, live your life, stop trying to understand things, just live.

teach me the Tradition of the Moon.

Nature has warned us. We didn't listen. We didn't believe. We refused to look closer. Global warming took its toll. It shouldn't have reached this point. It's time to clean up our mess.

I woke up and the waters were starting to rise. I saw houses gone to waste, cars floating with the current and the high-rise water contemplating on its anger. I shifted my gaze from this dog crying for help as the water eat it up to a family of three drowning.

It was dreadful seeing the delirium and not being able to do anything about it. I sat on our balcony in this five-storey building as the basement's being filled with floodwater. I was safely praying on the second floor. This was the curse.

I started to commune with nature. There was a strange energy in the air. Nature's agility didn't give justice to the forceful destruction of the Earth. I was besieged in this shelter for the whole day, painfully seeing neighbors drown. The rain was calm but it never stopped. It kept pouring.

I laid trembling before this hostile force. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. Water silently crawling up, no electricity, no water, no food stock, trapped in this unwanted surrender.

I slept through all of it. Insensitive of me.

I woke up. The rain had stopped. The birds were happily flying from cloud to cloud. The sun had risen.

But the wreck was there, still is.

I wish to be the bridge between this visible mess and the invisible force. What have I been thinking.

Strangely though, I'm completely lucid.

I dream of dancing on an empty canvass with feet full of paint to the rhythm of salsa.
I wish to be granted a month-long excursion to Barcelona to be able to transcribe this madness of a story in my mind into a full-blown script. Why Barcelona? The place is so beautiful I will be able to sit back, and think until I am brave enough to write down.
I want to badly own a dark room and go back to shooting on film again.
I dream of a spiritual journey in the Himalayas.
I wish of experiencing a hot air balloon flight.
I want to walk until I think of a reason to stop. And then, walk again.

Withdrawal syndrome.

I seriously need a bottle of wine, cheese, cold cuts, and a day of slow pace.
And of course, a gelato.

I'll be happy again.

My priceless photograph and an-hour-encounter with Oscar winner himself, ANG LEE.

I watched Lady in the Water, by M. Night Shyamalan. It's an old film, well, not really very old. And despite many people not liking it, I actually think it's a good film. It's quite relevant, and you can see yourself in the characters. And Christopher Doyle is graceful with his cinematography.

Bravo.

I also caught myself watching Amelie, again. And loving the saturated look yet the colors were vivid. French filmmakers are so full of talent.

Lights off.

I vividly imagine a film, but all I can see are symbols trying to penetrate into a story.

Rocks protruding in the river, a bowl in the sink with hands washing on it, a bell chimes then pigeons fly away, a knife stuck in an apple.

Where's my mind? This won't make up for a story.

But yes, thank God, I have a willing writer, a 70-year-old novelist and a legacy in the Ilokano literature, I shouldn't worry. Years. Years. And then, I'll be brave enough to make my own film, as I have been asked four times in Venice, by the locals, by a Filipino filmmaker, and by a Swiss-Filipino festival programmer.

I remembered I just laughed at their question. Was that a good answer? Uhmmm. No.