like ink stains

a particular fantasy

This is the side that faces visitors to my home. On the other side there are more shelves filled with books. On the other side is my sleeping corner. The postcards on display are from the Griffin and Sabine postcard collection that I bought way back in the 1990s. It's a pity to keep them hidden in a box so I put them up. They also inspire me in my art-making.

For almost two weeks now I have been beset by one particular fantasy. If you have been reading this blog for a while you will know that I have been on a very strict budget because of my adamant pursuit of happiness and satisfaction in my work. Unfortunately such kind of work does not always come hand-in-hand with a satisfactory amount of money. Maybe it will, at some point, but right now they do not share the same sphere in my life. Hence, I cannot indulge in my usual book-shopping.

I have re-learned to live without a lot of things since I simplified my lifestyle to afford my journey of true paths. I have whittled down my wants and needs to the essentials, and one of those is books.

I could easily find torrents of e-books online but I find that nothing fulfills me as much as a bound volume of paper in my hands, with the scent of ink lingering on my fingertips.

For the past two weeks, especially since I finished writing my novel and while I am currently editing it, my hunger for books to read has been sharper than ever. It is like the writing had consumed so much "word energy" that I desperately need to replenish it. I crave for more stories, I yearn to meet more heroines and the men who torment their hearts, I long for the fairy tale endings that are such a comfort after hundreds of pages of almost losing hope that things will turn out well.

I have this particular fantasy of dressing up. I would be wearing a favorite long skirt, a perfectly complementing top, a pair of comfortable shoes that add twist to the whole ensemble. My hair would be behaving perfectly, cascading in soft waves down my back. I would be wearing my favorite spider turquoise bracelets layered with my pair of bracelets from India (for luck). Maybe my butterfly earrings. Or the tea and cupcake pair. My bag slung over my shoulder carrying my simple survival kit that includes a journal notebook and an inked fountain pen.

I enter the bookstore, slowing down at the entrance enough to take a deep breath like what I usually do when I enter libraries. My eyes scan the New Arrivals, the Special Discounts, the Bestsellers. But I know what I want. I weave through the many shelves to find the sections where countless joys await me. The classics, poetry, fantasy, contemporary fiction, literary fiction. I am drawn to stories with magic. Once in a while I would venture into food and travel. But I linger longest in fantasy, crashing through age lines, picking from children's as well as from young adults's. But how I wish for adult fantasy that retains the sweetness and wonder and magic of the young adults's. (Maybe that is why I am attempting to write one now.)

I run my fingers across the clean straight spines. I delight in feeling the embossed letters and images beneath my fingertips, like tracing a tattoo on someone's skin. I like the books with unevenly cut pages. I risk paper cuts on my own skin by sliding my thumb down the rough thick press of pages.

I pull a book out and open it randomly. I caress the paper, then slowly bring it up to my face so I could steal a breath of ink and pulp. My eyes play on the fonts. I like fonts that are well-spaced, not too cramped, and not too default. I like books that have been printed with care and consideration. Good paper, just the right thickness and weight and with that charming aged tinge. There are types of paper that you just know will age so beautifully. I check the solidity of the spine. Few things are more disappointing than a new book that falls apart, especially in your hands, while you're still reading it. It should be able to stand the abuse of being rolled over in bed, stuffed beneath the pillows, or slept over for hours in awkward positions.

I have a growing pile of chosen volumes beside me, as I sit on the floor, between rows and rows of books waiting for consideration. My long skirt is like a sacred circle marking my space in front of a shelf. Other people walk around me, dare not to disturb me.

I have lost track of time. Time is of no consequence. I am immersed in silent conversations, weighing promises and judging covers. My heart beats fast. It is in a constant state of agitation, of anticipation, of expectation. My fingertips are cold. They tremble with excitement at the thought of plunging into all those worlds. Of repeating the same journeys but always living through each one as if it were the first time. Of meeting every possible version of the same man who will break my heart just as he would break the heroine's heart. Of suspending my belief long enough to take me through the breathtaking climax of a happily ever after.

I expel a deep sigh that carried within its weight the litany of prayers that continue to prove my faith in fairy tales. I take my pile of books, my pile of dreams, to the counter. I become thousands of pesos poorer, possibly sacrificing the week's groceries and I would have to survive on crackers and jam on some days. But in exchange I gain days of sanity and hope as I balance along the edge of a long leap into the void.

One day, fueled and inspired by all those stories, I will finish editing my novel. I say by early next year. One day, I will be brave enough again to make one story that I will do instead of reading or writing it.

bruised and being in some kind of weird but happy mood

Wednesday, fresh from practice 

Saturday, bruise still visible and the rest of it has also come out like a map of tender pain

I'm the 90's mood tonight. Playing a long list of my favorite 90's alternative music.

Kendo was exhausting although we only had an hour of practice (the first hour was spent with demonstrations and a lecture). I have been feeling like I'm coming down with something but I'm doing my best to ignore it.

My glass paints arrived today and I can't wait to use them on the empty glass bottles I have been hoarding for the past month. (Do you know I sometimes pick my extra virgin olive oil based on how nice the bottle is for repurposing later on? heehee) But there's a bit of work to be done for a project with a rather tight schedule so the glass bottles and the glass paints will have to wait a while. *sniff*

I am in that lovely stage of not being in love because it lets me be in love with life itself. I like feeling the whole potential of so many things all at the same time. I am in one huge endless fairy tale where the witches are actually wise women and the princesses look out at me from their towers wishing they could run and jump as freely I could. I, with my rough feet and bruised knees and chore-callused hands, pass by white-horsed handsome princes without a second glance. Instead, I run across the fields of gold, and I throw myself nto the glittering sky.

What do stars do? (quoted from Stardust, movie adaptation of a graphic novel by Neil Gaiman)

first craft for the year : a love vision board

Ten years ago this will probably be the last thing I would ever think to make. Fifteen years ago you would not even be able to make me come near anything pink, hearts, or romantic. Well, I guess we all went through our own versions of emo in our much younger days. Did you ever celebrate an anti-Valentine day on Valentine's Day?

It's quite funny because I was actually born on Valentine's Day. I resented that fact for quite a number of years. I was a wallflower. The unchosen nerd-girl. The weird girl. I didn't have a boyfriend until I was almost thirty.

I fell in love with and pursued a handful of guys (yes, I was brave that way and I paid the price in too many heartbreaks). All were unrequited until one, and then another, finally stopped long enough to take notice.

But two boyfriends later I am now again single. Took me a while to learn that there is only so much I can do to make anyone fall in love with me and be a true partner and the best way is actually not to do anything! Just focus on becoming your best self and be true to what makes you happy. When your real self shines then the real right person will recognize you and before you know it -- happily ever after.

So I start this year with a love vision board. Out of a piece of illustration board, some decorative papers, and print outs of happy inspiring photos of real happy couples from the internet (yes, it sounds a bit stalker-ish but it is only for personal positive use), I created a vision of love and partnership. More than the beauty of the images I also chose them based on the stories and values they tell me. A main feature of the board is the love life of Elsie Larson of A Beautiful Mess who is currently my number one inspiration on so many aspects of my life.

I have also added touches of my dream wedding theme. Just to make it clearer and to remind me of what each element represents for me.

So call me corny or mushy but I still believe in fairy tales and happily ever afters.

as the year counts down to an end

I have to keep seeing the good so that all that is good is what will prevail. Never mind the worries that gnaw at untended corners of my mind (and the difficult-to-answer questions that nibble at my heart). The worries will always be there. The questions will always demand more answers. What is important is that I don't let them overtake and overwhelm me.

My very own hands are rediscovering their power in many many ways. My artist's spirit is stirring, shy still from having been pushed away and hidden like a stolen secret. Lately, the chains of definition that have weighed me down for almost two decades are finally crumbling into rust. I will define myself and I will be true.

My needs and wants have narrowed down to pinpoints of purpose, like constellations that map my journeys. Before, I simply wanted the whole sky, all its vastness and all its depth, because I was afraid that I would not be enough or have enough of anything.

My mind is finding new paths of thought. Recognizing solutions where there were none before. Unraveling stories that were previously just blank pages.

As for love, my heart, the tenderness within my warrior stance, the fairy tale that has been beaten and battered and bruised --- this one I have delegated to fairy godmothers and patron saints and angels.