a laughter ....

I just saw an add on the msn website. It says, `baby´s laughter triggers mom´s brain.´ Does it really? If that is the case, let´s have a laugh.

When I was studying in Indonesia, my professor called my attention one morning.

Prof: Mbak Maria, you make me sick. You hit the wrong note twice.
Me: Go to hell!

After saying that, I collected my things, stood up, and stormed out while tears flooded my cheeks. Everybody was looking at me with a somewhat bewildered and confused look. Truth is, I was so embarrassed. Imagine, I made somebody sick with my music!

Hours later, Emma, my English classmate, dropped by my place. At first, I didn´t want to talk to her, so I told her to go away. I just wanted to be alone.

Around that time, my grandma just had a heart bypass and I was far away from home. I just actually wanted to go back to the Philippines. But Ma said that specialists are looking after grandma and there´s not much I can do.

Besides, if I go home during the academic school year, it will definitely have consequences which will include paying the university a full refund and perhaps even getting fired for breach of contract! (I was a government scholar then.)

So I was double upset when my professor told me I make him sick! But Emma was waiting outside my door. She wouldn´t leave. So I let her in and spoke to her.

Emma: how are you?
Me: I´m not really in the mood for a chit chat, Emma.
Emma: But why were you so upset?
Me: Won´t you be upset if someone told you that you make him sick?
Emma: Who told you that?
Me: Pak Joko (the professor), who else???!
Emma: He did? When?
Me: EMMA!!! during our class.

Emma stared at me. Then there was a pregnant pause.....

Emma: Oh that!
Me: Yes, THAT!
Emma: Marissa, Pak Joko said Mbak Maria, you MADE A MISTAKE. You hit the wrong note twice.

I was silent. And then, we both laughed. Poor Pak Joko.


But the thing is, some Indonesians have problems with pronunciation. So Pak Joko sounded actually like this:


Pak Joko: Mbak Maria, you mek mestek, you het rong not twez.


Which sounded to me like: Mbak Maria, you make me sick. You hit the wrong note twice.


But like I said, I should always clean my ears when travelling/living abroad! THE END! HAHAHAHAHAHA



Pak = Sir or Mister
Mbak = miss

Friendship.

My highschool classmate and friend Menchie wrote a very nice blog about reconnection. It touched me and made me feel homesick..... make that Menchie-homesick! HAHAHAHAHA

I was actually planning to blog about marriage. But I guess, friendship is also a sort of marriage, minus the wedding that is! So I am going to talk about it instead.

Friendship..... what is it actually? It sounds so trite and banal, I could fall asleep right now! ha ha ha!

Kidding aside, I believe friendship is the marriage of two (or more) people who have different upbringing yet are drawn by a common interest, dream, frivolity, background, and sometimes even by the same nemesis! Menchie and I however never had the last one. hahahahahaha

I used the word marriage because in many ways, it is a union of people who do love and care for each other (minus romance... although we all know that friendship can reach its zenith in marriage because the bond is closer). But the camaraderie, commitment and demands are just as exciting and precious.

But it´s true what Menchie wrote in her blog. Eden, Mel, Cherie, Menchie and I are re-discovering and reconnecting again through blogging. Sounds odd, but true. And that´s the beauty of cyberspace. You are only an iota of a second away from each other..... or in our case, a blog away.

Meeting marten.

It was Friday night. Our friend Niek just left, and I still have to clear the kitchen. I decided to go upstairs instead to check my email. Hey, I have one from my sister! I picked up the receiver and dialed her number.

We chatted, and by the time we were done… it was almost 4:00 AM and I was exhausted. It was time to retire to bed. Suddenly I heard a thud and stumping. My brain ran wild. What could that be? Or maybe I should be asking myself who could that be?!

And just like that, I was wide awake. I was annoyed.

I walked to the window…. looked outside. It was so peaceful. The sky was so beautiful..... like a canvas. It reminded of Van Gogh's Starry Night. Ah,... summer. I love Europe in the summer.

I saw somebody moving close to our neighbors’ fence. It’s probably Meneer Erv, I thought. But what seemed like Meneer Erv’s head, had a very bushy tail attached to it, and was running around! My heart started to pound in excitement. What was that????

Then I heard a loud shriek. It was almost like a piercing cry. The little nocturnal creature was playing! Was he calling for a friend??? It was such a delight to witness such a beautiful sight. He was very agile.... moved very fast....and an excellent climber too! It’s definitely a large squirrel, I thought. If only I had my camera now, I said. But if I leave, I knew that the creature will be gone and perhaps I won’t ever see it again. So I continued watching it.

I found myself enjoying the experience. Ah,…. he looks soooo cute, soooo cuddly! So innocent... and so,... and just like that, it was gone! I fell sad, like a little child robbed of her favorite doll!

At breakfast, I told my husband about my little adventure. He said that the “cute little creature” I was referring to, was a stone marten (steen marter). An omnivorous, opportunistic animal who feeds on rabbits, chickens, birds, nuts, and berries.

I was silent. My pet Kapkap (a chicken) was killed last month. Life was literally sucked out of her. We found her lying in a corner, ... headless and bloodless.The creature who killed Kapkap was merciless. I still shudder at the thought.

And today, I found out that the beautiful furry creature that I saw prancing and dancing early this morning was the deadly predator that was responsible for the tragic death of Kapkap! Truly, looks can be very deceiving.

(The photo is not mine. I downloaded it from the Encyclopedia Britannica website.)

life of an émigré.

Emigration is hard. You are forced to live abroad, for political reasons. When that happens, people (friends, acquaintances, and relatives) think of the pain of nostalgia. But what is worse, is the pain of being alienated. When what was once intimate to you becomes foreign.

And when the emigration stretches on (as in the case of my Afghan friend Krima), a new `loyalty´ develops to the adopted land.

That´s when the break occurs.

Accordingly, the adult years is richer and more important for life. But the memory, language and all the understructure of creativity are formed very early.

For a lawyer or a doctor emigrant, an émigré's artistry won't be a problem then. But for an artist, leaving the place to which his soul, imagination, impressions, and obsessions, are bound could mean suicide. It takes a genius to turn the disadvantage of this situation to benefits.

Stravinsky was an émigré. He spent 27 years in Russia; 29 years in France and the French Switzerland; and 32 years in America. Incidentally, the most Russian among his creative works (Le Sacre du printemps, Les Noces ... to name a few) were composed during his stay in France. But when he died in 1971, his wife complied with his last wish and rejected the Soviet government´s proposal to bury him in Russia.

Stravinsky, like any other émigré, bore within him a wound. Wound of displacement which led to a poverty of heart. A sort of heartlessness captured in his music.

Surely Stravinsky´s artistic growth would have taken a different path if he had been able to stay where he was born. But he left and lived abroad. And having understood that no country could replace Russia, he found that his only homeland was in music by all musicians. Stravinsky was at home there..... in his music. He walked and lingered in each room, felt every corner, held every piece, and cherished every moment he spent there.

I am no Stravinsky. But music is truly my home.

I can tell lots of stories of this kind, especially because there are so many emigrants here. But some things we can only leave unsaid.

trees.

Today´s temperature was 38 degrees celsius. I was sweating like an Amish farmer plowing a field of 50 hectares with a horse. To think that I was barely moving and was just reading a book. But I'm not complaining. I like it here when it's hot! hahahahaha

Everybody is blaming global warming/cooling for the climate change. I am not so sure. I just know that for every action is a reaction. You cut a tree, you have less shade. You switch on all your appliances, the temperature will rise. You use an abanico (a fan made of anahaw leaves native to the Philippines), you save energy! hahahahahaha

So next time you plan on chopping down that Kamagong tree that obstructs your glorious view of your neighbor's living room, think again and try to remember Kilmer´s TREES.

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree

A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast

A tree that looks at God all day
And lifts her leafy arms to pray
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair

Upon whose bosom snow has lain
Who intimately lives with rain
Poems are made by fools like me
But only God can make a tree.