Atty. Ansky

I had a sort of debate just moments ago about the ills of Philippine society, and one of my online buddies tangentially touched on the topic of being a lawyer (or at least choosing not to be one anymore.)

Moments after that rather heady conversation, I was feeling a bit forlorn. As a true testament to the serendipitous nature of life (well, my life, at least...) I then saw my friend Law's blog entry that showed me this article from the Philippine Daily Inquirer. It's an article that Ansky wrote when she passed the bar exams after taking it for the second time. I love this part of what she wrote:"I...saw the need to help people, and I realized how being a lawyer is one of the better paths to do that. I could volunteer in nongovernment organizations to help the poor, preserve the environment, defend the rights of orphans and abused women."

Thank you, Ansky. You just allowed me to still keep believing that the Philippines still has reason to hope.

Accidental lawyer finds true path to her soul
By Anna Patricia R. del Castillo
Philippine Daily Inquirer
First Posted 01:55:00 09/07/2008

(The author took the bar exams for the second time in September 2007. She wrote this article right after she took her oath last April. But the Inquirer timed its publication for the bar exams taken during the four Sundays in September (the first one starts today). We are running the article with the 2008 bar examinees in mind and in memory of the lawyer who excitedly found the road less taken. Atty. Del Castillo died on June 21.)

MANILA, Philippines — In the Philippines, when you say you’re a lawyer, people react in different ways. You sometimes get respect or deference, sometimes a bit of awe. There are of course those who treat you with suspicion, or even hate. Remember that most popular of all Shakespearean quotations? “The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.” (Henry VI, Part II, Act IV)

What’s all this about being a lawyer anyway? Is it your entrance ticket into a world of men bound by rules, codes, laws and statutes? In real life, lawyering means entering into a vast network that includes business, entertainment, technology, environment and practically everything else. A lawyer must become that proverbial jack-of-all-trades. Except that a lawyer must be master of one thing. He or she must know “the rules” or “the laws” that bind us together as a community, as an organization, as a society.

This is a tough job requiring years of preparation. First, as a law student, when you have to read and comprehend a multitude of laws and cases, and then learn to analyze them. After law school, you must learn to apply them to the real world, the world outside the law school library or the study room.

But first, you must pass the bar exams. The bar is the one test that you must pass to join that elite club of people who append “Attorney” to their names. It’s a test the republic requires to ensure that an officer of the court we call a “lawyer” or an “attorney” has indeed studied the law for years, and is capable of representing the interest of other people usually referred to as “clients.”

Like a doctor, the lawyer holds lives and livelihoods in his hands. You can’t let just anyone do this kind of work without first testing him to find out whether or not he really knows what he is doing. Thus we have the bar, a series of gruelling tests taken during the four successive Sundays of September.

A typical bar Sunday consists of a seven-hour exam with a two-hour break for lunch. You are made to answer mostly essay-type questions, although multiple-choice questions may also be included.

One can’t take the bar exams without first going to law school. To get into law school, you are required to have finished an undergraduate course; that serves as your pre-law course. Your undergraduate degree must have the prescribed units in the social sciences, languages, philosophy, among others. After that comes the four years in an accredited law school and then the law diploma. Then you prepare for the bar. Other eligibility requirements include certifications attesting to one’s good moral character, and of not having been charged or convicted of any crime.

Armed with the required degrees and other eligibility requirements, you then embark on an unimaginable number of hours of reading and preparing for the test itself. If you are not dedicated to the law, or at least interested in it, passing the bar might be one big and difficult hurdle.

That is what happened to me.

I studied law with apathy and nonchalance. In college, I acted as if it was not the beginning of my real “life” as an adult, or that it would spell out my future. Of course, I know better now. But in those days, I was just into partying, partying and partying.

The only reason I took up law was because both my parents are lawyers. I took up political science in college as a pre-law course. I had a little interest in the law in the beginning, but the path towards fulfilling my dreams through being a lawyer was not that clear.

In hindsight, I see now that to go into law, you need a well-defined, clear-cut desire to do so. You have to want it passionately. Eight years ago there weren’t any interactive websites where you could research and choose your course from any educational institution. As I found out, there isn’t enough time and there aren’t enough resources in the world to help you find that perfect course. After college, I took up law in one of the finest law schools there is, the one where my parents also obtained their law degrees.

A born crammer

My basic attitude didn’t really change that much in law school. I went out a lot hanging out with friends on so-called “gimmicks.” But of course, I had to work hard, working myself to death during exam time. I also had to put it together, just enough to make it through the “roasts” (or those “massacre recitations”).

Six months after graduation from law school, I took the bar. Being a born crammer, I knew I had to be serious and work like crazy all those six short months. I asked around and the usual schedule was to read at least a hundred pages a day, which meant at least 10 hours of reading and listening to review lectures daily. I did all these. But when the bar results came out, my name wasn’t on the list. I was devastated.

People who cram and get by start to think that they’re smarter than others. I was one of them. When I flunked the bar, I realized I wasn’t that smart after all. Working yourself to death for six months wasn’t enough. I realized I had wasted eight years of my life.

Flunking the bar made me see there was no clear path in my life. My future suddenly became hazy and uncertain, and I seemed to be starting anew on an uncharted path. I was faced with many questions. Should I continue studying and take the bar again? Should I just begin a new career path, a whole new life where I would be in charge?

I began to understand the meaning of failure and hardship and of destiny—the role that we play in our own lives, and the role of God in it. God gives us all the freedom we want, but there’s also responsibility that goes with it. If I did take the road to a new career path, the older, wiser and tougher me knew I would be faced with many new challenges and possibilities of failure as well. It was a scary thought, but it was also exciting.

Allergic to failure

However, I couldn’t resist a second try at the bar exams. First of all, I had all this knowledge and facts swimming around my head from taking the bar exams. Second, I knew that being allowed to take the bar again would be some sort of blessing. I already had the advantage over the others since I would have studied twice, thrice, or even four or five times more than those taking it for the first time. Third and most important of all, I was “allergic” to failure, and I knew I had to redeem myself by passing the second time around. So I took the bar again.

I studied like mad. The rest of the world faded away, and there was just me and my books. Officially, I wasn’t a crammer anymore since I had studied most of this stuff the first time around. I tried to understand every book I read, and prayed hard that I would remember what I read and retain the knowledge. Somewhere along the way, I began to find myself.

One day, while studying till the wee hours, I suddenly began to cry. It was self-pity, and the realization that I had never worked so hard in my life. Studying for the bar is the toughest thing a person can do because it takes over your whole life and requires all your concentration, energy and patience. It makes you forego any other desire for months, deny yourself all pastimes, hobbies and recreation, and abandon all meaningful relationships. It requires everything that you can give, and more.

When I say I found myself, I mean, it was as if I went around the world, across the universe, and found myself back home, with myself, with my soul. It was the inner me that could not be defined by my likes or dislikes, or those cliché definitions of the meaning of love that one reads in a Hallmark greeting card on Valentine’s Day.

That almost superhuman effort of preparing for the bar exams the second time around made me find my real self. Despite the fact that I had almost no interaction with other people for months, this me that I found was the me-alone, and also the me-in-relation to others. A philosopher might call it “the existential me.”

‘Forever me’

When I found myself, there was no turning back, no return slips for defective goods, “no return, no exchange.” I found the “forever-me.”

D-Day finally came. Since I didn’t pass the first time, my confidence was shaky and my composure precarious. I held it together and answered fast and concisely, wrote legibly, and prayed as I never prayed before in my entire life.

After the exams, it was difficult to determine whether I would pass or not. The bar is like that—so uncertain, so many possible answers, and only one correct answer. I waited six long months. Finally, the results were released. My classmates and friends found out before I did. It was moving how they seemed more ecstatic and more excited than I was.

If passing the first time was like one long congratulatory party, passing the second time was a big sigh of relief. It is reclaiming your confidence, trusting yourself again, and finally, believing that all this was meant to happen. It meant getting on the right path again and finding your friends and loved ones still there. It’s finding your life again waiting for you.

One with my soul

Everyone says later that it was meant to happen. But do I really believe that? It does mean that I had a lot more to learn before getting to where I am now. All the reasons and the confluence of events, all the whys and wherefores of Robert Frost’s road less taken would eventually reveal itself in time.

For me, I guess I had to grow up and be one with my soul, that almost mythical rite of passage we thought we only read in great literature, but which is part of everyone’s life. What happened to that teenage girl who only thought about what to wear and which party to go to? She realized that life is all about choices. Now it’s which book to read, how to schedule her activities for the day. Still the same giggly immature girl, but now in her 20s, and somehow different in many respects.

At last I discovered that being a lawyer was my true path although at the start I was just going with the flow, like floating downstream in a river. When I finally began to find myself, I related to and understood the world more. In a way I became more caring but also more responsible and emphatic in my views.

I also saw the need to help people, and I realized how being a lawyer is one of the better paths to do that. I could volunteer in nongovernment organizations to help the poor, preserve the environment, defend the rights of orphans and abused women.

Government work was also another option open to me as a lawyer. I could promote policies that could help people and preserve those places on earth where the environment has been abused. And even in private practice, I could handle cases and contribute directly to improve the lives of my clients.

I do realize now that being a lawyer creates a peculiar and unique sense of power and responsibility that I wouldn’t have had in any other career. It’s really the beginning of a new life. Now that I’m a lawyer, I want to express a very special thanks to my parents. I also want to thank everyone who helped me along the way. I could never imagine I would be so excited to embark on this new voyage, to begin my life again and change the world.

My Strange Comfort in That Which Cannot Be Explained

I normally don't talk about my faith as much as I talk about my political beliefs. It isn't really because of shame as much as it is because my faith is admittedly too precarious for me to talk about. I have never been one to choose religion over faith, and so I would appear too liberal to "non-believers" (ugh, I hate that term...these people still believe in something, just not God - proof eternal that we live in a predominantly theist society that does not necessarily embrace those who are different...), at the same time appear too wishy-washy for those who are still burning with religious fervor.

But I see a lot of people blog about their faith and I really am moved by their vigor - almost envious even. There seems to be a resurgence of religion in the youth (especially in the Philippines) and I am really pleased. But I grew up with this "religion" and honestly, I don't feel compelled to write about it as much because (and this'll sound really bad)...I've been there and I've done that way before it was in vogue. (Told you it will sound bad.) I know that's wrong, and I'm working on that. Read on...

But it's one of those blah days. I slept for almost 10 hours last night, and instead of waking up fresh-faced to see the new morning, all I wanted to do was crawl back into bed and sleep-sleep-sleep. I am overcome with such tiredness that it's almost scary. There are a lot of things going on right now and I haven't really been dealing with them by choice. There are too many things to do and frankly, I don't have time to be sad. But it's all catching up, and I'm feeling it all right now. So now I am compelled to talk about my faith.

A lot of people ask me why the title of my site is credo quia absurdum. A little background then:

I dated a man who was a Catholic-who-became-an-atheist-who-then-became-a-Christian (how C.S. Lewis, no?). In the course of our relationship, I came to know a lot of atheists who eventually became very-very-very good friends of mine. Up to this very day, I consider these friends closest to my heart.

One of the perks of having such individuals as friends is the lively "debates" we get into. Because of those, I did a lot of introspection. There was a period in my life when I was not searching for God as much as I as reflecting on the tenets posed by most organized religions. I read up on all these other religions not so much to convert as much as to understand where they were coming from and to somehow find a common thread.

What I realized from all my readings is that there can be no real debate between atheists and theists. (Just really-really-really lengthy conversations that end with much laughter, love, and understanding...and beer.) Atheists prove through logic, theists do not prove at all, but believe through faith; yes, even if it is illogical, strange, and absurd. Hence, credo quia absurdum. I believe (precisely) because it is absurd. I choose faith over logic, I choose strange over normal, I choose absurdity over sense.

Now you all know how anal I am and how I need everything clear and explained and in order. But this inexplicable aspect of my life actually brings comfort. I do not want to explain or prove God's existence as much as I want to experience it. I don't tell other people to convert as much as I want them to find out more about God when they see how I live my life. I know I fail to do that in so many ways, but it isn't about my failure as much as it is about God's success.

So there. I'm not going to apologize for not wearing my faith on my sleeve. I'm too much of a tax collector than a pharisee anyway. I choose to practice my faith in silence and hope that my silence can shut down the noise that my demons keep making. Some people say I do not talk about my faith enough...but look at the title of my site. I do proclaim my faith, every single day. But I am also a work in progress and I shall leave the proselytizing to the experts. And I'm not going to apologize for embracing my faith over my logic either.

My comfort is in this inexplicable wonder called Jesus and I am nothing without this absurdity.

Comfort in Your Strangeness
by Cynthia Alexander

Woke up this morning
I was staring at the ceiling cracks and road maps and highways and landscapes
I have seen
I have been
to places far and deep in my mind only to find
comfort in Your strangeness

Of moving shadows when I call the wind by name
rushing firewater in the dark of a cloud
I have seen
I have been
to places far and deep in my mind only to find
comfort in Your strangeness

We are slaves to the crimes we commit
in fits of passion
we shame
We are nothing, we are nothing, we are nothing, we are nothing
But the dust on Your feet
Dying to be born again
Singing ether, water, fire, singing earth, singing air
I have seen
I have been
to places far and deep in my mind only to find
comfort in Your strangeness
I have seen
I have been
to places far and deep in my mind
only to find
comfort in Your strangeness

A Little (Language) Respect

My friends and I were playing Cranium the other day and one of the words that came up for play was "Sudoku." One girl pronounced it "sow-doo-khow" and the other team proceeded to attempt to spell the word backwards (it was part of the game.) Of course, the other team didn't get it right. When they didn't get it right, I asked that that round be voided because, well, "sudoko" wasn't pronounced correctly - hence the confusion in trying to spelling it out (backwards.) That round was voided and we all went back to playing (and we eventually won, harhar) but it really made me think...

Which brings me to my point. Words have origins and we should always respect the way it was intended to be pronounced. "Sudoku" is a Japanese word. I mean, as far as foreign languages are concerned, Japanese pronunciation is already pretty easy to grasp - simple syllables, that's all they are! It should be pronounced "soo-do-koo." If your tongue just simply cannot bend in the way it's supposed to, acknowledge the fact that you are mispronouncing the word - or at least try to get it right. Don't simply "Westernize" the pronunciation and expect everyone to just understand you or (worse) follow suit.

While we're on the subject:

1. It's "ha-ra-KI-ri," not "harrrri-kirrrri." (Word: harakiri.)
2. It's "GOOS-tav," not "gus-tav." (Word: Gustav.)
3. It's "San-DO-val," not "SAN-do-val." (Word: Sandoval.)
4. It's "Na-va-RE-te," not "NA-va-ret." (Word: Navarrete.)

...and so on and so forth. I'm sure you can also think of your own examples. A little language respect is all I ask. Is that too much to ask?

The Life and Death of Del Martin, Pioneer LGBT Rights Activist

Got the news of the death of Del Martin from the kind folks at Soulforce through email today.

I remember seeing her wedding picture soon after the legalization of gay marriage in California, and it literally brought tears to my eyes.

Here's what the email said:

"Born in San Francisco in May of 1921, Del met Phyllis in 1950 and shortly thereafter they founded the first national lesbian organization, Daughters of Bilitis. Understanding the relationship of religious dogma in the oppression of gays and lesbians, Martin and Lyon in 1964 joined religious and gay community leaders to form the Council on Religion and the Homosexual (CRH), which was at the forefront of the movement to gain religious support on gay rights issues.

Martin was the author of Battered Wives (1976) and the co-author of Lesbian/Woman with Lyon (1972). She was first out lesbian elected to the National Organization for Women (NOW).

Del and Phyllis' role in gay and lesbian rights was publicly acknowledged when the mayor of San Francisco announced that they would be the first to be legally married in California on June 16th of this year. After 58 years as partners, the two were at long last able to marry.

All of us at Soulforce are grateful for the relentless activism of Del Martin throughout the years and we send our heartfelt condolences to her wife, Phyllis."

Indeed. I feel honored to share the same wedding anniversary with them. What a wonderful life she had. Here's the San Francisco Chronicle news article on her death:

. . . . . . . . . .

Lesbian rights pioneer Del Martin dies at 87Rachel Gordon, Chronicle Staff Writer
Thursday, August 28, 2008

(08-27) 14:57 PDT SAN FRANCISCO -- Lesbian rights pioneer Del Martin, whose trailblazing activism spanned more than five decades, most recently in the battle for same-sex marriage, died Wednesday, just two months after she made history again by wedding her longtime partner in San Francisco City Hall.

Ms. Martin, an author and organizer, died at UCSF Hospice after a long period of declining health. She was 87 and was admitted to the hospital nearly two weeks ago with a broken arm.

Ms. Martin's crusading began in 1955, during an era in America known more for social conformity than for rebellion, when she co-founded a lesbian social-turned-political organization, Daughters of Bilitis, named after a 19th century book of lesbian love poetry.

This year, on June 16, she and her partner of 55 years, Phyllis Lyon, were legally wed. San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom officiated. Theirs was among the first same-sex nuptials in California.

"Her last act of activism was her most personal - marrying the love of her life," said Kate Kendell, a longtime friend of the couple and executive director of the National Center for Lesbian Rights.

"Ever since I met Del 55 years ago, I could never imagine a day would come when she wouldn't be by my side," Lyon, 83, said in a statement. "I am so lucky to have known her, loved her and been her partner in all things.

"I also never imagined there would be a day that we would actually be able to get married," Lyon said. "I am devastated, but I take some solace in knowing we were able to enjoy the ultimate rite of love and commitment before she passed."
'We're not getting younger'

Ms. Martin had been in failing health for some time, weakened to the point where she was pushed in a wheelchair to her wedding ceremony. In an interview in her hillside Noe Valley home just days before she took her marriage vows in the mayor's office, Ms. Martin described as fortunate the timing of the California Supreme Court decision that gave gays and lesbians the right to marry.

"We're not getting younger," she said.

Ms. Martin and Lyon were plaintiffs in the lawsuit that got the state ban on same-sex marriage lifted. They were married at 5:07 p.m, just minutes after the ruling took effect.

Four years ago, when San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom allowed marriage licenses to be issued to gay and lesbian couples in San Francisco in defiance of state law, Ms. Martin and Lyon were the first of about 4,000 same-sex couples to wed and made news internationally. Those marriages were later nullified by the state's high court but paved the way for the successful legal challenge.

"We would never have marriage equality in California if it weren't for Del and Phyllis," said House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, the San Francisco Democrat. "They fought and triumphed in many battles, beginning when they first bought a home together in San Francisco in 1955."

Pelosi called the death of Ms. Martin "a great loss for me personally and for our entire community."

Newsom, who said Ms. Martin "laid the groundwork for all those who want a life of dignity," ordered the flags at City Hall and the rainbow gay-pride flag at Market and Castro streets to be flown at half-staff until sunset today.

Ms. Martin's activist reach extended into the feminist movement when she became the first open lesbian to serve on the board of directors of the National Organization for Women, and she helped spearhead a successful campaign to get the American Psychiatric Association to remove homosexuality from its roster of mental illnesses.

In 1995, Sen. Dianne Feinstein named her as a delegate to the White House Conference on Aging, where she and Lyon, a delegate appointed by Pelosi, focused attention on the needs of aging gays and lesbians.

Feinstein said Wednesday, "Del and Phyllis were a loving couple, cherished by an entire community. They inspired so many, young and old."

Ms. Martin, whose given name was Dorothy but who went by Del, was born in San Francisco in 1921. Her first marriage, at age 19, was brief but produced a daughter, Kendra Mon, who lives in Petaluma. She also is survived by two grandchildren.
Together for almost 60 years

She and Lyon met in Seattle in 1950 while both were working as journalists for a trade publication. Their friendship turned into a romance two years later. In 1953, on Valentine's Day, the couple moved into a Castro district flat in San Francisco.

After helping found the Daughters of Bilitis, they started a newsletter, called the Ladder, which grew into a magazine focused on lesbian politics and culture.

In the first issue, Ms. Martin set the tone for how she would lead the rest of her life when she wrote: "Nothing was ever accomplished by hiding in a dark corner. Why not discard the hermitage for the heritage that awaits any red-blooded American woman who dares to claim it?"

Cleve Jones took that message to heart when he met the couple in 1972. He was a student at Arizona State University, and the duo went to speak to a gay liberation organization.

"For a kid just out of high school, listening to them was a life-altering experience," said Jones, who later moved to San Francisco, where he worked as a student intern in the City Hall office of gay Supervisor Harvey Milk and founded the Names Project AIDS Memorial Quilt. "They were so confident, so unapologetic, so radical."

And, added Kendell, from the National Center for Lesbian Rights, "so fearless. In every social movement, political movement, there's someone who transcends their time. For lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people, Del Martin was one of those people."

Friends and family plan to hold a public tribute to Ms. Martin in the near future. Details have not been set.
Del Martin

-- 1921 - Born on May 5 in San Francisco

-- 1950 - Met the love of her life, Phyllis Lyon

-- 1955 - Co-founded groundbreaking lesbian organization Daughters of Bilitis

-- 1960 - Took over as editor of the Ladder, a monthly lesbian magazine

-- 1964 - Helped found the Council on Religion and the Homosexual, formed to overturn laws that criminalized homosexual behavior

-- 1972 - Co-wrote with Lyon the book "Lesbian/Woman"

-- 1972 - Co-founded with Lyon the Alice B. Toklas Democratic Club, the first gay political club in the United States

-- 1976 - Published the book "Battered Wives," which focused on domestic violence

-- 1976 - Appointed chairwoman of the San Francisco Commission on the Status of Women

-- 1995 - Served as a delegate to the White House Conference on Aging

-- 2004 - Wed Lyon in the first of about 4,000 same-sex weddings sanctioned by San Francisco but later ruled invalid by the California Supreme Court

-- 2008 - On June 16, married Lyon again, this time with the blessing of the state Supreme Court, which found the state ban on same-sex marriage illegal

Honk If You're Pro-(Fill in the Blank)

On the way to work this morning, we drove alongside this car that had a lot of pro-life bumper stickers. One sticker said, "Honk if you're pro-life."

It got me to thinking about that term, "pro life." It's such a faulty term in so many levels because it presupposes that those who do not support the pro-life movement are, what, pro-death? Last time I checked, the opposite camp was called pro-choice.

And let's look at the word "choice," shall we? Dictionary.com says that choice is "the right, power, or opportunity to choose" and that's exactly what I believe in. Personally, I'm against abortion. If I had an unwanted pregnancy (which is laughable right now, but just go with the hypothetical), my go-to solution would not be abortion. But I realize that other women (and men, for that matter) would choose abortion because of circumstances that are beyond the realm of understanding of other people. Believe me, I know. That's their prerogative. I am not in the business of making other people live the way I live and believe what I believe. I love diversity and I thrive in it. I believe in the individual's right to choose within logical and equitable parameters. A term that immediately forces the opposing team into a corner that they did not necessarily - er - choose is neither logical nor equitable. That's what really grinds my gears (to borrow from Peter Griffin).

Too bad the antonyms available for choice do not pertain to the word's function for choosing. So I can't offer any alternative to the term pro-life. (Well, at least nothing that would not belie my inherent - *ehem* - maturity.) We can go on and on about when life actually starts for a fetus - but I'm not interested in that particular debate. So for now, let the chips fall where they may. I just don't want people to think that I'm pro-death because I'm not pro-life.

Of course, you should know that this rant was brought to you by the fact that that bleepin' car cut us on the road. From the left side of the road, the driver drove in front of us and made a sudden right. I would've honked, but she might have thought I was on her side. So much for pro-life. She could've killed us.

The World According to Billy Mays

Used to be, you had to be up late at night to see him: Screaming, yelling, convincing you that your home is filthy with germs running amuck. Now, though, he's everywhere. And I. Mean. Every. Where. Annoying and itchy as he may seem though, (yes, itchy...after watching him for 20 seconds, I feel like I ought to bathe in some of his OxiClean*) you knew he had a point.

Yes. Must. Buy. (Insert product.) You're fighting it, but you can't help it. You "pick up the phone and call now."

Billy Mays is a veritable phenomenon. He sells everything - and if he includes a (very, very, very, very, very clean, orange-smelling) kitchen sink, I wouldn't be surprised. Everything you need to survive this day and age of ick, grime, unprofessionally sliced tomatoes, unshiny surfaces...Billy Mays has a solution.

Guess what?

(BUT) WAIT, THERE'S MORE!!!

He now sells life insurance. No, seriously. Life effing insurance. "The most important product (he) has ever endorsed." Pretty heavy statement, coming from a man who has endorsed everything except - oh, I don't know - shaving implements perhaps?

Obama has Biden now, and McCain will be announcing his running mate this week. These are exciting times as the leader of the most powerful nation will soon emerge. But who will always be there, telling you what to do and how to live your life? Some dude whose face is like, 68.258% facial hair and has a voice that's scratchier than legs on day 8 after shaving. Yep. Bring that mental picture to bed with you. Welcome to my nightmares.

Note to self: Find a cure for insomnia!

Capitalism. Ain't it wonderful???

Sigh...

*Incidentally, I swear by OxiClean. I *just* spilled about a vat of black liquid shoe polish on our white carpet...spritz-spritz-spritz and it was gone! Hah!

**Update: It is now 11:13 pm EST. I *just* spilled red nail polish on the carpet. Sigh...

The Day I Went All Grammar Police on Lindsay Lohan

I have been editing the copy of a major part of my office's Web site, so I have been on full Grammar Police mode. Around lunchtime, I felt like I needed to jumpstart my brain by reading something mundane. (Haha, I know.) I got what I needed by reading about Lindsay Lohan's reaction to reports that her sister had implants. The article mentioned that she wrote her reaction on her blog. Having never seen her blog, I was curious. So I clicked on the link, and read her blog. To my horror, this is what she wrote:

. . . . . . . . .

"hey everyone..
i just had to share something that came up today and it made me feel a bit sick to my stomach.
so, here's the visual...
me and my friend Patrick walking into a store, and two paparazzi come up out of nowhere (like usual) and start throwing questions at me...
one of them being, "Hey Lindsay, what do you have to say about people commenting on your sisters implants?"
WOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
my response simply was, "Did you really just ask me that? She is a 14 year old girl, and you are a pedophile!"
i was caught out of nowhere so i didn't really come up with the proper response at the time.. there's many other things that i felt like saying, but why give it to a random guy with a camera so that he can make money!
All i am trying to say is, is that, i was raised with a wonderful family surrounding me, of course we have our ups and downs, but all in all my mother taught us to appreciate what we have been given. Nor would she ever encourage, or allow a 14 year old child to alter her body.
i am not judging people that do, but i am just saying that its not something that my family finds necessary to do, especially when you're not even fully developed yet!
It is hard enough being 14 years old and you have enough insecurities to begin with, then add being in the public eye...
i just find it really disconcerting that people have to focus on the negative and that some people are sooooo bored with their own lives that they need to manifest lies to hurt another person.
in a more positive light...
i got some great clothes from alexander wang and i miss samantha cuz she's out of town :(
have a wonderful day everyone~
til next time..
xx LL"

. . . . . . . . .

Gah! See??? This is why our children are slowly losing their ability to speak properly! Argh!!!

What I thought would be a leisurely half hour of not having to think about editing became a laborious - albeit somewhat humorous - hour of doing just that! Dear readers, you understand how I couldn't have resisted correcting her grammar! So here, I've attached the document that shows how I did just that.

Warning, it has a ton of corrections, so if you don't have time, don't even bother reading through it all. But, if you want a good intellectual hyuk-hyuk, go right ahead. (The attached document can be found at the very bottom.)

The one below is the version that has all my suggestions for improvement:

Hey, everyone…

I just had to share something that came up today and it made me feel a bit sick to my stomach.

So here's the visual...

My friend Patrick and I were walking into a store, and two paparazzi come out of nowhere (as usual) and start throwing questions at me.

One of them asked, "Hey Lindsay, what do you have to say about people commenting on your sisters implants?"

WOW!!!

My response simply was, "Did you really just ask me that? She is a 14-year-old girl, and you are a pedophile!"

I was caught off guard so I didn't really come up with the proper response at the time. There were many other things that I felt like saying, but why give it to a random guy with a camera so that he can make money?

All I am trying to say is, I was raised with a wonderful family surrounding me. Of course we have our ups and downs, but through it all, my mother taught us to appreciate what we have been given. She would never encourage nor allow a 14-year old child to alter her body. I am not judging people that do, but I am just saying that it's not something that my family finds necessary to do, especially if we are not even fully developed yet! Being 14 years old is hard enough as it is, what with having enough insecurities that already make life difficult. Having to do it in front of the public eye makes it even tougher

I just find it really disconcerting that people have to focus on the negative and that some people are so bored with their own lives that they need to create lies to hurt another person.

In a more positive light...I got some great clothes from Alexander Wang. But I miss Samantha because she's out of town :(

Have a wonderful day everyone~
Until next time…
xx LL

Feel free to add your own corrections. I'm tired, so I might have missed some errors. LOL!

And now I go back to work...editing...again. Sigh.

Attachment: Corrections.doc

Wanted: Baby

It's pregnant season and everyone's getting pregnant except me. :-( While I couldn't be happier for my friends, Selfish Me couldn't be sadder for myself. I know, I know, it'll happen when I least expect it; there's always adoption; I'm still young; yadda-yadda-yadda. Believe me, every excuse and platitude that comes with the territory, I've heard and told myself before. Believe me, my husband and I have been trying to get pregnant for almost a year now. I'm not looking for comfort, I'm just indulging in a bit of selfish pessimism. I know I should be getting a check up to determine whether or not getting pregnant is in the cards for me - but I'm too (a) busy, (b) scared, (c) neck-deep in BS to find out for sure.

Yeah, well, maybe I should just do it. Yeah, I'll see the doctor on Monday.

Meanwhile, Angelina Jolie I am not, but if you know of any child looking for a mommy, tell them you know a mommy-wanna-be looking for a child to love.

Lord, teach me to accept your will.

Engaged Idealist

It's been a while since I did one of these things, and as far as personality tests go, I think this is pretty cool. Got this one from Carlo.

Engaged Idealist (EI)

Engaged Idealists are extroverted and helpful. Others find them to be very congenial and inspiring - especially as they are always willing to see the best in the other person. Their humour, their energy and their optimism attract other people. Engaged Idealists are very good at communicating and are good at convincing and firing on others. That is why it is a matter of course that they often take over the leading role in groups. This personality type often produces very charismatic persons.

Engaged Idealists have an unusually strong ability to empathise. They are tolerant and generous towards others; they sometimes tend to idealise their friends. They always try to suit everybody and want their relationships to be harmonious and satisfactory. To achieve this, they are prepared to invest a great deal and to put their requirements last. As Engaged Idealists are very considerate, there is the danger of them sacrificing and overexerting themselves for others. In their job, they therefore have to be very careful not to develop a burnout syndrome.

Engaged Idealists are reliable, well organised and love structuring complicated situations. They have difficulty accepting criticism; they quickly feel hurt and misunderstood. Their perfectionism also influences their love life - they look for the perfect relationship for life. Once they have made their decision, they are faithful, well-balanced and loving partners. However, should they get involved with the wrong person, it can happen that they allow themselves to be exploited for a long time before they end the relationship.

Adjectives which describe your type:
extroverted, theoretical, emotional, planning, idealistic, committed, likable, enthusiastic, responsible, helpful, loyal, diplomatic, friendly, inspiring, caring, solicitous, optimistic, effusive, adaptable, communicative, articulate, convincing, energetic, optimistic, open, vulnerable

These subjects could interest you:
art, psychology, politics, honorary work, environmental protection, nature, travel

BoomBoomChikiChikiWaWa

It feels as if it's been forever since I made an entry. This summer has been p a c k e d with activities, it's almost unfunny. I've been going to school and going to work, and since the weather's this gorgeous for too short a time in our neck of the woods, we have parties every weekend (heck, who am I kidding? Weekdays are no different...) I've only managed to sit down and write something sensible because my body is on the brink of going on strike. I'm all partied out. But this is a good kind of tired. This time last year, I never would have thought we'd make friends like the ones we have now. Yes, it's been a year since Chaddy and I moved here, and it's been pretty amazing these past few months. Yay.

. . . . . . . . .

Despite not having any time to write stuff down, I have been keeping a mental log of the stuff that I've been thinking of writing. So here's a hodgepodge of shuddawuddacuddas (but didnas...) blog entries:

1. I miss my girl friends. I mean, I really-really-really-really-really miss my girlfriends.
2. I've finally decided what kind of house I would like to live in. With the onslaught of modern furniture with kitschy patterns and whatnot, I really like the simple lines of a Spanish hacienda type of home. The natural materials with a smattering of vibrant colors just appeals to me, and I'm slowly furnishing my "castle on a cloud." :-)
3. I absolutely *hate* it when I see blog entries that have cuss words in the title, especially if they're meant to be read by everyone. Don't get me wrong, I haven't turned into a total prude in my old age, but seriously, we ought to be a little more responsible when it comes to what we write that's available for public consumption. Ugh.
4. I made 8 tins of leche flan for a good friend's surprise party and I'm sooooo glad everybody liked it (except for one...but I don't like her, so I don't really care!). It was the first time I used my Nana's recipe on my own, so I was a little fretful over how it would turn out.
5. I still don't necessarily believe in marriage, but I do believe in finding the right person, and mygollyganu am I glad I found the right person. Chaddy's the best and me wuvy my hubbywubby. (Gag. I almost gagged over my own mush.)
6. The Dark Knight was amazing, not so much because of the action and all the (much deserved) hype surrounding the actors' performances. At the end of the day, it really was about the storytelling, and man, that was a great story.
7. Oh how I wish I could be home right now to watch the UAAP games! Go, Ateneo! One Big Fight!!!
8. I. Want. Balut. Now.
9. What is up with our mosquitoes this season? Seriously! They must've been feasting on some baseball players before coming here, because these mosquitoes be on hormones, man! I have bites all over me. Yuck. I hate bugs. Which leads me to this...
10. There ain't no bugs on me...There ain't no bugs on me...There may be bugs on some of you mugs, but there ain't no bugs on me...(That song has been going on and on and on in my head...)

That's it. Wish I had more time and the wherewithal to write something more substantial, but I'm all alone at home and my bed looks so comfy like it's nobody's business. I'm going to take advantage of all this quiet and sleep a little more. And so, good day - I said good day!

A Different Kind of Suicide

Got this from Aimee and I just had to post it here as well. You all know about the recent death of our friend, so I had half the mind to just pass this one over. While I still don't condone suicide, I can't help but post this here. Upon reading the rest of the article, I realized it wasn't really about the suicide as much as it was about the incredible love between two people.

From The Sunday Times
October 14, 2007
My love, I cannot live without you

French philosopher Andre Gorz wrote his terminally ill wife a moving letter before their joint suicide last month. Here we publish it in Britain for the first time

The joint suicide of André Gorz, the French philosopher and founder of the magazine Le Nouvel Observateur, and his British-born wife Dorine, who was suffering from a fatal disease, has turned the love letter that he wrote to her into a surprise bestseller.

Gorz, 84, a friend of Jean-Paul Sartre, and Dorine, 83, committed suicide by lethal injection at their home in the village of Vosnon, east of Paris, on September 22. Two days later a friend found them lying side-by-side in their bedroom.

Gorz’s 75-page Lettre à D. Histoire d’un Amour (Letter to D. Story of a Love), published a year earlier, was a tribute to his wife. One French critic described the work, which won him a wider audience than his essays on ecology and anti-capitalism, as his “intellectual and emotional testament”.

The couple met by chance at a card game in 1947 and married in 1949. “You will soon be 82. You have shrunk six centimetres and you weigh just 45 kilos and you are still beautiful, gracious and desirable,” the book starts. “It is now 58 years that we have lived together and I love you more than ever.”

Gorz goes on to describe finding out in 1973 that Dorine, who managed foreign rights for the publisher Galilée, suffered from an incurable condition caused by the contrast agent lipiodol that was used for x-rays before a back operation that she underwent in 1965. Traces of the agent reached her skull and led to cysts in her cervix, painfully pressuring her nerves.

Two years later the couple learnt that she also suffered from another illness:

‘I took a photo of you, from behind: you are walking with your feet in the water on the beach of La Jolla. You are 52. You are amazing. It’s one of the images of you that I like best.

I looked at that photo for a long while after we got back home, when you told me you wondered if you didn’t have some sort of cancer. You’d already wondered that before we left for the United States but hadn’t wanted to say anything to me. Why not? ‘If I have to die, I wanted to see California beforehand,’ you told me calmly.

Your endometrial cancer hadn’t been picked up in your annual checkup. Once the diagnosis was made and the date of the operation set, we went to spend a week in the house you’d designed. I carved your name in the stone with a chisel. That house was magic. All the spaces had a trapezoidal shape. The bedroom windows looked out over the treetops.

The first night, we didn’t sleep. We were both listening to each other breathing. Then a nightingale started singing and a second one, further away, started answering. We said very little to each other. I spent the day digging and looked up from time to time at the bedroom window. You were standing there, motionless, staring into the distance. I am sure you were practising taming death in order to fight it without fear. You were so beautiful and so determined in your silence that I couldn’t imagine you giving up living.

I took time off from Le Nouvel Observateur and shared your room at the clinic. The first night, through the open window, I heard all of Schubert’s Ninth Symphony. It is etched in me, every note. I remember every moment spent at the clinic. Pierre, our doctor friend from the CNRS (Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique), who came to hear your latest news every morning, said to me: ‘You are going through moments of exceptional intensity. You’ll remember this always.’ I wanted to know what chances the oncol-ogist gave you of surviving five years. Pierre brought me the answer: ‘50-50.’

When you came out of the clinic we went back to our house. Your spirit thrilled me and reassured me. You’d escaped death and life took on a new meaning and a new value. A friend immediately understood this when you saw him at a party. He stared into your eyes for a long time and he said to you: ‘You’ve seen the other side.’ I don’t know how you responded or what else you said. But these are the words he said to me, straight afterwards: ‘Those eyes! Now I understand what she means to you.’

You had seen ‘the other side’; you’d come back from the land no one comes back from. This changed your perspective. We made the same resolution without consulting each other. An English Romantic once summed it up in a sentence: ‘There is no wealth but life.’

During the months you were convalescing, I decided to take my retirement at 60. I started counting the weeks till I could pack up. I took pleasure in cooking, in tracking down organic produce that would help you get your strength back, in ordering the specially tailored medications that a homeopath had recommended you take.

Ecology became a way of life and a daily practice without ceasing to imply the requirement of a completely different civilisation. I’d reached the age where you ask yourself what you’ve done with your life, what you would like to have done with it. I had the impression of not having lived my life, of having always observed it at a distance, of having developed only one side of myself and being poor as a person. You were, and always had been, richer than I was. You’d blossomed and grown in every dimension. You were at home in your life; whereas I’d always been in a hurry to move on to the next task, as though our life would only really begin later.

I asked myself what was the inessential that I needed to give up in order to concentrate on the essential. I told myself that, to grasp the reach of the upheavals that were looming in every domain, there had to be more space and time for reflection than the full-time exercise of my profession as a journalist allowed.

I was amazed that my leaving the journal, after 20 years of collaboration, was neither painful to myself nor to others. I remember having written that, at the end of the day, only one thing was essential to me: to be with you. I can’t imagine continuing to write, if you no longer are. You are the essential without which all the rest, no matter how important it seems to me when you are there, loses its meaning and its importance. I told you that in the dedication of my last work.

Twenty-three years have gone by since we went off to live in the country, first in ‘your’ house, which radiated a sense of meditative harmony. A harmony we enjoyed for only three years. They started building a nuclear power station nearby and that drove us away. We found another house, very old, cool in summer, warm in winter, with huge grounds. It was a place where you could be happy.

Where there was only a meadow you created a garden of hedges and shrubs. I planted 200 trees there. For a few years we still did a bit of travelling; but all the vibrating and jolting around involved in any means of transport, no matter what, triggers headaches and pain through your whole body. Arach-noiditis has forced you, little by little, to abandon most of your favourite activities. You hide your suffering. Our friends think you’re ‘in great shape’. You’ve never stopped encouraging me to write. Over the 23 years we’ve spent in our house, I’ve published six books and hundreds of articles and interviews.

We’ve had dozens of visitors from every corner of the globe and I’ve given dozens of interviews. I surely have not lived up to the resolution made 30 years ago: to live completely at home in the present, mindful above all of the richness that is our shared life. I’m now reliving the instants when I made that resolution with a sense of urgency. I don’t have any major work in the pipeline. I don’t want ‘to put off living till later’ - in Georges Bataille’s phrase – any longer.

I am as mindful of your presence now as in the early days and would like to make you feel that. You’ve given me all of your life and all of you; I’d like to be able to give you all of me in the time we have left.

You’ve just turned 82. You are still beautiful, graceful and desirable. We’ve lived together now for 58 years and I love you more than ever. Lately I’ve fallen in love with you all over again and I once more carry inside me a gnawing emptiness that can only be filled by your body snuggled up against mine.

At night I sometimes see the figure of a man, on an empty road in a deserted landscape, walking behind a hearse. I am that man. It’s you the hearse is carrying away. I don’t want to be there for your cremation; I don’t want to be given an urn with your ashes in it. I hear the voice of Kathleen Ferrier singing, ‘Die Welt ist leer, Ich will nicht leben mehr’ and I wake up. I check your breathing, my hand brushes over you.

Each of us would like not to survive the other’s death. We’ve often said to ourselves that if, by some miracle, we were to have a second life, we’d like to spend it together. ’

Extracted from Lettre à D. Histoire d’un Amour by André Gorz. Translated by Julie Rose