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

Of 'Hwoks', 'E 'Kakos', and 'Horizons'

A few hours ago, I read an email from my college buddy. A good friend of ours had died. The email was cryptic and left no details as to how and when our friend died - and so it was easy for my mind to go on default denial mode. I immediately opened all my other accounts, knowing my friends would probably mention it in their respective sites. Sure enough, there it was. I saw LP blog about it. I immediately called her up (sorry again for waking you up!) and found out that it was true.

Her name was Ansky. Was Ansky. I still can't believe that I have to use the past tense now. She still seems so alive to me. Only a few days ago, I even mentioned her in passing. She was always saying something funny (like inventing yet another catchphrase), doing something remarkably atrocious (like adopting a small buko that had started to grow a teeny-tiny tree), or laughing in her vintage Ansky fashion - one part chuckle and ten parts gigantic guffaw. It would be easy to chuck it up to Ansky being quirky, but really, it was just Ansky looking at the world in a way no one else could.

One time, she and I were drinking, just she and I. For those of you who know her, you know that this is dangerous (because chances are, you'd die of alcohol poisoning before you even leave a dent on her), but for one reason or another, she and I took Mr. Tanduay by the neck, and conquered that MF like there was no tomorrow. After reaching that state when tipsy giggles turned into long, philosophical (or so we thought) silences, I looked at her and said, "Ansky! Finally! Gets na kita!" She looked at me, and smiled. *Long, philosophical (or so we though) pause.* And then she said, "Ano 'kamo?"

Hay, Ansky.

In Puerta Galera, on the eve of that ever famous Horizon Conversation, she, TG, and I shared one of the most eventful nights I've ever had to date. I will reserve that story for those who were there and those who knew the stories of that wacky week, but as annoyed as I was at that time because of what she did - my, what I would give to stay up the whole night washing all my clothes again (you had to be there).

To meet Ansky is to be her friend forever (as Sanrio as that may sound...) because she is just that kind of person. If you don't believe me, ask the rest of the GSM, my college barkada. This is our first really big loss. This will not be easy for any of us. But my heart goes out especially to her family and to her closest friends, the Buko Benchers (God, I haven't used that term in years!) who, I am sure, are feeling the pain of her loss the most.

I hate that I'm so far away. I wish I could be there. This just sucks, big time.

Damn you, Ansky. Bad trip ka, Chief. I'll miss you.

Currently Listening To...

This is for my friend who asked me to recommend artists she can listen to "expand her musical horizon." (Side note: GSM, I remember Ansky's horizon comment! LMAO!!! *End of side note*) Some of you might want to check some of these artists out as well. I've written some reviews for some of them, so just click on their names to find out more.

Enjoy!

I am currently listening to:

Adele
Andrew Bird
Architecture in Helsinki
Billy Holiday
Bob Marley
Cake
Chris Cornell
Death Cab for Cutie
The Doors
Duffy
Ella Fitzgerald
Erykah Badu
Feist
Forever Thursday
Franz Ferdinand
Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova
Gnarls Barkley
Goldfrapp
The Hives
The Hush Sound
Imogen Heap
Indigo Girls
Ingrid Michaelson
Jamiroquai
Jason Mraz
Jeff Buckley
Kaki King
Kaskade
Kate Nash
Katy Perry
The Killers
KT Tunstall
Lily Allen
Live
Madeleine Peyroux
Madonna
Massive Attack
Minus the Bear
Of Montreal
Morrisey
Nina Simone
Peter Bjorn and John
The Pipettes
Portishead
The Real Group
Regina Spektor
Royksopp
Sara Bareilles
The Shins
Simon & Garfunkel
The Smiths
Stevie Wonder
Sting
Sufjan Stevens
Tristan Prettyman
The Turtles
The Weepies
U2
Yael Naim
Zero 7

Maagang Pagbati ng Araw ng mga Tatay! (At isang mahalagang mensahe para aking mga kaibigan...)

OK, don't shoot me. I'm not sure if that was the proper translation of "advance happy father's day" - but I tried!

My dad sent me a copy of this article from the Inquirer and I thought it was absolutely wonderful! I'm so glad that there are still Filipinos who live here in the US who still value their heritage - enough to make sure their American citizen children still have a healthy grasp of their culture.

Incidentally, I'm wearing my "Barack Obama is my Homeboy" t-shirt. Rock.

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The odd way my sons say ‘Tatay’ in Obama’s America

By Benjamin Pimentel

SAN FRANCISCO - Visiting friends and relatives are usually amused or puzzled that my sons call me ‘Tatay,” and their mother, ‘Nanay.’ Not “Daddy” and “Mommy” or “Papa” and “Mama.” That’s also how some of our friends’ children call their parents. It’s our way of reminding them -- and us – of who we are and where we come from.

My wife Mara and I even went a step further. We decided, even before our first son, Paolo, was born that Tagalog would be our children’s first language. A few friends and family members thought we were nuts. “Why teach them a language they most likely will not use in America?” they asked.

But for me, that decision was based on a practical reason: I didn’t want my kids to get mad at me. That’s because when I moved to America nearly 20 years ago, I encountered young FilAms who were disappointed, even angry, that their immigrant parents never taught them Tagalog or other Philippine languages. They felt cheated. I didn’t want my boys to feel that way, and wanted to make sure that they would never be able to say to me or their mother, ‘You denied us our heritage.’

Still, I understand why immigrant Pinoys in the past insisted that their children speak English and that they shed as much of the “old” ways as possible. They wanted their children to fit in and not stand out with a thick accent or bad grammar or “strange” customs. They wanted them to be “genuine” Americans -- whatever that meant. To become otherwise would make life harder for them, even dangerous. After all, only about a half century ago, one could still find signs in a few California cities saying, “Absolutely No Dogs or Filipinos Allowed.”

But times are changing in America. Being from a different country is no longer as big a liability as in the past. And having a strange-sounding name -- like Barack Obama -- is no longer an insurmountable hurdle to moving forward in life. Just last week, a black man who is also a son of an immigrant from Africa, and who grew up in Southeast Asia and in a state dominated by Asian Americans just became the Democratic nominee for president of the United States. And he could very well win.

Beyond all that, our decision to teach our children Tagalog was also encouraged by experts who said it was okay and even smart to have children learn as many languages as possible – because it actually makes them smarter. Pediatric experts said so. Paolo’s doctor said so too. Then there’s our own experience. Mara and I grew up bilingual (she’s actually trilingual, being competent in Waray) and we turned out okay.

But I won’t lie. Having our first son, Paolo, speak Tagalog as a first language was tough for him and for us. I thank the children’s book publishers and authors back in the Philippines for writing and publishing more works in Tagalog. But there were times when I had to read to Paolo at bedtime when I had to do some on the spot translation as he insisted, “Basa sa Tagalog, Tatay.” (“Read to me in Tagalog, Tatay.”) So I had to quickly come up with such lines as, “Pumunta si Barney sa zoo kasama ni Baby Bob.” (Barney went to the zoo with Baby Bob.)
When Paolo started going to day care, being exposed to a world of English-speaking kids turned out to be an overwhelming experience for him. After picking him up in the first few weeks, Mara was surprised at how talkative he was in the car. We later found why: He was apparently so intimidated by his English-speaking schoolmates that he simply kept quiet the whole day, and then made up for the hours of silence by blabbing endlessly when her Nanay came to take him home.

During his first few visits to Manila, however, Paolo felt like he was in heaven. Once, when we took a walk around my old neighborhood in Cubao and came across a group of children playing in the street, Paolo, his eyes wide open, exclaimed, “Tatay, nagtatagalog sila!” (“They’re speaking Tagalog!”)

Of course, his Manila-based cousins found it strange to have a Stateside cousin who spoke English with a thick Pinoy accent. My nephew, who was then a student at Ateneo High School, and who naturally spoke English with an Arrneow accent, asked me, “Tito Boying, bakit ang barok mag Inggles ng anak mo?” (“Why does your son speak English like Barok?”)

Eventually, we found out that the experts and our instincts were correct. Just a few months into his kindergarten year, Paolo was speaking fluent English. I still remember the moment when, as I was getting into my car after dropping him off, I realized: ‘He hasn’t spoken to me in Tagalog for a week.’

In fact, Paolo, who is turning 9, now only speaks to us in English, though he still understands when we speak to him in Tagalog. On the other hand, his younger brother, Anton, who is turning 3, is, like him when he was younger, fluent in Tagalog, and “barok” in his English. Which has led to some amusing exchanges at home.

“Don’t mess with my Legos, Tonton,” Paolo would say.

“ “E kuya, I just ano – uh - maglaro naman tayo,” the smaller one would respond. (“Let’s play.”)

Paolo still calls me “Tatay.” But he now pronounces it differently, with the accent on the last syllable. As in “atay” (liver) or “ “patay” (dead). He does the same thing with “Nanay.” Visiting friends and family are even more amused by that of course. (I joke that he is saying it with a French accent.)

Anton still gets the accent right, but we expect that eventually he’ll follow his kuya’s lead.

Which is all fine with me and Mara, for at least we know the seeds of Pilipino are planted firmly in their consciousness. And if they choose later on to do more with it and other aspects of their Filipino-ness, many of the ingredients are there for them to dig up and use.

It will be their choice.

And if Obama becomes president, it could become a much easier choice to make. Perhaps a choice that is even celebrated in a society with a painful history of rejecting those who are different -- but which is now evolving into a community where people with strange names, who come from strange lands and who speak strange languages are not just welcomed, accepted and embraced, they at times can even have the seat at the head of the table.

Last week, as Obama was giving his incredibly inspiring speech after clinching the Democratic Party nomination, I told Paolo to sit down with me and watch the broadcast, telling him, “This is important. Something big has just happened.” I later found out that a colleague at work, who is white, had done the same thing with his son and for the same reason.

Whatever happens in November, our world has already been turned upside down. And for that, I won’t mind the odd way my sons call me “Tatay.”

It’s Father’s Day on Sunday. To my fellow Tatays around the world, a toast to all of us!


Bay Area journalist Benjamin Pimentel is the author of UG, An Underground Tale and Mga Gerilya sa Powell Street.

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On an unrelated but just as important note: Thank you to those who replied to my last (private) entry and to those who wrote personal messages/emails to wish me well. I really appreciate your kind words and your promises to pray for me. Some of you were really worried and I apologize if my being cryptic caused some of you a good measure of alarm. I'll probably write about it some day, but for now, I'd much rather that the full details remain between me, some really close friends, and God.

While the situation is still far from perfect, I am well on my way to feeling better, so thank you, all, once again, for your kind words and prayers.

We now go back to our normal programming...