raining on the inside

The days have been woefully gloomy lately. I don’t recall feeling the warm rays of the sun on my skin anytime this week. Tonight, after a quick trip to the nearby mall, I got home all drenched with the sudden downpour. The tricycle got me home but did little to keep me dry while I was inside it. But I had no hard feelings for the driver. He himself was struggling to keep his eyes open, what with the strong wind slapping the rain on his face. I almost asked him to stop for a while and park somewhere before continuing on our way.

There’s something powerful about the rain. The way it refuses to be stilled when it decides to strike the earth; the way it locks arms with the wind and announces its presence.

I can hear no more trickling on the roof; the smell of damp earth serving as the only reminder that the angry sky just unleashed its fury. But I can still feel the rain. . . on the inside. This time, not even the biggest umbrella could keep me from being soaked.

Just when I am starting to overcome a pain or a loss, God allows another crisis to come and disturb my peace. And somehow, the magnitude of the trial escalates: A lost phone one day; the threat of losing a loved one the next. By instinct, I’ve known what to do. I could tap the play button in the recording of my mind and listen to myself say these lines over and over again: “God loves me. I don’t have to worry. He will see me through this pain."

Sounds positive, I know, yet God knows when I’m just mouthing the words, like a mantra, and when I sincerely believe it. And so, some days I feel a bit braver, more honest, and not move a finger to tap the play button and instead say (from the top of my head and the bottom of my heart): “Lord, I don’t understand this at all. Isn’t it in Your power to help me get through my difficulties? I’ve been good, no, make that extra benevolent. But then why am I still in this rut? Lord, please show me how all this makes sense. O God, are You even listening to this cry?”

The sky must have peeked over my shoulder and glanced at this post. Decided that this writing needed an accompaniment. What else would be appropriate than the distinct sound of rain? Yes, after a momentary pause, it rains again—on the outside; now in synch with the falling of the rain inside my heart. And so I listen. And hope that maybe if I listen carefully enough, I could hear a faint melody that will make me believe there’ll be sunshines ahead.

Working in "vain"

It's Friday noon and I'm sitting on a La-zy boy chair, having my toenails done, and sipping orange juice. And unbelievable as this may sound, this is official business. My boss actually knows that I am doing this and approves of it.

Minami is the name of the relatively new beauty parlor right across our office. With my bag containing my laptop strapped on my back, I walked the twenty steps to this haven of beauty this mid-morning. And at this very moment, I'm trying hard not to get distracted by the cascading water on the wide glass with two Japanese characters etched on them. The girl files my nails; I squint a little.

Yes, the reason why I'm here is work. Our office is still on dial-up and it takes forever for us to get files--especially ones coming from publishers abroad. Cover files, inside pages, fonts--we've downloaded them all. And wonder of all (techie) wonders, this parlor offers wi-fi connection! And no need to buy any cards (what do you say of that, Starbucks and Seattle's Best?)! We needed to download a file from an FTP site and I volunteered to do it since I also needed to download a cover file from an illustrator. And since I first sat here, I've already managed to set up a gmail account, receive the cover file, and write and respond to urgent emails.

And so with minutes more to wait--for the other download to finish--I snatch some time and gather some thoughts to write this post. But nothing particularly thoughtful or inspiring here. For after all, how deep can one get while having her toenails done? ;)

PS: Lest you think I'm too "sosy" (that's sosyal or "high class")to be sitting on a La-zy boy and tinkering with my laptop, let me mention that I just returned to the parlor after a quick lunch next door, at Tess and Trish snack bar (a carinderia, actually). With a smile on my face, I say, "It's good to be pulled back to earth and shake off the illusion of class and grandeur."

Eureka!

This is the last Superman-related post you will read from this space. After watching Superman 1&2, DVDs lent to me by Ian, I now understand why.

You can trash my number 2 observation in the post below (though I still think Lois Lane is not an easy girl but now it becomes more plausible for me to take why she could sleep with Richard).

I miss Christopher Reeve. And I miss the witty dialogues from the first two supermovie installments. Yes Gina Camus, I now understand why you like the older versions than Superman Returns. Though technically inferior, the earlier plots were cohesive and well-developed. Moreso, how blue can those Superman eyes get? And this was pre-contact lens days! And Swipe, you must have thought how foolish I am for my line of reasoning on Lois Lane. Now, I'm embarrased for reacting the way I did!

And with this, I end my super ramblings. Promise. Next post please.

Writing about you-know-who

I am no Lois Lane but let me use my writing pencil for a minute and write about you-know-who.

My heart has returned to its normal beating now, that is, after the post-movie watching palpitations I’ve experienced last night. Breathtaking is how I can describe the seamlessly tailored scenes. Within that window of two hours when my eyes were glued to the cinema screen, if somebody were to set me up on a blind date with an alien, I would have gladly said yes. But he should be 6’4”, with blue eyes and wears spandex.

Now that I’m over gushing, here are 3 observations on this much-awaited return of the Superhero:

1 As the 5-year-old Jason’s unexpected display of strength suggests, he is no ordinary boy. Granted that he really is the son of the man of steel, how can he have the lungs of straw? (I can almost hear you saying: Wait for the next Superman installment and maybe it'll be explained why.)

2 Lois Lane is pictured as a smart, busy and tough woman who can almost singlehandedly run her life. But then, did I miss the part where it was told that she also was an “easy girl”? Okay, she had a one-night stand with Superman five years ago. How could she then sleep with another man (Richard) during that same month she shared intimate moments with the man of her dreams (Superman)? (That is the implication because Richard believes the asthmatic boy is his). Let’s just say the story goes that Superman disappeared shortly after their tryst. Does this warrant the Pulitzer prize-winning journalist to make a stupid mistake of sleeping with the next available guy? With her strong, driven personality and her tough exterior (plus obsession with Superman), is she the type who would sleep with another man she has just met? If you ask me, it’s out of her character. (Obviously, the Superman Returns writer is a man. And obviously, I'm overanalzying here.)

3 Is Clark Kent a reporter or is he just pretending to work at the Daily Planet? The scriptwriter and director failed to show that Kent was worthy of his post at the newspaper. (Or maybe I’m just asking too much—a sprinkling of intelligence—from my superheroes when they're cloaked in ordinariness.)

When I wrote the first words of this post, I thought I’d be swooning up to the last word about Superman: the character and the movie. Yes, Clark Kent (a.k.a Superman) looks good. Yes, he’s got the eyes to melt bullets and with his stare, any girl’s heart. Yet after the stardust has settled, you start to think that maybe earthlings are still more interesting than aliens.

But don't let that previous sentence fool you. Let me say I thoroughly enjoyed watching Superman Returns. Four girls and a guy can attest to that.

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Every woman—no matter how tough she has made herself to appear—longs to be rescued. She might not cry for help even while inside a plane doomed to nosedive and shatter to pieces, but she knows better. Deep in her heart, she needs somebody outside of herself to convince her everything’s going to be fine and ask after the plane is safe on the ground, “Are you alright?”