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"Bacon is my aesthetic"
earlier my friend told me:
"the whole of japan is going crazy ; they re dressing up like bill gates. geekwear."
"haha. really?"
"no."
I looked like this : ?
A free drink from the cable car
I woke up yesterday afternoon to find 60 people crammed downstairs.
During family gatherings, I find myself standing in the middle of all the chaos, from the crying toddlers being followed by their loyal nannies to my distant uncles and aunts who insist on calling me "Kayla".
And I start to wonder, who are these people? We're all so different, yet we're bound by something so strong and amazing, and there isn't even a word for it!
I shared this passionate lament to my sister Denise, who was conveniently getting drunk with some cousins, and she scoffed "The word for that is geneaology."
As always the party split into three parts --- the main house for the oldies, my cousin Mat's house for the yuppies and the outdoors for the children and nannies. For the fun of it, I hung out at the oldie's section. Here are snippets of oldies conversations :
When the oldies noticed that I was hovering by they all tried to hug me because hey, I'm quite adorable (just kidding ouh la). I spun around in a web of hugs and kisses from one Aunt, Uncle, Step-Uncle, Old Cousin, Great-Grandmother, Sister of Deceased Grandmother to the other.
I forgot the details because I was beseeching for a divine power to take me far away, but I remember them bombarding me wtih flowery gesticulations and showering me with asinine comments such as :
They commenced talking about highblood pressure and Philippine politics when they couldn't think of anything else to say to me.
To digress, I'll recount a conversation I had with an Aunt that afternoon, whom I see only once in a blue moon, while I was outside taking pictures of a spider on the wall.
"I heard you went to Jordan for the holidays, Kayla."
"Kala. Yeah, I did. It was wonderful!"
"I don't know how your Father could allow you to do so."
"Believe it or not, I'm 22 years old and I pay taxes."
"You are? Hahaha. You're still so small, like a child! Hahaha!"
"Hey, you're the first person who told me that, hahah!" I said, more playfully than sarcastic.
"Hum..." She looked up at the sky. She had a huge diamond ring on her ring finger. "what a beautiful day! Why are you taking a picture of a spider?"
"I like spiders. And this one has nice long legs."
"So in Jordan... was there a church there?"
"Lots of them. But over there, they're called mosques, and they have a crescent instead of a cross."
She didn't much appreciate my comment because she was (a)active in the Catholic cimmunity and (b)didn't have my sense of humour. "I was asking about a Catholic Church. Didn't you go to pay your respects during the Lord's birthday?"
"I think religion isn't a party of the masses where the priest is the DJ, but rather, an individual's choice."
"Well!" she sniffed, looking a bit hurt. She looked at the ring on her finger. After a few minutes I realised that she was the Aunt who had just lost her husband recently. And maybe she was just looking for someone to talk to. Aren't we like that, too, sometimes?
I went upstairs, took my Jordanie pictures and my box of stones, and I ran down to where she was sitting, alone. "Here," I said, offering her the pictures. I shuffled them until I found a picture of the Red Sea.
"This is the Red Sea. You know, the one Moses parted? Imagine him raising his arms and the water going whoooosh!. Fascinating, huh? I went there Christmas Day, so there could've been a semblance to Church. What do you think?" (Of course, I don't quite buy the Moses story, but hey).
I gave her a rock that I'd picked up from the Red Sea, too, giving off a haphazard explanation that time didn't exist when it came to sea, and that Moses could've stepped on this very stone.
That made her feel a lot better, I guess, because she passed the pictures to the whole oldies section and after explaining each picture and answering questions that yes, that was the Red Sea, yes, it was blue indeed, yes, that was Julien, my boyfriend, yes, I was indeed aware he wasn't Filipino, yes, Jordan was as wonderful as it looked in the pictures, no there were no terrorists hiding in the bushes somewhere, yes, I did smoke the Narguile and yes, there were camels... I escaped and went to the yuppie house.
"What are you talking about?" I asked warily as I opened the door, peering at the people lost in cigarette smoke, the sound of Red Hot Chili Peppers' Scar Tissue playing from the stereo corner.
"Fucking credit card debts."
I'd rather hear about fucking credit card debts than rheumatoid arthritis complaints.
What it's like
As you all know, because I haven't given you the chance to forget with my repeated gabbing, I spent the holidays in Aqaba and here are more pictures and i will keep feeding you with pictures until I get tired of doing so.
 Fort of Aqaba, entrance
You stopped the sun and moved the earth
Looking into oneself has become cliche, in a society where writing down our your innermost thoughts for the world to read is a common occurence.
Some people take time off, others hold people at an arm's length, while others hold on tightly to whatever they can hold on to.
Because somewhere in a kitchen there could be a woman stopping the dishwasher, her yellow-gloved hands in the soapy water, gazing out the window, realising that she always wanted to be an actress but had become a mother too soon. On the other hand, there could be a spinster in a rocking chair, crying over the child she had aborted when she was young, feeling more alone than ever. And maybe, in a hospital somewhere a doctor could be holding up a newborn by its ankles, marvelling at the miracle he had just performed. Elsewhere, who knows, a college student could be cheating in an examination, to meet his parent's expectations.
As for me, I lie in bed till 4 in the morning, writing about my passions and dreams in red ink, thinking back on past experiences, present circumstances, and the mystery of the future.
Thinking of past lives, of threads and stars. Of Universes in one's palm. Of portals into the Soul, of lost convictions, postcards and passports, of jumping from one mountain to another.
Self-introspection leads me into viewing my Life in some basement, a slice of dust-light from the projector beaming images, episodes, and sketches of the quilt I'm slowly stitching together.
And I watch my Life so far with a smile, bittersweet, and sometimes I laugh out loud, and cry. Most of the time I keep quiet, watching the slideshow in awe. Everything I've ever held close to my heart, I watch.
Elementary notebooks filled with summer drawings. The cresecendos and lulls of my favourite songs. My first Catcher in the Rye paperback. The sting of a palm slapping my cheek. My mother's laugh. A first kiss, stolen and innocent. Watching a plane take off from an empty soccer field, shielding my eyes from its silver brightness.
Fingers intertwining. The taste of tears, saying goodbye at the airport. The shock of hearing about someone's cancer. The wedding of my best friend. Beautiful sunsets I've collected, midnight walks. Slipping stones into my pocket. Watching a man shape the desert and camels into a bottle one cold night. Watching you sleep, falling in love, falling quite a ways, just falling. My first love, You, you stopped the sun and moved the earth.
Looking back, looking within, I think of all, of them, of you ... and I'm convinced that somewhere along the way, I must have done something right to deserve you.
Yours, Kala
(for my engineer-slash-bedouin in aqaba)
Jordanie on a clear day --- now I heard it's snowing.
Some pictures of holidays in Jordanie --- I said some. Too lazy to even resize the images, sorry. That's just the tip of the iceberg. More soon. Remember the key around my neck? It was for Mahmoud! Hopefully Jul will present a 3D Mahmoud for all ye viewers so you'll get a clue of what I'm talking about. Won't you, Jul? Ouh LA.
 Wadi Rum
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