These are the days that one is in constant search of protective shade to escape the outdoor heat, where nothing feels better than to feel the cool, hard surface of the floor of one's home.
Tuesday, April 6, 2021
Monday, November 17, 2014
Where I Have Been
I really feel bad about having been away from my page for a long while. It seems so much easier to be rambling about the mundane details of everyday life at my other page than having to take some time to dwell on memories of the past.
There's so much that has changed in me. Now a year older, I sincerely feel that I no longer hold on to the sadness of having been betrayed as a wife like I used to. The idea still leaves a bitter feeling, but it no longer brings me down like before.
In fact, I am more capable of forward-thinking. Rather than bring back memories, I am inclined to devote my energy to making pleasant ones with my family and my cherished friends.
Some painful memories might keep on nudging, but their whispers will start to be muted as they fade in the music of my enjoyment of what life has to offer for the moment.
There's so much that has changed in me. Now a year older, I sincerely feel that I no longer hold on to the sadness of having been betrayed as a wife like I used to. The idea still leaves a bitter feeling, but it no longer brings me down like before.
In fact, I am more capable of forward-thinking. Rather than bring back memories, I am inclined to devote my energy to making pleasant ones with my family and my cherished friends.
Some painful memories might keep on nudging, but their whispers will start to be muted as they fade in the music of my enjoyment of what life has to offer for the moment.
Saturday, July 12, 2014
Gone From My Life, But Not From My Dreams
There is a question that remains unsolved. Why can't I remain totally free from the memories of this detestable character with whom I severed ties four years ago?
I try to cut him off, but even in dreams, his face would appear, along with scenes and symbols that do not indicate a restoration, not even of friendship, will ever take place.
Time and again I let go of the past, but in a way, the past does not seem to want to let go of me. If I must search for the root cause of all this by digging deep, then I must risk opening my wounds.
I try to cut him off, but even in dreams, his face would appear, along with scenes and symbols that do not indicate a restoration, not even of friendship, will ever take place.
Time and again I let go of the past, but in a way, the past does not seem to want to let go of me. If I must search for the root cause of all this by digging deep, then I must risk opening my wounds.
Saturday, March 29, 2014
I AM FAT
But I should not love myself any less.
Everytime I read a post about another fat person being shamed on the internet, I share a bit of that feeling, and I couldn't help but cringe.
Growing up, I was never counted among the little fat kids in school. I would stand among the shortest in class, in fact. Being a short kid gave me a bit of insecurity even though I was naturally assertive and was always part of the top students in class.I have always had a curvy figure. My relatives would tease me about my butt all the time, but I always felt I was just, well, more shapely even for an undertall female. No one ever had to tell me to control my eating. I ate right and I was active.
When our guards are let down, we start believing what the environment is suggesting about our 'inadequacies'. When we start forgetting about our uniqueness, we blindly compare ourselves to other people, even against unrealistic standards that the rest of the world ascribe to as 'perfect'.
While I was in college, I started to hate my upper arms. Hardly anybody ever negatively commented about them, but I guess just realized that there was something wrong about them. My hips seemed to have become a second concern as well. I have recollections of feeling sharp pangs of self-hatred in the fitting room. Then I started to take fat-reducing supplements in the hope of controlling my weight. At barely 5 feet, 110 pounds, I was convinced that I had a weight issue. Even when I was considered underweight when I decided I wanted to be a blood donor but had to be turned down, I chose to believe that I was fat.
And I started to believe this more when a college friend teased me of being a fatty, especially after I put on 10 more pounds. The guy that I was dating in college (He was part of a cheerleading team and was used to throwing 100-pound girls up in the air when we met), was generously affirming me of how 'hot' I was. We never argued much about anything, but our first spat was about the slice of cake I was going to help myself to after we were having lunch. My hunk of a boyfriend, who loved working out, decided his girlfriend was starting to pork out.
It's difficult to understand why I even chose to listen to those voices...why I forgot that I was smart (a Dean's Lister, a scholarship awardee, an achiever), talented (in drawing, creative writing, singing, dancing), and good-looking (hey, I know what it's like to turn down a suitor or a date). In my mind, I was fat.
At 26 years old, I was still sporting a 26-inch waistline. Short, but curvy nonetheless, I was able to get acting projects as a bit-role player. But since I found myself working in an environment of actor/actress wannabes, of 'Class A' models, mestizos/mestizas, I found more reasons to feel more utterly insecure. In fact, when I first dated this attractive Spanish-blooded Filipino guy, I was to be shamed again when his talent manager barked, "How could you have picked her as your girlfriend?"
I got married to this guy months later, but I lost our baby due to premature labor. Grief and depression seem to shut off your sensitivity to what is going on around you. There were very few things that I remember during the year that followed, but I couldn't forget that my post-baby weight prompted a lot of criticisms. People must have easily forgotten that I was pregnant once. Surrounded by insensitive relatives, I get greeted with 'Hey, you've put on some weight again!' every time we had family gatherings. And I started to hate being around these events for a while.
But then, I realize that certain people just simply do not know a thing about making appropriate small talk on these occasions. Even after I gave birth to my second baby, I would get the same greeting so often (usually from the same people) that I started to use this standard response in my most sarcastic tone, 'Fat people can always lose weight, but if you're ugly that's going to be a lot harder to change.' What I really wanted to ask was, 'Why can't we ever talk about anything else?' After all, I have a wonderful, steady job (I probably earn a lot more than you) and love having my own place (while you and your family are still staying at your mother's).
Usually, the most hurtful comments will come from the people you love the most. At 39, I was breaking up with my spouse after 12 years. My ex, who never made fun of my figure, decided that his slim 26-year old mistress was going to be the new love of his life. Just to spite me, he emailed me a psychologically abusive message and even created a fake FB profile using my name and my pictures with the most horrid and sexually inappropriate remarks.
It took a long time in realizing this, but it's when we take stock of ourselves and genuinely realize that our personality, our talents, our achievements, and our passions are more than enough reasons to love ourselves. When we have a healthy self-perception, we focus on doing the things that matter and listen to the voices that uplift us.
The change of mindset for me was slow, but progressive. Starting with a refusal to dwell on the negative, and moving forward to nourish my soul, mind, and body. I've been in and out of the gym and for me that didn't really do much for my weight, though it left me feeling more energetic and wanting more physical activities. I think having to suffer emotional trauma more than once in the last few years caused a weight drop, that it was obvious that a colleague mistook me for someone else. Now please understand that I am not going to say that trauma would be my solution.
The change of mindset, was a great start. I have more people telling me once every so often that I look like I have been losing weight. Some were curious to even ask if I was in love. I am still considerably heavy, but my regained self-confidence and enhanced dressing statements, are resulting in having people complimenting me on being sexy. Well, I've been out on a few dates in the last few months (where dressing to impress was crucial), but I have been spending time with good friends more as well. More important, I have been more and more visible at church, where I am reminded that I am loved by my Creator. So I couldn't say that the inspiration would be coming from just one source.
To every fat person who experiences ridicule everywhere you go, I hope you realize that you are more than the sum of the negative comments that people hurl at you. Whether it's your lifestyle or bad genes, your body is the only one that you have and it is your responsibility to care for it in any way possible for you to make the most of life. Shape is just an empty shell --- Health is wealth!
Don't waste time in self-pity or finding flaws and imperfections. We all have those. But don't hate those who do not know you as a person other than the labels that they use with you. Don't take revenge --- most of the people who have been insensitive towards me have their share of bad karma (trust me, I know).
Instead, realize that you are a work in progress! You alone can determine what would make you happy as a person, but I sure hope it will not be based on what's shallow or fleeting. When you reach that point of self-satisfaction, don't forget to spread that joy to others because they may be going through what you went through before. Set yourself to change, but let your passion for living be your motivation.Think of how great your selfies would be when they show that you have been going places!
Your shape should never dictate how you feel about yourself. Work on being kinder with yourself, love yourself more for the right reasons, and slowly, your figure, even the other aspects of your life, will take shape.
Count me as proof. At 42, still undertall, with stats measuring 41" 32" and 42" --- those numbers are not permanent --- I am FAT.
Fabulous. Attractive. Tempting.
Everytime I read a post about another fat person being shamed on the internet, I share a bit of that feeling, and I couldn't help but cringe.
Growing up, I was never counted among the little fat kids in school. I would stand among the shortest in class, in fact. Being a short kid gave me a bit of insecurity even though I was naturally assertive and was always part of the top students in class.I have always had a curvy figure. My relatives would tease me about my butt all the time, but I always felt I was just, well, more shapely even for an undertall female. No one ever had to tell me to control my eating. I ate right and I was active.
When our guards are let down, we start believing what the environment is suggesting about our 'inadequacies'. When we start forgetting about our uniqueness, we blindly compare ourselves to other people, even against unrealistic standards that the rest of the world ascribe to as 'perfect'.
While I was in college, I started to hate my upper arms. Hardly anybody ever negatively commented about them, but I guess just realized that there was something wrong about them. My hips seemed to have become a second concern as well. I have recollections of feeling sharp pangs of self-hatred in the fitting room. Then I started to take fat-reducing supplements in the hope of controlling my weight. At barely 5 feet, 110 pounds, I was convinced that I had a weight issue. Even when I was considered underweight when I decided I wanted to be a blood donor but had to be turned down, I chose to believe that I was fat.
And I started to believe this more when a college friend teased me of being a fatty, especially after I put on 10 more pounds. The guy that I was dating in college (He was part of a cheerleading team and was used to throwing 100-pound girls up in the air when we met), was generously affirming me of how 'hot' I was. We never argued much about anything, but our first spat was about the slice of cake I was going to help myself to after we were having lunch. My hunk of a boyfriend, who loved working out, decided his girlfriend was starting to pork out.
It's difficult to understand why I even chose to listen to those voices...why I forgot that I was smart (a Dean's Lister, a scholarship awardee, an achiever), talented (in drawing, creative writing, singing, dancing), and good-looking (hey, I know what it's like to turn down a suitor or a date). In my mind, I was fat.
At 26 years old, I was still sporting a 26-inch waistline. Short, but curvy nonetheless, I was able to get acting projects as a bit-role player. But since I found myself working in an environment of actor/actress wannabes, of 'Class A' models, mestizos/mestizas, I found more reasons to feel more utterly insecure. In fact, when I first dated this attractive Spanish-blooded Filipino guy, I was to be shamed again when his talent manager barked, "How could you have picked her as your girlfriend?"
I got married to this guy months later, but I lost our baby due to premature labor. Grief and depression seem to shut off your sensitivity to what is going on around you. There were very few things that I remember during the year that followed, but I couldn't forget that my post-baby weight prompted a lot of criticisms. People must have easily forgotten that I was pregnant once. Surrounded by insensitive relatives, I get greeted with 'Hey, you've put on some weight again!' every time we had family gatherings. And I started to hate being around these events for a while.
But then, I realize that certain people just simply do not know a thing about making appropriate small talk on these occasions. Even after I gave birth to my second baby, I would get the same greeting so often (usually from the same people) that I started to use this standard response in my most sarcastic tone, 'Fat people can always lose weight, but if you're ugly that's going to be a lot harder to change.' What I really wanted to ask was, 'Why can't we ever talk about anything else?' After all, I have a wonderful, steady job (I probably earn a lot more than you) and love having my own place (while you and your family are still staying at your mother's).
Usually, the most hurtful comments will come from the people you love the most. At 39, I was breaking up with my spouse after 12 years. My ex, who never made fun of my figure, decided that his slim 26-year old mistress was going to be the new love of his life. Just to spite me, he emailed me a psychologically abusive message and even created a fake FB profile using my name and my pictures with the most horrid and sexually inappropriate remarks.
It took a long time in realizing this, but it's when we take stock of ourselves and genuinely realize that our personality, our talents, our achievements, and our passions are more than enough reasons to love ourselves. When we have a healthy self-perception, we focus on doing the things that matter and listen to the voices that uplift us.
The change of mindset for me was slow, but progressive. Starting with a refusal to dwell on the negative, and moving forward to nourish my soul, mind, and body. I've been in and out of the gym and for me that didn't really do much for my weight, though it left me feeling more energetic and wanting more physical activities. I think having to suffer emotional trauma more than once in the last few years caused a weight drop, that it was obvious that a colleague mistook me for someone else. Now please understand that I am not going to say that trauma would be my solution.
The change of mindset, was a great start. I have more people telling me once every so often that I look like I have been losing weight. Some were curious to even ask if I was in love. I am still considerably heavy, but my regained self-confidence and enhanced dressing statements, are resulting in having people complimenting me on being sexy. Well, I've been out on a few dates in the last few months (where dressing to impress was crucial), but I have been spending time with good friends more as well. More important, I have been more and more visible at church, where I am reminded that I am loved by my Creator. So I couldn't say that the inspiration would be coming from just one source.
To every fat person who experiences ridicule everywhere you go, I hope you realize that you are more than the sum of the negative comments that people hurl at you. Whether it's your lifestyle or bad genes, your body is the only one that you have and it is your responsibility to care for it in any way possible for you to make the most of life. Shape is just an empty shell --- Health is wealth!
Don't waste time in self-pity or finding flaws and imperfections. We all have those. But don't hate those who do not know you as a person other than the labels that they use with you. Don't take revenge --- most of the people who have been insensitive towards me have their share of bad karma (trust me, I know).
Instead, realize that you are a work in progress! You alone can determine what would make you happy as a person, but I sure hope it will not be based on what's shallow or fleeting. When you reach that point of self-satisfaction, don't forget to spread that joy to others because they may be going through what you went through before. Set yourself to change, but let your passion for living be your motivation.Think of how great your selfies would be when they show that you have been going places!
Your shape should never dictate how you feel about yourself. Work on being kinder with yourself, love yourself more for the right reasons, and slowly, your figure, even the other aspects of your life, will take shape.
Count me as proof. At 42, still undertall, with stats measuring 41" 32" and 42" --- those numbers are not permanent --- I am FAT.
Fabulous. Attractive. Tempting.
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Doubtful of Ever Finding A Lifetime Partner Again
It was not a match made in heaven. After 15 years of marriage (4 of which spent in separation), I am at a point where I feel I do not have the courage to emotionally invest in a relationship again.
It's tough for a woman my age, at this stage of my career, and at a time when I want to devote my focus on raising my daughter. There are too many risks to calculate.
While I hope to meet someone whose principles and interests I share with, I am not inclined to consider the possibility of a lifetime relationship.
Anxious to have my heart again ripped into pieces, afraid to wake up next to someone who would be my nightmare.
But this I can be sure of for now. My life is my own once again, and I am free to pursue my dreams. And my faith is in God, Whose plans are perfect, and Whose Will will be revealed in due time.
(This was first posted on http://www.bubblews.com/news/1573973-doubtful-of-ever-finding-a-lifetime-partner-again
It's tough for a woman my age, at this stage of my career, and at a time when I want to devote my focus on raising my daughter. There are too many risks to calculate.
While I hope to meet someone whose principles and interests I share with, I am not inclined to consider the possibility of a lifetime relationship.
Anxious to have my heart again ripped into pieces, afraid to wake up next to someone who would be my nightmare.
But this I can be sure of for now. My life is my own once again, and I am free to pursue my dreams. And my faith is in God, Whose plans are perfect, and Whose Will will be revealed in due time.
(This was first posted on http://www.bubblews.com/news/1573973-doubtful-of-ever-finding-a-lifetime-partner-again
Sunday, September 23, 2012
I Wasn’t Aware That He Wrote About Mushy Stuff
To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.
- C. S. Lewis
Weekend Musings: 9.23.12
“There's a place you can touch a woman that will drive her crazy …” so the famous line from the movie “Milk Money” goes. That was a line I gave a male friend asking for tips to keep a newfound relationship smokin’ hot. Then I told him to go figure the rest out.
Physically, emotionally, or even sexually? – the barrage of follow-up questions came.
I silently reflected on my experiences. Having been emotionally emancipated from a failed marriage for almost three years now, I have become content to remain in ‘single blessedness’ for a while longer.
How wonderful it would be to bask in the feeling of newfound love --- much more, to even find someone as smart, sensitive, and talented as the guy asking me these questions. Meeting that someone who would touch me in a way that would drive me CRAZY would be a cosmic event that would definitely rock my universe.
But knowing I didn’t even have enough background information to fuel the chemistry between a once divorced 30-year-old guy dating a (am assuming single) 26-year-old, I resorted to sharing from conventional wisdom.
Bio clock is going tick-tock, I added.
So what is important at this age? Is the sex drive high? he wanted to know. I didn’t think insights from the cougar revolution would be relevant to the discussion at this point so I plainly answered:
Know what she needs…and expects from you, I advised.
Love is what I figured, came the reply. Kudos to my beloved friend, who has gotten himself back on the horse.
So much for words of the wise(ass). It has taken me a while to figure out what I’d need to stay happy…happily uncomplicated, that is.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Walking in Mary Embry's Shoes
I had to look up this name using Google to identify the suburban housewife played by Charlize Theron in the movie "Hancock". Not only was I drawn to Theron's stunning kind of beauty I was also fascinated by the superhuman powers secretly possessed by this character. Talk about a powerful being whose anger could conjure a twister and could crush boulders as if they were lumps of sugar.
The actress once described Mary this way,
The actress once described Mary this way,
"She makes this conscious decision to live in suburbia and be this soccer mom to her stepson and be the perfect wife—she lives in this bubble. But when people do that it usually means they are hiding some characteristic inside themselves that scares them. That is Mary's case. She knows who she is and what she is capable of."
However, it turns out that she loses her powers whenever she is close to the lead, Hancock, who likewise becomes vulnerable under the same condition.
Women seem to be at their weakest when they are with the men that they love, easily hurt and wounded whenever they are attacked. And though men, like Hancock, instinctively protect, they do not seem to realize that it's their presence in women's lives that make females feel more defenseless.
And while it seems that we women may learn how to fight battles better in the absence of men, it is not expected that a woman is applauded for bearing arms if it made her male partner look like he failed to keep her safe.
Maybe the story has a hint of sexist overtones. Or maybe not.
It's just that, the part about Mary possessing all of her strength when she is distant from her destined mate got me thinking. If that is the case, then why is it necessary (at least, why do I think it is) to ever feel like we need a partner to feel safe?
Women seem to be at their weakest when they are with the men that they love, easily hurt and wounded whenever they are attacked. And though men, like Hancock, instinctively protect, they do not seem to realize that it's their presence in women's lives that make females feel more defenseless.
And while it seems that we women may learn how to fight battles better in the absence of men, it is not expected that a woman is applauded for bearing arms if it made her male partner look like he failed to keep her safe.
Maybe the story has a hint of sexist overtones. Or maybe not.
It's just that, the part about Mary possessing all of her strength when she is distant from her destined mate got me thinking. If that is the case, then why is it necessary (at least, why do I think it is) to ever feel like we need a partner to feel safe?
Monday, May 14, 2012
The Beauty of Mt. Pinatubo Crater Lake
With its turquoise and emerald placid waters, the majestic view of the 800-meter deep lake found in the caldera at the summit of Mt. Pinatubo will make any visitor forget the three-hour traverse on rough terrain that is required to get there. One can only be amazed at how a destructive force of nature can produce something so breathtakingly beautiful. Despite the aftermath of the volcanic eruption in 1991 and its staggering impact on the environment as well as the global climate, the crater lake became a popular destination for trekkers more than a decade later.
Day trekkers, who are either in it for the bragging rights or the change from the usual forested mountains, would roll in as early as 7 am on any given day. They start their journey with an hour-long dust bath through a dry, stony river valley by 4x4 jeeps and then continue on foot in the searing heat. There is no comfort in this wilderness of sand and pumice rocks, steep lahar hills, and orange-streaked sulfur streams, yet the visual intensity created by the sky and sparse greenery would surely keep the photo-lovers engaged.
Only a few people do realize that Mt. Pinatubo is mercurial as much as it is approachable.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Sweating It Out on the Anti-Aging Treadmill
"You're not 40, you're eighteen with 22 years experience." -- Anonymous
I am at the gym, listening to the thump-thump of my feet as I am running 7.8-8.0 mph on the treadmill. To my right is a fragile sixty-ish woman sweating profusely as she briskly walked while keeping her back straight. To my left is a bursting bundle of energy in her early twenties, ponytail whipping madly behind her and moving as if a spring went with each step.
Though my breathing and heart rate are even, a dull pain is starting to grip my quads. I focus on the dashboard, calculating how much time was left until I hit the 3K mark. I usually don’t like doing the same routine in one place. I could be better off being in the zumba or yoga class today, but I particularly chose this exercise to be prepared to join a fun run a couple of weeks from now (I am convincing myself that it would be FUN).
I have never joined a marathon (do TV series marathons count?) before. Well, there was this sports fest in third grade when I stumbled the moment the race started. I remember getting up, scraped knees and all, and tearfully going back to the starting line where I waited until the event was over. Never liked jogging, either, since I used to experience some slight pain in the knees and up to this moment I tell myself that I am not cut out for this sort of thing.
My red-hot iron will is what’s making these legs submit as I am dreaming to be among the top 100 runners of the upcoming event. A medal (better yet, a great snapshot of ME holding up a medal) at the end of the day will be evidence that I still have the upper hand in this fight against aging. Another badge of achieving a physical feat(only in my dreams).
As my attention shifts between my fellow female gym warriors and the blinking dashboard, I glance at the mute flat screen TV monitors showing Tyra Banks’ Next Top Model and the movie She’s Out Of My League. The scenes of the insecure youth taking the condescending remarks of fashion critics or searching the missing pieces of the romantic puzzle hardly pique my interest at the moment.
As I think about when I can squeeze pole-dancing lessons and radio frequency slimming visits in my hectic schedule, I find the real life story of the 40-year-old urban working single mom bending the aging curves of impending decline much more entertaining.
I am at the gym, listening to the thump-thump of my feet as I am running 7.8-8.0 mph on the treadmill. To my right is a fragile sixty-ish woman sweating profusely as she briskly walked while keeping her back straight. To my left is a bursting bundle of energy in her early twenties, ponytail whipping madly behind her and moving as if a spring went with each step.
Though my breathing and heart rate are even, a dull pain is starting to grip my quads. I focus on the dashboard, calculating how much time was left until I hit the 3K mark. I usually don’t like doing the same routine in one place. I could be better off being in the zumba or yoga class today, but I particularly chose this exercise to be prepared to join a fun run a couple of weeks from now (I am convincing myself that it would be FUN).
I have never joined a marathon (do TV series marathons count?) before. Well, there was this sports fest in third grade when I stumbled the moment the race started. I remember getting up, scraped knees and all, and tearfully going back to the starting line where I waited until the event was over. Never liked jogging, either, since I used to experience some slight pain in the knees and up to this moment I tell myself that I am not cut out for this sort of thing.
My red-hot iron will is what’s making these legs submit as I am dreaming to be among the top 100 runners of the upcoming event. A medal (better yet, a great snapshot of ME holding up a medal) at the end of the day will be evidence that I still have the upper hand in this fight against aging. Another badge of achieving a physical feat(only in my dreams).
As my attention shifts between my fellow female gym warriors and the blinking dashboard, I glance at the mute flat screen TV monitors showing Tyra Banks’ Next Top Model and the movie She’s Out Of My League. The scenes of the insecure youth taking the condescending remarks of fashion critics or searching the missing pieces of the romantic puzzle hardly pique my interest at the moment.
As I think about when I can squeeze pole-dancing lessons and radio frequency slimming visits in my hectic schedule, I find the real life story of the 40-year-old urban working single mom bending the aging curves of impending decline much more entertaining.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
The Accidental Coach
The conversation promptly opened with a question that almost ruined my composure: "How did I know for sure that my then-husband was having an affair?" It wasn't that my friend wanted to know my answer. I've known this person's family history well enough to anticipate the direction her inquiry was going to take.
I listened as she poured out the details, that all-too predictable plot we normally see played out on nighttime soap, of her spouse keeping secrets and talking on the phone in hushed tones, of my friend fishing for signs of extramarital activity among his personal belongings, of heated arguments and the stony silence.
Here was a woman holding herself together --- a mother whose youngest child was a couple of months old, thinking of her own mother who fell ill just recently, recovering from an unexpected passing away of a sibling, at the same time struggling to stay in the marriage as well as keep the peace with in-laws within the confines of an extended household --- by the last few threads of her eroding sanity.
The stream of tears that was broken by sobs coming from her shaking body, however common as the story itself may be, struck a disturbingly familiar chord.
Recalling my own episode of dealing with the frustration, anger, and helplessness I felt when the love my ex used to have for me had gone cold, I could only offer some practical advice that would prevent the situation from turning her into a madwoman.
Turn to a marriage counselor? Why invite a witness to potential dead-ended discussions who might just assure them that when the husband tires himself of the affair, he will certainly find his way back into the arms of his persevering faithful legal wife?
Turn over some stones in the hope of exposing the identity and whereabout of the 'third party' involved? Why should she dig deeper when rodents would only hide themselves further in their burrow? All she would find was more dirt. I explained that a wife could not expect a husband to own up to his infidelity and surrender his prized mistress (while I mentally swore death to every home wrecker alive ).
When I sensed that my friend was reaching a critical point I persuaded her to heed to her self-preservation instinct, that is, literally move herself and her children away where she can buy enough time to carefully think through what she wants out of this mess while there's STILL a measure of control left.
It may not the most encouraging thing to say to her, I know, but her staying put could only disable the defenses she had left and reduce her to a martyr. That sort of assurance comes only from well-meaning sympathizers who think situations like these go away on their own.
In my version of the story, when I decided that I was far worth more than the regard my ex-husband was giving me, that I was MORE than HIS wife, I realized wanting out meant salvaging my damaged self-respect, which was crucial if I were to regain myself, as if it were like growing back the rest of me that was somehow lost in the union.
Betrayal is a B*TCH, indeed. But even if time can graciously allow a woman to learn to love again, there is much, much more required is she were to learn to love HERSELF all over again. But she must first believe that no man is ever worthy of occupying the center of her universe.
Monday, March 12, 2012
El Nido
Day 1: The Arrival
It was past midnight when we arrived in El Nido, Palawan. The crashing of the waves broke the silence and dissolved fatigue from traveling and waiting almost all day to get there. It was a twelve-LONG-hour journey, starting from our arrival at the domestic airport in Manila at 1 pm, then waiting for a couple of hours to pass after our 3:30 pm flight was delayed by bad weather, boarding the plane at past 6 pm and arriving in Puerto Princesa more than an hour later, and continuing to travel 270 kms for 5 hours in a hired van. Though rough and travel-lagged, we smiled in relief that the long-awaited beach and island-hopping getaway we planned more than 3 months ago finally happened.
After settling in, we found a food place that was still open at this unholy hour. Over a meal of 'tapsilog' (it would be morning in a few hours, anyway) we planned our activities over the next 2 days of our stay.
Drifting off to much-needed sleep, we were well on our way to getting acquainted with El Nido by morning.
Day 2: Amidst the Tempest
Perhaps Nature thought of playing a joke on us by bringing the rains to our piece of paradise. The next day the sky was overcast, and I had to wrap my camera to protect it from the drizzle as I was taking pictures. The idea of the photo shoot was blown away along with the rain clouds that zoomed in the sky. I resorted to meandering along the damp beach to look for anything that caught my interest.
And that was where I discovered the peaceful beauty of El Nido. The limestone cliffs were thinly veiled by a fabric of clouds. The waters of Bacuit Bay were still, reflecting the dull gray sky. Without the wandering tourists and peddlers, the deserted beach became a curious place to explore. There was a quietness that wove through every fiber in my being, as the sound of gentle waves and the patter of rain hushed my thoughts and melted my temporary frustration into exhilaration.
The hours of seemingly aimless roaming passed, but I was reveling in simple joy of watching the so-called ‘UNevent’ unfold. The satisfaction of doing practically nothing started to grow as a new realization set in: even when bad weather thwarts your plans, there may be priceless discoveries waiting if you are willing to enjoy nature on its own terms.
It was past midnight when we arrived in El Nido, Palawan. The crashing of the waves broke the silence and dissolved fatigue from traveling and waiting almost all day to get there. It was a twelve-LONG-hour journey, starting from our arrival at the domestic airport in Manila at 1 pm, then waiting for a couple of hours to pass after our 3:30 pm flight was delayed by bad weather, boarding the plane at past 6 pm and arriving in Puerto Princesa more than an hour later, and continuing to travel 270 kms for 5 hours in a hired van. Though rough and travel-lagged, we smiled in relief that the long-awaited beach and island-hopping getaway we planned more than 3 months ago finally happened.
After settling in, we found a food place that was still open at this unholy hour. Over a meal of 'tapsilog' (it would be morning in a few hours, anyway) we planned our activities over the next 2 days of our stay.
Drifting off to much-needed sleep, we were well on our way to getting acquainted with El Nido by morning.
Day 2: Amidst the Tempest
Perhaps Nature thought of playing a joke on us by bringing the rains to our piece of paradise. The next day the sky was overcast, and I had to wrap my camera to protect it from the drizzle as I was taking pictures. The idea of the photo shoot was blown away along with the rain clouds that zoomed in the sky. I resorted to meandering along the damp beach to look for anything that caught my interest.
And that was where I discovered the peaceful beauty of El Nido. The limestone cliffs were thinly veiled by a fabric of clouds. The waters of Bacuit Bay were still, reflecting the dull gray sky. Without the wandering tourists and peddlers, the deserted beach became a curious place to explore. There was a quietness that wove through every fiber in my being, as the sound of gentle waves and the patter of rain hushed my thoughts and melted my temporary frustration into exhilaration.
The hours of seemingly aimless roaming passed, but I was reveling in simple joy of watching the so-called ‘UNevent’ unfold. The satisfaction of doing practically nothing started to grow as a new realization set in: even when bad weather thwarts your plans, there may be priceless discoveries waiting if you are willing to enjoy nature on its own terms.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
My Beach Finds
I was de-cluttering some of my drawers when I found a small Gerber jar of shells I collected from a beach trip I made a long time ago. I held a tiny piece in my hand, trying hard to remember when or where I found this cluster of dusty brown-colored whorls. Soon after I unearthed some dried sand dollars, taking note of their smooth, chalky surfaces and then remembering the live ones I picked up from an island tour in Palawan more than 2 years ago.
There are other treasures stored somewhere in the house: a medium-sized starfish, bought from a souvenir shop somewhere in Cebu in ‘04. It used to be deep blue, I remember now, because I tried to take a live one home to dry but it gave off such a horrific smell that took weeks to go away. I also have handfuls of sand, of varying shades and textures, stored in glass bottles, some of which are still unlabeled even though years after the trip I can still remember the names of places where I spent the holiday.
Memories of frolicking among the waves or the colorful sight of marine life spring up as I hold my shells, pebbles, and bits of corals or driftwood that had been added to my still growing collection.
Nasugbu…Ilocos Sur…Cebu…Camiguin…Bataan…Pagudpod…Bangui…Boracay…Palawan…and decades earlier, even Redondo Beach (CA), Ocean City (MD), Panama Beach (FL) and some beach in Sabah, Indonesia whose name I can no longer remember --- a city-born/urban-dweller like myself should be so fortunate to have these places to visit and unwind.
The exhilaration of looking out into the still horizon slicing the colorful sky and restless sea, and thinking of what lies ahead, is that single common thread that pulls these places together.
I took a smooth, round pebble from a still unsorted lot in a plastic bag, and at this instance I recall the ones embedded with fossils that were inadvertently given away to a friend. I sighed, wondering if I can find some more of these fossil pieces if and when I decide to go back to Tagudin. In the same way, I think of numerous trips to other places I have yet to see.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Simply Living
Early this year, I created a page on Facebook, "Simply Living", to share some of my own thoughts on making the most of the life I now live by focusing on the things that matter to me.
As I look back over the last few months, I can't help but feel grateful at how my life has moved forward in leaps and strides.
My contentment keeps growing every single day.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
A Still From 20 Years Ago
There was a time when I had the patience to spend all those hours to develop film and print positives in the darkroom. Now I can't help wincing at how slow a few seconds can seem as I wait for my scanner to duplicate the images for the same photos.
From the start, I have always loved taking pictures of people's facial expressions and the things that they do. I loved it so much that I took up Basic Photography twice while in college. With a meager student allowance, I bought film and photo paper and coaxed friends into agreeing to pose for me. The dream of having my own darkroom was hindered by the fact that photography was such an expensive hobby (and it STILL is).
My old Canon AE1 (SLR...without the D, mind you) has long been retired. I've lost my old tripod and lighting equipment. Though I started to use digital cameras only in 2006, it was only just recently that I felt I wanted to do more than just take pictures during get togethers and while on vacation. I want to learn all over again to work with images that speak, or more precisely, paint a thousand words.
This picture was taken by the official still man during the production phase of a film project in 1993. It was part of my summer internship at University of the Philippines. I didn't know that he took my picture until one day I was handed the print.
My affair with photography has been so far... an affair. But it would be counted among the first loves worth going back to. For someone with a passion for life (typical of anyone born under my sign - Scorpio), taking photos would always ensure that every moment that we want to hold on to would remain in our memory, digital included.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
On Turning Forty
I'm taking a moment to reflect on what it feels to be reaching forty.
I have more courage in admitting my physical age. After all, every year that is added to my life is enough to be thankful.
I did not choose the year nor the month I was born. I am certain my parents did not expect someone like me coming into this world, but I sure hope that they have been thankful for having me even up to now.
I wish I could feel less regret for all the troubles that I went through. However, I do not question the idea that I did not experience every hurt or heartbreak, shame, or disappointment for no reason. I just have to believe that the reason behind each trial was good.
I wish I could feel more appreciative of every good thing that happened in my life or that I was given. I want to quit thinking that there were other good things that I was not meant to have. I am talking about dreams that I had to give up, paths that I had to forego.
In spite of all this, I still have my insights, imagination, and most of all, my inspiration to explore many other possibilities. Hence, bigger dreams, or rather, a vision in life that would not be limited to myself as an individual.
I am learning more about love, and what it means to be unconditional. I am aware that the deficit that I occasionally feel cannot be filled by the love of a significant other. In those moments that I was focused on finding that one kind of love, I almost forget that there is an abundance of love pouring out from the closest of friends and my family. The question of how much is a simple matter of give and take.
Regarding love, I am reminded that I need to love myself a little more, as well as keep on believing that Someone Much Greater has loved me first. Now to understand how much is a matter of looking beyond my existence.
It helps to take note of how beautifully He made this world. Every sunrise, sunset, the colorful translucence of the sea, the rusty hues of fall foliage, the soothing sound of rain and the sight of rainbows, the rush of waterfalls, the winsome smile of my daughter, the adoring attention of my pets --- each of which I thoroughly enjoy --- I am humbled when I realize that God placed them there because of the joy it brings me (or humankind for that matter).
As for taking on yet another chance of falling in love, well, I was asked by someone a couple of times on that. I am basking in the fragrance of the garden of friendship. True, one can find many flowers, but my eye is fixed on a particular blossom that needs some tending to. It's time my friend asks the right question.
In terms of the talents that I was given, I am a bit disappointed at how I have not used them so much. I do not look forward to getting on in my years regretting that I never framed any of my drawings, or painted a masterpiece, learned to play music better and bring it up to a level good enough to write a song, shared my poems or essays, or published that love story I began writing (but never quite finished) when I was 14. But as I am learning how to live life in an uncomplicated manner, I will definitely take the time to unearth these talents one by one.
I'd like to stop simply feeling sorry for those who are stricken with misfortune and find ways of significantly helping them, to be more sincere, generous, and encouraging. In the face of the disasters that are yet to come, I don't want to be satisfied with just ensuring my own family's comfort and safety.
I am not going to look back at the last forty years and focus on what I would have liked to change. I have accepted all that and not hold anyone responsible for the outcome, not even myself. They all happened for a reason.
I am still here for a reason, and I am beginning to get it all figured out.
I have more courage in admitting my physical age. After all, every year that is added to my life is enough to be thankful.
I did not choose the year nor the month I was born. I am certain my parents did not expect someone like me coming into this world, but I sure hope that they have been thankful for having me even up to now.
I wish I could feel less regret for all the troubles that I went through. However, I do not question the idea that I did not experience every hurt or heartbreak, shame, or disappointment for no reason. I just have to believe that the reason behind each trial was good.
I wish I could feel more appreciative of every good thing that happened in my life or that I was given. I want to quit thinking that there were other good things that I was not meant to have. I am talking about dreams that I had to give up, paths that I had to forego.
In spite of all this, I still have my insights, imagination, and most of all, my inspiration to explore many other possibilities. Hence, bigger dreams, or rather, a vision in life that would not be limited to myself as an individual.
I am learning more about love, and what it means to be unconditional. I am aware that the deficit that I occasionally feel cannot be filled by the love of a significant other. In those moments that I was focused on finding that one kind of love, I almost forget that there is an abundance of love pouring out from the closest of friends and my family. The question of how much is a simple matter of give and take.
Regarding love, I am reminded that I need to love myself a little more, as well as keep on believing that Someone Much Greater has loved me first. Now to understand how much is a matter of looking beyond my existence.
It helps to take note of how beautifully He made this world. Every sunrise, sunset, the colorful translucence of the sea, the rusty hues of fall foliage, the soothing sound of rain and the sight of rainbows, the rush of waterfalls, the winsome smile of my daughter, the adoring attention of my pets --- each of which I thoroughly enjoy --- I am humbled when I realize that God placed them there because of the joy it brings me (or humankind for that matter).
As for taking on yet another chance of falling in love, well, I was asked by someone a couple of times on that. I am basking in the fragrance of the garden of friendship. True, one can find many flowers, but my eye is fixed on a particular blossom that needs some tending to. It's time my friend asks the right question.
In terms of the talents that I was given, I am a bit disappointed at how I have not used them so much. I do not look forward to getting on in my years regretting that I never framed any of my drawings, or painted a masterpiece, learned to play music better and bring it up to a level good enough to write a song, shared my poems or essays, or published that love story I began writing (but never quite finished) when I was 14. But as I am learning how to live life in an uncomplicated manner, I will definitely take the time to unearth these talents one by one.
I'd like to stop simply feeling sorry for those who are stricken with misfortune and find ways of significantly helping them, to be more sincere, generous, and encouraging. In the face of the disasters that are yet to come, I don't want to be satisfied with just ensuring my own family's comfort and safety.
I am not going to look back at the last forty years and focus on what I would have liked to change. I have accepted all that and not hold anyone responsible for the outcome, not even myself. They all happened for a reason.
I am still here for a reason, and I am beginning to get it all figured out.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Story of "My Life"
Life begins at 40, people always say, and it is with this view that I evaluate my gains, successes, and yes, my failures in the hope that when the big four-oh begins I would have a better picture of what I'd like my life to be.
If my life were a TV series, this would be my review.
To give you the lowdown on the series called "My Life", my leading man of 12 years had already left the show for good. There were other unforgettable tearjerkers, such as the loss of the firstborn at the start of the marriage and years before that, the giving up on the hope of realizing my big dream in another country during my bachelorette days.
In the last two years, I've portrayed my dual-role as a single mother to a tweener and a full-time career woman in seemingly unremarkable episodes that were occasionally saved by cameo guest appearances. I am thankful that my co-stars never failed to remind me that the show must go on no matter what.
Things turned around when 2O11's brand new season saw incremental changes in the storyline, starting with an unexpected source of inspiration. And life was reborn, with the theme, "redemption".
My dear loyal supporters, the ones who have stayed around, were more than pleased. And with the show's new direction, people are expecting changes...will the now-liberated heroine throw a huge party for her friends to celebrate the milestone, blowing out candles on a cake that says “40 and a little bit naughty”?
In the meantime, I've embarked on a minor reinvention of my screen image, favoring an uneven messed-up shorter style and updated make-up. There is NO WAY I will follow in the footsteps of matrons with their distinctive vacuum-sealed expressions concealed by heavy makeup or uncoordinated outfits highlighting convex figures.
In a business where agelessness exacts a hefty price, I have to remember that a personal enhancement program or health maintenance routines can be justified. If do not consider the initiative worth my investment, then how could I expect to fulfill the things that I am interested in but I haven't tried?
If I were to take up pole dancing, climb another mountain, swim alongside a whale shark, publish my writings, start a business, go on a volunteer vacation, produce documentaries or assemble a desktop computer from scratch, I'd do whatever it takes to defy aging. I'd rather live the rest of my days trying, instead of being trapped in a mindset that would banish me and my dreams to some gloomy corner in a squeaky rocking chair.
I would even defy conventions and explore a new approach to my role as a cougar when a new love interest enters the scene. Should the ratings surge, maybe the season finale might feature a second-time blushing bride.
Well, maybe it's a tad too early for that idea to be finally written in the script. After all, I need to remind myself that I do not write it, and that I take my instructions from my Director. Since it is never His protocol to allow retakes, He never lets the cameras roll until He is certain that I am in character. I may be in the spotlight, but it is HIS SHOW, classified under inspirational drama that promotes human value.
On and on, my story will go, with the yin and yang, light and darkness, with lessons from the past as well as insights that will help me move it forward.
It’s never too late to become what I might have been. So life, just like the show, must go on.
If my life were a TV series, this would be my review.
To give you the lowdown on the series called "My Life", my leading man of 12 years had already left the show for good. There were other unforgettable tearjerkers, such as the loss of the firstborn at the start of the marriage and years before that, the giving up on the hope of realizing my big dream in another country during my bachelorette days.
In the last two years, I've portrayed my dual-role as a single mother to a tweener and a full-time career woman in seemingly unremarkable episodes that were occasionally saved by cameo guest appearances. I am thankful that my co-stars never failed to remind me that the show must go on no matter what.
Things turned around when 2O11's brand new season saw incremental changes in the storyline, starting with an unexpected source of inspiration. And life was reborn, with the theme, "redemption".
My dear loyal supporters, the ones who have stayed around, were more than pleased. And with the show's new direction, people are expecting changes...will the now-liberated heroine throw a huge party for her friends to celebrate the milestone, blowing out candles on a cake that says “40 and a little bit naughty”?
In the meantime, I've embarked on a minor reinvention of my screen image, favoring an uneven messed-up shorter style and updated make-up. There is NO WAY I will follow in the footsteps of matrons with their distinctive vacuum-sealed expressions concealed by heavy makeup or uncoordinated outfits highlighting convex figures.
In a business where agelessness exacts a hefty price, I have to remember that a personal enhancement program or health maintenance routines can be justified. If do not consider the initiative worth my investment, then how could I expect to fulfill the things that I am interested in but I haven't tried?
If I were to take up pole dancing, climb another mountain, swim alongside a whale shark, publish my writings, start a business, go on a volunteer vacation, produce documentaries or assemble a desktop computer from scratch, I'd do whatever it takes to defy aging. I'd rather live the rest of my days trying, instead of being trapped in a mindset that would banish me and my dreams to some gloomy corner in a squeaky rocking chair.
I would even defy conventions and explore a new approach to my role as a cougar when a new love interest enters the scene. Should the ratings surge, maybe the season finale might feature a second-time blushing bride.
Well, maybe it's a tad too early for that idea to be finally written in the script. After all, I need to remind myself that I do not write it, and that I take my instructions from my Director. Since it is never His protocol to allow retakes, He never lets the cameras roll until He is certain that I am in character. I may be in the spotlight, but it is HIS SHOW, classified under inspirational drama that promotes human value.
On and on, my story will go, with the yin and yang, light and darkness, with lessons from the past as well as insights that will help me move it forward.
It’s never too late to become what I might have been. So life, just like the show, must go on.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Moving On with 'Moving On'
Took a trip down memory lane once again,though this time it happened quite unplanned on a Friday night when a friend from a distant past invited me over for an intimate post-birthday get-together. She and I had already started catching up on FB, and then months ago met up at a reunion with schoolmates. Even on such short notice, I couldn't pass up the chance to reconnect with another friend whom I hadn't seen since our chance run-in back in college.
I had but spent two years studying at the same school with them; on the other hand, my two friends graduated from high school together and had been a part of each other's lives for a lot longer, hence more familair with each other's histories of ups and downs.
Over heaps of pasta and nibbles of chocolates at my host's cozy condo unit, we caught up with what was going on with our other friends, laughed when we couldn't uncork the bottle of Beaujolais, posed for group shots, remembering at the same time an old photo of us when we were in the third grade. There was that funny moment where no one could recall whose little brother posed with us in the picture. We filled in the gaps for each other whenever trivial details were left out or mixed up. In the end we decided to let forgetfulness carry us through a profusion of memories. This is the year where we were all turning forty and we had just begun reflecting on life, each of us in varying degrees of transition.
After I gave an account of my post-marriage life, my host asked if I had moved on, maybe more than once. I said 'yes', though for an instant I pondered whether my response held a genuine conviction and was not merely self-motivating talk.
To me, "moving on" is a journey. At the far end of the continuum was my grappling with the realization of the loss of shared dreams and commitments, my rage as a woman scorned --- which fury hell hath no (borrowing Jack Sparrow's line). With the passing of time I am spared with a sanity that remains intact and faith that continues to grow. Under the current circumstances I am pushed to balance personal ambition and the obligations of being a single parent and a career woman.
Occasionally, I get stuck with anger or blame along the way, or grow restless to fill the void left by an unfaithful soul mate. However, once I am in the company of other women who have gone through a similar experience, I regain my focus. As with my numerous reunions with female friends as of late, the bonding with these two caring women revived and nurtured.
And so I added, I am in the middle of getting my life back on track. In fact, I made a step past moving on and instead, moved FORWARD, as I talk about my growing fondness for a male friend who acted as my stormbreaker. No need to label the relationship at the moment, I told them, but it was enough that finally I am beginning to feel alive and hopeful that better things can still and WILL unfold wherever the journey goes.
Who knows? Perhaps next time, our dinner conversation will overflow with scoops a of a budding romance.
I had but spent two years studying at the same school with them; on the other hand, my two friends graduated from high school together and had been a part of each other's lives for a lot longer, hence more familair with each other's histories of ups and downs.
Over heaps of pasta and nibbles of chocolates at my host's cozy condo unit, we caught up with what was going on with our other friends, laughed when we couldn't uncork the bottle of Beaujolais, posed for group shots, remembering at the same time an old photo of us when we were in the third grade. There was that funny moment where no one could recall whose little brother posed with us in the picture. We filled in the gaps for each other whenever trivial details were left out or mixed up. In the end we decided to let forgetfulness carry us through a profusion of memories. This is the year where we were all turning forty and we had just begun reflecting on life, each of us in varying degrees of transition.
After I gave an account of my post-marriage life, my host asked if I had moved on, maybe more than once. I said 'yes', though for an instant I pondered whether my response held a genuine conviction and was not merely self-motivating talk.
To me, "moving on" is a journey. At the far end of the continuum was my grappling with the realization of the loss of shared dreams and commitments, my rage as a woman scorned --- which fury hell hath no (borrowing Jack Sparrow's line). With the passing of time I am spared with a sanity that remains intact and faith that continues to grow. Under the current circumstances I am pushed to balance personal ambition and the obligations of being a single parent and a career woman.
Occasionally, I get stuck with anger or blame along the way, or grow restless to fill the void left by an unfaithful soul mate. However, once I am in the company of other women who have gone through a similar experience, I regain my focus. As with my numerous reunions with female friends as of late, the bonding with these two caring women revived and nurtured.
And so I added, I am in the middle of getting my life back on track. In fact, I made a step past moving on and instead, moved FORWARD, as I talk about my growing fondness for a male friend who acted as my stormbreaker. No need to label the relationship at the moment, I told them, but it was enough that finally I am beginning to feel alive and hopeful that better things can still and WILL unfold wherever the journey goes.
Who knows? Perhaps next time, our dinner conversation will overflow with scoops a of a budding romance.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Why Do Women Need Makeup?
Sometimes I wonder why as we get older, we women choose to complicate our everyday lives obsessing with how we look. A photographer blogs about his observations in a straightforward enough manner (which is what I'd expect from a guy), and I find myself agreeing with him. Just as he said, at the end of the day, men don't complain for as long as it makes them turn their heads.
Woman in Red - Makeup by Dave Beckerman
The more I learned about what women go through, just to get out of the house, the more I began to believe that if I had been born a woman, I would have had a very tough time getting anything done.
I have enough trouble just trimming my beard every once in a while and all my clothes are the same - jeans and tee-shirts.
Tomorrow, for example, I need to go to a birthday party, and already I'm in trouble because my one pair of "good pants" - well let's say they are seriously crumpled. And I need a hair-cut. And there's a host of stuff that I've put off while I've been doing my work.
And then put on top of that all the other things that they are responsible for - and I can honestly say that I just don't see how I could get anything creative done.
Obviously, since there have been great women artists - there's a way to do it. But I think that if you jump back two hundred years - I don't know that there were many women artists back then. Were there?
Can you imagine living in a world where it took over two hours to get dressed for a party. I used to wonder, as a kid why my mom was always late for everything. When I grew up I found out.
All my dad had to do was put on his suit, maybe brush his teeth and shower and voila. But women, especially at a certain age, are forced by society to be actresses and play roles that are just so time-consuming, and frankly - superficial.
Now in real life, I don't complain about this. I see a beautiful woman and my head turns just like it always did.
Do you know what the fashion and cosmetic business pulls in every year? I'm not saying that there aren't some men that go through a similar process but it's mostly the face and hair that's got to be groomed.
With a woman - it seems to be every single part of her body. In other words - every potentially erogenous zone (I think that's what they used to be called) has to be taken care of. I won't name them all - but from nails to bust to eyes, nose, hair, fingers, toes, etc. etc. What a job.
And sometimes I see that even a large pocketbook isn't enough to carry the paint and brushes around.
I was fascinated by this for a while, and just kept a lookout for women putting on their makeup on the subway each morning. It's enough for an album.
Well anyway - those are my thoughts. Not sure if they are P.C. - probably not - but it's too late to think about that and I've got to get to sleep.
I did a shoot today of a woman, and watching her fix her makeup between each shot (which I am glad she did because the pictures turned out beautiful and no I won't post them now - not without her permission) - but like I say, I would have made a bad job of it.
Woman in Red - Makeup by Dave Beckerman
The more I learned about what women go through, just to get out of the house, the more I began to believe that if I had been born a woman, I would have had a very tough time getting anything done.
I have enough trouble just trimming my beard every once in a while and all my clothes are the same - jeans and tee-shirts.
Tomorrow, for example, I need to go to a birthday party, and already I'm in trouble because my one pair of "good pants" - well let's say they are seriously crumpled. And I need a hair-cut. And there's a host of stuff that I've put off while I've been doing my work.
And then put on top of that all the other things that they are responsible for - and I can honestly say that I just don't see how I could get anything creative done.
Obviously, since there have been great women artists - there's a way to do it. But I think that if you jump back two hundred years - I don't know that there were many women artists back then. Were there?
Can you imagine living in a world where it took over two hours to get dressed for a party. I used to wonder, as a kid why my mom was always late for everything. When I grew up I found out.
All my dad had to do was put on his suit, maybe brush his teeth and shower and voila. But women, especially at a certain age, are forced by society to be actresses and play roles that are just so time-consuming, and frankly - superficial.
Now in real life, I don't complain about this. I see a beautiful woman and my head turns just like it always did.
Do you know what the fashion and cosmetic business pulls in every year? I'm not saying that there aren't some men that go through a similar process but it's mostly the face and hair that's got to be groomed.
With a woman - it seems to be every single part of her body. In other words - every potentially erogenous zone (I think that's what they used to be called) has to be taken care of. I won't name them all - but from nails to bust to eyes, nose, hair, fingers, toes, etc. etc. What a job.
And sometimes I see that even a large pocketbook isn't enough to carry the paint and brushes around.
I was fascinated by this for a while, and just kept a lookout for women putting on their makeup on the subway each morning. It's enough for an album.
Well anyway - those are my thoughts. Not sure if they are P.C. - probably not - but it's too late to think about that and I've got to get to sleep.
I did a shoot today of a woman, and watching her fix her makeup between each shot (which I am glad she did because the pictures turned out beautiful and no I won't post them now - not without her permission) - but like I say, I would have made a bad job of it.
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