At the last page of my notebook,
Browsing through the leaves of 
Kabul memories and blank possibilities,
Is why this decision…

I only open the last page as I move on.
Just that first page from the flip side
And then I am certain.

…(Y)ou cannot make plans in Delhi.
Delhi is tentative, fleeting, a stopover -
It is only good for making memories.

I think… that I would rather recollect a life misspent on fragile things than spent avoiding moral debt. The words turned up in a dream and I wrote down upon waking, uncertain what they meant or to whom they applied.”

Neil Gaiman, Fragile Things: Short Fictions and Wonders. 2007.

Someone asked me if i have written something lately.  Nothing i said.  Yeah, nothing really.  Maybe, someday, I will be able to sit down to write again.  Write like i have never written before.  Make sense of what’s going on inside my bloody head.  Celebrate the mobility of the pen (or of the fingers).

But for now, i just want to take indulgence from the words of my favorite poet…  Reading and listening to this poem made me remember that one recent afternoon spent navigating around islamabad.

LEANING INTO THE AFTERNOONS

Leaning into the afternoons I cast my sad nets
towards your oceanic eyes.

There in the highest blaze my solitude lengthens and flames,
its arms turning like a drowning man’s.

I send out red signals across your absent eyes
that smell like the sea or the beach by a lighthouse.

You keep only darkness, my distant female,
from your regard sometimes the coast of dread emerges.

Leaning into the afternoons I fling my sad nets
to that sea that is thrashed by your oceanic eyes.

The birds of night peck at the first stars
that flash like my soul when I love you.

The night gallops on its shadowy mare
shedding blue tassels over the land.

But enough of this foolishness.

Curiosity
Alistair Reed

may have killed the cat; more likely
the cat was just unlucky, or else curious
to see what death was like, having no cause
to go on licking paws, or fathering
litter on litter of kittens, predictably.

Nevertheless, to be curious
is dangerous enough. To distrust
what is always said, what seems,
to ask odd questions, interfere in dreams,
leave home, smell rats, have hunches
do not endear cats to those doggy circles
where well-smelt baskets, suitable wives, good lunches
are the order of things, and where prevails
much wagging of incurious heads and tails.

Face it. Curiosity
will not cause us to die –
only lack of it will.
Never to want to see
the other side of the hill
or that improbable country
where living is an idyll
(although a probable hell)
would kill us all.
Only the curious
have, if they live, a tale
worth telling at all.

Dogs say cats love too much, are irresponsible,
are changeable, marry too many wives,
desert their children, chill all dinner tables
with tales of their nine lives.
Well, they are lucky. Let them be
nine-lived and contradictory,
curious enough to change, prepared to pay
the cat price, which is to die
and die again and again,
each time with no less pain.
A cat minority of one
is all that can be counted on
to tell the truth. And what cats have to tell
on each return from hell
is this: that dying is what the living do,
that dying is what the loving do,
and that dead dogs are those who do not know
that dying is what, to live, each has to do.

Friendship is like a snowball, it can’t be kept forever. -an Afghan Proverb

When the winter comes,
When cold, pristine whiteness
Replace the troubled dusts,
I shall remember the other you
As someone who once
Filled-up a part of my life
With warm conversations
And whispered laughter…

“Never mind the diplomacy
and just tell me,” 
you may reply.
So though I do mean that,
I have to concede:
A snowball feels good only in the beginning, 
I don’t have the endurance
To hold it for a longer time
In the tropics of my heart.

been staying in the house since the eid day last tuesday.  i am on my own,  all the five housemates are out of afghanistan for workleave and for the short holidays.  i opted to stay put.  i will be going out soon for my nearing r & r, and besides, it would be nice to go back to work on saturday with this pending report already finished.  so the plan is mainly to work, in solitude.   

the security guys remain outside, and our chowkidar (guard) only comes over during the night.   i am in the company of two cats.  snowball, a white hairball ofa cat, is a pet of a housemate who is currently trekking in kenya.  snowball’s got this enchanted eyes, aristocratic catty demeanor (a houseguest once commented that snowball has “delusions of grandeur”), and is well-loved by his owner.  at first we ignored each other but the past two days, i noticed that he has been following me around.  when i go upstairs, he will be a few meters away after a while. i cook, and he will get inside the kitchen surreptitiously.  i watch tv and he will snuggle under the center table.  this morning, i woke up with him sleeping outside my room.  but he started avoiding me when i turned on the shower and didn’t notice that he was peacefully lying on the white tub. he literally flew out of the bathroom.  sorry snowball!  the other cat’s a stray one, part of these regular stray cats in the garden. but this yellow one stands out from the herd.  if he wants to get inside the house, he will climb on the screen door and starts banging himself on the main glass door hoping for the lock to get loose.  fascinating… the beat generation is alive in this cat…  

anyway, i keep on distracting myself, and distractions come in many (other) forms…

1. facebook.  oh, got new messages… got replies?  i should change my status.  will upload some photos.  what else, what else… 
2. i should update my profile on friendster and goodreads…
3. just call me when you’re near…
4. i’ll just finish this english subtitled iranian movie, then i should really go upstairs and work…
5. come to think of it, i should have read this book long time ago!
6. man, I can’t play these sex and the city dvds on the lappy! should remind the IT guy…
7. sorry, can’t come to the party. enjoy anyway.  (this too much smoking can revive my arthritis!)
8. sara palin and the handmaid’s tale.. haha, sara palin’s interview as a poetry!  nuts, why is it taking too much time to download this sara palin CBS interview?   
9. bhutto’s widow zardari flirted with palin and was issued a fatwa today for his “indecent remarks gestures, filthy remarks, and repeated praise of a non-Muslim lady wearing a short skirt”… but read a time article days ago on the pakistani feminists criticizing this as sexism, quoting tahira abdullah no less. :)
10. hmm, interesting annotations on obama’s acceptance speech. 
11. i should subscribe to the utne reader…
12. back to tv …. interview with an afghan intelligence head (?):  “that’s what they told you, claire (re intercepted pakistani bombers in afghanistan who allegedly told the aljazeera reporter that they are not connected with the pakistani government ).  and that’s the difference between aljazeera and the intelligence agency.” hmm…
13. pep
14. gotta read the new emails…
15. google…google… nikolas… is this my nephew’s profile?
16. i wonder why my phone is quiet today
17. should organize my cabinet, my inbox, my files… maybe then, my thoughts…
18. will blog first, then i can start working really.

i’m hungry again…

“…why do you put yourself in a situation that you then find unbearable?” 

Anticipation
(Carly Simon)

We can never know about the days to come
But we think about them anyway
And I wonder if Im really with you now
Or just chasing after some finer day.

Anticipation, anticipation
Is making me late
Is keeping me waiting

And I tell you how easy it is to be with you
And how right your arms feel around me.
But I rehearsed those words just late last night
When I was thinking about how right tonight might be.

Anticipation, anticipation
Is making me late
Is keeping me waiting

And tomorrow we might not be together
Im no prophet, I dont know natures way
So Ill try to see into your eyes right now
And stay right here, cause these are the good old days.

(some pics from the trips)

I came back to the Philippines from Bangkok more than two weeks ago.  More than halfway through my backpacking trip, I decided to just abandon the itinerary and go home.  Some good news just propped up in my inbox.  As what the Lao vendors would say “lucky, lucky…”.  Oh yes, I also received that good news in Laos.   

I only spent two days in Bangkok.  Travelled from Laos via an overnight train trip from bordertown Nongkhai and arrived in Bangkok early morning.  Proceeded to Khao San Road (the backpackers’ area). Had a cup of strong coffee.  Checked-in in a hotel.  Bought my plane ticket, and didn’t go beyond Khao San until the night when I have to leave for the airport.  So all I did in those last two days was eat, sleep, had massages, shopped a bit, drank, people watched, YMed.  I felt too exhausted, my energy had just gone down.  Maybe because I knew that I was already at the end of my trip.   

Well, I guess the only exciting thing that really happened in Bangkok was in the airport, at the immigration counter.  When it was my turn for the standard passport checking and look-at-the-camera, the immigration staff was taking more than the usual time of looking into my passport.  She then called up a colleague and they alienspoke to each other…

I imagined their conversation to be like this:

Staff 1:  She’s got a short hair in this photo, but her hair’s quite long now.  I wonder why…check it out (they both looked at me, then back to the passport). 
Staff 2:  Maybe she just wants to?   
Staff 1:  But why?? 
Staff 2:  You better investigate that at the back, there’s a long qeue behind!

The first staff asked me to follow her at the back of the counter where there is another table.  She again flipped my passport.  Our exchange was like this…

Staff:  Why do you have two Pakistan visas? 
Me:  The first one expired, the other one is an extension. 
Staff:  How long have you been in Pakistan?
Me:  Two years
Staff:  What did you do there?
Me:  I was volunteering.
Staff:  (Flipped the passport one more time then handed it to me)
Me:  So is this all about my Pakistan visas? 
Staff:  Yes.
Me:  I also have two India visas.
But she just looked at me (and abandoned that ‘question’ that she’s meaning to ask me).  

I wonder what will be their reaction if they will see my next visa.

 

After five days in Hanoi, I have to move on to Laos.  It was a 24-hour trip in an AC bus.  We stopped at the border at around 10 o’clock in the morning where my passport was again stamped with a free 30-day visa, and at 3 o’clock in the afternoon, arrived at Vientiane, the capital.  I checked in in a budget guesthouse which the LP guide said is safe for solo women travelers.  It is a clean, quiet place run by women (when you enter, depart from your slippers by the door near the bicycles), in a location opposite the Mekong river.  The other side of the river is already part of Thailand.  Yes, a river runs through these countries.  After having lunch and Lao beer in one of the array of restaurants parallel to the river, I made a long distance call that I have been longing to do… 

Vientiane is not too spread out unlike Hanoi so you can just just walk around, if you don’t want to or can’t bike.  Pagodas here, pagodas there,  pagodas everywhere.  The streets are wide, and the people are still even when they walk. 

You get inside the shops which don’t “sell”.  After exchanging what you will later learn will be the usual greeting of “sabadee” with a smile, you look around and inquire about the prices and make quiet negotiations.  You can linger then you leave.  You walk down again and you will hear a low call of “tuk-tuk?” from a parking tuk-tuk down the street. 

You walk further, see the old French architecture as in Hanoi – remains of the French’s tumultuous stay in this part of the region.  You see some monks crossing the street.  You go to the museum and maybe learn something more about the history of the place.  The museum is not as grand and well-kept as in Hanoi but they do say a lot about the history of the country even before it became a country – from the excavated dinosaur bones to the warring ancient kingdoms to the Indochina colonization to the cold war domino effect paranoia when the people were gassed and heavily bombed like no other asian country had been.   Laos is now a socialist country but you don’t see any communist paraphernalia shops around. It is the least populated and developed in the southeast asian region. 

Now you might be interested to see the landmark victory gate in Vientiane so you go there, passing along the presidential palace and another famous pagoda.  And you will wonder if victory has really been achieved for you will be sure that it is not a Lao speaking if you read the sign on the gate. 

Here’s the English translation: 

At the northeastern end of the Lane Xang Ave. arises a huge structure resembling the Arc de Triomphe.  It is the Patuxay or Victory Gate of Vientiane built in 1962 (B.E. 2505), but never complete due to the country’s turbulent history.  From a closer distance it appears even less impressive, like a monster of concrete.
Nowadays, this place is used as a leisure ground for the people of Vientiane and the seventh floor on top of the building serves as an excellent viewpoint over the city. 

You might be lured with the stories of other tourists who go this way about Luang Prabang, the former old capital of Laos.  So you make a short detour in your trip.

Luang Prabang, a picturesque valley town beside the Mekong river, has the royal golden palace, pagodas, French colonial villas, village huts.  You will see lush mountains overlapping with the descending clouds though if the memory of a country with huge mountain ranges and mists is still fresh in your mind, they might not awe you.  Nevertheless, you will be charmed by the overall quaintness of the place, including the especially decrepit French houses and fresh croissants and pastries.  You leave its tourist-populated area by crossing Mekong on a boat and see some old pagodas across the chocolate brown river. You arrive at a poor village neighborhood, experience the strong smell of a buffalo skin being dried, walk down the dirt road.  You make a trek toward an old pagoda at the top of a hill with the ad hoc company of neighborhood children.  As you come back to your waiting boat, you will wonder at how quiet the neighborhood is – or do they keep quiet because of your strange passing?  But somehow, you will notice that even the village dogs don’t bark in Laos. 

You check out the night market – perhaps one of the quietest market that you will be into,  that  you will think you need to re-consider your metaphor on markets.  You marvel at all the goods being sold there and you noticed you shed out your shopping discipline. 

You go back to Vientiane on a night trip to save for a night of staying in the guesthouse.  You arrive at 5 o’clock in the morning and not be surprised that the guesthouse, the cafes, the shops are not yet open.  You see a single file of monks walking down the streets for the morning alms.  You see a group of women doing morning exercises and tai chi while facing the river. 

You go near the Mekong, put down your heavy backpack, sit down, and fall asleep.  You will be woken up by the busy sound of the tuk-tuks.