"Human migration is an important part of our ancestral history. The places we live shape us, the places we leave behind forges our history, and the places we might travel to becomes our mysterious future." --- KILROY J. OLDSTER, Dead Toad Scrolls

Pardon the titular alliteration - it's nothing but pure coincidence. But having lived half my life in an urban setting, finding my way back to old towns and backwater locations have always made quite an impression in me. Even then when I was a wee teeny tiny lil tyke. Perhaps it's that sense of physical history and old-world feeling that comes with it.


I remember every summer when school's over, my mom and her side of the family would embark on a trip down south to visit relatives and bond over luncheons and meriendas. These would traditionally take place at a relatives' ancestral homes. I must say these were definitely hallmark moments seeing grandparents, aunts, uncles and the many cousins catching up on family news and just playing outdoor games. And when the table is set for the meals to start, everyone would just gather around the table, pray before the feast started. It was this ambience that made the whole experience unforgettable - the way everyone would share and take part in the conversation and laughter is what happiness surely looks like. And it was the kind of ambience that is in some way's possible because of the homey and relaxed feel inside an ancestral home. The warmth, the love, the harmony and the history practically sums up and gravitate around the fun family gathering.


Looking back now, I am still awed and privileged to have been and be part of such a beautiful journey. So much so, that every time I pass by ancestral homes I feel happy and nostalgic in equal measure. I can only imagine the many happy things that happen inside it and the family that lived in it. Apart from that, it also speaks of the uniqueness of the era at a time when such type of dwelling were first constructed. The type of material that were available then but are rarely found now, the kind of workmanship on how patiently it's been made then that can nowhere be done now. And don't forget the stunning furniture inside it.

To borrow the phrase "if these walls could talk", I can only think of the many great stories that took place inside these homes. Mesmerizing enough to dedicate an entire book about it. Not to mention the many other ancestral homes that dot around with its own special story to tell. If only they could.

It's pretty standard to plan activities ahead of time. Going out for a run, having lunch with friends or taking a road trip somewhere to de-stress from the mess.

But then even the best laid plans can prove to be quite a struggle especially when it has to contend with a gloomy weather forecast. Nothing can put a damper better than this. Though, it can be quite a relief to be under self-imposed house arrest just to avoid getting caught in the middle of a massive downpour.

An unscheduled pajama party can be the best alternative to help offset the predicament. It's cathartic to go through that lull and practically just immerse into vacation mode. Take your time while you're at it. Give yourself a moment to breathe and think of doing something that could best suit the occasion. Read a book. Write a letter. Stay in bed with your PJs. Netflix and chill.


And because we are huge fans of bed weather, you might as well binge watch your favorite series and take advantage of the cozy feel brought about by the impending rain, dark hanging clouds and cold breeze.


Pair it away with your favorite treats. A banana oatmeal. A piping hot ginger tea. Milk and chocolate chip cookie. You decide. Make it healthy to keep cold and flu at bay.

A pajama party like this... sounds like a perfect plan. So? Anyone wants to snuggle?

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After what felt like an eternity of El Niño here in the tropics, the arrival of La Niña is now approaching its way. Because we are still eclipsing into this phenomenon, a sign of rain here and there is a good thing to ease the heat and humidity. A few decades back, it wasn't as hot and as wet as it was then compared to now. Despite the bearable heat of the setting sun and the customary storms we experience then, it was - I would say for someone raised in this clime - fairly normal and nothing out of the ordinary. Now rain has finally came and paid this side of the world a visit. It's about to get cozy and nostalgic.

Today is a Thursday and in the spirit of all things throwback, I would like to reset my calendar back to the 1990s. There I was, my usual skinny pre-teen self, noticing the looming dark clouds bearing promise of a downpour. Along with neighbourhood kids in tow, after wrapping up a smorgasbord of  playground games, we decided to meet up a little later as soon as the rain descends upon us. It was, in one way or another, an extension of more fun in the works. The mission - go out and play in the rain.

So we all headed home to rummage through the day-old laundry basket to change into our 'rain clothes'. With no specific time in mind, those who were done and ready would just roam around the neighbourhood knocking on houses to fetch us kids personally until such time that our numbers grow from three to seven or more kids. Back then, there was no such thing as extreme flooding, it was just a steady downpour and the rain was at its purest form of water. It smelled good and dammit, it was delicious.

Because the entire neighbourhood compound was directly facing an open field, we would all go and play out in the open. A host of games would be enjoyed all together, chasing everyone, laughing with each other and talking about anything. It was that time in my childhood among other things that I felt we were at our free-est. It was timeless and magical.

The pitter patter of the rain on the ground, on our skin, in our faces was amazing. The drizzling sound of the million countless raindrops was comforting. The sight of slim, almost unbreakable traces of pouring rain near and far was mesmerizing. We owned that moment. I did too.

And so today, on a Thursday, I am reminded once more of that time with the sound of the rain against my window. I am reminded just as well with the thought running through my head, "When was the last time you enjoyed the rain?"

Silently, I say to myself, "Today, today, today."



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Photo: @cjcanonigo

Cebu has, is, and will always be the darling of the furniture industry in the Philippines. With a very rich history of craftsmanship and artisanship, the quality of work produced in the island are classified as among world-class status. Its reputation speaks for itself when it comes to excellence and production.

I remember the very first furnitures I was surrounded with when I was a kid. They were these bulky and cumbersome pieces of highly-durable quality wood, similar to those estate furnitures seen on ancestral homes in historic towns of the south. They had these weave works on the back rest that helps cushion a seater's back and provides better seating posture. I remember those furnitures vividly. The feel and smell of the wood, its thick caramel colour and its unforgiving weight especially during spring cleaning.

I have always had this fascination to wood but I guess in some ways, I have parked it at the back of my mind that I never knew they would come in handy someday, in any way I suppose.

But then when you grew up with people associated with carpentry, architecture and arts, there will always be that flicker of interest that appears out of nowhere from time to time. There was even that time when we had that old Sears catalogue at home that I kept flipping page after page looking at their furniture products.

A few years after, when I lived overseas, those old Sears catalogue have now been replaced with Ikea ones. Every time I get my hands on those, I would immerse myself in the world of furniture and just get awed by the design and ergonomics of it all. It's almost like looking at porn, but hey, in a good and healthy way, mind you.

Now back to the present, a few days ago, I came about this Vito Selma furniture showcase in Ayala and was reminded once again of my love of wood and furniture. So, as a not so subtle tribute to that little kid in me, I decided to document that yearning once again by taking a quick photo of that reminder.

Here's to you kiddo! :)


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Photo: @cjcanonigo

While doing some research online of a particular subject, I came across this film which is quite remarkable and breathtaking at the same time. I've actually seen this for like a couple of months ago as its initial screening was back in 2009 due to limited release. If I'm not mistaken, this should be shown shortly as right now the film is geared for a worldwide release. That shouldn't be a problem.

Romance set in an exotic Mediterranean country both culturally and historically rich is like sipping wine in a weekend picnic under a beautiful balmy weather. There's just something enchanting and memorable about it that is worth retelling for years and years. What's interesting about watching Cairo Time is that also does double-duty as a travelogue, is that it transports an audience to a place so magical and mythic. Somehow, it is already a rewarding experience in itself.


The main character of the story is the place itself, Egypt or in this case, Cairo in particular - "The City of a Thousand Minarets." On a November, we see Juliette (played by Patricia Clarkson), a 40-something fashion magazine editor, touching down at Cairo International Airport in town to visit and spend time with her husband Mark. Her host, Tareq (Alexander Siddig) came to fetch her and who also happened to be her husband's former colleague working under the United Nations refugee camps. Upon arriving, Tareq informed her of her husband's unavoidable delay in Gaza due to an urgent mission and assured her of the safety of Mark's situation. As they walked towards the car, they chanced upon Yasmeen, an old friend of Tareq's during his university days and ended up being invited to a wedding in Alexandria for Yasmeen's daughter. Both were appreciative and cordial of the gesture.

Along the way, the two started exchanging conversations about family and work even commenting about the intense weather enveloping the place. Being her first time in the "middle east" as remarked by Tareq, she confessed how much she loves the idea of finally getting the opportunity to experience Cairo. He dropped her off at her hotel to get settled and wait for Mark's call. Although disappointed of spending a few days alone, Juliette tried to check out the place even managing to leave the hotel premises unaccompanied. She then encountered an unusual and strange culture far removed from the comforts of home, men started following her around which started to scare her. She decided to drop by Tareq's coffee shop just to be around a familiar face where the patrons are all-male playing a game of cards and chess. He spent the day with her being a gracious host. This would begin a series of get together for the two on the duration of Mark's absence.


That evening, a solo Juliette attended one of Mark's function and met some of his colleagues and their partners especially Kathryn. Already worried of how she can get through to her husband, Kathryn offered to have lunch with her along with some friends the following day and also went for a hike at the white dessert - in an effort to keep each other occupied. The next morning, Tareq came by to show her around - taking her on a boat ride in the River Nile and capping the night for a smoke of shisha. She then departed to her room and was in time to receive Mark's call for update. Desperate to see him, she couldn't help herself but venture her way to Gaza via coach. Halfway to her trip, she was held up at a check point and was not allowed to go any further to reach her destination. Left with no choice, she was ordered to go back to Cairo and obliged to phone in Tareq to pick her up from her stop.

The days that follow, Juliette and Tareq kept each other company taking leisurely walks in the city, talking and discussing about life and relationships with occasional friendly banters followed by a little bit of flirtation from time to time. They even decided to embark on a journey to Alexandria for the wedding. They both enjoyed the traditional celebration and grateful for their accommodating host. While there, they couldn't fathom the idea of not seeing each other again once she leaves Egypt and unsure how they could keep in touch. After which, they headed back to Cairo and was in time to see Mark waiting at the hotel that put an end to their fleeting rendezvous.


The film ended with Mark and Juliette leaving the hotel to finally take a tour of the Grand Pyramids just as they had promised each other.

Clarkson and Siddig's performances were captivating and beautifully painful - it would seem as if these roles were carefully tailored fit for both. They very much carried their own with graceful sophistication in the entire run of the film without trying to compete with its main character, Cairo. Juliette's softspoken disposition, understated style (not to mention that unforgettable chic green dress) and impeccable manners are so endearing; while Tareq's brooding persona, unwavering honesty and unapologetic ideals are intimidating to say the least. As a testament to that, the unspoken chemistry and quiet hesitation of their characters are undeniably charming.

It's highly likely to see Cairo as the newest romantic destination. Be sure to make a stop there in this lifetime.

** This story is taken from my old blog - popcorn sessions. **

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Photos via Aceshowbiz

The post-millennial era has Mark Zuckerberg and his team at Harvard to thank for. Who would have thought that the future of time-keeping, diary entry of thoughts, pictures and emotions are encapsulated in the form of Facebook.

We’ve become so connected and obsessed in documenting our daily lives from the mundane to the extraordinary. It’s amazing sometimes when we try to think about the fact that content is just at our fingertips. We can easily talk and share our opinions quickly, freely and (to some) anonymously – whether solicited or unsolicited.

I remember when I lived overseas where my lifestyle dictates me to be constantly online. Every time I notice that my phone battery is about to die – I feel like I’m about to die along with it too. The 'fear of missing out' from the virtual environment makes me jittery and neurotic. [FYI, the term has already entered into mainstream consciousness and made its way on the pages of dictionaries officially as ‘FOMO’.] I can’t find my way around because I have no GPS. I have no idea when the next bus is coming because I have no phone alarm – let alone the app itself. I’m not sure if the restaurant I’m about to go to still have enough seats. If my friends are on their way, I wouldn’t be sure how close they are to the meeting place. And if I’ve ordered food or having a great time, there’s no camera to capture the moment. And the list goes on and on…

It’s like a deer in the headlights scenario. The very idea of being offline feels more or less like a digital death and it is unimaginable. You see – it wasn’t like this before.

When internet and smart phones were not as widespread as it is now, (and that was how many eras ago, mind you!), people relied on common sense. If one had trouble locating a place, they'd go old school by asking people to point them in the right direction. The same goes with the time if one forgot to wear a watch. And if they're lucky, maybe meet a newfound acquaintance, a bit of small talk, a smile and little joke on the side to go along with it on a beautiful day. That’s pretty much more than you can get talking to actual three-dimensional people out there as opposed to your pocket-sized rectangular friend.

The sad thing is, in general, people have become too focused on their own daily affairs. Subconsciously, the habit of replacing the actual three-dimensional people over smart phones is prevalent in today’s society.

Take a good hard look around, provided that your device does not distract you, and you’ll see how people in the train, people who are eating out, people who are traveling and basically just people everywhere from all walks of life are plugged without acknowledging their surroundings.

For all we know, there are amazing things happening around us that we fail to see and perhaps, even take part of. And those are moments that we can’t go back to.

That guy who just slipped right across the street after stepping on a banana peel that happened in a space of 15 seconds would have been a funny sight. But we missed it – that 15 seconds alone is gone.

Let’s say, we did saw it and took a video of it. That would have been a potential gif or meme to go viral waiting to happen. But then again, so are capturing everything in our lives. It’s become, at times, a silly habit to take pictures of almost anything and everything we can think of from the food we eat to the clothes we wear.

Although it’s nice sometimes, but in the long run, it’s damaging us on how completely reliant we are to these devices. What if, just an exercise, we take away your smart phones (gasp!) for a day and test your memory skills. Try to witness the events that happened during the day and try recalling them at night. Remember anything special and specific – like, did you see that guy who slipped earlier? Did you notice his facial expression when it happened? How about the color of his shirt? Oh wait, was he wearing a shirt or a suit? See my point?

That said; give yourself a little favor to rely on your mental capacity to remember things naturally – without digital intervention via smart phones, tablets and laptops. And remember: GO OUT AND HAVE FUN! Be happy to be unplugged for a little while and relish the moment.


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Photo via CJ

There's nothing like coming across a book, a poem, a quote or even a well-written piece of literature that gives you a sudden epiphany out of nowhere. It just stops you in your tracks and realize how much it resonates with the things that you live by. It's amazing... and unbelievable both in equal measure.

And so, several years ago in the days of MTV at its peak, there I was, my adolescent self sitting on the couch tuning into my favorite channel. Then, out of nowhere, a video was played that was completely different to what I was used to then - a confection of pop, alternative, rock, r&b sounds. It was more about spoken words accompanied by a background music that I had trouble recognizing. Completely unlike anything I've heard before. So I listened closely with all my senses focused on nothing else but what was played on the screen.

Ohh... That was it - I was hooked. I really get it. It was a sort of tribute dispensing valuable life lessons to young generations like me. The words and advices that pack a punch and land in our ears and minds of things that shouldn't be taken for granted.

It was quite a generous effort. So I decided to track down the origins of the thought behind the piece. And there there, it was a beautifully written by a lady journalist named Mary Schmich published in the Chicago Tribune.

Thank you Mary. It has such a wonderful and inspiring message that it has contained some of my go-to mantras every now and then when certain situations call for it.

And to everyone else: May you find the same beauty that I myself found within it, too. So, without further ado, I am sharing to you. Here goes ---

Inside every adult lurks a graduation speaker dying to get out, some world-weary pundit eager to pontificate on life to young people who'd rather be Rollerblading. Most of us, alas, will never be invited to sow our words of wisdom among an audience of caps and gowns, but there's no reason we can't entertain ourselves by composing a Guide to Life for Graduates.

I encourage anyone over 26 to try this and thank you for indulging my attempt.Ladies and gentlemen of the class of '97:

Wear sunscreen.

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Sing.

Don't be reckless with other people's hearts. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don't waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself.

Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don't.

Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone.

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's.

Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.

Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.

Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.

Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents. You never know when they'll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings. They're your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft. Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians will philander. You, too, will get old. And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when either one might run out.

Don't mess too much with your hair or by the time you're 40 it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen.


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Photo via CJ

How Zach Braff does it? I'm not too sure. All I know is that - the guy is brilliant. He has incredible insight in the kind of projects he chooses to work on. He's a genius, for sure.. from screenwriting to acting, soundtrack selection to directing.

In many a series of lead roles, he plays Michael in the film called The Last Kiss. Michael, a twentysomething architect on the verge of pushing 30, is happily settled with his girlfriend Jenna (Jacinda Barrett) - the kind of relationship his friends were quite envious of. He realizes that everything he wanted since he was young falls into place. He has a great job, maintains a friendship with his childhood friends and Jenna, who is expecting their first baby. Pretty much, he has it all.


While at a friend's wedding, he meets Kim (Rachel Bilson) - a charming yet aggressive college student who caught his eye. With her forward nature, she seems to easily get Michael wrapped around her fingers without hesitation. While making conversations with her, Michael confesses how much he thinks that even in his otherwise perfect life - there's no more room for surprises anymore. Kim suggests that he's in a crisis which he agrees in silence.

On the homefront, Jenna is caught offguard of her parent's separation and tries to tie loose ends hoping to get Anna and Stephen (played by Blythe Danner and Tom Wilkinson respectively) back together especially with the pending birth of their granddaughter. While, Michael's friends are in a tsunami of relationship turmoil. Izzy, who got jumped by his girlfriend Ariana, and Kenny, who is commitment-phobic, decide to embark on a roadtrip to get away from Wisconsin. Chris, on the otherhand, is stuck in a ticking timebomb of a marriage with Lisa waiting to disintegrate.


With everyone around them in a state of domestic disturbance, Michael is secretly brewing a mix of his own by meeting Kim from time to time with Jenna kept in the dark. Despite having an inkling of what the consequences of his actions will be, he becomes more enamored with Kim's youthful and carefree ways. Chris suspects of Michael's cheating ways and decides not to get involved in any of his alibis.

On the night when he was partying with Kim at a club, Jenna tries to get hold of him with sad news of Izzy's dad who passed away. He puts up an excuse that he is out with Chris only to get busted by her at the wake where all of Michael's friends including Chris are present except him. Upon rushing his way home, Jenna confronts and interrogates him of his whereabouts. Preferring to stick to his alibi only to get outed with Chris, he starts confessing and vows of its meaningless implication in their relationship. With his apologies holding no weight on the matter, she kicks him out of the house. So left with no place to go, he drops by at Kim's dorm and decides to sleep with her instead.

Jenna moves to her parent's house to compose herself and cool down. He figures it right away and thinks of visiting her there when Kim ambushes him at his office. He explains to Kim of his predicament and tries to apologize to her of the confusions caused between them. Michael then rushes out and arrives at the house to talk to Jenna. As her parents tries to get some sense talking to them, she bolts out of the door and goes straight to their house and locks Michael out. He makes up for everything that he has done by waiting and staying in the porch for days and nights - rain or shine. Until Jenna gives in.


What's fascinating about the film is how it dissects the very complicated depths of how relationships is responsible to its own demise. The human factor, is almost and always, a given factor. How being human is an imperfection in itself that explaining lapses in judgment is like beyond the radars of being human. With a contemporary story and setting, Braff has become a poster boy for sensitively flawed leads experiencing dramatic highs and lows of a relationship. His performance is just seamless to begin with. In the meantime, Bilson can easily master the role of a sex kitten trying to seduce the male protagonist and sway him off the tracks. But somehow, you can't help but notice bits and pieces of her O.C. days with Summer Roberts springing from behind her - not so hard to miss on that one though. Overall, the material on this remake is relatively modern and likeable. Kudos!


** This story is taken from my old blog - popcorn sessions. **

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Photos via Aceshowbiz, Original Motion Picture Soundtrack, JoBlo

A few weeks ago on this blog, I posted a two-part series entitled “What Dreams Are Made Of… Sometimes!” It was written at a time when my mind and body was consumed with too much work and personal stress that it took an insane toll even during in my sleep and dream state. I had no idea then what I was running into. Until I realized that it was a dream that had zero – I repeat, zero – sound taking place. No sound, no noise, and most definitely, no music. It was an audiophile’s worst nightmare!

And so, I thought maybe in the future we could manipulate the kind of dreams we have. Maybe make some edits as our dream starts unfolding. Wouldn’t that be so cool? It’s like those scenarios in the movies where a character breaks the fourth wall and tries to revise the story in real time – should some situation proved disadvantageous – in order to gain the upper hand.

In the spirit of that theory, I had this idea what if we can pre-select the kind of tunes that gets played in our dreams. Nothing blah or meh in this case. But a trove of ultra quirky, part dreamy, part ambient, hyper pop alternative soundtrack that even MTV would pale in comparison. So I’ve run down a list of what I felt best suits that surreal and, most often, inexplicable dream environment. Let’s go through it – shall we?


(1) Under The Water – Merril Bainbridge

(2) What I Am – Emma Bunton f/ Tin Tin Out

(3) Symptom Of My Time – Marie Frank

(4) Indestructible – Alisha’s Attic

(5) Damned – Shimoli

(6) Tattooed On My Mind – D’Sound

(7) Totally Underwater – Shelly Poole

(8) Snow On The Sahara – Anggun

(9) Templefrog – Kiln

(10) The Rain – Oh Wonder

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Photos via (from left to right, starting from top panel)  1 - Wikipedia, 2 - Wikipedia, 3 - MusicStack, 4 - LaDiscoàTibronx, (middle panel) 5 - MusicStack, 6 - Lyrics 007, (bottom panel) 7 - iTunes, 8 - Wikipedia, 9 - Ghostly, 10 - All Things Go Music

[This is the second part of the two-part series. To read the first part, click here.]

What I stepped into was a world beyond recognition – it was strange and otherworldly. I was floating in the air with the misty wind moving all around me. I could feel that there were others just like me but just outside my peripheral vision at every turn of my head. It’s like being sucked into a world that was sort of Tim Burton-esque in all its fantastical glory. I was floating in a patch of land that seemed to be elevated by a sea of clouds. A few distances away, I could see a cascading waterfall with the water dropping off to a bottomless pit. Across it were vines growing in total abandonment as it made its way towards some funny looking trees resembling the kind found in exotic Socotra. I was spellbound.

But to add another layer of weirdness was that there was a complete absence of noise, sound, or perhaps even, music. Ever thought how intriguing it can be when you can actually bring your senses forward when you’re under a dream state, of course, with the exception of your tactile and olfactory senses? I’ve always thought it to be rather bizarre that I can still feel, see, hear and say something in that dream state when, after all, you are in deep sleep. But at that point in time, I was missing the hearing part or, yet, the absence of it.


As all dreams often are, they normally don’t make sense. Maybe they served as a reflection of your waking state of how exhausted you are from what you were doing and how badly you needed the rest. Maybe they don’t. And, in that particular dream, all I was doing was just roam aimlessly around that mystical environment – enjoying the sight of the waterfall, the sea of clouds underneath, the intertwining vines and the funny trees.

Before I know it, I started falling off the bottomless pit and I could sense my body was moving uncontrollably. My arms were spread out in the air hoping to grab something to keep me from falling further. I was screaming like mad minus the sound of my voice. All of a sudden, I was taken back to reality. It turned out – I had fallen off the bed with half of my blanket held tightly in my hands and the other half tucked in on top of the bed.

I was awake but didn’t have the strength to get up just yet. I opened my eyes and kept thinking what the dream was about. I replayed it over and over in my head about what it meant. But unfortunately, I didn’t reach any conclusion whatsoever. Then I realized something… there was melody in the air. A song was playing. I also realized… I can hear the music playing. Thank God – everything’s back to normal! Phew!

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Photos via HDW, michaelpickard

Fact: Paris is the city of romance. Yes, everyone knows this even for someone who hasn't been there. But true to form, be it in a postcard, there's always the tacit knowledge of how seeing a film that uses the place as a backdrop makes you want to go there. The Eiffel Tower, the Palais Royal, the French language, Musee de Louvre, the Seine... these and more just give you some kind of fairytale experience.

In Le Divorce, it starts off with Isabel Walker (played by Kate Hudson), an American, who just arrived in Paris to visit her sister, Roxanne de Persand (played by Naomi Watts) exactly the same time when her sister's husband Charles-Henri took off. Immediately caught by surprise on what the sisters are faced with, Isabel's stay couldn't have been more perfectly timed to be there and be of help to Roxanne and her daughter.


Isabel accompanies them to visit Roxanne's in-laws without breaking the news of Charles-Henri's departure. Worried about her sister, she decides to call her parents in Santa Barbara about it and discusses of retrieving a painting owned by the Walkers that Roxanne is holding in her care which might be of interest to her husband. After which, she goes along with Roxanne to meet Charles-Henri and then with writer Olivia Pace, who hires her for a job on the spot while out for drinks.

While working, she meets Yves, who's also under the employment of Pace renovating the apartment. Quickly enough, the two hit if off and even spend the night together in bed watching TV, she comes across one interview of Edgar Cosset, an in-law of hers, whom she becomes infatuated to. This leads to a friendly banter with Yves and drops the issue.

Roxanne, on the other hand, faces bitter divorce proceedings while being pressured to have a baby boy by her mother-in-law despite the predicament. At home, a Getty curator visits the sisters to determine the authenticity of the painting they have believing it is an original La Tour. Even when the curator showed an interest to it, the sisters were encouraged by friends not to give up the Saint Ursula as it is too priceless.


In the middle of channel-surfing, Isabel comes across yet another Cosset interview on TV and decides to call and meet him at Cafe George to help speed up her French. And right off the bat during lunch, Edgar offers a proposition to her to become his mistress which she agrees provided that they keep it on the down-low. Next thing she knows, an Hermès Kelly bag is sent to her way prompting Roxanne to warn her not to accept expensive gifts from men. She now embarks on a relationship simultaneously between two men, one in public with Yves and the other one in clandestine with Edgar.

At Olivia's and Roxanne's book event, Isabel starts getting harassed by Tellman, the husband of Charles-Henri's mistress and asks Yves to kick the guy out from interrupting the book-reading. What follows is a series of negotiation between the Walkers and de Persands making the Saint Ursula the centerpiece of the divorce settlement. It almost lead Roxanne on a suicide attempt while still pregnant. Fortunately, Isabel finds her in time before it causes serious repercussions to the baby. After finding out, the Walkers flies in to Paris to be with their daughters. During lunch, it shows that Roxanne's lawyer, Maitre is having a thing towards her. Their brother, Roger (played by Thomas Lennon) is adamant in discussing the value of the Saint Ursula and how it can be divided equally within the family. The Walker family goes to visit the de Persands country house outside the city to continue their negotiation emphasizing the ownership of the painting as an heirloom. Even the topic involving the supposed affair with Edgar comes into play where Isabel just shrugs off the conversation preferring not to care.


One morning, as Isabel along with her mother and niece tours the Eiffer Tower, Tellman starts following the two on board the lift to the top. He takes them hostage and keeps asking them if Roxanne is coming. As if Roxanne is not experiencing enough domestic problems, she arrives home to find her husband dead. It is then found out that Tellman was the culprit and was sent to a psychiatric institution.

In the later part, Isabel and Edgar ends the affair amicably. The Walkers makes the decision to sell the Saint Ursula and gets astouded how its value skyrocketed to an amount more than $4M USD and even opened up a foundation after the said painting.

The film's dialogue is about 50% in French. So this is more like a nice starter for anyone who wants to learn the language or any Francophile for that matter. Overall, it's a gem to watch not to mention that adorable scene stealer of a haircut on Kate Hudson - it's just vivacious. If only I could pull off that hair style like hers. Très chic!


** This story is taken from my old blog - popcorn sessions. **

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Photos via My French Life, Tribute, Showtimes

I remember it was quite a busy week sometime ago. I was mentally and physically spent after working like a mad dog in the office. I had a long list of to do’s that seemed almost impossible to finish and at the same time kept getting longer as the day went on.

It was like getting caught in a loop of unfortunate luck that there’s no use moving backwards or forwards. A hamster on a wheel. That was what it felt like. I mean, of course, I was working my absolute best at whatever task came my way. I treated it with dedication and precision. It felt good no matter how tiring it was back then.

But then I realized that my off-duty hours were getting the short end of the stick. Come weekends or after-work, I had to double my efforts making sure that I am using my time as efficiently as possible and that I am enjoying every waking minute out of it. Well… I did, in fact, managed to do some of that. But then, truth be told, it wasn’t always the case. You see - I also had to catch up on my sleeping. In stereotypical Asian perspective, that’s considered lazy and even, to a worst extent, the subject of online shaming. An idea I really objected and rejected. So let me be the first, maybe in some ways, to admit the fact that (A) I needed my sleep and therefore entitled me to catch up on it; and, (B) I really don’t care what the opinion of a faceless majority thought about what I do or don't do. My life belongs to me.


So there I was... all glassy eyed with my book on the bed, waiting till the sleep fairy will take me someplace interesting and enchanting good enough of a story to be told and retold. Then suddenly, I started drifting away, weightless into the air – my feet barely touching the ground.

I didn’t even remember closing my eyes at that point. I suppose I was too distracted with my aching muscles that my mind took the liberty to head off to slumber land.

[To be continued… This is the first part of a two-part series. Watch out for the second part of this story!]

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Photos via Danbury Library, Florian Simeth

At first glance, it all evokes emptiness and separation, stillness and realism. It’s as if the paintings that show so little say a lot of what’s not there. But then if you look even closer – and you’ll see it. Not just in the paintings per se, although it does have the ability to affect you in the most profound manner. But it also allows you to look at yourself intuitively – on how you can relate to the art in one way or another and how it gives you the means to confront reality at its finest moments.

I first came across John Register when his work got featured in a little-known gem of a film from Curtis Hanson. It served as a mood fixture that parallels with the storyline of the lives of the characters. I wasn’t at all bothered that much at an early point – I guess perhaps, I was too engrossed with the drama that’s happening onscreen. However, after the end of the film and patiently sitting through the end credits – there it was and I saw as his name rolled by. John Register. And by that time, I was pretty sure that’s one name you would hardly forget. It really ‘register’-ed and boy did Google helped me pique my interest level several notches high.

I was mesmerized. Hooked. I admire Register’s aesthetic sensibility of showing rawness in a most minimal way. As cliché as this may sound, and you pretty much hear this all of the time but dare I say it that “less is more” resonates a lot in his body of work. An empty chair situated close to an huge impressive window makes quite an impact on how you see things that others may see differently. It creates a tangible effect that in order to simplify your life from its chaos and complications, you have to strip yourself from your worldly possessions. Be bold to take risks and be resilient to changes.


And though it is part of my bucket list to see his paintings in person sometime in the future – one thing is for sure; John Register has definitely left an imprint on me. How he managed to create an experience out of his paintings leave a lot to the senses. Like you and I along with the world, we take notice and we carry on.

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To read a full bio of John Register, check out his retrospective.

To experience the world according to John Register, visit this dedicated gallery.

Photos via Magnolia Editions and John Register: A Retrospective

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Love can be a very hard topic to write about, let alone discuss about it. The four-letter word that has us on a string, prompts us to act inexplicably and messes with our decisions. It is potent at best and disturbing at worst. The different definitions of what love is and why it matters make it compelling to share to people.

As a kid, I recognized love in its primal form… family. My parents, my siblings, my grandparents (which unfortunately – I didn’t get to have a lot of time spent with) and my extended relatives. The comfort and care that’s readily there round-the-clock, 24/7 in all its unconditional glory. Despite running into a few mischievous acts kids normally get into – my parents, while instilling in me a sense of discipline and a little bit of (ahem!) scolding, they’ve always explained to me that what they’re doing comes from a place of good intentions. That straightening me out early in life is a way to keep me well-behaved and avoid becoming a troublemaker growing up. Apart from that, the amount of nurture I get from them are immeasurable especially during sick days. The diligent monitoring of body temperature, making sure that I took my medicines in a timely manner and have eaten my meals… It’s this kind of deep-seated affection that makes me feel better quickly that even medicines sometimes pale in comparison. Through which I can gratefully say, that’s what love is for!


Then came the painful adolescent years (and yes, let’s be honest – adolescence and all it’s raging hormones were always an exceptionally trying stage), where figuring out who I was, what was important to me and trying to fit in, were the usual norm. This is where the role of friends takes a greater slice of the pie when it comes to time and attention. My friends were the consoling force when it comes to coping with adolescent issues like school and getting good grades, personal identity, guys and relationships. We went through these pressures in the same wavelength, carefully treading through the complicated twists and turns of life the way an adolescent does. Friends were there to listen and advise, hang out and laugh with, talk and have fun with. Mind you, the attention and presence they provide is completely beyond leaps and bounds – and that was way before the age of Facebook and other social media what-have-yous. For this, I can say with all honesty, that’s what love is for!



So when maturity knocked, I opened the door with open arms ready to face the next challenges to come. I’m now a grown-up with grown-up problems figuring out some grown-up solutions. But the formula for love is still the same – it never changes, at least, the way I see it. Yet trying to dissect the anatomy of love in a guy’s perspective is no easy feat. Not even a real genius can understand the intricacy and delicateness of love between a guy and a girl in a relationship. It’s a work in progress with little room for success sometimes but enormous room for failure (sad to say!) from time to time. Being in a relationship creates the ultimate balance especially when a guy’s personality complements with mine. It’s like finding the missing part of the puzzle I’ve had trouble sorting out my entire life. The experience of sharing together similar or opposite interests and a deep friendship within the relationship leads to a sense of purpose and fulfilment. It’s almost like being inside a cocoon where both people find belongingness to each other which I think is the most beautiful thing. But then, like all beautiful things, there are beginnings and there are endings. The cocoon starts to break. What used to be similarities between two people becomes a wedge driving them apart. I’ve been here before and it can be quite difficult. Though I’m not one to bash at guys – it does help to put distance and time away from the experience and see it from a different angle. When I started picking up the pieces, I’ve learned to appreciate every moment, bad or good, of the experience. And that’s when I figured, my heart has grown bigger too and next time around, it has so much room for someone who’s more deserving of it. Yes, I can sincerely say from my heart and from my head – that’s what love is for!



So, in the spirit of the month of February and St. Valentine's Day, let love be the centerpiece of our lives at whatever we do, whoever we’re with and whenever time of day, month or year. There’s no truer emotion that makes us more human. And for what it’s worth, that’s what love is for!

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Photos via JD, Joëlle T., Makena Zayle Gadient, Leo Hidalgo