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mood:  full
music: Frank Sinatra - Girl from Ipanema
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The first 26 hours of 2006. Sigh. I haven’t really done anything substantial but at least I’m here, sitting in front of Alunsina, my computer, trying to regain momentum. Ah, the perils of staying with family versus living alone in a distant apartment. My pectoral muscles hurt. I think I injured my chest from all the lifting I’ve been doing to transfer my parents’ books to the library/basement/family room. I have to get a new pair of glasses again soon. I need to sweat off all the pounds I gained from wolfing down everything on the Christmas and New Year buffet table.
I think I am developing a dependency on pre-writing rituals as I have yet to kick off my evening routine: brew coffee, down a glass of water, steaming hot shower, meds, read excerpts from assorted non-fiction books or today’s newspaper, or the latest issue of Time, then remove every article of clothing and finally settle down in my grandfather’s huge office chair so I could begin typing. It’s so debilitating. Now, I find that I can’t just plop down and hammer down on the keyboard. I have to do it in my birthday suit. Well, now I have thoughts of all the naked moments that I could have spent writing but was wasted on men who I couldn’t have cared less for at this point in time. Bah, forget regret.
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For some families, dinner is just a rice and ulam affair, rushed and harried, just trying to get it over with. My grandmother’s family (there were nine children in their brood, my Lola Lusing was the second to the youngest) forbids conversation between mouthfuls. My other grandmother’s family naman is from the type that requires extensive knowledge of navigating through silverware and napkins while the maids wait and look on, beckoned with a single flick of Lola Puring’s wrist for more water or to fetch this dip, blablablah. Basta, everyone’s so strictly formal and restrained during mealtimes. Kawawa.
For my family, dinner is chaos. Heated arguments arise, the salad gets passed around like in a basketball play-off, once in a while, someone gets up to grab more water, or to reheat something in the microwave, or recover something from the ref, answer a phone call, or some other mundane, spur of the moment task. Even the prayer before meals is something to look forward to — that is, if you aren’t too hungry to wait for every single member of the household say grace. When I say household, that means: Mama, Papa, Viday, Ninay, Yasmin, Khalil, Lola Lusing, Tito Tom, the maids and the driver plus whoever our new "adoptee" is (sometimes, this is replaced by the boyfriend/girlfriend/bestfriend of the moment of any of my siblings). By the time we finish praying, everyone’s so famished that the dishes get demolished in seconds (if it’s masarap, it means the cook and the driver are lovey-dovey. if the viand sucks, it means they’ve quarreled for that day).
But the best part of the Verzosa family dinner (aside from the food, especially if it’s Papa manning the stoves) is the opportunity to discuss achievements, pending projects, punitive measures for offending siblings (we have a list of house rules posted in visible areas, it’s so OC) and our respective lovelives (which I’ve been silent on since I don’t have one, fortunately). Last night was no exception. Ninay was discussing her entrepreneurial plans (the topic dovetailed after she told us about her growing crush on her colleague), Khalil was complaining about the pochero being too rich and I was explaining the bumpy areas of my thesis. Mama said something about a trend in the corporate world: saying "it was a lapse in judgment," and, without batting a single mascara-coated eyelash, "I’m [pause] sorry." She said that Ninay should repeat the GMA-ish combo to her crush after his admission of fondness. (Actually, I think the guy is driving my sister nuts as he blurted out something like, "Ninay, alam mo, ang ganda mo. Pero ikaw ang pinaka-antipatikang babaeng nakilala ko!" None of us know what "antipatika" really meant in that guy’s context but I suppose he’s right.)
Anyway, for some reason I can’t quite remember, I said something along the lines of: "if I become the President of the Philippines, I want to be a Science & Technology dictator. I’d allocate hefty sums for the Education budget, for DOST, for DA and other agri/fisheries/forestry agencies, partner with local and international development agencies & NGOs, then put a lot of sectoral representatives in key positions. but the best part of my plan is to slash the budget for National Defense (as in, zero, or something close) and stop paying for international debt servicing. harharhardyharhar!" Sabi ni Niner, "Eh, ate, you HAVE to pay for foreign debt," to which, i smiled sweetly and said, "of course not, Cuba isn’t paying, may economic embargo nga pero so what?! it means, you have a choice naman pala not to be enslaved to IMF-WB forever." Tapos sabi ni Mama, "ok, matutuwa sa iyo mga magsasaka," to which I started singing a progressive song about peasants. Ang saya-saya.
Ok, enough mental gallivanting, I have to work na talaga.
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