The scent of Dama de Noche . . .

(Retro post)

The rains have come early this May and with it the scent of Dama de Noche. Some people do not like the Dama de Noche, but I grew up with its nocturnal scent. Even when not in bloom I think I can recreate its smell in my mind.

The scent of the Dama de Noche embeds itself into memory, so much so that one may eventually forget one’s name, but never the scent of Dama de Noche!

There’s really nothing else in the world quite like it.

He of the beautiful-sounding name . . .

Wasn’t it P. Neruda who said: “When I die, I want to be buried in a name, some especially chosen, beautiful-sounding name, so that its syllables will sing over my bones, near the sea”?

When I first came across the name W. Somerset Maugham in one of my literature classes in school and without actually knowing who he was or what books he had written, I immediately let the cadences of his name roll over my tongue like honey and sometimes even when I didn’t speak his name out loud, I spoke it in my mind. “Somerset Maugham”--beautiful, beautiful name and I couldn’t wait to grow up then and have children so that I could name one or two after him.

Maugham, a British novelist, playwright, and short-story writer, is the author of the very famous book, Of Human Bondage, said to be “one of the great (and passionate) novels of the twentieth century.” I became more enamored of him when he wrote in one of his autobiographies that when he was a young man trying to be a writer in Seville, Spain, he grew a moustache and smoked Filipino cigars. 

He has this to say (in one of his books) about the “simplicity of language”:

“Words thus strung (beautifully) together fall on the ear like music. The appeal is sensuous rather than intellectual, and the beauty of the sound leads you easily to conclude that you need not bother about the meaning. But words are tyrannical things, they exist for their meanings, and if you will not pay attention to these, you cannot pay attention at all. . ..Words have weight, sound and appearance; it is only by considering these that you can write a sentence that is good to look at and good to listen to .”

How amazingly said!

Adventures.

Sometimes I surprise even my own self. Here, at home, away from the excitements, as well as the uncertainties (and even perils) of travel, I am reminded everyday of my myriad pains, maladies, creeping midlife (well, in 12 years, anyway), and a possible weakening heart. But away from home—I am alive, I am young, I am strong. My dutiful legs take me places—to temples, mountains, across and under oceans, inside caves--and I feel my heart flapping wildly in my chest as if it were a newly caught bird.

In Oku-no-hosomichi (Narrow Road to the Interior), Basho (who was also periodically frail of health) mentioned something similar to this. Upon visiting the Tsubo-no-ishibumi in Ichikawa, an ancient monument of inspiring beauty, he said:

“...Tsubo-no-ishibumi inspired many a poet. Floods and landslides buried trails and markers, trees have grown and died, making this monument very difficult to find. The past remains hidden in clouds of memory. Still it returned us to memories from a thousand years before. Such a moment is the reason for a pilgrimage: infirmities forgotten, the ancients remembered, joyous tears trembled in my eyes . . .”

This made me reflect a bit on old age. We all grow old, but inside we can remain young. Contrary to the saying that “we are only as old as our knees,” :) we are actually only as old as we allow our hearts and souls to feel. Deep inside, if we work on it, we can remain happy, strong, and fearless as children.

Snorkelling in El Nido, Palawan ('07)

From "Before Night Falls: A Memoir" by R. Arenas . . .

“Trees have a secret life that is only revealed to those willing to climb them. To climb a tree is to slowly discover a unique world, rhythmic, magical, harmonious, with its worms, insects, birds and other living things, all apparently insignificant creatures, telling us their secrets.”

Mom @ 60.

Bella!

Speak softly . . .

As I grew older I learned to temper my “temper” and so some of the people who knew me only recently might swear that I could possibly be one of the few really amiable persons they have ever met. This is supported by the fact that I do tend to smile an awful lot (as they say, it takes fewer muscles to smile than to frown, etc.) and as a staunch believer in fairness, I try to treat everyone with equal respect and dignity— from waitpersons, sales clerks, janitors, office staff, to bosses. I may put up with boorish behavior for awhile because I was raised to be polite and to often make allowances and excuses for weaknesses in character (I can almost hear my good-hearted mother lecturing me on being more forgiving, kinder, and less mean of spirit), but honestly, I only put up with so much.

The truth, and many people may not know this until too late, is that I am very strict. This is a trait that is unique to me in my immediate family because I have not really seen others exhibit it to the extent that I am sometimes capable of exhibiting it. This strictness stems from my always trying to do what is right—ALWAYS. It is both boon and bane, both my virtue and my curse. So, although I can be very impulsive by nature, I am also very dependable: given a choice between letting things slide indefinitely just for the sake of keeping peace and confronting wrongdoing to the point that it gets ugly, you can depend on me to do the right thing even if it gets f*cking hideous.

So, let this serve as a caveat to people who may mistake me as docile. I may look harmless, but beware: I am a person VERY capable of raising HELL.

;)

THEN and NOW .

Happy 15th, P! Fun times, still fun times ahead. :*

(THEN: All '93 fotos were taken inside the editorial office of the college paper, the Ang Pamantasan, where I worked as writer and P as occasional artist,book reviewer, and poet. NOW, clockwise from left: after-concert snapshot, room; the outdoor bath of our garden villa in Buri; Buri Resort, Oriental Mindoro; MRT station, Singapore.)