Don't Cancel Nini

Hi:

I'm not trying to be a bummer on purpose, so I hope these chronicles and commentary on life passings do not overly depress you.

My grandma, Emilia Concepcion De Jesus, passed away 2 hours ago. She'd been in the hospital for almost a month.

I want to tell you though, that I don't see in my past a pile of dead bodies to grieve anymore.

Papa - RIP April 2003
Barry Jacobs (boyfriend)- RIP September 2003
Lolo (paternal grandfather) - RIP October 2003
Lola (paternal grandmother) - RIP August 2004

Gracious exits, all of them. Each to his own end, his own thoughts, his own reckoning, his own appreciation of life.

My grief is soothed by this knowledge, and the knowledge that in my last moments with every single one of these people, I gave of myself, my time and my Love to let them know they were loved.

Please don't wait till the end.

Whether or not you believe in predestination
The thing I learned
You can have some effect on the length of someone's life
If you contribute to the quality of their life.

5 stages of loss:
denial _x_
bargaining _x_
depression _ongoing_
anger _x_
acceptance _halfway there_


Yes, thanks to this past year I'm a veteran of the grieving process. Thanks to friends, family, a generous amount of personal reflection and latitude, a strong foundation in faith/hope/love, a liberal dose of detachment and dissociation, and my education in imagery, neurolinguistic programming, and hypnotherapy,
I've learned to accelerate the grieving process

But the process is only accelerated in my head
I'm still a human girl
With strong feelings of love and heart
It is not always possible to feel what we think
or think what we feel
So I'm still crying now
Even though I know all the reasons I shouldn't
Even though I thought there were hardly any tears left
Even though I felt sure I would break all the way down again, if I didn't freeze up or go into catatonic self preservation mode.

Yeah, what more is there to say but
I know, I know, it was time

What more is there to do than be sad
Go through the slivers of insidious guilt,
self-sorrow, the whole activation of every previous loss triggered by this fresh one

I know it but can't fight it
I am carbon based but made of feelings too
What use is there in being wise
When wisdom prompts me to resist what is utterly
natural, and undeniable?

Ah, that is not wisdom.
That is not fluid transference and acceptance
of Energy and Love and Ch'i

I don't mind being called Mistress
but I will never boast of Mastery
to do so would be a taunt to the Universe

I must apply the Law of Requisite Variety
If I am the most flexible, fluid, adaptable
of reaction and behavior
I am the bamboo that endures because I know
Surrender is not defeat
To Yield is not to lose
To adapt is to endure.

I accept the blessing of my Lola's life
The transferred energy and spirit
She was on the brink of death, in physical agony
But she endured it to wait for her children to all be together
And then she began her gracious exit
Improving slightly to give us a feeling of Hope
To gift us in her last days
The proof of her strength and force of will
To show us how Love gave her the strength to endure
such pain and discomfort

Lola was a Survivor and never a victim of life
An orphaned girl, abused by relatives who took her in, abused her and made her sleep with the servants.
A beautiful woman whose humility, tenderheartedness, business acumen and frugality made it possible for her children to have a life of ease.
Though she was raised without much tenderness
She cultivated it as best she could
I can see so clearly, that she might associate
Concern and worry with Love
How would she have known she was loved
When any attention she might have received from her early caregivers might only be worry
So my Lola as a child, her only attention was concern
And for her any attention might be equal to Love
Not knowing anything else.

I told her, I told her
I repeated it over and over
To let her know that we knew
That she loved us and showed it as best she could
That she was infinitely more tender with her grandchildren
I told her she was loved, that she was seen
That we SAW and KNEW and APPRECIATE and ACKNOWLEDGED
her expressions of Love
That she should KNOW she was not invisible
That she should KNOW she would never be forgotten

These are the things we all want from life
These are the things we all want from love
These are the things we want to be sure of before we pass on

Thank you God that I am ever more equipped
With resources and knowledge and expanding compassion
To understand and smile through tears
And help my loved ones get through.

Thanks for listening.

Carmen

For my grandmother
Sunday, August 8, 2004

I could not sleep at all last night.
Although I was at home I felt I wanted to be awake to keep my Lola company in the conscious wee hours of the night. What does time mean to her now anyway?

We have been waiting for my Tito Bernie, the last son to get here from Manila. They had problems with his visa, and sheer force of will alone has been keeping my grandmother fighting to transcend the pains of her physical existence while waiting this week for him.

I tossed and turned and wondered to myself what I would want to say if I had the luxury of gathering my loved ones and having them bless me and me blessing them and then just closing my eyes to Oblivion.

I have been visiting with her every other day – singing to her a personalized set list:

Que Sera, Sera
Moon River
If I Loved You
You’ll Never Know Just How much I Love You
All the Things you are
When I fall in Love
Stardust
Tenderly
Not a Day Goes By
Where or When
I’ll Be Seeing You
Dahil Sa Iyo
The Nearness of You (papa’s favorite, too)

I tune the gentleness and the timbre of my voice to the most gentle, lilting, tender and loving frequencies. Because she cannot see with her eyes, or speak. Her ears must be her keenest sense now.

This is what we do, my family. We sing out the pain and sadness. Compassion through melodies and harmonies. Songs of the Heart.

I spent some time with Lola alone the other night. I said,

Lola, you know I am your first grandchild, of your first son.
We are the recipients of the legacy of eldest children.
I forgave my Papa for the roughness of my childhood.
He asked for my forgiveness, and said he had forgiven you for his painful childhood as well. In case you don’t remember him telling you that, he told me. And we forgave each other. And bearing the hurt and forgiving each other has made us tenderhearted, compassion, and strong.

I’m a strong woman, Lola, and that comes from you. I have a strong will like you.
That is all the inheritance I need.

She waved her hand, reaching for something. Wanting to say something.
I tried to get her to write, but it was too tiring and frustrating for her.

You know I love you, Lola. (she blinks)
I know you love me too, Lola. (she blinks again)

And your body will be at rest, you will be our angel.

After a few hours I leafed through a magazine, keeping a constant flow of songs to her ear. These were the moments of her life I was really present. I wanted to stay, if only to be by her side in the time she had left.

I thought to put some red lipstick on her. I know I have inherited her power of transformation just with red lipstick on.

What else to say? Was I even on her mind? It mattered that I was there, on some level.
I was there, a little for me, but mostly for my Papa, who would want me to sing and soothe her and hold her hand and take her mind away from the pain. My tenderhearted Papa, so easily na awa.

I can feel Papa’s spirit in me when I hold her hand, call her sweetheart, sing her old songs. I could feel him hurting to see her this way.

Though my voice trembled sometimes as I spoke or sang, I didn’t cry. What’s there to be sad for? Except for the courageous clinging to life. The display of love, of force of will that she should wait for us all to be around her. But when she passes, whether later on today or in a few days, she will be surrounded with love and blessings and permission to close her eyes once and for all.

Such an event in our lives is a blessing in many ways – for each it will be different. But for me I know these things:

- I was there by her side in her last days, helping her to recall and exercise her memories.
- I was able to use my new skills of imagery and medical hypnosis to help give her comfort in some way. Which shows the blessing of God. Which showed my mother and family the use of my new profession.
- I was able to be strong, put my personal life aside, funnel all my energy towards positive thoughts, centeredness, and shape my own fears and pain into strength and courage.
- I released the feeling of guilt that my life was still in motion even as hers was slowing down. I acknowledged that my strivings could be fueled by her Spirit now, that I could take from this experience her legacy of strength, will and determination. Just like with Papa, Barry and Lolo. If the energy was to be transferred and transformed, I wanted to be open and aware and grateful to receive it.

--------------Hours later

Just got back from the hospital, feeling emotionally and physically exhausted. Remembering how it felt with Barry last year, how I needed to break down after spending days with him in ICU. How his friends and ex-girlfriends pushed me aside, resented my existence because they didn’t know me.
How I had no one because my Someone was lying in a coma, brain-dead. To bear that pain in loneliness, feeling ostracized, clutching my body in the ache.

When I sing to Lola I try hard to be fully present with her. But it has not even been a year since I did this last. There is the anxious guilt of needing some resolution, some sign to Hope or Grieve. The Waiting Room, like a purgatory in itself. Lola’s consciousness, her lucidity, her Will to Live – her mind is still so strong and present, how to let go of life when the spark of recognition still exists?

I am sure in my heart that Papa would say it is time. Though it would break his heart, he would not allow his sweetheart to suffer so much, when she is so tired and physically weak.

Lola had to let go of Lolo. She will choose, she knows, she’s always known her own strength. She’s survived many hospitalizations. We shouldn’t doubt her decision. She has more Clarity and Wisdom than all of us at this moment.

If she could speak now, what would she say? A lifetime of unspoken feelings she struggled to express.

At the end of our lives, we realize we did the best we could with whatever circumstances God gave us. Lola is a testament to perseverance and selflessness, devotion and charity. These are our blessings from Lola’s life. We inherit these blessings and honor her through our actions.

Lola thank you
Lola I love you
Lola you’re in my heart
Lola be at peace and comfort and rest
Lola Emily

Hello Sweetheart
Sweetheart, Hello.

Tue, 27 Apr 2004

I found a place to live in L.A.
In a big Valley house
My housemates are two women, and Jeana is the master tenant.
She's 39, single mom who teaches grade 2.
She's got a beautiful 9 month old baby girl.

She has 2 gorgeous pit bulls who are super affectionate and love to spoon with people. Oh yes.

The house is beautiful and has plenty of room for visitors, a lovely backyard and a jacuzzi (which doesn't work - sigh!).

This house is almost across the street from my voice teacher's house.

I'm adaptable as you know, and was getting quite discouraged from the lack of receptivity to my well
regulated energy output when interviewing with potential housemates. Girls just don't like me. Girls
who tell their boyfriends that they're not comfortable with me living with them. And I try so hard to be
nonthreatening.

Jeana's house was the last appointment of a 5 day intensive (over 12 houses/apts seen) housing search,
which was made more urgent since my school started. Gas is way expensive.

So wow, things worked out well, and all because I didn't freak out too hard about it, and believed that
somehow I'd land in the best environment for this new stage of life.

Of course, there is currently a pet tarantula in a cage in the room I'll be living in.
And it just MOLTED ITS EXOSKELETON.

Life is funny.

Carmen

Tue, 30 Mar 2004

After more than a year of free floating, mourning and living without much to crunch in my brain except science fiction novels and conspiracy theories, I have elected to go back to school to become certified as a hypnotherapist.

I'll be in a year program starting April 15, here in L.A.
http://www.hypnosismotivation.com/six_steps.html

I figure, why not sharpen my intuitive skills so I can use them for good?

I am concurrently working with Jodi Sellards, my old voice teacher, on building a curriculum/business plan for what we envision as a Vocal/Performance Sanctuary where we will teach speech level singing vocal techniques, style techniques, and where I will apply my hypnotraining to helping students to relax and create unique rituals to activate alpha brain wave activity for optimal performance.

Um, yeah.

Astride the whip crack of the oscillating wave,

CDJ

Mon, 22 Mar 2004


------------------------

I'm stuck again
My own cycle
of explosion and implosion
Heart racing over that
delicate balance between
safety and risk
pleasure and pain

-------------------------

This is Smooth Connection.

-----------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------

Imagine it Going in a Circle.


This is Connection over my slightly Damaged Wires

-------// ---------//----- ------//---
-------\\-- -------\\---- -------\\---

This is Connection using proxy ports of ersatz quality

---==---==- -==- -==- -==---==- -==- -==---
---==---==- -==- -==- -==---==- -==- -==---


Now I just have a small loop, looping unto myself into
lonely infinity.

-------------------------

Spring brings the Thaw
And the buds of new growth
are small and lonely and painful
but they are all mine

I have always been repressed
and therefore susceptible
to heady waves of desire
bubbling through me
sizzling synapses
hot blood and aching sensation
a heart full of love

and know where to go with it.
Except back to my memories
of when I was beloved
for all of these things.

I am not moved, however
from my inner core, stability and destiny
But that doesn't mean
that I am not doubled over
in heartache, loveache too
Bearing the fullness and the void

How can you keep rolling the dice?
I wondered, about Barry
How can he have had so many failed relationships
and yet still have hope and faith and energy
to risk his heart and tell me he'd fallen hard
and he knew he might get hurt
but he fucking genuinely loved me
met my rage with a sad compassion in his eyes
total acceptance of my pain
he said he wanted to absorb it
and give it back to me as love

Fuck, when will that happen again?
Will I let it happen or do I sabotage myself
to keep company with his ghost
in an idealization of something purified by death?

Yes it must be so and yet
When I open the ports to someone new
Of course it hurts
Of course its not the same
That someone might touch me and kiss me and hold me
and care so much about me
Inspiring me to lower my guard
and set loose the abundance of tenderness and passion
hiding beneath my protective shell.

I'm mostly shell, mostly callous
Which is what happens with too much hurt
Muscles hold the injured parts
tightly and form protective sheaths
The injury never heals unless
these fascia are ripped through
flex again despite the pain
new blood runs through.

What weary mortals are we
trudging along on this quest
Never laying down the sword
Remaining ever ready, ever aware
For the next battle

No questions.
No answers.
No solutions.

Me and you and Schrodinger's Cat.

In the Box,

CDJ

March 20, 2004

Now more than ever it seems I should carve out a
little grotto for myself

Someplace clawed out by the words in my head
Where I sit alone to lament, no hope for me
As all in my circle
fall in love again
and then perhaps my last chance
died in the sky last year.

I'd run off too
I tried
just in leaving the City
forcing myself out of my comfort zone
hoping to rip open the doors
to change

I haven't been writing much
just these spurts like always
little oil wells

If only there were some way or someone
who would fence me in, feed and fatten me
then milk me dry
every word wrung out of me
like those stories about Colette
being locked in a room by her lover Willy
forced to write about naughty schoolgirls

In absence of external pressure and conflict
I forget how to define myself
when not in reaction to something else
I am soft and amorphous
edges and broken shards and pieces
tripwires around my heart

I can't make a move around here
without hurting myself on my own
self defense mechanisms.

Protected and safe from harm
My portable fallout shelter
where I nestle in hiding
Listening for monsters outside
breathing quietly
i can forget to breathe

But it gets lonely here
and boring
In the Safety.
Esp for a girl who used to spend so much time
Being the Edge.

March 19, 2004

some of us were born as ghosts
spirits floating awake and fluid
in different shells and incarnations

we are always familiar
recognizing codes and patterns
speaking back in grokked off phrasing

sometimes our memories
collective consciousness magnified
Hyper animation mimicking life

gone but always there
if you don't believe it
then try
to invoke me
you know how
to provoke me

The samples are exhausted
Market-tested
Time-tested
This product proves its use and value
In unpredictable, dynamic and delightful ways
Constantly evolving according to your input.

My line inputs ache with void.
And I can only feed on my data
for so long.

March 2, 2004

how to tell what makes you happy
when i haven't a clue how to do that for myself
only in contact and in giving
time spent in your space
with your face

in stillness in stasis
is everything all right?
when i've run out of words
because i'm a year older again
smarter, but not really that much better off

when i was younger and i didn't know
and perhaps i didn't care
how fleeting and careless moments are
when i could have been looking at you
from across the room
trying to catch your eye
instead of being a butterfly

i'm grateful for whatever moments
we have when the ports are open
and i get to ask how you are
and you tell me something more than just okay.

Where to cut and where to grow
is a conscious choice we make
Energy must be conserved and not wasted
in efforts which do not reciprocate

Thanks again.

Out of stock,

CDJ

Tue, 10 Feb 2004



When you close your eyes to sleep on the plane

after 2 capsules to sleepy time village

it is almost as if the plane is an illusion

the clouds outside the frosty panel

a willing trip through the neutral consciousness

molecules choosing to move

propelled through the huge metal containers

above the grid above the clouds of ether

landing to new realities

parallel universes



16 hours in the future

but yet not caught up with our present

we're still ahead in so many ways

56 pesos to a dollar

285 pesos/day the minimum wage for most

all the rolex and nike and adidas

and brand name knockoffs

you haggle for sport

to you, it is a matter of 1 dollar

to them, it is 56 pesos

shopping in the markets

you don't want to feel cheated

but you can't help but think

to them it means more

i'd wipe my ass with a dollar bill



i avoided most inward contemplation

knowing the memories which lurk there

a cloud still full of tears

i can wring out if i focus on the pain

so i don't

i don't think much about barry or papa or lolo

i don't think about loss at all

i don't think about missing anyone/anything in the US

not much



i sang some, but not as much

this time i was a talker

improved in tagalog and unleashed the english

i had my mom's back versus all snobby types



the mosquitoes remembered the sweetness of my blood

but i felt the pain less





no where felt unfamiliar

and no where felt special either

i was just there again, in manila

wearing another face over my spirit core

playing with my uncle's new baby boy

the one papa never saw born



2 more deaths of old grand aunts

back to the same memorial chapel

where for a week last year we mourned Pa

I would not let myself cry, feel, or remember



that is called survival.



I've been in transit for the last year

with no real space to call my own

I find there is a strangeness in my travel

from one space to another

spending the first days here or there

rearranging my molecules

readying positions

resetting the center



It is not important, any single day

That Friday, Feb 13 I will be Twenty Nine


That I have no ValenTime.



Please hold.



CDJ

Today I picked Tin up from the elementary school.

I hated waiting when I was a kid.

My pickups were late most of the time.

This caused me great anxiety then, and has since contributed greatly to my abandonment issues.



So I get there early and park with the other early parents.



When the bell rang, I watched as the kids walked outside

The small ones ran smiling into the arms

of the parent who was already waiting there.

How nice that feeling is, I thought.



When there's someone already waiting there

And you want to see them

And they want to see you

And you are greeted with love.



So I walked around to look for Tin

to see if she'd come walking out

in a group of 9 yr old girls or boys



Yelling, Tinderella! Tinderella!

I see her but she doesn't see me

She's walkin alone

Her head kinda down

in a big puffy jacket

Pulling her rolling backpack behind her.



Not sad or whatever. Maybe a little tired.

She's just like one of us, she is one of the Sisters for sure.

Walking alone, but lost in her thoughts.



She sees me and I put my arm around her

You seem tired, kid, I say

Ya she says



We get into the car and I'm about to turn the corner



A kid named Justin screaming her name

Kristin!! Bye!

She looks, sees him and calls back, Bye Justin!



She sits back in the passenger seat

says to me in a dry voice,



"That kid over there, eats paper. He's eating it right now."



I look over and see this boy chewing something.



"There's another kid in my class who eats paper." Tin says, and sighs.


________________________________________




standing outside the barnes and noble

desert mini mall, deserted parking lot

my breath visible in the winter air

as the lights go out at the Bronze Bunz across the way.

How long do we mourn a loss

When the mourning is for ourselves

When others say, Enough Already!

When those set free may be released

into whatever is After or Beyond





How long can I keep up the forward march

Eyes ahead and Head on top, floating above the water

It's a long swim to move away

from some painful maelstrom

When there are rip tides in every emotional trigger

Sometimes paddling out hard and fast

Sometimes giving into to the current

Floating with the Tao




Walking on that egg, the surface tension

Barely making an impression in space

Buoyed by care and sympathetic tones

And friends who understand needing to be left alone



Someday we must learn to mourn

Then we will know the meaning of comfort

Then we will know the depth of care

How many different paths there are

to that inner Wailing Wall

Where it is safe to dwell with sorrow

Where I am not ashamed of tears

Where my weakness is a testament

to something Precious Lost




Then came the thaw, I said

Until then I was frozen solid with strength

Galvanized like steel, I boasted

Tough as nails.




Then came the thaw

And there were never enough arms to hold me

Never enough love or blanket

to keep the monsters or the nightmares away.




I didn't want to be alone with the ghosts.

I didn't want to close my eyes and look

inward to the point of terror and sorrow

Moving forward and carefully through my own

imagined wasteland of Heart

where the smoking embers camouflaged even to myself

the source of my inexhaustible fire




To plot my oscillations this past year

I am proud of my constancy

Proud that I didn't break all the way down forever

Thankful that God and Love and Friends and Family

Never let me fall too far




This New Years Eve I spent alone

Me and the desert moon, Papa's ashes

and the relics of the dead

I felt comfort, I felt loneliness,

I felt the love energy from warm thoughts




Didn't this year make you feel full?

In your heart, I mean?

For every degree of closeness to love and loss

For every multifaceted jewel winking across Indra's Web

For all the activity surrounding your personal nodal point

For the silence and the flux

For blessings in all things

And for all things in their right time




The longest midnight in the Garden must

yield sometime to a new dawn

Joy comes in the Morning

But I mustn't be waylaid by the loose threads

Or discouraged if the vision of the future isn't crystal clear




So what's new, what's next?

I'm not some bloody Oracle for myself or anyone else

But I can recognize simple patterns in behavior too

And prognosticate according to available data

[ How exhausting and distracting

Must break with this practice]




Here in my mother's home

there is Zen in the chores

Doing laundry, sweeping floors

and washing my bowl.




The winter brings intense hibernation.

Sleeping many hours through the winter like a bear.

Collecting my surviving cells and rearranging my organism.

Here in the desert where my mother and sisters live,

my father's ashes lie in a cheerful shrine with christmas lights on timer,

[ Good Night, Pa! as the lights click off ]

my cell phone doesn't work,

my sisters and I drove out to a dark desert spot to see the Leonids streak across the sky,

we had a semi-successful garage sale of our collective past

and my mother sold my father's hardware for ridiculous prices to simply be rid of them,

where tumbleweeds, dust and Joshua Trees form an endless landscape.




I revert to childlike obsessions, loner activities, for lack of playfriends

The new obsessions which distract me from my true goals mostly revolve around comics,

anime and graphic novels.



Of course, the Neil Gaiman "Sandman" meme was transmitted to me,
and soon after I discovered Kabuki by David Mack.



Adultswim on the Cartoon Network is what I've been glued to:
Family Guy, Inuyasha, Futurama - oh and then there's REIGN by Peter Chung, creator of Aeon Flux!



I've been consuming Sci-Fi Novels:



Neal Stephenson: Cryptonomicon, Diamond Age, Snow Crash, In the Beginning. . .There was the Command Line, The Big U

William Gibson: Mona Lisa Overdrive, Idoru, All Tomorrow's Parties

a cynical day in l.a.

i have always found los angeles a lonely place.

but i follow my inner compass

i know one step, one choice

leads to others

two steps towards the gods

and waiting for them to step towards me

i have no plans or goals

but to simply have conversations with people

which may lead to actions

watching words and ideas

take shape

as they are uttered

and animated by belief

that each new step is new reality



the port is open.

as am i.

as is the whole world.



i am simply a stone

in the center of a pond

the water flows around

currents, ripples, oscillating waves



there is no more hurt

all past hurts have been levelled this year.

i start fresh at ground zero



surveying the aftermath

counting the survivors

calculating loss



there is no intrinsic worth in keeping anyone

only perceived needs between people

it is no longer a matter of sheer utility

emotional barter

objects of sentimental value



we are conduits

who help one another

like adapters

help each other connect with others

help replenish the collective memory

purport the mundane memes

which keep us anchored here

keep us locked out of our consciousness

distract us from pure sentience

but vital for survival in symbiosis

intimacy, companionship

we spot one another like rock climbers

as we all make our ascents

up Maslow's pyramid.



Connectivity is all

Node or handhold carved into stone

shoulders to cry on, or to stand on

when we are too small to reach.




10.12.03 - cdj

**I am coming back to life. A month of life-affirming activities and aimless drifting from friends to friends, partying for my life and many late nights and early mornings to watch the sun come up.

I have fixed my gaze upon Mount Tam, the Golden Gate Bridge, Ocean Beach and the Sun and Moon, Mars, the horizon, shooting stars.

I have contemplated my losses, closed my ranks and opened my heart. I have cried to myself and to the universe for the love I have lost this year, while simultaneously thanking the heavens for the love I am yet blessed with.

I would describe this sadness thus:
staring out the window
waiting for your love
waiting for his footfall, his voice, his arms
to wait without end
as the anxiety and desperation rises and falls
the endless cigarette
as the hour grows later and longer
hoping with every rustle and sound


but my love will not return to me
though he is here in my heart and memory
our potential will not be realized
except in my fevered and tortured imaginings
where and what would we be now
if he didn't have to go
if this had never come to pass

I am not angry with Time or Love
I am not angry at all
The future of love I am now denied
wrings and wrestles the cries from me
walking through this life amidst the others
who have their arms full of one another

There is a feeling of abandonment
That he should fly to the clouds with out me
That he should leave this earth
full of our joy
in the end we are selfish
how can we not be?
and yet i wished (how could I not?)
that we had passed on together
that I had been in the plane
to check out at the height of love

I know there is more to my story
I am yet a student of this life
with more to learn and love and give

Attachment, desire, that void which needs Love
I must let go, let flow
the impermanence
What have I lost which cannot be regained?

but i had a taste of what it was to make love, truly.
in a way in which i was not an object or a subject.
i was There. Held and caressed and loved in a way which
allowed me to abandon on previous notions of my sexual self. And just be a creature of love, a mate, precious, passionate, emptiness being filled by 2 energies creating a sacred space of intimacy where I felt yes, that I finally belonged to someone, and that someone belonged to me. I needed no fantasy to fire me, only his body, his arms, his skin, his scent.

That kind of love is the ultimate perversity, the riskiest fetish.

I remain, as always, a wandering spirit ISO the right heart to call my home, the right arms to hold me,
and a love stronger than all these disconnected rituals
and fetishes which simply protect me from the realest intimacies.

I know my future has much in store.
I know about dopamine and high compatibility.
I know about idealizing past relationships.
I know that Barry and I were not perfect.

But I know what I had with him, and that my heart twists to
see the Golden Gate Bridge knowing that he is not waiting for me on the other side.
I know that is over-sentimental and a phobia I create myself.
I know Death is just a horizon beyond which I cannot see.
I know the Secret Joy is the Mastery of Pain.


I know. I know I scoffed at love.
And I know now that I have tasted the real deal,
I feel my desire only more whetted to find it again,
and helpless in knowing that it is so rare.

It's all ephemeral and delicate in this world.
Enjoy each emotion and experience like a Connoisseur.

All selves grieve now.
We all have the same face now.
I cannot hide my pain behind any persona
Not like before.

A friend says solipsism is a trap
And so it is
This is not the only reality in which I validate myself
This is not the only story being told

I wish for cinematic advice
To help me predict the storyline
So many inflection points this year
The shaping of my yet amorphous pain
Must define and refine me

The ashes of these loved ones
I will spread upon my soil
Their spirits of these loved ones
I will seep into my soul

My fires are doused for now
Nothing but wreckage and smoking embers
Shut down the power grids
I got no surge protection

And this is a surge, a veritable deluge
Of pain, of love, of sorrow
Influx of keen awareness
That this life cycles for us all

For death there are no words or numbers or statistics
Data provides no consolation
Only embraces and shared silence
And tender hands to hold me
While the tears take me under and over

Nothing to do but let the pain pass
Let the tears fall
Hold myself together tightly
Take each slow step towards a future without
those I have lost

Life seems accelerated these past 5 months
I do not know where to measure my growth
I do not feel older
but in these signs of the life cycle
I feel a part of infinity

Papa can you hear me
Barry can you hear me
Lolo can you hear me

I fear most that your faces will fade
To move on is to leave you behind
While I find my way without you now

Anais Nin said the Secret Joy
is the Mastery of Pain.
And so it is.
A secret joy, a strength
which tells me to choose and influence
how the pain shapes me
rather than to passively be flagellated
by the bittersweet sting of love and loss

I must be a Ninja Master of Pain by now
How could I not be
Here I am each day pierced by sorrow
triggers are everywhere
but love is the thread
I cannot let go of
It is the lifeline which connects us all
And in this way no one is ever alone
as our interconnected threads
weave the story of our lives
and all humankind

Last night my grandfather, Avelino De Jesus, father of
my father, passed away. My father, Antonio De Jesus,
passed away just 4 months ago.

And my love, Barry Jacobs, has been gone now a little
over two weeks. I have not seen his blue eyes smiling
upon me with love since August 30th.

There is nothing left to say, no words of condolence
which have not already been uttered.

Grief just needs silence. And these deaths have
shifted me to near-catatonia.

I ask myself where the pain comes from, where the
tears come from, why I grieve.

I grieve for my grandfather, but he has had over 80
years of life and was in the advanced stages of
Alzheimers. I grieve for our family who loves him.
But we have been preparing for many years to let him
pass on.

I grieve for my Papa, for all his bluster and
violence, he loved me as best he could, gave me what
he could, and in the end, left me a legacy of strength
and determination.

And I grieve for Barry, for the love we made, for the
hopes we never voiced out loud, for the tenderness and
compassion he embraced me with, for every unique
moment our lips pressed together.

Do we grieve for ourselves? For what is lost to us?
I watch the horizon and the breaking of the waves.
All is impermanence, death is only the horizon we
cannot see beyond with our eyes, and as Kate Chopin
wrote: "The voice of the sea is seductive; never
ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting
the soul to wander for a spell in abysses of solitude;
to lose itself in mazes of inward contemplation."

My small boat has been lost in tumult this year,
buffeted by huge waves. I'm a little adrift, no course
plotted, just floating.

I wish there were a song to sing the keening in my
heart.

Carmen

Today I am infinitesimal, so very very tiny.

Friday last week was my last full day with Barry.
It seemed to last forever. Now I know it has to.

Barry Jacobs had 7 organs harvested yesterday.
His heart and his kidneys have already saved two lives.

I do not wish to compete for sympathy,
or wallow overmuch in despair and grief.
I wish only to write the deepest parts of my heart
to describe and animate in images
this love of mine and his
our joy and love
that only perhaps he can defend
to those who never witnessed it
i write to remember
i write to burn the text images indelibly into my memory
for catharsis
for healing

because there is nothing else i can do now
i simply feel bereft

one week ago he demanded, at dusk
make love to me right now
hot pleading eyes
to which i could only submit
because his skin and his smell
and his arms embraced me
and his eyes and his heart were wide open to me
despite his past heartbreaks
of the women who left him behind,
who left him alone.

this is not a boast but his words
that i cared for his needs more than anyone
perhaps it's unfair - i've had the most free time
to devote to naturally developing a home
a routine
expressions and expectations
of love and security
veiled by the shadows in both our eyes
how long would this last
if we stayed delicate like this
floating on our own cloud
to see how far we could go
before the love haze evaporated

at the temple of honor
i wrote to my father and friends who've passed
barry came up behind me
whispered in my ear
that he'd written to me on the temple
"carmen, thank you for teaching me how to love."
no, barry. you were always teaching me
showing your care in everything, your integrity,
your boundless love for your family, friends, strangers,
anyone who would receive your ever-ready smile

your love healed so many wounds
made me feel something so deep
now i'm cut so deep
made me always want to be where you were
you said you wanted to give me
a home for my heart
you said stick with me
you said when i kissed you
you said when i loved you
don't ever stop
don't ever ever stop
your lips sweetly entreated
never demanding
instead seeking my softness
then consuming my mouth
with hunger making me catch my breath

it was always love with you
always wanting to know when i left
"when will i see you again?"
how silly i said, when he told me 10 minutes later
after i drove away
that he missed me already
i chided him - i'll be back tonight

and will you wake me, he said?
yes love, with kisses
and will you make love to me?
yes, but you must pretend to be asleep!

he wouldn't wake
but as soon as my knee impressed the bed
his body would automatically turn
and reach to draw me to him
and each night i could never help
showering his face and eyes
and neck and shoulders with kisses
slowly massaging the tension from him
waking him with pleasure
was my pleasure
to be the one who cared for someone
who spent so much time caring for others
made me feel precious and useful
so many people needed him
i felt neglected sometimes
but he told me he needed me.

i am an instrument made for loving and giving
and barry is so easy and open and ready for love
i loved him with my heart, my eyes, my mouth, my body, my voice
at his age and after his heartbreaks and love disappointments
he still believed, he would talk to me about true love staring at me in the face
how he still felt alive and hopeful to share his life with someone
to live with someone he loved
i am too young and ostensibly damaged
i have loved and lost much in 28 years
but he still believed
and wanted me to believe too

i'm not the widow. i don't have the tenure.
i'm not the immediate family.
i have erased all trace of me in his house.
for those who need to grieve as well
as i did for my father
as i still do
a bigger compassion i know now
to only be gracious in grief
to understand their displaced anger
and needs to blame or answers to why
his son who is his best friend,
his family, his lifelong friends
old girlfriends who loved him longer.

i know only to be thankful
to not regret any moment nor the risk of trusting him with my heart
i know only that if i cry a bit each day i will not drown in tears
i know that his heart is with me
and that his last months and days
he was loved by a giving and passionate woman
who spent hours one week ago today
staring at his mouth and eyes
while he cradled me in his arms
endlessly kissing me
neither of us on ecstasy
but ecstatic just the same.

Thank you for all the love energy.

Carmen

Sept 2, 2003
My boyfriend, Barry Jacobs, was the pilot in the plane crash at Burning Man on Saturday.

Marin IJ story



SF Gate story


He is currently in a deep coma with severe head trauma
and brain damage, and is currently on life support. He
will be leaving this earth soon, as there is nothing
medicine or surgery can do to help him recover or
survive, besides life support.

There were 3 other passengers in the plane, a father and son who have both since regained consciousness and are recuperating from multiple traumas and injuries, and a woman who is still unconscious, but who is expected to survive. Please include them all in your prayers and thoughts.

This happened at lunchtime, the day of the Burn (Saturday). I have been at Washoe Medical Center in Reno, NV, where Barry was helicoptered after they took 1 hour to cut him out of the plane wreckage. His larynx
was crushed upon impact, cutting off the oxygen to his brain for approx. one hour, thus causing the
irreparable brain damage.

He is survived by his only son, Nick, and his father Lou, and his brother, Jordan.

And he survives in my heart. We were at the apex of being in love with each other, and shared a deep love and passion.

Please include Barry and his family and friends, and my broken heart, in your prayers and thoughts.

Losing my father and Barry in the same year is a devastating loss. I seem to have an amazing capacity for pain.

I can absorb it and survive it only because I have an amazingly compassionate and loving network of friends and family.

Thank you, Carmen


-------------------------Another lost one.

I met Barry Jacobs last year at Burning Man.
We've been friends since then.
In recent months we began to see more of each other.
When I returned from Manila after Papa's death, Barry
was a friend who relentlessly opened his arms and heart and home to
me.

Despite my grieving haze and numb heart
his patience and gentleness and love
melted my jade
and inspired passion and tenderness in me
slowly his kisses became the healing balm for my heart
And even a girl like me - damaged, cynical,
self-protective, sophisticated about love
I fell hard.
He fell hard.

And this summer for us was a summer of love and
passion and happiness
Last week we returned to Nevada for Burning Man.
We flew in on his Beechcraft Bonanza airplane.
I get airsick but didn't yak till after the 2 hour
plane ride.

[ I'd been plane phobic for years, the first plane I'd
been on in awhile was actually with Barry, last year,
when he took me on one of his little tours of Burning
Man in his plane ] .

We had a few wonderful amazing days of each other's undivided attention and love, and on Saturday morning he gave the same little 15 minutes tours above the desert he gave me last year.

On the second flight, upon approach to landing, the plane crashed.

How many times can my heart break this year?

Carmen

a dream deferred.

last friday, a call from Mr. E's #2 man, Danny Tan.

[ summarily ]

DT: Nini, we haven't heard from you, what's going on?

N: Settlement still pending. All is slow. Maybe 6 - 8 more weeks says lawyer.Can go to Manila around first week Sept is ok, buy me ticket?

DT: Uh, well. Wanted to update you: Viva is being lax and flaky in re: scheduling our other artists for studio time, putting projects on hold because some producers are leaving, then changing, even Boss Vic's personal assistant is changing. So.....

N: I've spent my last 2 months in America preparing to leave, packing up my life, saying goodbye - so how does this news affect me?

DT: Well, even Mr. E will be travelling in US/Europe until end of August anyway. No big decisions without him. And will be meeting with Viva to try to find out their commitment to scheduling you. Many other projects right now. I will call you after our meeting to update you.

N: !!!!???????!!!!!!

DT: You could still come and work for our marketing dept. And maybe get some gigs.

N: Well, I'm not comfortable moving my life to Manila to work in mkting.

DT: Well, I'll keep you updated.

N: Ok.

-FIN-

Currently, awaiting call and replanning life as if trip to Manila had never happened. Like at the beginning of April, I was just floating around, waiting for something to happen, no home, no job, no man, etc. Then of course, Pa died. but like, if I pretend that I never went to Manila....

ah forget it. it stings and burns like fire but in a way of course i am glad to not have to leave america or my family and friends. back to the middle class though, tee hee.

What's good: I believe in my voicebox again. It still works. And I wanna use it more and stuff, to like, do things with it. And make people cry. That's important in singing.

Thanks for everything, God and Dad. Vicissitudes is a good word to be able to use in real life. And Scrabble.

Do I ask for hugs too often?

I'm having a Yentl-esque "Papa can you hear me?" moment today. Although I don't think he really could help me relieve any of my current dissonance, I'm wishing for someone to give me the push I need.

Still in the center
Arms akimbo
Suspended in limbo
and I don't really know which path to take
It was all so clear when I first arrived
from Manila - I was going to pack up and go,
and nothing on earth was holding me back.

Sometimes though
while one is living in the moment
things happen in those moments
which affect future moments
ah, it is slipping
i am losing the power of now
my organizational systems are all askew
and i'm not sure about Time
I'm limiting my own Time
setting my own schedules

Something's thawing out in me
A rein on the fearless abandon
with which I thought to fly away
When I was protected and lubricated
by a numbness, a reaction of fire versus the grief

I am here for therapeutic reasons
To give love and to get love
To move past loss by creating new lives
Using my voice, my body and compassion
as instruments of loving

I wish for acupuncture directly on my heart
I wish for a blood flush to clean out the debris
the broken rotten pieces

Currently in a holding pattern here
waiting for clearance to take off
no longer sure about the journey

But this must be part of it, yes?
No decision should ever be so clear as:
"Papa died, left me cues to career in music
in home country, i have nothing better to do,
i'm not getting any younger, so I should
move to Manila and sing like he wanted me to,"
[and like I do really want to, deep down.]

And the fear accumulates, makes me want to sleep
Though I haven't been dreaming as often as I usually do
I sink into America like it is a big puffy bed
with fine cotton sheets
So comfortable it's hard to get up in the morning

Should I stay or should I go now?
This indecision's bugging me.

This is July. Papa's birthday is the 31st.
One more trigger, just as each holiday and birthday will be.

Meanwhile in both LA and SF, I must treat each moment with loved ones as if it were the last time I will see them for a long time. And then I keep on not leaving yet.

But there is time enough for everything, I hope.

Now I just need information to soothe me.
Information to feed the mentat in me,
so I can synthesize and quickly project
probable futures dependent on certain choices.

What directs me?

What is my aim?
Where am I happy?
Where shall I grow and thrive on experience?
What is a challenge?
What is worth commitment?
What will I gain?
Who will support me? [ Of utmost concern now that Romeo
and Caroline will not be returning to Manila anytime soon ]
Can I live in isolation from like minds?
Where will I be appreciated most?

Follow the burning point.
Yesterday I felt shitty. Nothing really cheered me.
I was confused and dejected
Until I started singing in the car.
And I remembered that singing is the only thing
that bleeds my soul of heartache

It's not that I have the bestest vox
Nor am I the prettiest girl to walk the earth.
But my voicebox shakes prettily and fully
with sincere emotion, more eloquent
than I could ever express through words.

While I was in Manila, it felt like I could stay there indefinitely, in that new world of experiences and people. I felt no tug nor tie to my life in California. As if I never existed in that life. Or it could have just been the numbness, the loss, the feeling of being set adrift and bereft, but still moving.

I've been back in Cali for one month now, trying to:

a) see and spend time with friends, loved ones and family
b) record and file away in my head the moments and places of beauty and friendship here
c) buy things they don't have in Manila
d) settle up business with my disability/workers comp stuff
e) have fun, relax
f) live fast and fierce and give and get love

I've been here too long already maybe
I feel like the longer I stay, the more I lose my nerve to leave
Or that perhaps something might happen here
that might again take me on a twisty turn
Relentless vicissitudes
I gotta just surrender to these waves
float atop them arms outspread
as if I were once again in the warm clear waters of Boracay island
where everything was just so warm, and so clear
and the only thing I could see was endless rich blue sky

I've been glutting on my freedom
to move about accountable to no one
to drift through an abundance of embraces
to think only of the moment before me
each in its own way an eternity of awareness
and not wanting to be anywhere other than where I was

I've been glutting on my freedom
to pursue my own laughter
to feed my needs
to be fed
to be beloved

I've been glutting on my freedom
to lavish kisses like I have an infinite supply
to hold nothing back
[ except that which fears love most ]
A destiny sketched out before me
People who believe in me although I hardly understand why
Because I am the lazy one, the lurker in the shadow
skating by with crafty wordsmanship
but lacking in true skill
But I have a chance to fulfill something
Some kind of potential
just needs action, positive energy, willpower, discipline, conviction
all pointed like a light saber to cut through the morass of distraction
motivated by fear
to get to that point I see when I close my eyes
and open the third one

Time has been deliciously langurous, stretching satisfyingly over
hot hazy days of cool breezes and warm afternoons and mornings
playing with people friends and dog friends
feeling the healing love of camaraderie and hugs
Aw yeah.

I feel as though I cannot take on anymore
the sorrows of others
I have empathy but must conserve my energies
for my own consolation

Or is it always just another justification for selfishness?
And what is selfishness, though?
Someone else's perspective making you feel bad about good things that are happening in your own life.

Sounds like it's time for me to reread Ayn Rand's The Virtue of Selfishness.
Time to reinforce the Force. Time to get Objectivist up in dis muv.

"Why do they always teach us that it's easy and evil to do what we want and that we need discipline to restrain ourselves? It's the hardest thing in the world--to do what we want. And it takes the greatest kind of courage. I mean, what we really want."

-Ayn Rand

And while I'm on this tip, it's time to dust of the Joseph Campbell, who entreats us to follow our bliss, follow that burning point which impassions and guides us.

"The privilege of a lifetime is being who you are."
- Joseph Campbell

And so I am privileged in also this vein, that my demanding and oft disgruntled personality should be coddled and tolerated, that I can say sorry and ask forgiveness for my transgressions, be forgiven and still be loved.

I am burning these days. It may be the island heat still inside me, the halycon days of California summer, or my ever heated blood. But the burning point is the sticking point and it's pointing ahead to an uncertain path that has to do with singing and the Philippines and hard work and artistic compromise and third world conditions and loneliness and drastic, traumatic lifestyle changes.

Nothing to stop me but fear and tugs on my heartsleeves.

I've spent my life following my heart and not always following my dreams. Maybe I forgo the heart thing as I am weary of the grinding jaws of love, and I follow and work for the dream.

What is the dream? Only to have the privilege of singing, and being myself, of having something to share with the people I love. Of walking unafraid onto an unknown path. Who needs certainty, or even hope?

We had a bbq at the Blue House with my old housemates cause we are all still fambly. I went to the beach with Meagan and Peter and drank beers. I went to lunch with Jaimelee and her dad and drank beers. I drank at the Blue Lamp with Byron and Pete, I drank wine and smoked ciggies with Bridget. I ate and laughed and drank with my girls Junko and Charmaine and saw Santos and Tony and Thurston and Alex, had dinner and drinks with Diego aka the Connoisseur and his girl. Acupuncture with Liz, Chiro with Dr. C, Myofascial satisfaction with Phil. Cassius Finer and his dad entertained me with Tivo in Bernal Heights. . .Isa and Graci slept over and we had breakfast at Pork Store (GRITS!!) Mickey G and I ate big bbq meats at Brothers in Law bbq, and he also chose my new spectacles. Saw my gorgeous leggy lawgirl Courtaney, and was loved and hugged by my favorite redheaded jewess, Red. Dru came out to the memorial, and Alan and Kuya Noel sought out Nirvana with Toni and me...and BJ brought me soaring to new heights, high above the fireworks of the Bay Area, cruising low in the Cessna above my City so Small.

It's like Romper Room up in here!

I love America. I am glad to be a blue passport person.

Father's Day 2003, we celebrated my absent father in San Diego, on the beach in Del Mar.
2 months he's been gone.

I woke up that morning and thought of him, and whispered I love you Papa.

I've been craving male companionship even more since Papa died.
This is normal for grieving daughters, I hear.

Papa as Animus has absorbed to my mother and sisters, for each in a different way.
The steel I spoke of, the galvanization of my chismo, that masculinity that I have
inherited all infuses me with a feeling of ferocious femininity, an island sway in my hips.
My temperment is even though yet aggressive. The loss inspires a feeling of recklessness,
of fatalism, the poignancy fuels my passions.

The need to give love and get love is more urgent.

There is always something to learn within the depths of pain.
You learn how deep is your soul. You learn how deep is your love.
You learn how much you can really lose and still thank God for
each day and each breath and still move on.

It's been a whirlwind tour of San Francisco, San Diego and Los Angeles.
Driving up and down the coast, I follow signs and navigational instinct,
wondering where I am, trying to record the moments and the movement
with a sense of hyper-reality.

How rich I am in love and friendship.
But it doesn't scare me anymore to forge into unknown worlds.
My turn to orbit out, to follow the call of adventure.

My beloved California and the Pacific shores
I cannot miss you yet
I cannot live as if I am no longer here
Not when each moment of Now can be an eternity.

Everything could still fall apart
Everything could still change
The key is not to fear
Lean into the crack, as Bjork says
The key is not to hope but just to see
To expect nothing but be ready for anything and everything
To keep arms open, to keep heart open
A vessel for life
In the center of the field with arms akimbo
Ready to ride any oscillating wave

Well baby I do gots things to share
I got love and vox and words and more
I got family and friends and an army of shoes
I sing gospel and broadway and jpop and blues
I like the good times
and I like the rhymes

Tonight I went to the Justin Timberlake/Christina Aguilera concert.
Black Eyed Peas opened. Xtina was aight. She had some problems with sound so she was quie off sometimes. But neither she nor JT used elaborate costumes or sets or props or anything. Mostly just music, singing and dancing. That was pretty impressive to me.
JT is very talented. They were well trained in that Mickey Mouse club.
They're both pretty comfortable playing to crowds and they can sing and dance without having to lipsync.

Everything is so damn bittersweet.

I would not have gone to the Philippines if Papa had not died.

Last I'd gone was 1986. I was just ten going on eleven then.
Impressions of the Philippines were all of oppression: my young eyes
could only see the poor children begging and crawling on huge piles
of garbage, the tortured skin of my mosquito bites, the heat and the pollution, the stale and sour smelling house of my grandparents on Esteban Abada.

Now the Philippines, or at least Manila, is far more commercialized, full of air conditioned malls with stateside labels. SUVs with drivers get you around, and internet cafes and Starbucks abound. Lots of trendy and colorful restaurants and clubs. Far more palatable for a balikbayan like me.

I grew up thinking and feeling that I have never had a Filipino face, that I'd never really be defined by my Filipino-ness, my roots. I am and will be what I make of myself, I believe(d). Of course, in these days of expanding consciousness, which were precipitated and perhaps even premeditated, by the passing of my father and his energy. I felt a realness, a galvanization of any steel that I acquired to defend myself against his violence, his energy passing to me, the transference of the Animus of my father into and unto me. I wear his clothes, his shirts, socks, his watch. I wear his ambition and charisma. But I have my own discipline, drive and force to push the dream to the hilt. Whatever his dream was, some mastery, some domination. Not fame or money, just power.

Only in my father's death, I am fulfilled in some legacy of machismo - what he only dreamed of, I can complete.

There's a cock crowing next door as dawn breaks through the windows of my old room in San Francisco. The foghorns which plagued me once were good company as I paced through the dawn in the stupor of jet lag. Cocks are wild in the Philippines, they're always strutting around neighborhoods.
The feathered ones, more often in daylight.

Papa opened a door I never wanted to enter - a sense of my history, tradition, culture, belonging, pride, failure - but I never dared admit to myself that it might truly be a source of personal power to me, that it would animate me more fully. But the country has welcomed me, appreciated me, supported me, fed me and held me while I cried for the loss of my first love/hate relationship. I feel inspired by their warmth and willingness to help.
Even if only to feed you when you are hungry.
I do not feel abandoned as much because of the loss of Papa because he has left me with his influence, friendships, and trusted family to watch carefully over me.

I grieve fully now because I am home.
In the Catholic tradition the wake is about 5 days long. 24/7 a family member must be with the body to guard it, as the chapel is open and the corpse is on view all the time. During this time ones grieving sit and cry and laugh and share stories and eat and sing and embrace - together. There is reflection, there is prayer. There is life, and there is hope. The grieving ritual was helpful, healthy, comforting. Not like the U.S. where you only get one day to be overwhelmed by mourners and not having enough time for your own grief. The sisters sang at the memorial, put together a slideshow of photos.
We drive to the crematorium. One more ceremony. Some singing. Another prayer. The last look at the corpse. The opening of the casket.
Tintin, my sister who is only 9, loved to pat Papa's belly. She was unafraid to touch the corpse, reaching in to pat his belly one last time. Zandi, who is 18, throws herself on the casket. Nikki, 17, refused to look at the corpse.
A window opened and we watched and sang as his body was lifted from the casket and placed into the incineration container.

I know what it is now to have cries wrenched from my heart, to endure the worst kind of heartbreak. It has zeroed me out to all previous loss. None could compare.

And so I have been walking in a dream, walking and talking and laughing and singing.

I sang at a convent for a group of nuns called the Pink Sisters. Their serene demeanors, patience and delicacy rang in their haunting voices raised in unison, the acoustics amplifying the keening and tuning it directly into my pain. I am not Catholic. But I was on my knees, sobbing, holding a pink handkerchief to my mouth. I felt like someone cut clean through the forming scab of Papa's loss. And the blood just spilled out in tears, flowing ceaselessly, quietly.

It is 6.23 a.m. in San Francisco, CA. on Weds, 6/4/03.
It is 9.11 p.m. in Quezon City, Philippines on Weds, 6/4/03.

I feel I am in both places at the same time.

Tue, 20 May 2003

I left SF on April 16.
I left LA for Manila April 18.
It is now May 21st in the Philippines, and I'm writing
to you from 15 hours in the future.

Papa has been dead now for little over a month.
I've not been working due to my RSI disability since
December of last year.

My father's youngest brother, Set (in whose house I
reside) just had a baby boy.

Friends have graduated, moved, and the romantic cycles
ebb and flow.

Time marches on.

My sister Toni and my cousin Cherry, who have stayed
behind with me here in Manila, are leaving to return
to the states next Wednesday.

My father's stateside memorial will take place on
father's day.

I was on tv here in Manila, and also in the states, on
the filipino channel.

I have lost a lot of weight as well as a cup size.

My real life is wherever I am, wherever I am conscious
of being able to contribute to others besides myself.

I will not begin recording until August/Sept of this
year.

I will be in San Francisco from June 1st - June 14th,
then in Los Angeles for the rest of the month.

In moments where I am quiet and alone
I think of these life changes
How I was ripe for them
How there is such a thing as fruition
and fortuitous timing
How my father in his passing
seems to have transferred to me
so many opportunities and powers
things he could not have given me
so effectively while he was alive

I think of my life in my City So Small
All the pieces of my heart
left lingering in corners of the park
from the top of Twin Peaks
to the expanse of Ocean Beach
The ghost of me walking through
neighborhoods I love, which I visit in my sleep

Lately my dreams have been fearful
Within the dreamscape I am confronted with ghosts
and I feel fear
But always I respond with flight
Rise up Rise up
There is power in each moment
where I can elevate beyond sentimentality
and fear and doubt
and I find I have no regrets
when I wake in the morning
to this new reality

I broke down the other day
and Toni said "I didn't know you felt this way,
you seem to be so together and mature about
everything."

I have few numbers to call out here
when I need a friendly voice
when I need a shoulder
or any other body part for that matter.

My Tagalog is improving. I am becoming more fluent
in my "native" language.

Toni's performance at her recent two concerts with Kuh
Ledesma was good. The audience received her well,
and it was wonderful to see Toni all glammed up
singing a song she wrote, playing the guitar
and backed by a professional band.

I am excited to go back to my City So Small
I will go to therapy and yoga and the park and the
ocean, indulge myself in the simplest of luxuries.

I will grieve my father, who I saw last in life
on my birthday in my City So Small.

Meanwhile, each day here begins and ends with music.

Love from across the ocean,

Carmen/Nini

Sun, 11 May 2003

Just finished reading Cryptonomicon - the settings of
Manila/Philippines both in WW2 and the present tense
were apt even as I melted in the humid summer heat of
Corregidor, or as it was known in WW2 days, "the
Rock."

I've been acclimating without much effort. The heat
and the traffic are truly not unlike Los Angeles, and
one must be aggressive in driving as well as assertive
when met with the stares of people on the street.

Part of my new routine includes trips to the mountainy
resort area of Cavite. In the small area of Tagaytay
there are many restaurants, convents and golf courses.
And of course there is the Taal Volcano nearby, and en
route there is a mountain range with a huge mountain
called Makiling, or Maria Makiling as they call it,
because the silhouette of the range looks like a
woman's profile. They tell me the mountain is
enchanted. I asked what the enchantment was, but
nobody knows the story.

There's a lot of Isabel Allende/GG Marquez-esque
magical realism type superstitiousness within this
Filipino culture. Note to self, themes on this. The
pasttimes here include storytelling, smoking, drinking
San Miguel beer which is cheaper than water, going to
one of the hundreds of malls, or going out to eat.

Some places here look like third world areas, other
places look like Woodland Hills or Newport Beach.
There's been so much development and
commercialization.
And yet there are wild roosters crowing all the time.
And outside there are two cats fighting.

My diet here consists mostly of fish and mangoes. This
by choice - the food here is fattening and rich - tons
of pastries and fried foods and fattening rich dishes.
Although no one has officially asked me to lose
weight, I'm taking the initiative for performance
purposes. I'm joining a gym and am trying to find a
good place to take some dance classes.

In Tagaytay this weekend the fog rolled in. And then I
heard I left my Heart in San Francisco. Waves of
homesickness cramped my tummy. Where I left my heart,
my friends, my shoes and all my stuff. Where the air
is cool.

Here I take a tricycle (a motorbike with a welded
sidecar) for 5 pesos to the Internet cafe, which has a
t3 connection I can use for 35 pesos an hour. Current
exchange rate is 50 pesos to a dollar. I watched X men
2 for 3 dollars in a huge american style THX movie
theatre.

I cried of course when my Mama left to go back to
Cali. She took the American half of dad's ashes with
her. I had some abandonment issues but I stopped
whining when she reminded me that I have 2 other
sisters back home who need her.

"be a big girl," she said.
"but i feel so small with no pa, and now no mama," I
sobbed on the phone, "I don't feel big at all."

I'm making my flight arrangements to return to San
Francisco on June 1st or 2nd, and I'll be in the Bay
Area for about 2-3 weeks in June, and I will be
returning to Manila in July. So if anyone has extra
room for my transient shell, please let me know.

I have to say that being here allows me easier and
more high profile access and support to realize any of
my scatterbrained creative visions. I'd really have
to scrimp and bust my ass to try to "make it in the
States." For some Filipino-Americans, coming back to
the homeland to achieve fame is cheating, a compromise
of true artistic independence. But the climb to fame
is a challenging scale, and I'm no spring chicken no
more, so I need every edge and foothold I can get.

My father's brothers are very protective and helpful
to us. It's a comfort to have them looking after us,
b/c so many of their mannerisms and attitudes are so
like Papa. I still cry some every day, as with any
heartbreak. But his death has turned my destiny. And
so I cry in gratitude but also regret that he is not
physically here to clasp me in his arms and tell me he
is proud of me.

All family and filipino friends call me Nini, and here
in this new chapter I get to live out that persona.
Nini is a much nicer person, who sings and works and
helps others because it makes other people happy.
Nini is a good girl, respectful to elders and stuff.
Ha. I've never been attracted to Filipino guys, and
it's interesting being in an environment where I feel
I have no options for meeting suitable "suitors."
Oh well, none for me I guess.

Please email me if you would like to schedule a vox
chat. Please note that I am +15 hours ahead I think.

Tired now, but still loving to you,

CDJ

Tue, 6 May 2003

Live from the island of Luzon:

I was scheduled to go home to LA on May 8th.
Now I will be coming home for the month of June,
then returning to the Philippines at the end of June
or July for an indefinite stay.

Here is the story:

Last Friday, the family and I went to the house of Kuh
Ledesma, who is basically the asian Sade, and a close
childhood friend of my fathers.

She's recently become a born again Christian. Of
course, we (toni and I) had to "sing for our Tita Kuh"
and Toni sang and accompanied herself on guitar -
singing one of her own compositions - a gospel song
called "Amazing". As a result, she will be singing in
Kuh's concert on May 16th.

On Saturday, the family and I were invited to stay at
our aunt/uncle's house in Tagaytay, which is a
vacation type area near Lake Taal, (which is in the
middle of an active volcano). On the way there my
mother texted my dad's friend, Ernest Escaler, who
owns a posh restaurant called Gourmet's out in
Tagaytay. He invited us to be his guests for lunch
there, along with our cousins and aunt who were
hosting us.

While at lunch he invited toni and I to sing. So
basically we sang in the middle of the room with their
baby grand piano, and did an hour long set for their
lunch crowd.

Next, he invites us back for the dinner set, saying
that his friend Vic del Rosario, a major bigwig with
Viva Records (one of the biggest labels here in the
Philippines), would be at dinner.

We said ok.

So um, we sang for Vic and assorted record cronies.
Lots of stuff, some broadway, ballads, uptempo
contemporary, jazz. The kind of schmaltzy stuff they
love here.

By the end of the evening I was seated at the table
with Ernest and Vic et al.

Tito Ernest has just launched a Talent Management
Agency and wants me to sign on with his group to be
represented by him. Vic said if I sign with them,
he'll record me (meaning - I'll be cutting a record
this year) immediately.

So I now have concerts on May 31st, tentatively June
21st, as well as July 11. Recording and other stuff in
between.

So yeah. This is Papa's doing, apparently this has
been his plan all along, talking to his friends about
us, so all we had to do was show up and sing and now
what?

Through it all, I just want to come home. I want to be
in SF with all my friends and just live my little life
of sporadic subbing gigs with borrowed bands, going to
yoga and having fun. I don't care too much for this
whole singing gig, but I'd be a fool (as so many
people have already screamed at me) to pass up such an
opportunity. As they say in tagalog, SAYANG!
Which means, what a waste!

I don't want to be ungrateful or a whiny baby, but I
want to come home, for reals. I miss my peeps.

But the field was wide open and opportunity, guided by
God and the spirit and planning of my departed father,
serendipitously landed on my shoulder like these
pretty Filipino butterflies.

I'll be earning in pesos, of course, which is
currently at 50 pesos to 1 dollar, so don't imagine
that I'll be rolling in dough.

But at the end of it all, I'll have an album that I
can be proud of and bring back to the states. And
hopefully I can help improve the standard of music
here with my "artistry".

So Mama and Tintin are going home tomorrow, and we
will postpone the stateside memorial of my father
until June when Toni and I return. Cherry Pie, Toni
and I will stay here for awhile.

We're looking to get a place with wireless cable modem
and a car with a driver.

I look at this whole thing as another chapter, just
like Saigon, just like college, where I'm somewhere
for awhile and I get to come home every 3 months.

Romeo, my best friend, will be coming here to join his
fiancee Caroline, who I've become good friends with
here. That all takes place in July.

I've also been pitching him and Caroline as well as
our friend's group, Kuya, to these agents.

So who knows, between the music and the screenplays
and the novels I'm writing and whatever else, I may be
on my way to contributing to the Balikbayan(which
means flips who come back to the Philippines)
Renaissance in a big way.

I will also be doing some consulting work in the
marketing department of Tito Ernest's Gourmet Foods
product line as well as his chain of restaurants.
Whee! My marketing and advertising skills are not all
lost, and because you can have as many helpers and
secretaries as you want here, I won't break my hands
at all!

It's bittersweet, all this, I feel I'm leaving so much
behind and yet I have to keep moving forward. But each
day opportunities arise which are not simply
coincidental, but which show that a master plan is
weaving quickly the tapestry of my life, and all roads
and skills and experiences(good and bad) lead up to
now.

Heart is on hold. Engage my Animus, strengthened by
the spirit of my father - who reaches from beyond the
grave to protect his daughters - most superstitious
filipinos here truly believe he will haunt them if
they try to harm or cheat us. And I do not present
myself as a typical filipina woman (esp. an unmarried
woman) - it's definitely a trip for these flip dudes
to deal with a well spoken, smart, aggressive, and
assertive young woman. I swear I've learned to crack a
whip just with my eyes.

It's so totally Joy Luck Club I almost can't stand it!

Loss yields opportunity
Grief gives way to Joy
Pain refines my inner steel
Distance shall only increase
the temerity and depth of true friendships
and the music somehow is the reason and the way
all the love I have
can be tapped and expressed
and it's somehow now been deemed
a Gift I can give that is worth something.

Please write, I care about how you feel about all
this.

Love,

Carmen

Fri, 2 May 2003

i don't know how many days i've been here in the
philippines now.
seems like a long time
seems like i'm older
and the world turns

Like any heartache heartbreak
through the haze of tears
it's amazing to watch the world go on
almost an affront

still blessed with family and friends
minus papa
cancel papa
cancel my Animus, my male authority figure, my old foe
and longest male love, the source of my strengths and
weaknesses, the hand that struck me and held me and
provided for me

what's left but his ashes and the memes and the genes?
the mannerisms and the temper
the tenderness and the music
the stoicism and the laughter
the vulnerability and the strength
that was my papa
and these things live on in me

what if my mother went first, I think
how would he handle the grief?
How would he be an example to my sisters and I
of how to be gracious even in grief?

Props to my mom
who hates being called a widow
who cries everyday
who looks so small standing alone
who still manages to have the strength
to tell the same stories every day
to each newly informed condolence-wisher
and comfort them as well

The other day I went to Tagaytay
to a house which had a small castle
which is a kennel for 50 dogs
and my Lolo (grandpa) Kato-san (who is not my real
grandpa but who is my Alzheimer's ridden grandpa's
best friend) also has a monkey named Empro
He pronounced it that way altho I think it's probably
Emperor
The monkey is small and sweet
lives in a huge space with lots of swinging room
and we fed him baby bananas
and he touched our hands and tried to grab our fingers

Kato-san has a large indoor swimming pool
and just as I did in the Sulu Sea at Boracay island
I floated, just floated
breath held and palms up
sensory deprivation
trying to find my center and awareness

because i've been feeling strapped down
and the grief is beating me
and i'm too weak to struggle
and just strong enough to tense before the
strap falls again
and another memory another void another indicator
of loss flays my already lonely and broken heart
i'm burned to the core
heart is ground zero
how to begin again
when i feel like all is loss
no man, no job, no home, no papa

i try to access peace within, strength within
try to view my life from the center and the world
as just a field of infinite options before me
and only love, music, art and family motivates me
too much poverty i've seen here to want for always
more stuff
too much love and friendship in my life to feel poor
yes i am rich in life
even through this loss

sometimes though these keys don't turn the locks
the words fall like stones
just sleep is my balm
knitting up my unraveled sleeve of care
i sing every day here
funny to me how just a song makes so many people
happy
funny how sometimes the notes and the words to wrap my
voice around is the only way to pull myself up out of
the muck

I just need a little tiny time
sometime somewhere in someone's arms
where I don't have to be strong or big or mature
Just need to break all the way down.
Cry and rage until there's no more sorrow left

what time is it, what day is it,
what do i need to know about the world i left behind?

in a bubble and jealous of normal life
carmen

Mon, 28 Apr 2003

Right now I am sitting in a cybercafe in Makati, the
financial district and posh area of Manila. There are
at least 10 malls all huge, within a 5 mile radius.

I just returned yesterday from a weekend trip with my
sister Toni, cousin Cherry, and friends Caroline and
Christine Mangosing (Caroline is my best friend
Romeo's fiancee) to Boracay island. It's about a 45
min plane ride, 1.5 hour bus ride and then 20 min
ferry ride from Manila to this island, where the water
is clear and full of tropical fish, and the sand is
white and the people are brown. I ate nothing but fish
and fruit the entire time I was there. I floated in
the ocean and let the sun penetrate me and bring my
natural stores of melanin to the surface. As I
floated there with arms outstretched I felt this place
was a wonderful sensory deprivation chamber.

Papa always wanted to bring us here.

With the funeral week/wake over and Papa safely
stashed in the dining room, the grieving process
continues. The oppressive heat, the pollution, the
traffic which is beyond ungodly, the family squabbles
and i've run out of my anti-depressants. I want to
come home. I feel trapped here. My own grief feels
secondary, tertiary, to the energy I feel needs to go
to being strong and "normal" for my sisters and my
mom. Even amidst the enormous family network i feel
dizzy with loneliness.

Fuck I'm crying all the time and my mom won't even let
me cuss in tagalog and i feel alternately 100 yrs old
and 5 years old.

How the hell am I supposed to feel?
Sad, angry, happy, whatever?

suddenly i feel powerless and overwhelmed. and i
fucking need a hug and some space away from all this
grief.

sometimes I feel I can handle it all with grace and
strength. today i'm just falling apart, crying,
grieving, lost and broken hearted in a hundred ways.
feel like i'm reaching out but there's nothing there
to reach me back.

homesick for a home i don't have.

love, carmen (infinitely tiny today)

Tue, 22 Apr 2003

It's been a long week.

Here in the Philippines
the wake lasts forever
and there are services each night
people come each night to talk and sing and pray

Sunday my father's uncle who is a Jesuit priest
gave an Easter Sunday/mass - it was the last day of
the wake.

Monday morning we had the last funeral service.
I gave a eulogy for my father
and Toni, Zandi and I all sang.

We followed the hearse then
to the crematorium
where we looked at his body for the last time
I let the tears flow
and it was cathartic

They closed the lid and we all broke down
we opened the glass top casket briefly
and amid the formalin fumes
we touched Papa's lifeless corpse
and they closed it up
and pushed it through
we watched through tears of grief
and shock
as they took his body from the casket
and placed it into a container
which they pushed into the fire
and Papa was gone

we sang spontaneously
songs to comfort ourselves and each other
gospel songs, Tagalog songs
songs Papa loved
our voices raised
as if to channel the pain of breathing
the heartbreak
into sustained notes

tonight i have just returned from an auntie's house
they live in this enormous house
which is in the middle of an old town
jeepneys and tricycles and one lane roads
kids selling chiclets and sampaguita flower leis
on the streets
here people wash your clothes
pump your gas and everywhere I'm called "Ma'am"

Too many cigs
all my uncles here smoke
ma and tin are mad but whatever
they don't bother trying to scold me
and i've bonded with my uncles, immediate and extended
they are a comfort because their personalities and
mannerisms remind me of pa

indeed my sisters and i have been making ourselves
the "stateside spectacle"
in the malls for some reason
the retail peeps come to the front of the store
to watch us pass by
"mukang artista!" they say
it means "they look like stars!"

ma is ok
seeing old friends
and being cradled by the massive network of family
they send us food and cars with drivers
invitations to stay at their houses
to karaoke, to dinner, to whatever
people are so hospitable here
and I really feel consoled by the love of this family
that I never knew so well
but who accept us as their own
although we have always been oceans apart

i could stay here and be well taken care of
i could stay here and use connections to be famous
somehow
i could stay here and become a true filipina
should I?
i've left sf and life goes on without the familiar
things
without the skeptical voice of my father/animus
i feel more free to be spontaneous and adventurous
we'll see what happens

everyday crying a little
saying good morning and hi always
to the ashy remains of my father
in a "pretty cup" as tin says

it's hard to miss pa a lot here
because i never knew him here
gonna relax a bit
and enjoy my "homeland"

the big shock and adjustment
will be back home
gonna sell the lancaster house
and the space shuttle too probably (our huge fam van)
settle my mom and tin and nikki somewhere
and be the man for awhile

just keep moving

love and love and love and more love,

Carmen

Sat, 19 Apr 2003

hello friends and family:

thank you for your continued support and condolences.

i'm in manila
with mama and my sisters
staying at my uncle's house
only 56k there
so i'll be checking email every other day

so here in manila the tradition
when someone dies
is this long wake
where papa sits in his casket
in a chapel where people visit all day long
and there is a service every night until the funeral

so comforting and yet depressing
to see my father's lifeless body in the casket
covered by glass
there always needs to be a de jesus to watch him
b/c the chapel is open 24/7
anyway
so i watched him the other day
cried and laughed and talked to him
he has a million friends and i'm meeting them all
in addition to family i've never met before
or who i haven't seen since i was last
here in 1986

it's hot and humid
like 5 showers a day, no joke
manila is nuts
everything is here
all the chains esp. fast food
lots of malls
and poor people and servants
and rich people with drivers
our fam here is pretty well off
so weird to have maids do almost everything
i feel guilty then i get over it
anyway

been crying on and off, my sisters and mom are the
same way
pa always wanted to us to come here together
now he gets his wish
just wish he were alive to see us
all here, causing spectacles wherever we go
we don't fit in at all
loud and brash and american
not shy

i love you all
and i miss you
and thank god for the blessings of
the many loving people in my life
wonder what my funeral will be like, ha.

i have to write a eulogy tonight
for the services tomorrow and monday
wow, i'm the eldest and i have to be BIG
even when sometimes here, crying
over the casket, i feel so small and lost
because my papa is gone and he'll never be back
to hug me or love me or be proud of me
or fight with me

anyways
that is all for now
sorry for mass email again
and if this is too much information
but fuckit

anyone want anything from manila?
slippers and face masks for all!!!

mahal(love) from manila,

carmen

Wed, 16 Apr 2003

Thank you for your kind words and prayers.

Mama, my cousin Cherry and my sister Zandi
left last night, to join Tintin, who was there with
Papa alone and who is now just thinking he's 'out of
town'. Mama didn't want to tell her until she could be
with Tin in person.

In a few hours I'll be leaving for Manila, for the
first time in over 10 years. All the daughters are
finally going "home" as papa wanted, too bad he's only
there in spirit.

I'll be there until at least May 8th, returning to
settle things down with my mom in Lancaster, and
returning to the Bay Area sometime in the end of May
to move all my stuff.

I will be staying at the family home.

I will be with Cherry and Toni constantly and their
cell phones work in Manila. If you need to speak with
me, please call only in an emergency. It costs like
$2/min. But you can TEXT ALL YOU WANT.

I'll be haunting the cybercafes, so can always be
reached through email.

A memorial service will be held in Manila, but the
funeral will occur in mid-May. Details to follow.

Thank you for the love, I feel strong because of it.
It is humbling and profound to know that so many kind
thoughts and energy are directed our way in our time
of bereavement.

Keep connected.

Love,

Carmen/Nini