April a Hundred Each

4.7

Descriptive, not dramatic, before noon. 

Woke up late for a 10k. French-pressed Sagada arabica, pan de sal. Taho and oreos with milk for the kids. I join V.’s class from 830, then D. takes over at 9 (it’s her lunch break) until 10. I do 3 30-minute lessons, send a few emails and line messages. I translate texts with H. for a descriptive survey we’re running for work. 

The Pulse Asia survey for the elections came out, and we’re happy Robredo’s got momentum. She went up by 9. The tragedy is that Marcos is far ahead. Analysts noted that he’s winning in the middle class. 

4.10

Savoring Sauntering Sunday

We went to the mall, savoring and sauntering in the joys of Sunday. Lunch, arcade games, supplies at the bookstore, gelato, coffee. We wear masks, fully vaccinated, and boosted, and it is as if the pandemic has gone past us. In the afternoon, I run a 10k (5”44/km, 57m 26s). The other day I did 40km (31km/h, 129w) cycling routine via Zwift which I do a few times a week. This evening, I speed up recovery (physical and mental) with a book, a beer, and a fascial massage gun. I feel both strong and mellowed by age. Maybe more mellowed.  

4.23

Process Maps

What’s wrong with me is that I’m always figuring out what’s wrong with me. It is as if my mind never ceases to create these never-ending process maps that always ends up with something sordid. I line up the reasons, root causes, next steps. Utilizing my corporate background and the resulting corporate trauma, I was really just trying to organize my anxieties. Naturally it will lead to something depressing, though I’ve never been diagnosed with depression, it does sink me. I do think I know how to fail this process. I have to distract it – family, running, reading, coffee, beer.  

Starting with the why is a good start

 “Writing your life implies that you think it worth writing. It implies an arrogance, or confidence, or compulsion to justify oneself, that I can’t claim. Did Washington write his memoirs? Did Lincoln, Jefferson, Shakespeare, Socrates?”

-  Joe Allston, 

from Wallace Stegner’s The Spectator Bird.

 

There is no arrogance here. There are no grandiose ambitions. No need to justify. I genuinely feel wise in realizing that I’m really no one important. One day if I live long enough, when my memory fails me, I’d want to remember. I’d need to remind myself that it was all worth it. That I’ve learned, loved, and failed, and I mustered enough spirit to sail through the tides. I’d want to cringe and laugh at myself. And hopefully, the regrets might get fewer and fewer. Starting today, 100+ words a day, I become more aware of who I am. 

Quarantine Skills

 

As if practicing for a tounge twister, V. says, impeccable in her delivery --- 

"Squishy squeezy glow masks." 

Kuya I. taught V. to pronounce Llanfair­pwllgwyngyll­gogery­chwyrn­drobwll­llan­tysilio­gogo­goch.

Natural Insemination

 

I'm reading Mieko Kawakami's Breast and Eggs. I also recently read a short story collection by Jeffery Eugenides, one of which, Baster, was a story of an empowered woman keen on getting pregnant through artificial insemination and raising a child on her own. Set in Tokyo and New York, respectively, these stories revolved around this common theme. 

Naturally, I end up using it as an ingridient for the questions I formulate for the lessons. 

With Japan's looming birthrate crisis, is artifical insemination a good idea? 

A student answers, "Yes, having a child, but without a husband. That's a good idea." 

I felt that we laughed genuinely. 

Premium Fakes

 

Northern winds whispering, push your pen (fake Parker ones fresh off the supply chain ships of China.) Having used the real ones, this almost feels just as premium. 

ごちそうさまです

 Thank you, D.