Wednesday, December 5, 2007


Was at the airport early for my flight to Singapore.

Not that I was excited to leave. It was my first time and I thought that if there was going to be any problem or confusion, then at least I'd have time to fix it.

But everything went smoothly. Check in went fine. No problems at Immigration. Smooth.

Plane landed at exactly 11:50 pm tonight. Was at Immigration by 12:25 am. Out the airport by 12:45. At my friend Aileen's house by 1:15.

Met her family, had coffee with her and her hubby, and talked with them about TV, mutinies, politics, prosperity, religion, and the state of the Philippine nation (wow) until about 4:30 am.

As of press time, I have pretty much settled in at Zaq's room. (Aileen was much too kind to let me sleep in her son's room.) I have also set up my Singapore SIM card which will allow me to reach my contacts here more easily. Although I may still need to reconfigure it a bit.

From the Philippines, I can be reached by SMS through my Globe (+639172441221) and Smart (+639217714071) numbers, which are both on roaming. I can also be reached through my Singapore number (+6597789600) while I am here.

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The Chronicler's Creed

Where there's water and sun, where there are friends to see or new people to meet, where there's something new to learn, experience, or do, where there's life, there I will be.


Y fue a esa edad... Llegó la poesía
a buscarme. No sé, no sé de dónde
salió, de invierno o río.
No sé cómo ni cuándo,
no, no eran voces, no eran
palabras, ni silencio,
pero desde una calle me llamaba,
desde las ramas de la noche,
de pronto entre los otros,
entre fuegos violentos
o regresando solo,
allí estaba sin rostro
y me tocaba.

And it was at that age... Poetry arrived
in search of me. I do not know, I do not know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I do not know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

- An excerpt from LA POESÍA (Poetry) by Pablo Neruda