Wednesday, August 20, 2008

Happy Happy Birthday

I don't know, maybe when one gets older, one loses the inclination to party.

Spent the eve of my birthday with my brothers, Ian and Adam. We were drinking and singing - two things we like in common - at my apartment until about 2 in the morning. When they left, I savored my first official night as a single person living alone. (I let go of my maid, rather, was rid of her finally that day so I literally live alone now.)

On D-day, I went to work and met Illac Diaz and his mom, Sylvanna, two very well-adjusted, happy, and generous people. At the shoot, I got a very surprising SMS from a talent coordinator who called me the day before for a project. He told me that the project was pushing through. (More of this in a later entry.)

After work, I spent some time at the office and jammed with some staff. My mom called to greet me, and so did many other good friends. My phone told me I was running out of space in my inbox - it was filling up with birthday greetings from friends and family.

Later, I went to Bar Uno, where one of the hosts asked me what my birthday wish was. I responded with, "I couldn't wish for anything else. I have everything I need."

Up to now, the words still ring in my head.

Yes, I do have everything I need.

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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.

LA POESÍA

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