Friday, July 26, 2013
on writing 30
Eventually, we all will "write 30".
I wanted to write mine last June 20.
it had all been planned. use up all my resources, then just quietly go into the night, quietly chasing against the dying of the light. but monkey wrenches often find their way into the middle of all the best planned things. the monkey wrench was in the form of an email, asking if i still had chubby's remains. and i remembered why i tried to keep everything the way they were for the past three years; everything in the same place it was, since 2010. it was to aid in someone's recovery. and i knew that if i write 30, then the recovery would surely be compromised. unfortunately, without resources, how else will you be able to go to june 21?
and so, the plans had to be shelved.
unfortunately, without resources, i will also be in a worst pickle, on my own.
and now it is july 24, with still no projects in sight, i think my options have been lined up for me already.
apologies if this will throw your recovery into haywire.
there is a difference between not trying, and not having opportunities. and now, there are no opportunities for me. not for lack of intent, but rather, a genuine lack of opportunities. again, apologies for not being able to grow old with you.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Driving to Paradise
It again took 3 solid days of convincing before I budged.
It wasn't that i had to be convinced about this place up north, but rather, it was the gruelling 600km drive sitting between me and the destination that was providing much of the resistance.
The place had convinced me once before that it was paradise.
And while my memory of that once before has started getting cloudy, the photographs I took there were still crystal clear in my mind. And then the 600 kilometer road trip started to become less objectionable.
It was pitched to me as a surfing destination. Not that it would appeal more to me because of that, but having successfully photographed the surfers of Baler a year ago, it kinda made me start thinking about it.
The person doing the convincing also knew which buttons to press. He got me by dangling images of the menu. aside from being a foodie, I also get my kicks looking at good photos of food. And the images were top-class; taken by several internationally known surfing photographers. I said yes at around this time.
I take time to browse their surfing photos and could not believe that the place actually had 7-10 foot waves breaking out into pipelines. In the Philippines, I have never seen anything like it. And so the roadtrip was on.
Of course I knew that waves in summer tend to be as flat as a pool. But I wanted to talk with the people who set up this resort while only on vacation from a first world country. I wanted to see what they saw 10 years ago, when all there was were four shacks scattered around. It isn't every day that you will get to have a conversation with people who could see paradise when just about everyone else saw desolation.
Just like me, Mike had hung out with people at least 20 years his senior early on in his life. And as I learned my life lessons from their collective wisdom, Mike picked up a common theme from them as well.
"It was like they would always say I should have done this or done that while I was young. And when Alma and I saw what Pagudpud had, we decided that we wanted to do this while we were still actually young!" And apparently, the rest is history.
They chose a rocky part of the long shoreline and started setting down their roots for the long haul. It was apparently a surfer's strategy so that their beachfront wouldn't be crowded by the sandlovers, which are simply too many. Surfers already have enough on their plate riding the monster waves; avoiding bobbing swimmers heads that suddenly appear in their line was something that was better if resolved from the start. I start seeing their logic.
Meanwhile, I get handed a Margarita. It is a special concoction originally mixed by Alma. I take a sip. And another.
And while refreshing for the summer heat, I prefer a stronger hit. Alcoholics also do. So they give me a slammer or banger. And even if i didn't catch the right name, I immediately ask for seconds. Mike returns with photos from his cellphone showing me waves that look like the pipelines of Hawaii. The photos are superb, as they were taken by some of the best international surfing photographers. Bali, I ask innocently half knowing the water quality had to be Hawaii and knowing that Mike was a sponsored surfer by a big and distinguished brand. "That's Pagudpud during typhoon season when they turn away towards Japan." My jaw drops. 10 to 15 foot swells. Pipelines big enough for buses to fit through. Now I suddenly see what they saw 10 years ago. They saw paradise on top of a surfboard while everyone else just saw an angry sea.
I reach for the menu. Mike takes the fish burger. I opt for the local meat favorite.
He talks about having many many beautiful action shots, done by the top photographers as part of his endorsement deal, but are never ever used by his sponsors. "You know there are days when you just want to be a model..." "yeah" i reply; having been an endorser as well. But I have had my billboards. And I have had people asking for my autograph in public gatherings. "yeah...its a nice feeling when people recognize you from this magazine or that cover shoot." But then, eventually you try to find your own shangri-la to escape from it all.
I look at the menu once more and I see the home made pancakes. They seem to be a metaphor of Pagudpud. Rough in places, but oozing with creamy goodness nonetheless.
Perhaps you just have to know what you are looking at.
And apparently, Alma & Mike did.
Jesus Paul C. Yan
for The Paul Yan Chronicles.
Kapuluan Vista Resort. Awarded "Most Innovative" beach resort in Northern Philippines.
www.kapuluanvista.com
to view more food offerings from kapuluan vista, please click
http://itspaulyan.weebly.com/hunger.html
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Trying to think strait
It has been eleven months since my last post; and eleven months since my brother Joel passed away. Life has been an odd mix of ups and downs since then, and in that order. I stopped posting for as long as i could as i knew that the time was just about right when i would need to post without having to worry about it being immediately read within the day, which was a common occurance up until 12 months ago.
The thoughts which had been running through my head since 2009 have lately made a reappearance, and at the same intensity. I have seven days left to resolve it. And i have not been thinking strait.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
My Brother Joel, in Memoriam
work in progress...
He was fifth of six children. Willed perhaps to be the last, but pushed by destiny to make room for another one. And that was me.
He carried my father's name. In fact, he was the only one in my family with a single-name first-name when all of us had two.
I came six years after him, when they were all on their way to being teenagers. The six-year gap was the closest I could relate to, most especially with the games I wanted to play, which were much to close to child's play as far as everyone else was concerned. So naturally, I gravitated towards him.
Childhood games weren't too fun when you live in New Manila, where neighbors rarely see beyond 10foot tall walls, so I was pretty much left to my own devices most of the time. The few moments I could convince my brother to play with me, I would almost always be at the losing side. One such instance on a lazy saturday morning while we were at my mother's garden, he picks up two pieces of chili and invents a game where we would chew one each. Of course I was too intelligent to fall for that, as Philippine chili is known as one of the hottest in the world. So he went first. He popped a red one in his mouth and chewed with gusto. Mesmerized, I too popped the other chili and cried my eyes out on the first bite. He breaks into laughter as he sticks his tongue out with his chili still whole. That is what I meant by being on the losing end.
We had a huge fishpond which housed dozens of Chinese Carp and Goldfish, bought wholesale from a grower in Bulacan. We also had guppies which we caught from the drainage canals around New Manila. I remember it was a Sunday when my brother and I decided we wanted to go net-fishing. Going around the house, we spotted the curtain in one room and my brother decided it would work as well as a fish net. He took it down, and we jumped into the pond. We would dredge the pond from here to there and more often than not the curtain would slip from my grasp as it became too heavy with muck and my brother would get upset at me. Eventually we were able to pull up all the guppies we could, which we then kept in 4 mason jars. aquariums then were not as popular as fishbowls, which were in turn not as popular as mason jars. My mom came home shortly after that. And while she probably noticed the missing curtain, we never got heat from her. I do not know what the occasion was but we had ice cream at dinner time that night. In those days, ice cream came with a stick of dry ice, as refrigerators were also not yet that plentiful. While I was ogling my guppies in one of the mason jars, my brother casually suggests that we drop a small chuck of dry ice, which we did. Dry ice dropped in water produces a low lying mist which made my mason jar of guppies even nicer to watch. After a minute the dry ice was gone, so I ask my brother to drop a bigger chunk. Bigger chunks of dry ice produce more intense mist. They also cause water to swirl around faster and faster. For the first few seconds, the effect was spectacular; and I was enjoying the show! after about a minute, i notice that my guppies were starting to be disoriented and were going belly up. I pleaded to my brother to do something as the fishes were apparently dying. He got upset as he felt I was blaming him for the situation. I remember crying my eyes out for my guppies. Fish in a fishbowl and dry ice do not mix. I was probably 7 then.
My brother had a way of always making his experiences, mundane if it were anyone else, seem like it was the best thing on Earth. When I was in grade 7, the in thing in public transport was the airconditioned LOVE BUS. These were among the first public transport buses that had airconditioning, in the time when cars were offered for sale without airconditioning; it was an add-on option along with a push-button A.M. radio. The Love Bus routes were Ali Mall in Cubao, Alemar's in Makati, and Escolta; which were the business districts back then. Ortigas was virtually a ghost town in 1979, having only 3 buildings, Philcomcen tower and Meralco on Ortigas Avenue, and SMC along Julia Vargas. I would tell him about my first few times on the Love Bus, and he would respond that the "in" thing were the baby buses that plied the recto-crossing-cainta route. These baby buses were equipped with black lighting, wooden "lawanit" windows, and KP400 eight-track cassette players blurting out the latest rock music from Queen, Led Zep, Nazareth, Pink Floyd and Deep Purple on the loudest tweeters around. keep in mind that the baby buses were eventually pulled out from the streets for not being road-worthy a couple of years later, but he told it in such a way that I wished that my school was somewhere in the University Belt just so I could ride in what he was riding. That was my brother. Everything was always magical.
Speaking of Love Buses...did I mention that they had buzzers per row, per side? And curtains too! Two of my memorable Love Bus trips come to mind...
1) it was a saturday afternoon and my other brother Julius brought me along to Ali Mall; he bought me an entire box of Daisy fresh strawberry milk! They were 250ml tetra packs, 24 or 27pieces per box, costing 1 peso each. I was sooo happy.
2) my dad brought me to Escolta on a Saturday lunch for a 35 course chinese buffet!
Now, back to my brother.
There were several stories I have heard about him when he was in his heydeys in high school. these stories seem to be too good to be true, but I am telling them as I remember it.
In the mid 70's, basketball was the most popular form of entertainment in Manila as virtually everything else had been banned by the Martial Law government. And while institutional gambling was outlawed, personal betting in one form or another were reaching new highs. My brother and his batchmates were also into it. Crispa and Toyota were the two most popular teams playing in the PBA, which had games every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday at the Big Dome. So, on days where those two teams were playing, bets would be made left and right. My brother, who always sees opportunities, saw a way to tilt the odds in his favor. He had a gangmate who was Buddhist; and while Buddhists do not gamble, Buddhists have easy access to their temples which had the fortune sticks. Fortune sticks are also known as wish sticks. Wish sticks are like chopsticks stacked inside a bamboo tumbler. Devotees who wish to know their fortune shakes up the bamboo tumbler while asking a question. The first stick that comes out is the answer to the question. So, his big idea was to seek the help of the Buddhist fortune sticks in predicting the outcome of the Crispa-Toyota game, and they would then bet accordingly. From what I know, they won all their bets except the last one. And that in itself is another short story.. Apparently, his Buddhist gangmate felt that he was getting the short end of the deal, and so he gave a different winning team from what was predicted by the fortune sticks... Mark Twain'ish right?
In his third of forth year, he was a representative in interschool Karate competitions. As he was good at it, he eventually made his way to the finals, where he was pitted against a fellow brown belter. Already knowing his correct Psywar technics, he swapped his brown belt for a yellow belt and pretended to know less Karate than he actually did. During the match, he let his opponent chase him around, and then baited him before giving a solid blow to the solar plexus. He was champion of that tournament, and a school hero when he came back.
At school he was a legend; playing Mahjong at lunchbreak, in a school that rarely allows students out for lunch, across the main gate at the townhouses where our parking lot used to be, with Alona Alegre. Everybody wanted to tag along with him.
But I think his most legendary exploit was when he organized a cockfight, inside the school premises, during the school fair. In what was a very publicised underground activity (much along the shades of a Mark Twain novel) my brother was going to pit his rooster versus the rooster of a very prominent cockfighting family. Over the course of the next four weeks, he would announce little bits and pieces to drum up bigger and bigger interest into their cockfight. Here is how I presumed he lined up his underground information releases:
1) cockfight inside Xavier!
2) cockfight between a derby winner and his rooster.
3) Joel's rooster is not a fighting cock, but a Leghorn.
4) Joel's White Leghorn has just been bought from the Kamuning Market the week before!
5) 3 days to go before the derby winner goes against Joel's White LegHorn.
You can probably imagine what level of betting frenzy they had by then. Private School boys on their final year, attempting to do something that no one in their right mind will approve; and then betting on an outcome with seemingly impossible odds. Joel, the school hero, organizer of the cockfight, fighting his market-quality white leghorn versus a derby champion line. And if you know my brother, you will know that his white leghorn will win; which is exactly what happened. Like I said, my brother has the ability to weave magic into his existence. And he left Xavier a hero in the eyes of his peers.
He eventually set his career path in the world of Finance, making a name for himself quite quickly. After about a decade, he slowly shifted his priorities towards a simpler life, away from the limelight. His chosen hometown, Antipolo, was where he set his roots.
work in progress...
He was fifth of six children. Willed perhaps to be the last, but pushed by destiny to make room for another one. And that was me.
He carried my father's name. In fact, he was the only one in my family with a single-name first-name when all of us had two.
I came six years after him, when they were all on their way to being teenagers. The six-year gap was the closest I could relate to, most especially with the games I wanted to play, which were much to close to child's play as far as everyone else was concerned. So naturally, I gravitated towards him.
Childhood games weren't too fun when you live in New Manila, where neighbors rarely see beyond 10foot tall walls, so I was pretty much left to my own devices most of the time. The few moments I could convince my brother to play with me, I would almost always be at the losing side. One such instance on a lazy saturday morning while we were at my mother's garden, he picks up two pieces of chili and invents a game where we would chew one each. Of course I was too intelligent to fall for that, as Philippine chili is known as one of the hottest in the world. So he went first. He popped a red one in his mouth and chewed with gusto. Mesmerized, I too popped the other chili and cried my eyes out on the first bite. He breaks into laughter as he sticks his tongue out with his chili still whole. That is what I meant by being on the losing end.
We had a huge fishpond which housed dozens of Chinese Carp and Goldfish, bought wholesale from a grower in Bulacan. We also had guppies which we caught from the drainage canals around New Manila. I remember it was a Sunday when my brother and I decided we wanted to go net-fishing. Going around the house, we spotted the curtain in one room and my brother decided it would work as well as a fish net. He took it down, and we jumped into the pond. We would dredge the pond from here to there and more often than not the curtain would slip from my grasp as it became too heavy with muck and my brother would get upset at me. Eventually we were able to pull up all the guppies we could, which we then kept in 4 mason jars. aquariums then were not as popular as fishbowls, which were in turn not as popular as mason jars. My mom came home shortly after that. And while she probably noticed the missing curtain, we never got heat from her. I do not know what the occasion was but we had ice cream at dinner time that night. In those days, ice cream came with a stick of dry ice, as refrigerators were also not yet that plentiful. While I was ogling my guppies in one of the mason jars, my brother casually suggests that we drop a small chuck of dry ice, which we did. Dry ice dropped in water produces a low lying mist which made my mason jar of guppies even nicer to watch. After a minute the dry ice was gone, so I ask my brother to drop a bigger chunk. Bigger chunks of dry ice produce more intense mist. They also cause water to swirl around faster and faster. For the first few seconds, the effect was spectacular; and I was enjoying the show! after about a minute, i notice that my guppies were starting to be disoriented and were going belly up. I pleaded to my brother to do something as the fishes were apparently dying. He got upset as he felt I was blaming him for the situation. I remember crying my eyes out for my guppies. Fish in a fishbowl and dry ice do not mix. I was probably 7 then.
My brother had a way of always making his experiences, mundane if it were anyone else, seem like it was the best thing on Earth. When I was in grade 7, the in thing in public transport was the airconditioned LOVE BUS. These were among the first public transport buses that had airconditioning, in the time when cars were offered for sale without airconditioning; it was an add-on option along with a push-button A.M. radio. The Love Bus routes were Ali Mall in Cubao, Alemar's in Makati, and Escolta; which were the business districts back then. Ortigas was virtually a ghost town in 1979, having only 3 buildings, Philcomcen tower and Meralco on Ortigas Avenue, and SMC along Julia Vargas. I would tell him about my first few times on the Love Bus, and he would respond that the "in" thing were the baby buses that plied the recto-crossing-cainta route. These baby buses were equipped with black lighting, wooden "lawanit" windows, and KP400 eight-track cassette players blurting out the latest rock music from Queen, Led Zep, Nazareth, Pink Floyd and Deep Purple on the loudest tweeters around. keep in mind that the baby buses were eventually pulled out from the streets for not being road-worthy a couple of years later, but he told it in such a way that I wished that my school was somewhere in the University Belt just so I could ride in what he was riding. That was my brother. Everything was always magical.
Speaking of Love Buses...did I mention that they had buzzers per row, per side? And curtains too! Two of my memorable Love Bus trips come to mind...
1) it was a saturday afternoon and my other brother Julius brought me along to Ali Mall; he bought me an entire box of Daisy fresh strawberry milk! They were 250ml tetra packs, 24 or 27pieces per box, costing 1 peso each. I was sooo happy.
2) my dad brought me to Escolta on a Saturday lunch for a 35 course chinese buffet!
Now, back to my brother.
There were several stories I have heard about him when he was in his heydeys in high school. these stories seem to be too good to be true, but I am telling them as I remember it.
In the mid 70's, basketball was the most popular form of entertainment in Manila as virtually everything else had been banned by the Martial Law government. And while institutional gambling was outlawed, personal betting in one form or another were reaching new highs. My brother and his batchmates were also into it. Crispa and Toyota were the two most popular teams playing in the PBA, which had games every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday at the Big Dome. So, on days where those two teams were playing, bets would be made left and right. My brother, who always sees opportunities, saw a way to tilt the odds in his favor. He had a gangmate who was Buddhist; and while Buddhists do not gamble, Buddhists have easy access to their temples which had the fortune sticks. Fortune sticks are also known as wish sticks. Wish sticks are like chopsticks stacked inside a bamboo tumbler. Devotees who wish to know their fortune shakes up the bamboo tumbler while asking a question. The first stick that comes out is the answer to the question. So, his big idea was to seek the help of the Buddhist fortune sticks in predicting the outcome of the Crispa-Toyota game, and they would then bet accordingly. From what I know, they won all their bets except the last one. And that in itself is another short story.. Apparently, his Buddhist gangmate felt that he was getting the short end of the deal, and so he gave a different winning team from what was predicted by the fortune sticks... Mark Twain'ish right?
In his third of forth year, he was a representative in interschool Karate competitions. As he was good at it, he eventually made his way to the finals, where he was pitted against a fellow brown belter. Already knowing his correct Psywar technics, he swapped his brown belt for a yellow belt and pretended to know less Karate than he actually did. During the match, he let his opponent chase him around, and then baited him before giving a solid blow to the solar plexus. He was champion of that tournament, and a school hero when he came back.
At school he was a legend; playing Mahjong at lunchbreak, in a school that rarely allows students out for lunch, across the main gate at the townhouses where our parking lot used to be, with Alona Alegre. Everybody wanted to tag along with him.
But I think his most legendary exploit was when he organized a cockfight, inside the school premises, during the school fair. In what was a very publicised underground activity (much along the shades of a Mark Twain novel) my brother was going to pit his rooster versus the rooster of a very prominent cockfighting family. Over the course of the next four weeks, he would announce little bits and pieces to drum up bigger and bigger interest into their cockfight. Here is how I presumed he lined up his underground information releases:
1) cockfight inside Xavier!
2) cockfight between a derby winner and his rooster.
3) Joel's rooster is not a fighting cock, but a Leghorn.
4) Joel's White Leghorn has just been bought from the Kamuning Market the week before!
5) 3 days to go before the derby winner goes against Joel's White LegHorn.
You can probably imagine what level of betting frenzy they had by then. Private School boys on their final year, attempting to do something that no one in their right mind will approve; and then betting on an outcome with seemingly impossible odds. Joel, the school hero, organizer of the cockfight, fighting his market-quality white leghorn versus a derby champion line. And if you know my brother, you will know that his white leghorn will win; which is exactly what happened. Like I said, my brother has the ability to weave magic into his existence. And he left Xavier a hero in the eyes of his peers.
He eventually set his career path in the world of Finance, making a name for himself quite quickly. After about a decade, he slowly shifted his priorities towards a simpler life, away from the limelight. His chosen hometown, Antipolo, was where he set his roots.
work in progress...
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Running On Empty
My dad loved cars. In his heydey, he had several good marquees. I remember the Peugeot, Triumph, and even a Karmann Ghia. But being such a young child then, I can barely associate any memory with those vehicles. Aside from the badges, I have a faint recollection of their colors. The Peugeot was probably black or dark blue. The Triumph may have been green and white, while the Karmann Ghia was almost certainly gold.
The family business was logging, which, for a while, was very profitable. But like most things, it eventually came to an end. Things ended just as a dictatorship was taking shape. Of course it did not help that over on the other side of the world, a fuel crisis was about to erupt. Over in Asia, the struggle was for rice, which was underproduced that year, resulting in rationing and famine. Everything seemed to be figuratively tight. And this was about the time I started being aware of the rest of the world. I was seven.
That year also saw an onslaught of several hurricane-strength storms, the strongest plunging Manila into darkness for one entire month.
Somewhere around that time, my sister had to be picked up somewhere and brought home. I tagged along for the joyride with the Triumph, and pretty soon, we were caught up in knee-deep water and slow-moving traffic. We eventually managed to get close to the house when the Triumph's fuel indicator lit up. We hit empty with a couple of blocks still to go. The engine died. My brother kept at the starter as if he was privy to a miracle. After a couple of tries, the engine came back to life! And although we were just barely at "idle" level, the Triumph eventually got us home, safe.
That Triumph "running on empty" was a miracle for me, a seven year old. Over the years, I would remember that situation, and that Triumph, that ran on empty because it had to. Over the years, I had to run on empty several times as well, because I had to. Last year, I also had to run on empty throughout the year, because my emotional gas tank went dry sometime before that. Now I face that same prospect again, but this time with regard to my professional future. Let us see how far I can go this time.
Jesus Paul C. Yan
for The Paul Yan Chronicles
The family business was logging, which, for a while, was very profitable. But like most things, it eventually came to an end. Things ended just as a dictatorship was taking shape. Of course it did not help that over on the other side of the world, a fuel crisis was about to erupt. Over in Asia, the struggle was for rice, which was underproduced that year, resulting in rationing and famine. Everything seemed to be figuratively tight. And this was about the time I started being aware of the rest of the world. I was seven.
That year also saw an onslaught of several hurricane-strength storms, the strongest plunging Manila into darkness for one entire month.
Somewhere around that time, my sister had to be picked up somewhere and brought home. I tagged along for the joyride with the Triumph, and pretty soon, we were caught up in knee-deep water and slow-moving traffic. We eventually managed to get close to the house when the Triumph's fuel indicator lit up. We hit empty with a couple of blocks still to go. The engine died. My brother kept at the starter as if he was privy to a miracle. After a couple of tries, the engine came back to life! And although we were just barely at "idle" level, the Triumph eventually got us home, safe.
That Triumph "running on empty" was a miracle for me, a seven year old. Over the years, I would remember that situation, and that Triumph, that ran on empty because it had to. Over the years, I had to run on empty several times as well, because I had to. Last year, I also had to run on empty throughout the year, because my emotional gas tank went dry sometime before that. Now I face that same prospect again, but this time with regard to my professional future. Let us see how far I can go this time.
Jesus Paul C. Yan
for The Paul Yan Chronicles
Thursday, January 26, 2012
The Whole Of The Moon
dedicated to a fraternity brod who first shared this song with me three weeks ago.
you stretched for the stars
and you know how it feels
to reach too high
too far
too soon
you saw the whole of the moon
from: the whole of the moon, by the Waterboys
2012 started out with anticipation, like all Januaries do. The year also started with three times the usual number of people wanting to sound me out on a range of things. That has been the norm as far back as I can remember. The significance of the sheer number of consults over the years was lost to me perhaps because I had gotten used to it already. Until I heard this song. And then it hit me.
I started going through the recent consults and most of it was about over-reaching, or over-reacting. And here I was, telling them the outcome of their actions far far beyond what they could see. Or conversely, I would realign their proposed actions if I knew that the backlash would be so intense, possibly even life-changing, should it proceed unaltered. Then I would keep quiet and wait for things to unfold.
Although through the years the theme would mostly be the same, what changes would be the situations they find themselves in. Work. Career. Family. Friends. Relationships. And although my advice is rarely followed, or followed to the letter, the outcome is almost always as predicted. And I end up with the pleasure of using my favorite line. "I Told You So".
And inevitably another consult begins again.
Seeing the whole of the moon is easier if you move back a bit. Anyone immersed in a situation will usually be so busy looking at all the details to ever see the big picture. And that applies to everyone.
Now, where do I find someone who can see the whole of the moon for me?
Jesus Paul C. Yan
for The Paul Yan Chronicles
you stretched for the stars
and you know how it feels
to reach too high
too far
too soon
you saw the whole of the moon
from: the whole of the moon, by the Waterboys
2012 started out with anticipation, like all Januaries do. The year also started with three times the usual number of people wanting to sound me out on a range of things. That has been the norm as far back as I can remember. The significance of the sheer number of consults over the years was lost to me perhaps because I had gotten used to it already. Until I heard this song. And then it hit me.
I started going through the recent consults and most of it was about over-reaching, or over-reacting. And here I was, telling them the outcome of their actions far far beyond what they could see. Or conversely, I would realign their proposed actions if I knew that the backlash would be so intense, possibly even life-changing, should it proceed unaltered. Then I would keep quiet and wait for things to unfold.
Although through the years the theme would mostly be the same, what changes would be the situations they find themselves in. Work. Career. Family. Friends. Relationships. And although my advice is rarely followed, or followed to the letter, the outcome is almost always as predicted. And I end up with the pleasure of using my favorite line. "I Told You So".
And inevitably another consult begins again.
Seeing the whole of the moon is easier if you move back a bit. Anyone immersed in a situation will usually be so busy looking at all the details to ever see the big picture. And that applies to everyone.
Now, where do I find someone who can see the whole of the moon for me?
Jesus Paul C. Yan
for The Paul Yan Chronicles
Sunday, January 22, 2012
site updates
It has been a long four months since my last post.
If you are among those who visit regularly, you will have probably chanced upon a message splashed across your screen that the blog "is not available" anymore. This was an offshoot of what was probably a brute-force attack. And although I still cannot fathom why anyone would want to break into my blog, I, along with some hard-core followers, were shaken by the incident.
The Paul Yan Chronicles, my blog, has been my preferred forum to talk out loud about the things and situations that have in some way affected me. My blog has no target audience except myself; for me to occasionally hear my brain talk (or write) in a medium that others can peep into, should they wish to try to get to know me deeper. What would someone get for hacking in to a well-viewed but personal site? I still cannot comprehend.
The site has since been restored.
Perhaps I should again start writing. there is such a thing as inertia of the mind.
To everyone, most especially the people I do not personally know, and those who insist on maintaining their anonymity by just regularly browsing but not posting, I thank you. The number of hits you regularly give my non-commercial site has been flattering. But as I am a social animal that thrives on your comments, please please make it a point to leave one behind, each time you pass by. so that even if we will never ever meet, i will know that you passed by, simply by looking at the flower petals you left behind.
Jesus Paul C. Yan
for The Paul Yan Chronicles
If you are among those who visit regularly, you will have probably chanced upon a message splashed across your screen that the blog "is not available" anymore. This was an offshoot of what was probably a brute-force attack. And although I still cannot fathom why anyone would want to break into my blog, I, along with some hard-core followers, were shaken by the incident.
The Paul Yan Chronicles, my blog, has been my preferred forum to talk out loud about the things and situations that have in some way affected me. My blog has no target audience except myself; for me to occasionally hear my brain talk (or write) in a medium that others can peep into, should they wish to try to get to know me deeper. What would someone get for hacking in to a well-viewed but personal site? I still cannot comprehend.
The site has since been restored.
Perhaps I should again start writing. there is such a thing as inertia of the mind.
To everyone, most especially the people I do not personally know, and those who insist on maintaining their anonymity by just regularly browsing but not posting, I thank you. The number of hits you regularly give my non-commercial site has been flattering. But as I am a social animal that thrives on your comments, please please make it a point to leave one behind, each time you pass by. so that even if we will never ever meet, i will know that you passed by, simply by looking at the flower petals you left behind.
Jesus Paul C. Yan
for The Paul Yan Chronicles
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