The Guimaras experience

I had never been to Guimaras (ghee-ma-ras) before, a province in the Visayas region of the Philippines. My friend Marnie spent large parts of her childhood there, about a gazillion years ago (har har! She rarely reads this blog, so I have no compunctions about poking a bit of fun at her). Her town in Guimaras was celebrating its annual fiesta, and I was glad to have been invited.

From Manila, we flew south to Iloilo City at 5:30 AM, getting there about an hour or so later. We then had to take a 20-minute ride on a ferry to reach Guimaras.

En route to Guimaras from Iloilo. That's me sticking my tongue out, haha

Once there, we rode a van that took us to Marnie's town. Many modern-day technologies we take for granted were missing on that island, but man, it sure abounded in Mother Nature's gifts. Everyone is glad that the island has recovered nicely from last year's terrible oil spill.

The beaches we went to were once again in pristine condition.





The beach in the pictures above is on an island called Yato, which isn't attached to the town proper. It's still located within the province of Guimaras. To get there, we had to ride a kind of outrigger canoe for about 5-8 minutes. The canoe didn't have any shade and it was damn hot, that's why we're looking like refugees under our towels.

On our way to Yato Island under the blistering sun

There were hardly any tourists, and absolutely next-to-nonexistent commercial establishments (if you don't count the tiny sari-sari stores, or convenience stores). Just Mother Nature at her best. We hiked to some big rocks situated out in the ocean (during low tide) and we could see and feel the fishes swimming between our legs. Sitting on the rocks under the shade of some trees, looking out on the seemingly endless blues and greens, reveling in the salty wind...ahh, indescribable.

Marnie taking a breather

Now I'm hungry for some Guimaras mangoes. I'm also remembering how bright and clear the stars seemed to be -- and oh so close. It was like I could almost touch them. They were almost within arm's reach; all one had to do was to extend her hand to the heavens and presto! Stardust at your fingertips. Magical. No need to pull up one's skirt.

Pics and stories about the fiesta and some rock-climbing in Guimaras in my next post.

So...

I'm back.

(That's me in the blue shirt. The other girl is my dear, dear friend Marnie)

After spending a few days with friends here:



and here:



Beautiful locations, memorable experiences. I had a very good time. Made some new, good acquaintances -- thanks to them I revised my initial opinion of a certain place, after looking at it through their eyes.

More later, people. Evidently the white, ultra-fine, powdery sand I shook off from between my toes is still with me -- coating my mind.


(first, third and fourth photos courtesy of my friend LAR)

Once more, unto the breach, dear friends

Had I not seen the Sun
I could have borne the shade
But Light a newer Wilderness
My Wilderness has made --
-Emily Dickinson

It's strange, isn't it, how sometimes something that's supposed to illuminate casts a shadow instead, veiling by the very act of exposing, engendering confusion instead of clarity. How is it that light can sometimes seem to conceal the truth? Damn Bless all poets; they make us delve into the depths of our minds and souls.

The girlfriends and I are flying down south a few hours from now. I will thus be missing in action for a few days. We'll be taking part in a fiesta, stuffing our faces (because fiestas in Philippine provinces are gastronomic orgies, you see). Going to a couple of islands, soaking up the sun's rays, bathing in the sea, generally just lazing around -- these are pretty much the items on our agenda. I'll post pictures when I get back.

Pictures. All of us have them in our minds, playing in a mad slideshow that refuses to stop. It can be fun, it can be exasperating. Depends on your mood and the images, really. Aarrrgghh, stop me. I'm just so looking forward to basking in the sun on islands I've never been to.



I am ♥ing this song so much, and not just because it was covered by Coldplay and REM's Michael Stipe. I think it rocks. It's for you. And for me.

Have a great weekend, everyone! Stay safe. Don't do anything I wouldn't do (which is plenty since I'm probably the biggest wuss there is, was, and will be this side of the world). I'll be back online around Thursday (my time) next week. Ciao!

I'm feeling pretty

...pretty sick, that is.

No, no, not the puking-up-my-intestines kind of sick, not even the burning-up-with-fever-and-hallucinating kind of sick (although it sure is damn hot here -- 36.5 degrees Celsius yesterday, that's 97.7 degrees Fahrenheit to you Americans). No, it's more like the dispirited, blech, down in the dumps kind of sick. Which is even worse. It's because of some crappy things that I can't explain (or don't really want to). So be a pal, won't you? Just hold my hand, or give me a reassuring pat on the back, or hug me tight. Chocolate would be nice, too. Thanks. *sniff*

Reading you guys somehow helps lift me out of the doldrums. So many of you make me laugh, and you will never know just how much I appreciate it. So give yourselves a round of applause for your ability to calm the raging madwoman seething just beneath the surface, spewing venomous froth, and stopping her from embarking on a maniacal, murderous castration spree.

[Special moment of appreciation now for my newest source of lightheartedness: Daddy Papersurfer, witty progenitor of Papersurfer and Tiggz, enthralled and willing captive of the magnificently Terrible Goddess. Man, that family is so cool. Their online interactions make me laugh. Go show DaddyP some love and support; he's taking his baby steps in the blogging world. Look, isn't he adorable?]

Another thing that helps to cheer me up when the Fates conspire to use my head for a toilet bowl cleaner or my heart for toilet paper is to imagine myself in an out-of-this-world situation, doing something totally out of character for me, something really outlandish.

Like maybe being a terra cotta statue model. You know, something like those thousands of life-size figures a certain Chinese emperor had with him in his tomb to guard his remains. This guy, for example.


We make quite the couple, don't we? Maybe the ladies thought he was ultra hot back in his day. He's not my type, though. Too stiff. But I'm not totally without fault; the least I could've done was to dress appropriately. What the heck, I have practically no sartorial sense when it comes to tomb attire.

Maybe I could sell plaster casts of myself, to be made into statues, the kind you see watching benevolently over graves in the cemetery.

But imagine a conversation between two archaeologists digging at a gravesite a millennium from now:

Archaeologist 1: Those 21st century people sure had some quaint customs, didn't they? They perpetuated their ancestors' practice of making lifelike sculptures to watch over their tombs and graves.

Archaeologist 2: Yes. They had statues of all sorts of creatures built to watch over them in the afterlife: cats, birds, angels, even figures of children!

A1: Oh, look! [brushes centuries-old dirt off the head of a rather statuesque statue...ha ha ha!] I wonder who this one was?

A2: [squints to read inscription on the statue's ass] It says here that this one was Woman. She blogged.

A1 and A2: Oohhhh. [respectful silence.] Fancy a beer?

[Note to self: erase life-size statue from list of what else I could be aside from what I am right now.]

Manic Monday #10: Tax

Tax is this week's theme word for Morgen's Manic Monday. If you're playing, you can use the theme word (or any of its variations) any way you want to. It's all in the name of fun and creativity.

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People who earn money honestly, through their own hard work, are understandably grumpy whenever the tax season arrives. One can practically hear the collective mental scream of anguish almost everywhere: "No, no! Don't take my money!" To add insult to injury, doing the paperwork can be boring as hell.

Here in the Philippines, personal income tax can range from five to thirty-two percent. That's really, really low when you compare it to personal income tax rates in certain developed countries. According to the OECD (Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development) Taxing Wages report, the top three countries where the average worker (single and childless) takes home less than half his salary or cost of employment in 2006 were Belgium (55.4%), Germany (52.5%) and Hungary (51%). Turkey, Poland, and France were the countries imposing the highest taxes on single-earner, dual-child married couples with average incomes. It isn't only income tax that's depressing. You also have to factor in everyday things like value-added tax, sales tax, service tax, etc. The good thing is that citizens of such countries can avail themselves of benefits and services like state-sponsored education and health care, which are funded from taxation.

Still, everyone moans and groans at the prospect of filing taxes. It's a fact of life for many people and it seems it will stay that way even if we all went riding naked on horseback in the streets (like legend says Lady Godiva did to protest against the heavy taxes levied on her husband's workers).


Hmmm. But that would be one hell of a street party, wouldn't it?