Monday, August 30
DV pretty much reminds me of Mong Kok in HK, although it was winter when I was there and I had no sweating and the oppressive smells to worry about. In the streets of Divisoria, people were huffing and pushing in stalls that almost leave no space along the aisles. The lady I first approached for rubber bracelet asked " Wholesale?". That's when I realized this place is for those who mean serious business. I was a bit overwhelmed by the things I saw. There were just heaps and heaps of bags, shoes, toys, clothes, accessories, housewares, and knick-knacks. But once I learned what the "wholesale" price was, my spending urge was itching like crazy again.
Anyways, I was as frugal as best I could. I got my jelly bag for P250 which sells at P750 in the malls near my home. Pretty, pretty shirts that cost 50 bucks which I wore at work today and accessorized with a fresh choker of pearls. I feel like a million dollars, but who would have thought all these cost duh? I have no qualms about brands anyway, except that when I see them at the flea market, I would not think twice about grabbing them. Oh and by the way, I got my beading stuff and I can't be happier.
Thursday, August 26
"I was walking along the road with two friends. The sun was setting. I felt a breath of melancholy - Suddenly the sky turned blood-red. I stopped, and leaned against the railing, deathly tired - looking out across the flaming clouds that hung like blood and a sword over the blue-black fjord and town. My friends walked on - I stood there, trembling with fear. And I sensed a great, infinite scream pass through nature."
by Edvard Munch
(written in his journal in 1892. His painting above, one of the four he made, was recently stolen from the Munch gallery in Oslo, Norway)
Monday, August 23
In college, I got to know Jo. Like Diana, Jo came from a well-to-do family. But she too was self-effacing. Jo and I were like peas in a pod, we were just inseparable and were always doing the same things together. I always felt a tad envious about JoAnn, although not in a bad way. I think she had everything, nice family, nice home, comfortable life---while I was a half-orphan living under the mercy of my relatives who put me through college a little grudgingly by making me do tons of household work than I could manage. Nevertheless, when I was in school, I forgot all about it. I was just happy to be with Jo.
When I left college, we exchanged letters, but soon we would drift away and lose in touch until more than ten years later. One day, I got a call from Jo asking if she could fly over to Manila to see me. Of course I was more than happy to see her. I was a little embarrassed to see her though because I didn't have a house of my own and was doing an 8-hour job, and had really little, if at all, to be proud about. But Jo was simply happy to see me. She stayed at my place for a couple of days, then took the route back to her homeplace via Bacolod. Or so I thought. Little did I know that she was staying in some seedy motel the whole time I thought she has gone back home. I was stormed with calls at my office from her family who demanded to know where she was. It was only then that I learned Jo has gone to me on the pretense of seeing me, but she had wanted a place to stay whilst she was hiding from a husband who was suffering from a chemical imbalance and had wanted to hurt her. She left her daughter with her mom, but didn't let them know where she was going. I felt so sorry for her. I could have helped her with what little I had. But that was the last I heard of her.
There are other people who've walked past my door and changed the shape of my life. At times they've hurt me or made me happy, but always, the notch that lingers is how they've made me the person that I am now.
Friday, August 20
That spare mornings are unkempt
Among shameless mornings.
I anticipate likeaverystupidchild
To care for small things beyond
This pervert hour of
I shout capsules balls wanton minds
Asps wolves flower shaping
And dearly, my oaf figure moves out
Cross and inaudiable.
It is to kiss my own craven kiss
I, am not wanting this
This constricting bed
This waiting swelling
sharon ignes c.88
Thursday, August 5
I’ve read over the net about a job where you work offsite, and just surf companies and various stuff, in order to get paid. I wanted to ask, but never got around to doing it. I make needlepoint as a hobby, but it is simply too tedious and distracting to bring to work because of the intricate parts that will take too much of your attention.
It was only serendipity that would get me to my new hobby, which is beading. I know that this is nothing novel about this; everybody seems to have at one time of another strung her own bracelets or chokers. But I never had in the past done so. I was very interested in what my aunt was doing, she was making a lot of money from her beading business, but she was remiss to teach me. Not that I didn’t ask. On several occasions I had hinted about wanting to learn the craft, and even offering to retail her beads so I would eventually learn how to do it. But all fell on rather deaf ears.
So, I thought if I wanted to learn, there’s always google to begin with. So google I did. But it was different to look at the picture and read instructions, than to learn it hands-on. Having discarded the prospect with my aunt as nil, and the internet not being much of help, I wafted through every tiangge in the nearby malls, and asked about beadings. The girls manning the little stores were either too preoccupied about selling their bracelets, or were too dumb to understand what I wanted. In other words, no bead materials, just ugly and hideous creations that cost a fortune for the easily duped. I didn’t want to buy their bracelets. I wanted to make my own.
I was on my way out of the mall when I was waylaid by another Muslim (they all seem to be) stall owner and offered her bracelets. I said I wanted materials, not the finished product, and she said she had some to offer. We talked a bit more, and I learned that she lived in the same apartment where we last rented. I had often been circumspect about talking to shrouded Muslim women because I had quite dismissed them as belligerent insular people who are suspicious of everyone standing next to them. But Ami was different. She was friendly, sweet even, and very helpful.
That’s how my little affair with beads began. She offered to teach me how to string, in exchange for my purchases and my loyalty to her store. Heck, she even gave me discounts. Well, I didn’t know if indeed it came in cheap since I haven’t really hit Divisoria and looked at the wholesale prices. More importantly though, I learned to make my first bracelets and chokers---and mind, it was THAT easy.
Consequently, I have become an entrepreneur of the smallest scale by selling my charm thingamabobs. What started out as a cheap subterfuge for many a boring days at work and off-work has thrived to be a business, and is now fetching quite well. I have somehow proved husband wrong when I said HE was going to help me sell the beads and he gave me that no- fucking-way glare from across the room . The condescencion I understood, but I nevertheless felt undaunted about hitting it off with the girls in his office. Never knew that panache in me.
Indeed, the beads sold like hotcakes and were gone by mid-morning. Orders are pending, and last I was told they are looking for more. I couldn't be any happier. I have at least something new to talk about now- if and when- I get to walk through my insipid blog spot again.