OMG

Really, the heat is incredible here. I don't know if it's because I passed through winter or what, but it's really different from the heat I'm used to. It's like, it's all over you. Back home, the sun is really hot, but when you're in the shade, everything's fine, 'cause the breeze is always cool. But here, the air is so freakin' hot, only the air-conditioner is the refuge. It feels like Manila. It must be the cities, all the pollution, and global warming.

Now I know why some people prefer the cold. Hmmm. Next time, remind me not to live in a big city covered entirely with cement and with no shady trees in sight.

[ADD-ON]
I just realized that my new favorite word is really.

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Chatters Party

Finally went to my first mIRC party last Saturday! :D It was an Undernet #Japan and #Tokyochat get-together which was at a BBQ place in Higashijujo, Tokyo, which is like 2 hours from where I live. I wasn't gonna go because of my limited finances, but with prodding from quite a few people, I went, thinking that I would never probably get this chance ever again in my life. And I'm glad I went, because it was totally fun.

First we went to a yakiniku place, and then spent the entire night until 4:00 am (which is when there are trains again) at a karaoke. I love karaoke, and it was fun... just that after about over 4 hours of singing, it felt as if we were just there to pass the time till the trains would be working again. I spent a few hours of sleep at Morigen and Chong's place after that. I didn't wanna butt in for the second weekend in a row, but he insisted, so why not? It was better not to make the journey back to the mountains (because I literally do live on a mountain, or hill at least) that early. All the people I met were so nice, so it was all good! I hope I'll be able to meet them again in the future.

Clockwise from Left: Nica, Naka, Morigen, Haniwa, Kensang, Orochi's wife, Orochi and their baby, Onda (Orochi's friend), me, Chong, and Carol

yakiniku - Japanese BBQ

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Hungry For Your Love

This is such a beautiful story... read it.

Herman and Roma Rosenblat

Hungry for Your Love
by Herman and Roma Rosenblat
As told to Barbara DeAngelis, Ph.D.

It is cold, so bitter cold, on this dark, winter day in 1942. But it is no different from any other day in this Nazi concentration camp. I stand shivering in my thin rags, still in disbelief that this nightmare is happening. I am just a young boy. I should be playing with friends; I should be going to school; I should be looking forward to a future, to growing up and marrying, and having a family of my own. But those dreams are for the living, and I am no longer one of them. Instead, I am almost dead, surviving from day to day, from hour to hour, ever since I was taken from my home and brought here with tens of thousands other Jews. Will I still be alive tomorrow? Will I be taken to the gas chamber tonight?

Back and forth I walk next to the barbed wire fence, trying to keep my emaciated body warm. I am hungry, but I have been hungry for longer than I want to remember. I am always hungry. Edible food seems like a dream. Each day as more of us disappear, the happy past seems like a mere dream, and I sink deeper and deeper into despair. Suddenly, I notice a young girl walking past on the other side of the barbed wire. She stops and looks at me with sad eyes, eyes that seem to say that she understands, that she, too, cannot fathom why I am here. I want to look away, oddly ashamed for this stranger to see me like this, but I cannot tear my eyes from hers.

Then she reaches into her pocket, and pulls out a red apple. A beautiful, shiny red apple. Oh, how long has it been since I have seen one! She looks cautiously to the left and to the right, and then with a smile of triumph, quickly throws the apple over the fence. I run to pick it up, holding it in my trembling, frozen fingers. In my world of death, this apple is an expression of life, of love. I glance up in time to see the girl disappearing into the distance.

The next day, I cannot help myself-I am drawn at the same time to that spot near the fence. Am I crazy for hoping she will come again? Of course. But in here, I cling to any tiny scrap of hope. She has given me hope and I must hold tightly to it.

And again, she comes. And again, she brings me an apple, flinging it over the fence with that same sweet smile.

This time I catch it, and hold it up for her to see. Her eyes twinkle. Does she pity me? Perhaps. I do not care, though. I am just so happy to gaze at her. And for the first time in so long, I feel my heart move with emotion.

For seven months, we meet like this. Sometimes we exchange a few words. Sometimes, just an apple. But she is feeding more than my belly, this angel from heaven. She is feeding my soul. And somehow, I know I am feeding hers as well.

One day, I hear frightening news: we are being shipped to another camp. This could mean the end for me. And it definitely means the end for me and my friend.

The next day when I greet her, my heart is breaking, and I can barely speak as I say what must be said: "Do not bring me an apple tomorrow," I tell her. "I am being sent to another camp. We will never see each other again." Turning before I lose all control, I run away from the fence. I cannot bear to look back. If I did, I know she would see me standing there, with tears streaming down my face.

Months pass and the nightmare continues. But the memory of this girl sustains me through the terror, the pain, the hopelessness. Over and over in my mind, I see her face, her kind eyes, I hear her gentle words, I taste those apples.

And then one day, just like that, the nightmare is over. The war has ended. Those of us who are still alive are freed. I have lost everything that was precious to me, including my family. But I still have the memory of this girl, a memory I carry in my heart and gives me the will to go on as I move to America to start a new life.

Years pass. It is 1957. I am living in New York City. A friend convinces me to go on a blind date with a lady friend of his. Reluctantly, I agree. But she is nice, this woman named Roma. And like me, she is an immigrant, so we have at least that in common.

"Where were you during the war?" Roma asks me gently, in that delicate way immigrants ask one another questions about those years.

"I was in a concentration camp in Germany," I reply.

Roma gets a far away look in her eyes, as if she is remembering something painful yet sweet.

"What is it?" I ask.

"I am just thinking about something from my past, Herman," Roma explains in a voice suddenly very soft. "You see, when I was a young girl, I lived near a concentration camp. There was a boy there, a prisoner, and for a long while, I used to visit him every day. I remember I used to bring him apples. I would throw the apple over the fence, and he would be so happy."

Roma sighs heavily and continues. "It is hard to describe how we felt about each other-after all, we were young, and we only exchanged a few words when we could-but I can tell you, there was much love there. I assume he was killed like so many others. But I cannot bear to think that, and so I try to remember him as he was for those months we were given together."

With my heart pounding so loudly I think it will explode, I look directly at Roma and ask, "And did that boy say to you one day, 'Do not bring me an apple tomorrow. I am being sent to another camp'?"

"Why, yes," Roma responds, her voice trembling.

"But, Herman, how on earth could you possibly know that?"

I take her hands in mine and answer, "Because I was that young boy, Roma."

For many moments, there is only silence. We cannot take our eyes from each other, and as the veils of time lift, we recognize the soul behind the eyes, the dear friend we once loved so much, whom we have never stopped loving, whom we have never stopped remembering.

Finally, I speak: "Look, Roma, I was separated from you once, and I don't ever want to be separated from you again. Now, I am free, and I want to be together with you forever. Dear, will you marry me?"

I see that same twinkle in her eye that I used to see as Roma says, "Yes, I will marry you," and we embrace, the embrace we longed to share for so many months, but barbed wire came between us. Now, nothing ever will again.

Almost forty years have passed since that day when I found my Roma again. Destiny brought us together the first time during the war to show me a promise of hope and now it had reunited us to fulfill that promise.

Valentine's Day, 1996. I bring Roma to the Oprah Winfrey Show to honor her on national television. I want to tell her infront of millions of people what I feel in my heart every day:
"Darling, you fed me in the concentration camp when I was hungry. And I am still hungry, for something I will never get enough of: I am only hungry for your love."

[ADD-ON]
This was truly an amazing story. Unfortunately, the truth came out. In 2008, Herman Rosenblat admitted that this story was fabricated. Huh! Sad.

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Uh-huh

In The Japan Times June 11, 2004 issue, Jack Gallagher, in an article entitled Verdict in O.J. criminal trial still a divisive issue quotes--

"If you want to know what it's like to be black in America, move to Japan."

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Yeah

Ah, what a busy past few days it has been! It all started on Wednesday. We watched Troy right after our Japanese History class. It was okay, not the best, but not the worst either.

Friday afternoon, we had to haul ass as we had to be in Tokyo right after our class in the morning for a Gender and Nation International Symposium in Shibuya. It was very interesting and informative, even though long (because the Japanese have a way of saying a lot of things going around the topic and not directly to the point). There were a number of foreign speakers too, though, so it was good.

It was a two-day thingie, and my Russian friend and IRC chatmate, Morigen offered his (and his gf's) place in Nippori for us (Annie and myself) to stay at overnight. That was cool coz we didn't have to come back to our boring dorm and beat the stupid curfew. We went with them to karaoke, which was fun, but before that I also met Haniwa, another chatmate from IRC. Morigen had a copy of Kill Bill, and since we had not seen it yet, we watched it. What an insane movie that is, very arienai. LOL.

Now it's back to the dorm, and doing the laundry. :'(

arienai - something that's not likely to happen; impossible

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French Open 2004

Wow, wasn't that a great Roland Garros Men's Final! Whoooooo!

The last time I watched a Grand Slam final was in 2001, during Wimbledon, when my favorite Australian Patrick Rafter was having his second consecutive shot to win the Wimbledon trophy. But Goran Ivanisevic defeated him *sob sob*, and at the end of the season, he retired (he's back playing doubles now, though), so I stopped watching tennis.

So for the first time in a long time, I watched a Grand Slam final, and it was so so great! I can't believe Gaston Gaudio won it. He was down two sets, but he made a comeback. Amazing! Of course, Guillermo Coria was cramping a bit, but that game was still amazing! When Gaudio cried while he made his speech, it was so adorable. I just loved his attitude all through-out the game. He just kept laughing and smiling while working hard for it. And and and...

He's sooooo hot! ^^;

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Lazy

Urg. Lazy Saturday morning. Whoever said weekends are nice? Weekends are only nice if you have something to do, somewhere to go. But since I'm still down with the colds, might as well just stay here at our ultra boring dorm and bum around.

I'm still in the middle of Villette by Charlotte Bronte. Oh my God, that book is soo freakin' hard to read! It's very intelligently written, but nothing ever happens to the main character! It's too long, and there's soo much French that you have to keep on going to the notes every single time (unless of course, you understand French) that now I don't even bother doing that anymore. If you want to brag about the books you've been reading, yeah, go ahead and read this. But, if you're just bored, no, don't read this book, 'cause you'll get even more bored. Hahahah.

I just finished reading Tokyo Stories by Christine Cunanan-Miki, and that is one hilarious book! If you're ever planning to come live in Japan, better read this book beforehand. It's also very good for those people who think they know so much about Japan, but actually don't. :)


Movie Review: Schindler's List
Starring: Liam Neeson, Ben Kingsley
I wasn't able to see this movie before so when I learned it was on tv last night, I just had to watch it. Oh my God, it's sooo good! It's so sad! Those poor Jews! And then that movie made me say to : "Look at those poor Jews. All throughout the history of mankind, they've been abused and persecuted. But they don't go and become terrorists (or something like that--you know what I mean)!" People should be more like Jews, I think.

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Cool.

Found something nice on someone's journal:

'Borderless world does not preclude the idea of a home'
By Patricia Evangelista
May 23, 2004 - Inquirer News Service

THE PHILIPPINES' Patricia Evangelista, 19, won the International Public Speaking competition conducted by the English Speaking Union [ESU] in London early this month. The second-year Mass Communications student from the University of the Philippines, Diliman, beat 59 other student contestants from 37 countries, with her five-minute talk on the theme, "A Borderless World."

In November, she will formally accept her award at Buckingham Palace from Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh and president of the ESU. Following is her prize-winning speech:


WHEN I was little, I wanted what many Filipino children all over the country wanted. I wanted to be blond, blue-eyed and white.

I thought -- if I just wished hard enough and was good enough, I'd wake up on Christmas morning with snow outside my window and freckles across my nose!

More than four centuries under western domination can do that to you. I have 16 cousins. In a couple of years, there will just be five of us left in the Philippines, the rest will have gone abroad in search of "greener pastures." It's not an anomaly; it's a trend; the Filipino diaspora. Today, about eight million Filipinos are scattered around the world.

There are those who disapprove of Filipinos who choose to leave. I used to. Maybe this is a natural reaction of someone who was left behind, smiling for family pictures that get emptier with each succeeding year. Desertion, I called it. My country is a land that has perpetually fought for the freedom to be itself. Our heroes offered their lives in the struggle against the Spanish, the Japanese, the Americans. To pack up and deny that identity is tantamount to spitting on that sacrifice.

Or is it? I don't think so. Not anymore.

True, there is no denying this phenomenon, aided by the fact that what was once the other side of the world is now a 12-hour plane ride away. But this is a borderless world, where no individual can claim to be purely from where he is now. My mother is of Chinese descent, my father is a quarter Spanish, and I call myself a pure Filipino -- a hybrid of sorts resulting from a combination of cultures.

Each square mile anywhere in the world is made up of people of different ethnicities, with national identities and individual personalities. Because of this, each square mile is already a microcosm of the world. In as much as this blessed spot that is England is the world, so is my neighborhood back home.

Filipino Diaspora

Seen this way, the Filipino Diaspora, or any sort of dispersal of populations, is not as ominous as so many claim. It must be understood. I come from a Third World country, one that is still trying mightily to get back on its feet after many years of dictatorship. But we shall make it, given more time. Especially now, when we have thousands of eager young minds who graduate from college every year. They have skills. They need jobs. We cannot absorb them all.

A borderless world presents a bigger opportunity, yet one that is not so much abandonment but an extension of identity. Even as we take, we give back. We are the 40,000 skilled nurses who support the United Kingdom's National Health Service. We are the quarter-of-a-million seafarers manning most of the world's commercial ships. We are your software engineers in Ireland, your construction workers in the Middle East, your doctors and caregivers in North America, and, your musical artists in London's West End.

Nationalism isn't bound by time or place. People from other nations migrate to create new nations, yet still remain essentially who they are. British society is itself an example of a multi-cultural nation, a melting pot of races, religions, arts and cultures. We are, indeed, in a borderless world!

Leaving sometimes isn't a matter of choice. It's coming back that is. The Hobbits of the shire traveled all over Middle-Earth, but they chose to come home, richer in every sense of the word. We call people like these balikbayans or the "returnees" -- those who followed their dream, yet choose to return and share their mature talents and good fortune.

In a few years, I may take advantage of whatever opportunities that come my way. But I will come home. A borderless world doesn't preclude the idea of a home. I'm a Filipino, and I'll always be one. It isn't about geography; it isn't about boundaries. It's about giving back to the country that shaped me.

And that's going to be more important to me than seeing snow outside my window on a bright Christmas morning. 

Mabuhay and thank you.

Ohhh... what a nice speech. *sniff sniff*

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Kaeritakunai!

It's official coz I bought my ticket already. I'm going home on August the 5th. But but but... I don't wanna go home! I can't even believe I'm saying this, as I've been complaining about my stay here more than once... but I guess I'm in my wanting to go to a foreign country mode again. As the time gets closer, I'm like... uh... I don't wanna go back to the old way of life. I know if I keep doing this, I'll never ever finish my studies... but...

I'll miss the friends I made here, because I know that when I leave, I won't ever be coming back. Or at least, I'm not yet planning to. It's not the same as with home, where you know you'll be seeing people again sooner or later in the future. At least Annie is leaving on the same day and at roughly the same time (2:10 pm) as April and myself (2:30 pm). We'll be on the same bus going to the airport... I expect we'll be bawling our eyes out by that time.

I'll miss the hang-outs here... *sheepish* all the places frequented by foreigners and I'm always welcome to go because I am one. I'll definitely miss not being a foreigner anymore (even if we are constantly looked down upon).

Hmmm... is it too early to be making this entry? I know I'll be making more of the same from now on.

kaeritakunai - don't wanna go home

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