Still alive and kicking.

Image: Rizal's words emblazoned on the walls of his former prison.

I just realized that I haven't posted anything in over a month. Here's a post to let y'all know that I'm still alive and kicking. I've just been very busy frying up fish heads and whatnot.

Here is another excerpt from a story I have been working on. It really is amazing to be in a country so full of inspiration. Sometimes my hand can't keep up with the ideas pouring out of my head. If you know anything about Philippine mythology, you might be able to pick out a few reinterpretations in this little excerpt. Enjoy!

The Apricot Farmer

Ruled completely by logic, Don Adarna considered his predicament quite closely. The only logical solution would be to swallow an apricot seed and become an apricot tree himself. Without much ceremony, he picked an apricot from a nearby tree and began to eat.

"I have collected much happiness and sadness in the course of my life," Don Adarna thought aloud. "If this is where my story ends, then this is where it must end."

Savoring the essence of the apricot, he particularly enjoyed the subtle but complete and permeating pleasantness of the apricot. He took the last morsel of the fruit's flesh clinging to the pit with a tinge of sadness. Sadness for the fruit because it had ended and not because the fruit's end might also somehow signify the end of his own flesh. Don Adarna understood that although all things must end, all things also continued in manners unseen and immeasurable.

Unlike the yielding flesh of the apricot, the pit drew its course down his throat like the anchor of a ship hastily thrown overboard for a desperately quick halt. The anchor dragged on until it caught the stone of Don Adarna's heart. Taking root in the coolness of the beating organ, the apricot pit began to pull sustenance from his very blood, slowly transforming bone and sinew into moist and fertile earth.

Completely conscious throughout his entire metamorphosis, Don Adarna wondered if the excruciating pain of change would ever end. He waited patiently for the strength of stillness. When the inertia of his evolution finally came to a halt, his leaves unfurled and out came forth a most delicate rustling, the sweetly sad song of melancholy humanity. He listened and he wept for reasons indescribable by words.

All things have their place. Even the most doubtful of minds and the coldest of hearts can give way to beautiful trees with branches hanging heavy with succulent fruit, bursting with understanding.

To give or not to give.

Photo: Dried fish vendor getting rich during Fiestang Apu

In every country I've been to, there are beggars. The streets of neither the richest nor the poorest countries are spared this simple fact - there are always people in need.

The worst part of the poor here in the Philippines is that I speak the language. When beggars come up to me in Paris or even in the slums of Istanbul, I don't understand a word they say, making it much easier for me to continue walking without even acknowledging their existence. Here however, in the Philippines, the beggars come up to me pulling at my sleeves and speaking my mother's tongue, a language I only speak at home and to my family. How can I ignore a child, hair bleached a golden brown from the unrelenting sun, as he calls me big brother? How can the heart not be moved by an old woman, face leathered from weathering such tumultuous times, calling out to me, "son?"

It has always been against my nature to give my hard-earned money to beggars. How do I tell them that I'd rather not water the weeds of poverty? I'm torn because I cannot in good conscience perpetuate the problem, yet, neither can I just stand there and watch my brothers and grandmothers starve.

I wish against everything I have ever been told that I can one day tell my brethren as they ask for the loose coins in my pocket that I'm working toward a future that they may not see but will one day come.

Everything is possible. Nothing is permanent.

Image: Pampang Market at dawn. Everything moves, nothing is still.

I thought my very breath was connected to my iGoogle account. I thought my soul had rounded edges and a drop shadow. But here is my soul, thriving in trikonasana in sweltering jungle heat. Here is my breath, dwelling in the pipes that bring running water only when the water decides to run.

I think we're due for a little update of past events. I haven't done one of these in a while, so here goes.

What Erick has been up to in the Philippines for the past two weeks:

- Doing some freelance writing. Finally getting paid for the random ass shit I come up with.

- Test-rode a motocycle and ended up hurting myself. Which one's the clutch and which is the brake? I think I'll take it. Thanks.

- Completely owned at laser tag and rode my first roller coaster in the Philippines. Some of them kept braking down, but we rode them anyway. Danger is my middle name.

- Gave some architectural design advice for a building being built down the street from us. I just realized that I haven't discussed materials and column footings in over two months. They still use actual blueprints here. Yep, we're old school here on the Islands.

- Ate crickets, stuffed frogs, and water buffalo for the first time. Still on the list - python, dog, one-day-olds (think balut, but ones that have hatched).

- Helped plan a wedding while brainstorming awesome bachelor party ideas. What can I say, I'm a multitasker.

- Participated in a local fiesta (a feast in honor of patron saints) by eating, drinking, and merrymaking with complete strangers who are now well on their way to becoming good friends.

- Still looking for a job that will help change the world. On the list so far - teach children, work in urban planning, or fix air-conditioners. It is hot as hades here. Fixing broken air-cons will save lives.