Writing, Hemingway, and Paris
‘I would stand and look out over the roofs of Paris and think, “Do not worry. You have always written before and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know.” So finally I would write one true sentence, and then go on from there.’
– From A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway
April 2025 – Belgium
After admiring the medieval architecture in Brugge and strolling along Minnewater, we stumbled upon Bieratelier on the way back to our hotel. We ordered the 12-beer tasting experience, which they claimed were the 12 flavors that defined the city.
Gulden Draak – Dark tripel ale: sour cherries – brown sugar – somewhat bitter
This might sound a little sacrilegious but that morning we visited the Basilica of the Holy Blood. It housed the relic of the Holy Blood collected by Joseph of Arimathea and brought from the Holy Land by Thierry of Alsace, Count of Flanders. The color reminded me of the experience. A narrow stairwell led to the main room of the Basilica on the 2nd floor (Or first floor because you know, we’re in Europe, heh). I have very limited knowledge of religion but I always believe in sacred spaces and what’s enclosed in them. The queue started a few steps from the main entrance, although it was also cold outside, the temperature upon entering was eerie. The footsteps from the people ascending and descending had different hushed tones – as if lighter by prayer or limbs weak from the ascending queue. How many of these people are believers and how many are onlookers. I’ll never attempt to judge.
Blanche de Namur – Wheat Beer: notes of malt – lemon and wheat
I liked this one the best. Lemon in beer is not a foreign concept for me because of our local San Miguel Lemon Beers. But like everything Filipino, ours was a lot sweeter. It reminded me of a bag I bought when I went on my own and explored. By exploring, I typically mean shopping without being judged. I saw this store Cabaia – La Paillote des légendes, a French brand. I admit, I only entered because they were playing a BTS song in their shop which I heard from the sidewalk. Bangtan led me to bags. I bought a nano bag which could only fit my phone, passport, power bank, and 2 credit cards. Fun? Yes. Functional? Not so much. When accessorized with the equally small Uniqlo dumpling bag, it can fit more things. Yes, the bag needs a bag to be a fully functioning bag. Normalize abandoning logic and go for cute, that’s how I decide.
Super 8 IPA – Indian Pale Ale: hoppy aromas – strong citrus – grapefruit
Our next stop after Bruges was Amsterdam and the Heineken Experience Museum. There was this graphic about how beer is brewed. Timing has an effect in characteristics of hops. Adding it early makes the brew more bitter while late addition meant less. But when added cold, the hoppy aroma is preserved as accentuates the citrus of the grapefruit. I remember this one the most. Grapefruit is known to interfere with psychiatric medications. As a person who has been taking anti-depressants for decades, I took every sip seriously as it had implications for my mental health. Actually, now that I think about it, alcohol in general also has serious implications. But let’s not go deep into that discussion.
Cider Ruwet – Apple Cider: made from real Jonagold juice – dry – fruity
I have fond memories of drinking fruity beer at our local brewery near Tomas Morato – check out Pierre’s! It has the same vibe – sans the bra hanging in the ceiling. I don’t think we have Jonagold apple variety in the Philippines or am I not that well-versed in apple varieties enough that this was the first time I’ve heard of it. It has a sweet and slightly tart balanced flavor.
Viven Champagne – Weisner: champagne yeast – floral notes – creamy and Pater Lieven Tripel – Tripel: floral – herbal – fruity – intense bitterness
A walk through Minnewater made me appreciate solitude. The fullness of being alone but not lonely. I met up with my sister and Caye somewhere between the park entrance and the bar. The lakeside felt like a fairytale. I even asked my friend to sing Taylor Swift’s ‘Today Was a Fairytale’ for a full-on cliché. The day was a fairytale. Imagine sitting on a bench with a loved one, drinking beer that reminds you of champagne on a lovely spring day. Watching swans gracefully paddling, breaking the reflection of the lake house. An ideal ending scene of a chaotic romcom that all problems were solved once the credits rolled. But does it really? Swans are exhausted and overwhelmed underneath all the paddling. Also, that chick flick probably had a problematic ending. We can even add the history of the Minnewater where the namesake of the lake died of exhaustion there. Okay, we’re back to solitude.
Bourgogne De Flandres – Flanders red ale: caramel – brown sugar – hop and roasted malt
We took a boat trip through the veins of Bruges. They had an English tour guide who cracked witty jokes at specific areas. I overheard a nearby boat and their guide said that same joke. I laughed twice, the joke deserved a second reaction. I salute whoever wrote the script and its dry, clever delivery. There was a particular bridge where we were warned that we had to lower our head as we traversed it. My head almost touched the floor of the boat but my intrusive thoughts told me to sit up straight again, just to check if it’s actually dangerous. My messy hair didn’t even touch the tip of the bridge. I missed the height requirement for these warnings. People shouted every time we went under a bridge. The echo we made was oddly satisfying as our voices bounced off the concrete walls of the bridge. I’m trying to replicate that sound in my head and the taste of caramel and brown sugar as I write this.
Liefmans Kriek Brut – Belgian Cherry Beer: rich cherry bouquet – hints of wood and almond – sweet and sour
We dined at Manhattn’s Burgers the previous day for an early dinner. A monument of Simon Stevin overlooked as we stuffed ourselves with New York cuisine in Belgium, judging us for not sticking to his Flemish roots. Gemini said that he’s the inventor of the decimal notation for fractions. He’s been there since 1846, I wonder what he’s seen throughout all his bronze immortalized years. Also most likely dismayed as we struggled to distinguished one coin from another.
Atelier 6 – Blond house beer: full bodied – mild – malt and hop notes – vanilla and Brugse Zot Blond – Pale Beer: sweetness on the palette – light finish and Chimay – Dark Ale: fruity peppery character – light creamy head
I am running out of stories but I’ll try to update this blog if I remember anything else. And… I forgot what was at the middle since they said it was for palette cleansing. But I’m not entirely sure, I was too enamored by the sight of the 12 glass tray that was in front of me.
On the way home, we took some pictures of tulips inside a plant box – with the backdrop of buildings and behind it was the remnant of a sunset – which we said we wanted to find a nice viewing spot but missed because we were too busy drinking.
I’ll try to write about travel again soon!
Water ran out. The pipes were dry.
There was no telling whether
The faucet was close or open.
Just tightly turned clockwise or counter-
Clockwise. I still live there, waiting
For random rations or rain. Fooling myself
Of this impermanence. The plumbing
Brittle: from moss to dust to decay. I stay
And rot as the dirt engulf me. On lucky days,
I bathe. At my luckiest, I am clean,
And at my lowest, I write.
He was fast, smart and tried
To scribble through the great war
Scrambled through numbers
In desperation or drought he fought
For his wife or for science – I can’t
Tell the difference. How could he live
Her last few months speaking
In coded letters that required someone
Else’s eyes. And then whatever was to him are numbers was someone else incinerated on the other side.
No one there put a bullet through someone’s brain, at least a helmet could
Catch it. Eureka! meant death, instant,
Unknowing, or unfollowed by pain.
No one dares to light the third match.
I have two memories of loss:
The monumental less scarring
Than the mundane: mourning the shadows
Of missed chances than an urn’s silhouette.
Some chances are abruptly cut. Rejected
Before the brain could process the loss.
I cry over small things and win
Over trauma. This equation does
Not need structure. Adrenaline works – like
Climbing a treehouse fueled by the fear
Of heights or gracefully free diving without
Learning how to swim. It might be the breeze
From above or the stillness of the water.
I do not falter when loss is apparent.
I could only tremble at the imagined.
Jigsaws are falling into place, yet dust gathers
In spaces between the pieces. Willingly, I knock
Them over. Wreck a focal segment, just to entertain
The thought of destruction, to see in what ways
I could adjust to the ruin. Pick them up once again,
Undo the damage, test my ingenuity. I never once
Bothered for the entire picture. How can I?
Maladies erupt within days, the ones with the privilege
To dismantle an era. I put to sleep the resolve
I once had, the dissolution of daydreams, and whatever
Was keeping me alive. And now, I will just breathe.
Hip-hop, drugs, violence, and martial law are the themes that prevail in this distinctly Filipino stitching of City of God, Finding Forrester, and Hamilton. Despite being three heterogeneous storylines, fragments of those stories jive into a musical that is both timely and entertaining.
Respeto begins with blossoming ambition, continues with breakneck rap verses embellished with witty banter, only to end in despondency. It is a successive mingling of hope and despair, it is quality ale with a bitterly strong aftertaste, making the palate yearn for its flavor, only to be surprised with its tangy revenge. Yet I still continued watching, I am tired of the hero’s journey, I hanker for precise metaphors and commentaries of our damned society.
As for the visual aesthetics of the film, the cinematography is a vision that encapsulates the sweltering heat of Pandacan with a surreal mix of warm colors. The subtle imagery ranges from the bicycles that resemble an impoverish version of Harley Davidson big bikes, to the secondhand bookstore, and hangouts at the cemetery. These are allegorical to the culture of pauperism typical to Metro Manila slums, possible soundtrack would be Sia belting her hit song, I don’t need dollar bills to have fun tonight, I love cheap thrills!
The sound editing provides an idiosyncratic appeal to the ears. It captures what hip-hop is about, just as Lin-Manuel Miranda said “Rap is at the bottom, the music of ambition, the soundtrack of defiance, whether the force that must be defied is poverty, cops, racism, rival rappers, or all of above.” This is what Respeto willfully declares. There is a poetry in rap that is shrouded by profanity, thumping rhythms, and scantily clad women in music videos.
The film unravels the superficial cloak of mainstream hip-hop by the juxtaposition of Filipino poetry with hip-hop verses. This disentanglement illuminates that importance of poetry as commentary to our lives. It coincides with Mary Oliver as she declares “Poetry is a river; many voices travel in it; poem after poem along in the exciting crests and falls of the river waves.” The film jumps into that metaphorical river and swims upstream, fighting against the current of prejudice against Filipino hip-hop culture, and leaving the audience with a developed admiration for the genre.
Hello! I want to share this childhood memory, a little sad for mother’s day but this is the first memory I have of how much my mother loves me.
1997
My mother lost balance as I
Tugged her hand, running
Towards the ice cream truck.
The dual dismay of the dessert bar
Fleeing and mother’s left eye
Bleeding from the fall. She had to
See New York through tinted lens
And I through the trauma of never
Holding anyone’s hand too tight.
No one should fall flat on the floor
During a vacation. It still lives through
photo albums, even the fullness of her
Smile could not hide the hematoma peeking
Though sunglasses. My Mother would always
Say it is fine. Even when it is not. She is rational
But never fully harsh. Whatever shallow remorse
A seven year old could or could not
Show, or duties a thirty year old child
Conveniently neglects, a mother will always love.
Hello! I want to share this childhood memory, a little sad for mother’s day but this is the first memory I have of how much my mother loves me. 😭😭😭
1997
My mother lost balance as I
Tugged her hand, running
Towards the ice cream truck.
The dual dismay of the dessert bar
Fleeing and mother’s left eye
Bleeding from the fall. She had to
See New York through tinted lens
And I through the trauma of never
Holding anyone’s hand too tight.
No one should fall flat on the floor
During a vacation. It still lives through
photo albums, even the fullness of her
Smile could not hide the hematoma peeking
Though sunglasses. My Mother would always
Say it is fine. Even when it is not. She is rational
But never fully harsh. Whatever shallow remorse a seven year old could or could not show, or duties a thirty year old child conveniently
Neglects, a mother will always love.
I love you, Mom! I will do better!! I have the strength to do better because of you.
I wanted to be like her yet that changed as I got to know her. She had grit – not the tunnel vision kind but the intricate dance of when to push or to fold. How can I aspire to be as adept as that? She was exceptional but we never felt inadequate. Her work ethic was straightforward and firm to a certain degree. She leveled with the people she dealt with, listening to the subtleties of each sentence and knowing the response whether she needed to please or dispute. The meetings were essentially the same however each time, I spotted a new technique on dealing with people.
I can’t say that it was all cheery, you know you’re not doing your job well enough if everyone, I mean, everyone would adore you. But she made things happen. If she was moved by a person during an off-campus event she’d make her way through the crowd and a few weeks later, that person is 30+ km from Metro Manila, interacting with our smart, capable students.
I can’t completely map her complexities, she was the main character in a novel whose every dimension was so well thought of by the author. Every interaction felt like a case study on tact. Her humor was subtle, she said things that made me wonder if I was just praised or insulted. It was an odd delight to be on the receiving end. It meant that she knew what would make me laugh and what would make me think.
I heard the news today. I didn’t want to mourn as we do when life ends. I want to celebrate her. She was rare and it was serendipitous to meet her during her last few years. She had the wisdom of her generation and gave us the ability to unlock our own.
Thank you, Dr. Linda!
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