Whirlwind

I'M AT A POINT in my life when there are too many things happening all at once that I hardly have the words to write about them. Maybe that part of me has changed after ten years of blogging: the part that wants me to write everything down and share it with the world. I feel that there's already too much noise going on over the Web, and that I'd rather spend my time reviewing for the Board Exam.

Haruki Murakami's After Dark: surprised that Eri Asai hasn't died from pulmonary embolism


BEING a "morning person," I found Haruki Murakami's After Dark intriguing.

Two parallel stories occur, and it won't be long before we find out they're related. The first involves a weird 19-year old girl (Mari) who reads in a diner alone, at midnight. The second is about a beautiful lady (Eri) sleeping soundly, her TV set spontaneously showing what seem like real-time videos of a mystery man and, possibly, herself.

Sunday morning ritual

CALLING MY parents on Sunday mornings is a ritual. I rang them at the break of dawn. They were both up early, probably talking over coffee and breakfast in preparation for the Sunday worship service.

At 6 am, my father would shine his shoes, take a quick shower, and don his best clothes, a ritual he ends with a spray of perfume behind his ears. He'd eventually find himself frustrated at my mother's leisurely stroll in her small garden, where she would literally uproot shrubs and transplant them elsewhere, something she does on a regular basis. She forgets that plants need to be rooted, quite literally, and are not movable like our dog Benjamin who, if left alone, will travel to as far as Ethiopia.