A Mélange of Seasons

Photo taken on Thursday, April 28, 2005, in the neighborhood, at the corner of 148 St. and 86 Ave., Surrey, British Columbia, Canada: Basking on a Summer morning; leafs glistening; flowers falling; tiny birds twittering

Red Butterfly Wings

Photo taken on Wednesday, April 27, 2005, in the neighborhood, Surrey, British Columbia, Canada

"I walk the streets again,
To pick up Amberlyn at school."—aLfie vera mella, "Spool"

Frolicking with a Butterfly eLf

Photo taken on Wednesday, April 27, 2005, in the neighborhood, Surrey, British Columbia, Canada: Julie asks, "Who made the trees, Uncle?" "The fairies," I said.

If Only I Could Think like a Child Once More, Would There Still Be Woes?

Photo taken on Wednesday, April 27, 2005, in the neighborhood, Surrey, British Columbia, Canada: Amber and Julie, frolicking under a tree

Recycle Me!

Photo taken on Wednesday, April 27, 2005, front of the house, Surrey, British Columbia, Canada: Oh please recycle me and send me home...

Recyclable, Am I?

Photo taken on Wednesday, April 27, 2005, front of the house, Surrey, British Columbia, Canada: Recyclable and biodegradable, but certainly not synthetically nonbiodegradable

Save on What?

Photo taken on Monday, April 25, 2005, by a Save-on-Foods, British Columbia, Canada: A seeming handicap, I can rarely go out on my own. I miss my old life, in which I could taste freedom for free.

Visions in Canada

Photo taken on Monday, April 25, 2005, at a Wal-Mart's parking lot, British Columbia, Canada: I never thought I could still fake a smile, or was it a sincere smile after all?

A Sore Thumb by a Wal-Mart

Photo taken on Monday, April 25, 2005, at a Wal-Mart, British Columbia, Canada: A sore thumb in Canada

Bed of Flowers

Photo taken on Wednesday, April 27, 2005, in the neighborhood, Surrey, British Columbia, Canada: Pink on green, flowers and grasses making love in Summertime

Sun-Worshipper

Photo taken on Wednesday, April 27, 2005, in the neighborhood, Surrey, British Columbia, Canada: Worshipping the Summer sun

Colors of Summer

Photo taken on Wednesday, April 27, 2005, in the neighborhood, Surrey, British Columbia, Canada: Blue and red on a landscape of green and a skyscape of golden yellow—the colors of Summer

Autumn in Summer

Photo taken on Wednesday, April 27, 2005, by the neighborhood mailboxes, Surrey, British Columbia, Canada: Pink flowers falling in Summer

Nothing but Flowers

Photo taken on Tuesday, April 26, 2005, in the neighborhood, Surrey, British Columbia, Canada: My turn to admire the scenery


"If this is paradise
I wish I had a lawnmower———

And as things fell apart
Nobody paid much attention...."—David Byrne

“(Nothing But) Flowers” by Talking Heads [Naked; 1988, EMI]

Admiring the Redness of Summer

Photo taken on Tuesday, April 26, 2005, in the neighborhood, Surrey, British Columbia, Canada: Grandfather, admiring the redness around him

Late-Spring Night, 8:00 p.m.

Photo taken on Sunday, April 24, 2005, outside the house, Surrey, British Columbia, Canada: Late-Spring nights where I am are still relatively bright.

Underneath a "Popcorn" Tree

Photo taken on Friday, April 22, 2005, in the neighborhood, Surrey, British Columbia, Canada: A skaldic eLf underneath a "popcorn" tree

"Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree."—Joyce Kilmer (1886–1918), "Trees"

Never Surrender

Photo taken on Friday, April 22, 2005, on the front lawn of the house, Surrey, British Columbia, Canada: "I'm still standing here, whackos! Is that the best you've got?"


"That which does not kill me, makes me stronger."—Friedrich Nietzsche, Die Götzen-Dämmerung ('Twilight of the Idols')

Increscunt animi, virescit volnere virtus.
["The spirits increase, vigor grows through a wound."]

Please!

Photo taken on Friday, April 22, 2005, by the garage door, Surrey, British Columbia, Canada: Don't push me up against the wall.

"Don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry."—Bruce Banner

Summer Breeze

Photo taken on Friday, April 22, 2005, by the cul de sac fronting the house, Surrey, British Columbia, Canada: The sun is certainly a friend in Winter countries


"Yet the best of all is the love I found
In Summer amidst a haiku of sounds:
.....drip...drip...lost and found
......Charlotte sometimes, found again
. ......thud…thad! my heart pounds"—aLfie vera mella, "Inbetween Seasons"

The Sun Always Shines on My Face

Photo taken on Friday, April 22, 2005, by the cul de sac fronting the house, Surrey, British Columbia, Canada: Always staring at the sun


"Touch me
How can it be
Believe me
The sun always shines on TV
Hold me
Close to your heart
Touch me
And give all your love to me
To me"—Pål Waaktaar,a-ha, "The Sun Always Shines on TV"

Let the Sunshine In!

Photo taken on Friday, April 22, 2005, on the front lawn of the house, Surrey, British Columbia, Canada: At 24° C, I feel like I'm in Baguio, Philippines

"On a Monday morning
The sky is wide awake
She is an elven maiden with open arms
The sun is Queen once again
Amid kowtowing cumulus clouds
Nestled in her northern nook"—aLfie vera mella, "Finally Summer Found Me Smiling"

Summer Is Here!

Photo taken on Friday, April 22, 2005, by the cul de sac fronting the house, Surrey, British Columbia, Canada: Sunny yet windy

Every-Morning Walk in the Neighborhood

The scent of the grasses
The colors of the flowers
The whirr of airplanes regularly flying by
The kiss of the nether gales
The very slow gait of this 89-year-old friend of mine
I feel like sitting under that big bonsai-like tree
And weaving a couple of haiku
In ode to my reflective Summer days
In British Columbia, the Canadian province where I am
And all these images would someday surely
Remind me of my maternal grandfather and our

- 3:00 p.m., Monday, June 14, 2004
Surrey, British Columbia
While listening to “Birdhouse in Your Soul” by They Might Be Giants
(Flood; 1990, Elektra)

My life has always been musical

.
My whole life I consider not only a fantasy-fiction novel—which has its own maps, worlds, characters and creatures, history, languages and cultures—but more so an epic movie—which runs on a backdrop of diverse landscapes and has a soundtrack of its own.

Since childhood, my life has already been musical; I can still remember sonically the artists that constantly played on the phonograph in my family’s first home (The Beatles, The Beach Boys, The Carpenters, The Cascades, The Hollies, The Monkees, The Zombies, Johnny Mathis, and Matt Monro to name a few)—I still listen to them to this day, with fondness and with yearning to return to the particular moment each song automatically conjures. Sometimes all I need to do is close my eyes and take a deep breath, and the melody begins to play in my mind, recollecting bittersweet memories that keep the child in me alive and forever curious about the world.

For me, listening to music is plucking golden leafs from the lush tree of my childhood, picking fruits that have long been ripe.

And, yeah! we had a jukebox at the restaurant (Atin-Atin on F.B. Harrison Street in Pasay City) we used to own—that wonderful sound machine that transformed many a tot’s night into magical moments. I remember the days when I would insert one coin after another into the machine, press the combination of letters and numbers, and listen in bliss as the songs played one by one ("Honesty" by Billy Joel and "Knife" by Rockwell were the most unforgettable).

These were perhaps the main reason music has always been a part of me. My life has always been musical—from my childhood through my youth to where I am now and who I have become.

Songs will always remind me of various emotions and memories—the sadness and solitariness on many days, my lullabies on many sleepless nights; the joy and innocence of childhood and youth, a source of inspiration; the fears and uncertainties amidst high hopes and expectations.

However, New Wave is the genre of music I love the most. I will be grateful forever for The Cure, Depeche Mode, Duran Duran, The Lotus Eaters, New Order, Siouxsie & the Banshees, The Smiths, Spandau Ballet, Tears for Fears, The Wild Swans, and the endless roster of New Wave artists whose songs have made and continue to make my life melodically documentable. They comprise the soundtrack of my life. Their songs shall grace my wedding day. They will be the music that shalt one day be played on my wake and funeral march.

And, in case I haven’t told you this yet: My father said he got my name from a song; yes, from that Burt Bacharach song—the song which, I believe, perfectly describes the path I’ve long chosen to take; a song I would like to believe had been composed just for me.

...When you walk let your heart lead the way
And you'll find love any day, Alfie


Postcripts
My preferred version of the song "Alfie" is, of course, the one by the band Everything But the Girl, included in the compilation album Under the Covers (1988, WEA).

*For supplying the artist's name behind the '80s pop ballad "Knife," thanks to Betrayed's drummer Manny "Pagz," a fellow member in the newwave101 yahoogroup.

On the newwave101 mailing list:

Sun Apr 24, 2005:

The artist's name slipped my mind...who sang the '80s pop ballad "Knife"? Not the "Cuts like a Knife" by Bryan Adams. Was it Billy Joel?

Thanks,
aLf

Pagz's reply:
si ROCKWELL...
same guy who did that
Michael Jackson–soundalike
hit "Somebody's Watching Me."
Uber-mellowtouch ballad 'yun ah.
I think I have the local vinyl lying
around here at home. Hehe.

pagz (collecting the weirdest vinyl since the '80s)

The Worst Solitude

I've been listening to this song—"Sometimes You Can't Make It on Your Own"—in repeat mode, for the past few weeks. It goes onto my list of all-time-favorite songs filed under SENTIMENTAL MODE.

As my best-friend Rain wrote: "There are two ways to enjoy music. One is by listening to it; the other is by playing it. The first one is good in swelling the emotions to higher levels inside you...."

Being independent and strong is a survivor's trait, yes; but we have to admit that sometimes (in fact, most of the times) we need others. "No person is an island." No one ever was. If you know someone who says s/he was or is or can be, don't believe the person; s/he's either faking it or secretly wallowing in the worst solitude.

“The worst solitude is to be destitute of sincere friendship.”—Francis Bacon (Friendship: A Book of Quotations, edited by Herb Galewitz; 1999, Dover Publications, Inc.)

We simply cannot—and should not—make it on our own all of the time. This is detrimental to our moral and spiritual growth, for too much independence and self-reliance dilutes a person's sense of compassion and consideration.

Would you rather be strong and inconsiderate, pretending you can make it on your own, than be weak and compassionate and always expressive of your need for friends?

"Sometimes You Can't Make It on Your Own"
by U2
(from the album How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb, 2004, Island/Interscope)

Tough, you think you've got the stuff
You're telling me and anyone
You're hard enough

You don't have to put up a fight
You don't have to always be right
Let me take some of the punches
For you tonight

Listen to me now
I need to let you know
You don't have to go it alone

And it's you when I look in the mirror
And it's you when I don't pick up the phone
Sometimes you can't make it on your own

We fight all the time
You and I
...that's alright
We're the same soul

I don't need
I don't need to hear you say
That if we weren't so alike
You'd like me a whole lot more

Listen to me now
I need to let you know
You don't have to go it alone

And it's you when I look in the mirror
And it's you when I don't pick up the phone
Sometimes you can't make it on your own

I know that we don't talk
I'm sick of it all
Can you hear me when I am singing
You're the reason I sing
You're the reason why the opera is in me

Where are we now?
I've got to let you know
A house still doesn't make a home
Don't leave me here alone

And it's you when I look in the mirror
And it's you that makes it hard to let go
Sometimes you can't make it on your own
Sometimes you can't make it
The best you can do is to fake it
Sometimes you can't make it on your own

Other recommended U2 tracks that effect a similar mood:
"Bad" (1984, The Unforgettable Fire)
"With or Without You" (1987, Joshua Tree)
"Where the Streets Have No Name" (1987, Joshua Tree)
"One" (1991, Achtung Baby)
"Stuck in a Moment You Can't Get Out Of" (2000, All that You Can't Leave Behind)

Your Love Style is Eros

For you, love is all about the passion! And chances are, you're currently in love. You have a strong physical response to love... And you are great at committing (As long as the person makes your toes curl!)

What's" Your Love Style?

The Fourteenth of a Dozen Verses

Nympheas by the French impressionist painter Oscar-Claude Monet (1840–1926)

April 8, Friday
*88*

What is my favorite number?
Eighty-eight, I think; but why?

How 'bout my favorite letter?
C. No need to ask me why.

Will this life become better?
How come I feel very dry?

' can't escape from this tether
No matter how hard I try.

The raindrops pitter-patter
Like the salty tears I cry.

I sometimes melt like butter
Every time they act so wry.

Oh how I miss a banter!
And yes, this is not a lie.

April 9, Saturday
*Haze*

There goes my grandfather
Despite the cold weather,

Shearing flowers off their stalks.
Through the haze he slowly walks;

I learned to keep down at his gait;
Though weary, I patiently wait.

Many a morning we were like this—
Two selfless souls wandering in peace,

Searching for nothing and heading nowhere,
While in my head is "The Boys of Summer."

Back to the house Grandfather and I;
Back in my nest full of when? and why?

Wandering off, my restless mind;
Wondering if joy I shall find.

April 10, Sunday
*Impressions*

My bonnet is like a sonnet;
Don't ask me why?

Oh how lovely—
Isn't that Nympheas by Monet?

—Pastel pond, blush blooms, green grass
Adorn the scene.

[My head is turbid,
My body languid.]

Like stained glass,
Your charisma is so serene.

The birds on the roofs are merry;
They rouse the day.

This sonnet is like a bonnet;
Go figure why.

April 11, Monday
*Break*

In my nest,
I'm like an ostrich egg.

' Dig my head
Deep into the blanket

When I'm sad.
I seldom peck a grain.

Such a pest!
I need to break a leg.

I'm not dead.
Give me a plane ticket.

Always mad,
I cannot rest my brain.

So much pain!
You always keep me sane.

April 12, Tueday
*Spool*

I walk the streets again,
To pick up Amberlyn at school.

I don't forget my pen—
I am such a poetic fool!

Julie asks, "What's a tren?"
I quip, "What else, a choo-choo train."

We see gulls flying by.
We hear children saying goodbye.

The breeze kisses our skin.
A taste of freedom makes me spin.

The flowers tease my nose,
And the chilly northern wind blows.

We walk the streets again.
Back! I'm rewinding like a spool.

April 13, Wednesday
*Soup*

Knowledge is but a soup,
While my skull is a bowl.

Cultures are Rubik's cubes
Here on my fingertips.

Play it like a hula-hoop
Or free it like a fowl;

Spit it out like pubes;
Suck it like swollen nips.

My skull is like a bowl,
Drooling for a hot soup.

I can consist of bleeps
From telegraphic tubes.

When I begin to growl...
Still, I wouldn't stoop....

April 14, Thursday
*Tourine*

The ripple of urine in the toilet bowl
Has become an every-morning melody.

Prepare breakfast for Grandfather and myself—
Waffles and oatmeal and warm milk, as usual;

Log-on the Internet and text my sweetheart;
Kiss her to sleep and be with her in her dreams;

Touch her if only I could fly like a fowl,
So I may be pulled out of this malady;

Stare at the bathroom mirror and see an elf;
Read a book, recite a poem—that's typical;

Listen to music, sing the songs of my heart;
Take a nap to meet her again in my dreams.

........The ripple of the rain on the windowpane
........Is a reminder of my everyday pain.

April 15, Friday
*Animus*

The caress of the shower water on my skin is soothing.
The lather of shampoo on my hair is very relaxing.

The rubbing of the soap against my body is sweet friction.
The smell of freshness after a tiring day is elation.

Cold plus hot water equals somatic sat'sfaction,
But cold hearts and hot heads result in a hostile situation.

Day in and day out, I'm struggling to survive my condition.
Because of provocation I am close to insurrection.

The warm sheen of the sun is a therapeutic diversion.
It alleviates my distress; it balances my emotion.

In a sudden blur of thoughts, I get lost in recollection.
If only I could die and be reborn—reincarnation.

Compassion,consideration, they seem to be forgetting.
Sweet revenge and retaliation, if I'm not too forgiving.

April 16, Saturday
*Habits*

I used to bite my fingernails;
Step on kittens' and puppies' tails;

Dance in the rain, waddle in floods;
Pray in churches, believe in gods.

I used to climb acacia trees,
Look for crickets and honeybees;

Stay late on nights, play with my friends;
Weave my own stories, start new trends.

I used to be lost and restless;
And this often left me loveless.

Letting you go was great regret—
A mistake I could not forget.

........At last, our roads have crossed again.
........I will not longer wonder when.

April 17, Sunday
折 り 紙

I dreamed I was folding papers;
I was making caped crusaders.

All men are basic'lly Darth Vaders;
While many women, manhaters.

Say hello to The Mad Hatter;
Fare better, Martian Manhunter.

Don't leave me sprawled on the gutter.
When will my life become better?

I dreamed I was writing letters,
Sharing stories with my father.

I reached the end of my tether.
I feel like an owl without feathers.

........I dreamed I was folding papers,
........Making lanterns, kites, and roosters.

April 18, Monday
*Meat*

I have nothing against vegetarians,
But I'll never be one.

I have nothing against vegans,
But I'll never be one.

I have nothing against fructarians,
But I'll never be one.

I have nothing against homosexuals,
But I'll never be one.

I have nothing against animal hunters,
But I'll never be one.

I have nothing against slow learners,
But I'll never be one.

But I have something against racial intolerants,
And I'll never be one!

April 19, Tuesday
*Plague*

"What does profit a plagiarist if he gains the word
but loses the command of his own pen?"—Rain Paggao

........You can plagiarize me,
But you can't steal my immortality.

........You can plagiarize me,
But don't talk about morality.

........You can plagiarize me,
But you can't take away my dignity.

........You can plagiarize me,
But you can never claim originality.

........You can plagiarize me,
But you can never experience literary ecstasy.

The plagiarist, like cheap paper, crumbles in the end;
The author—the true child of knowledge—like breeze, lingers on....

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