jonettevalenciano.com

Well, well, well. Look do we have here. Ha!

Callooh! Callay! will henceforth be a new segment of this blog featuring fun stuff all over the interwebs, courtesy of my friends and yours truly. Horray for discoveries and distractions!

... to wear flower trails on your hips.

How am I supposed to be/ I don't have my thorns now -- Regina Spektor, Baobabs

The skirt I'm working on is slowly making progress, slowly, slowly. When I go home tonight, I'll attach a bit more to the waistline to cover the rest of the skirt and to give it a few more inches for the hook and eye.

I reckon once this skirt is done, I feel I might need to make a petticoat for it... Or maybe not. Ample hips make for nice and natural panniers too. Well, we'll see when we get there.

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Hello, beautiful people. I can't think of anything else right now; my head is too filled with a warm fuzzy feeling of happiness and gratitude.

Yoj asked me this question on formspring.me:

Hello! I stumbled on your blog while looking for craft blogs. I'd like to ask, do you know where I can buy second hand portable sewing machines here in Manila? Thanks!

Ah! If you have a nose for a good bargain, and you know what you want in a sewing machine, Aduana is the place for you. You'll find it on the Pier area in Manila itself. The sewing machines there come from Japan, America, and the world over. Some models may surprise you, and you might even find a vintage beauty! (I recommend the first shop you encounter on the right.)

The price range for sewing machines there go from a decent P3000 to P5000, and the people who man the shop (the one I mentioned above) really know sewing machines. When choosing one, I recommend you ask them to demo it for you so you know the different things it can do, and so you can gauge how easy or difficult it is to manipulate it. Sometimes, they may even give you very helpful freebies (like brand new needles, bobbins, a dusting brush, and a screwdriver) on your purchase!

Oh, and always ask them for the voltage of the sewing machine. You will probably need a voltage regulator/ transformer to get your sewing machine going.

Just in case (and knock on wood this ever happens) something goes awry with the machine, just keep the receipt. You can always bring the sewing machine back to them for repairs. I've seem them take a sad machine apart and put it back together, and make it hum with life. (It's quite fascinating seeing a sewing machine's inner machinery at work.)

Good luck on your purchase! Let me know how things go.

PS: if you want the name and phone number of the shop I go to, just drop me a note, alright? :)

For more accounts of my experiences with Aduana, check out these posts:

Ask me anything on formspring.me!

Death has a way of making the days and weeks vanish in a breath. Just like that.

In truth, I have no idea of the best way to begin this post, but beginnings happen by themselves eventually, just like endings do.

It has been two (three?) weeks since James' dad passed away. It happened so quickly. Thinking of it still makes me feel the inertia of emotion.

In all honesty, Tito Vangie and I did not get to talk very much. I knew very little of him. The short conversations we had were few and far between, and often occurred over drowsy breakfasts, the smell of dried fish, tomato and omelet coaxing my senses awake.

He once reminisced by the breakfast table about forming a band with his cousins when bands were still called combos, and how getting to Cubao seemed terribly easier (albeit in a roundabout way) back in the day. His deep rumbling voice, his eyes lost in their private reverie while we young'uns tucked into eggs and tomato and fried rice. Remembering bygone days made his eyes smile, among many other things.

I remember that.

There'd be days, James said, that whenever Tito Vangie's grand-nephews and grand-nieces would come, he'd scoop them up in his arms, and carry them through the house as much as his back and his legs would let him. He'd remark (as I observe) on the smallest things they'd point out to him in sheer wonder, and somehow, just somehow, the scars and scabs and grizzle of old age would melt away from his face. His cheeks grew pink, and clear. Being with his grand-children made him younger.

I know very little of him, but the little I know, I still remember, and fondly.

It is said that we children are the best parts of our parents put together. Everyday, there is a little bit of Tito Vangie I see in James. It gives me a sense of wonder, and I smile quietly, wistfully. There are parts of James -- his face, his demeanor, his smile -- that say they have secrets, riddles from his father. Secrets I see that I do not understand, but perhaps am not meant to, but to wonder about.

A part of James is a koan, a riddle of his father. I am thankful.

Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt.