once
The characters don’t even have names. He is “Guy.” She is “Girl.” But you don’t have to know their names to remember “Once.” It is easily one of the most beautiful movies I’ve ever seen, and perhaps the most unforgettable.
Guy, a musician, is a bitter mess after his break-up with his long-time girlfriend. Enter Girl, about a decade his junior, who is very appreciative of the raw sound of his music. Her innocent yet provocative questions strike a chord within him; and even though at first he tries to brush her aside, he realizes that they have something very real in common: their loneliness, and their deep love for music.
They forge a friendship full of beautiful songs and brief but soulful conversations. As it turns out, Girl, despite her cheerfulness, has some baggage of her own: she has a kid, but she is not in good terms with the father.
What happens next is not surprising, given their bond: they fall in love, although they never tell each other about it (she does at one point, but in a language he couldn’t understand). In the end, however, both accept that they have their own lives to lead. They part ways, but not without leaving each other the unforgettable experience of having loved the way they did…once.
Below is the first song they played together, “Falling Slowly.” Lyrics follow.
I don’t know you
But I want you
All the more for that
Words fall through me
And always fool me
And I can’t react
And games that never amount
To more than they’re meant
Will play themselves out
Take this sinking boat and point it home
We’ve still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice
You’ll make it now
Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can’t go back
Moods that take me and erase me
And I’m painted black
You have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It’s time that you won
Take this sinking boat and point it home
We’ve still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you had a choice
You’ve made it now
Falling slowly sing your melody
I’ll sing along
major backlog
I haven’t been able to have some nice down time during weekends lately, so I used this weekend to chill and get my much-needed pop culture fix: had four-hour naps; watched movies–okay, one movie that has long been in my “Downloaded Movies” folder, “Sex and the City”; finished one chapter of TC Boyle’s “Tortilla Curtain.” I’m a happy girl.
Well, almost. “Sex and the City” made me hate my life. Or more precisely, the broken down cabinet with hastily-folded clothes that I call my closet. NYMag was right: this movie will make you shed tears of fashion. Look how pretty!
One of the dresses I can never hope to own, or wear, in this lifetime.
Next weekend: I’ll watch the award-winning Irish musical “Once,” listen to the CDs a good friend gave me last month, and hopefully read more chapters of “The Tortilla Curtain” and other unfinished books that have been gathering dust in the shelf.
gallery
Last weekend was probably one of the best I’ve ever had: with four friends I embarked on a tiring but nature-filled trip to Ilocos, where we frolicked under the sun (on the day state weather forecasters tagged as the hottest of the year, no less), trekked a little bit to get to an amazing waterfall, and laid on the sand at night to gaze at the stars and listen to music.
My weekend, in pictures (photos courtesy of Sophia, Aie, Seph, Mark).
We left 9 p.m. Friday, rode the van for nearly 12 hours, and had breakfast here at Grandpa's.
We went to Baluarte, a mini-zoo, where we saw these llamas. I had a hippie moment: I kept on telling the driver not to hit the pony that was pulling our carriage (I ended up hating myself for riding it). Was resolved afterwards that animals should be free to roam the earth. Freeeee!
I couldn't stop myself from singing The Righteous Brothers' "Unchained Melody" when we stopped by the pottery barn.
We stopped by other places: a museum, a Church, a lighthouse, a rock formation, beaches, waterfalls, windmills…
On the stairs of the Marcoses' former resthouse, the size and location of which nearly drove me insane. There is no justice in this world.
Look at how clear the water is!
First night dinner!
- Second night dinner!
This is what I look like when I am thinking about how much I hate the heat of the sun.
- I can’t believe I managed to smile here. I was already itching to kill someone, anyone, because of the damn heat.
The five of us at the beach :p
pride
The FX driver was fuming.
“Sarap bugbugin ni Hatton! Pumusta-pusta pa naman ako sa hinayupak na yun,” he practically shouted to his captive audience (us poor passengers).
“Puta, second round natulog na agad,” he continued. “Sana ipinang-sabong ko na lang, tangina.”
I had the asshole smile on my face as I muttered under my breath, “buti nga.” Serves you right for betting on the Brit, I thought. I had just seen the live telecast of the Manny Pacquiao-Ricky Hatton fight, and I was still reeling from the excitement of watching a big game with a bunch of real boxing fans, mostly male and middle-aged, some of them flushed after downing a few bottles of beer to psych themselves up for the match.
I’m no boxing aficionado, so I’m not even going to try and rave about how great Pacquiao’s left hook was. But I’ll give you this: I am so going to watch the next Pacquiao fight 
day tripper
Last Wednesday I skipped work so the entire family can go to Cavite for my grandma’s birthday. As I sat inside the car, I realized that the same thing happens every family trip to Cavite. To illustrate:
1. Dad would drive. Horrendous music from some new Pinoy band plays on the radio, and I would complain. Dad concurs, and switches the station to good old RJ, which plays The Beatles, like, every two songs.
2. We listen in peace, with me asking every now and then what song is playing. I become somewhat convinced that I’m either a Californian hippie or a British groupie from the 70s trapped in the body of a 21-year-old living in the 21st century.
3. While all this is going on my mother would go into full backseat driving mode. You know what backseat driving is? It’s when you’re not driving but you keep on yakking about how the one behind the wheel should drive: “go slow,” “wait there’s the red light,” “don’t go too near that bus.” I love my mother, but this drives me crazy. If there’s something I want more than anything else in the world, it’s not world peace, but an end to backseat driving.
4. I gaze out the window and “ponder on life” to shut out the backseat driving comments.
5. I sleep.
6. My sisters wake me up to announce that we have arrived. I groggily get out of the car, then throw myself on my grandma’s couch to sleep some more.
***
My boyfriend isn’t too crazy about The Beatles–he’s more into The Doors, he says–but we find The Beatles’ “Something” special.
Here’s the actual video, where John Lennon and Yoko Ono look like they came from Transylvania:
And the “Across the Universe” version, which I adore for its simplicity and Jim Sturgess’ smooth, dreamy voice.
conqueror, not
Thanks to Paul, I got wind of this website that will allow you to keep track of the places in the Philippines that you’ve visited.
My grade? D for Disgusting.
My Lakbayan grade is D!
How much of the Philippines have you visited? Find out at Lakbayan! Created by Eugene Villar.
Man, I need to travel more. I’ve never been to any place in Visayas and Mindanao. Ugh.
I only got to go outside Luzon in grade school and high school, when my family and I spent about three summers in Malaysia where my dad used to work, and a few days in Singapore.
What I got out of those travels except for hundreds of pictures that show me as a fat and grumpy teenager:
- I learned a little Bahasa (Malaysian languange) from hotels and airports. Like, “pintu” is “door,” and “gula” is “sugar.” “Selamat” means “welcome.” I think.
- I fell in love with F.R.I.E.N.D.S., the TV show. To this day, I watch at least five episodes every weekend on DVD.
- I wrote (childish) fiction. But I have no idea where the notebooks I wrote them in are now.
Looking back, I wish I had been more open-minded and adventurous. I mean, I didn’t even go into the snake house at one of the zoos we visited, I preferred to stay inside malls and hotels, and I hardly looked out the window while riding the cable car to Sentosa in Singapore because I was too busy eating pizza. No wonder I got so fat.
who’s your daddy?
Damn I wish I was two years old.
According to reports, Brad and Angelina may adopt a new baby–from the Philippines!
The duo, who both personify hotness, reportedly flew here last week to look around for the latest addition to their multi-racial family. A spokesperson for the couple, however, reportedly refused to comment.
One very, very lucky Filipino kid might join the next family portrait.
(Click here or the picture for Chuvaness’ post showing more Jolie-Pitt family pictures)
offbeat
I would like to be Zooey Deschanel kthnxbye.
No, seriously. I’ve always loved She & Him, particularly their playful “Why Do You Let Me Stay Here,” but I only saw the video today.
I love how badly-made it is. Zooey didn’t even attempt to lip-synch well; it’s like the producers just dressed her up in different outfits and told her to do her thing, which is basically to look effortlessly cute. M. Ward, meanwhile, appeared like he was given specific instructions to look like he doesn’t give a damn about what’s happening around him. I love his deadpan expression!
Unfortunately, unlike Zooey, I can’t play any musical instrument. Not for lack of trying, though. To expound:
- When I was about six, a friend of my uncle volunteered to teach me how to play the piano. I managed to learn “Oh Holy Night” and a few other Christmas songs, and I was made to believe that I was musically gifted. Then one day he just disappeared. Whenever I think of him, Jose Mari Chan’s face comes to mind.
- When I was seven or eight my parents got me professional piano lessons. But my teacher didn’t have the soothing voice of my uncle’s friend, so I refused to cooperate. The relationship ended on a bad note, with her saying that I have very stiff hands. I hated her all the more for it.
- Elementary was all about imitating the Spice Girls with my four other friends. High school was about winning in singing competitions, so I never considered trying to learn to play any instrument during these periods, which we shall collectively call as my “pop phase.”
- When I reached college I begged my dad to buy me a guitar. He bought an acoustic guitar for P4,000, but I gave up on it after a few months. The only songs I learned to play–and I use the phrase “learned to play” very, very loosely–were Nirvana’s “About a Girl” and “Come as You Are,” and Pearl Jam’s “Last Kiss.”
5. Last year I used to fool around with the drums and guitars of a friend who’s in two bands, the key word here being “fool.” I would freeze whenever he or his equally musically-inclined brother entered the room.
not the best
How do I describe this night? Let’s just say there was a lot of glaring, a little crying, and–in fairness–zero shouting. It was mostly my fault, so I offered ice cream and chocolates and they did not fail me. I thank you, sugar deities.
Like I said in my previous blog entry, there’s a lot of things I need to sort out within myself, so probably for the first time in my life I’m actually going to use the Holy Week to reflect. See, Holy Weeks for me usually mean bumming in general and DVD marathons in particular, but this time I’m determined to camp out on the front porch (translation: sit on the rocking chair there), stare out into space, and think. I’m not sure what good that will do me since I’m impulsive and spontaneous, but hey, at least I tried.
I would’ve wanted to go to the beach–to spread a blanket over the sand at night and gaze at the stars, but such things are next to impossible when you’re in the media. Hence, my dreams of week-long beach-going have been reduced to plans of after-work rocking-chair-sitting. I constantly try not to pity myself.
clouded
I’ve been feeling somewhat melancholic lately, partly due to self-created dilemmas (”It’s you against you,” as one very good friend pointed out) and partly due to health problems besetting some people important to me.
Someone whom I love very, very dearly might be dying. I don’t want to put in specifics because the situation has not been made known to some people who might stumble upon this blog, but suffice it to say that there’s not much we can do anymore except hope for a miracle.
And then a few hours ago I learned that one of my best friends is confined in a hospital, where the friend is set to undergo a series of examinations. I’m itching to go there and visit, but I can’t as of the moment, so right now I’m just hoping my friend wouldn’t have to stay there all throughout Holy Week.
Right now my mind is wrapped around the same thought that kept on repeating itself in my head during my grandfather’s wake nearly two months ago–that some people, unfortunately, get what they don’t deserve.
I’m aware of how cynical this sounds, but sometimes it just doesn’t pay to be good. That doesn’t mean, of course, that I’ll go around screwing everyone’s lives– I’m just more aware now that nobody’s spared from misfortune, no matter how much you tried to avoid being a bitch or an asshole.
