“No, it’s not the stars that are so beautiful and wondrous. They explode or collapse and fall away and you never see them again. But if you’re very lucky, you find that the moon and the stars can work together. When one star burns itself out, the light from the moon will get you through until you see the next star.”
~Linda Holeman, Starlight, Star Bright

“Despite being of sound mind and body, and in the middle of my teenage years, I have not known a great love – or even one of mediocre quality. Because of this lack, I have submerged myself in the love of others. I’ve rolled in it, soaked it up, swallowed it whole.”
~Linda Holeman, Love, Unrequited

The quotes above are from the compilation of short stories entitled Toxic Love, penned by Linda Holeman.

Toxic Love is generally considered as suitable for the Young Adult genre but the sentiments it evokes are, in my opinion, deep and poignant – mature in their deceptive simplicity.

I am very much reminded of the style of another YA author, Francesca Lia Block, and her own collection of short stories, Girl Goddess #9.

As for Eastern simplicity and sensibility, I highly recommend the works of the very talented Banana Yoshimoto, especially her compilation of brilliant shorts, Lizard.

Nick Joaquin, Philippine National Artist for Literature, passed away last April 29th, at 7:00 AM, in his San Juan, Metro Manila home. He was a week shy of his 87th birthday, which will be taking place on 4 May 2004.

Yahoo! News Asia provides a very good news feature as tribute to this brilliant man, whose rich imagination and poetic soul reached beyond print to capture the numerous facets of the human spirit.

Among his most notable works are the short stories Summer Solstice, Guardia de Honor (Honor Guard) and, my personal favorite, the savagely bittersweet May Day Eve. He also wrote the local classic novel, The Woman Who Had Two Navels.

His play A Portrait of the Artist as Filipino: An Elegy in Three Scenes was a big hit when it was first staged in 1955. This work was later made into a movie. In the years that followed, Portrait has been staged time and time again by various professional and amateur theatre groups, testimony to its timeless grandeur.

More recently, his play Tatarin, a mystical and sexually charged battle between woman and man, was likewise transposed into film form, topbilled by big silver screen names such as Dina Bonnevie and Edu Manzano.

Indeed, Nick Joaquin was more than just a novelist, poet, playwright, and essayist in his time. He was a creator of sharp, witty reflections of the Filipino essence.

The Ramon Magsaysay Foundation called him “the greatest Filipino writer of his generation” who produced “a body of work unmatched in richness and range by his contemporaries.”

According to the faithful logs of Paolo Manalo, Mang Nick was cremated at La Funeraria Paz Araneta on the night of his passing.

His wake began at 1:00 PM last Friday, April 30th, at the Sanctuario de San Antonio in Forbes Park, Makati City. Necrological rites were held this morning at the Cultural Center of the Philippines, with the interment immediately following, at the Libingan ng mga Bayani (translated as “Graveyard of Heroes”).

Rest in peace, Mang Nick.

That they were at peace at last, the two of them and her tired body at rest; her broken body set free at last from the brutal pranks of the earth–from a trap of a May night; from the snare of summer; from the terrible silver nets of the moon.

~Nick Joaquin (4 May 1917-29 April 2004), May Day Eve

Giverius Navarroy and the Chamber of Surprises was recommended to me by a school friend, Meileen.

Right now, the site has an Oliver Wood poster feature, As Wood As It Gets. Droolworthy Oliver never fails to complete your day.

The site creates poster parodies from popular movies such as I Still Know What You Did Last Summer, Planet of the Apes and The Lord of the Rings, among many others.

Wish they would make the parody posters as big as those in the cinemas and sell them commercially. You can also send spoof postcards right from the site. Naughty and nice.

In other book-related news, is Stephen King really that determined to give up his gory quill for a more quiet and less suspense-ridden life?

Come to think of it, the past few years have been eventful for him, and most likely draining as well. He had an accident and was convalescing for quite some time. He published a semi-successful e-novella and wrote a slew of books that still became bestsellers.

Presently he pens a show called Rose Red. What a life he leads indeed. He admits that he does not want to end up like Harold Robbins, who suffered a stroke and promptly burnt out in both his life and writing career.

Earlier today, I randomly went through my electronic poetry collection, which includes the works of Edgar Allan Poe, Christina Georgina Rossetti and Rabindranath Tagore, among others.

One of the poems that has long since pulled at my heartstrings is The Gardener by Tagore. The entire work is quite lengthy, but it never gets stilted.

I first heard of the author when I was in my first year of high school, at our Values Education class wherein he was quoted in our textbook. I looked him up in the library and eventually came across some of the poetry he had written.

I was proverbially reunited with Tagore when excerpts from The Gardener were quoted in a Rurouni Kenshin fanfiction series, Of Love and Honor. This work, beautifully and lyrically constructed by Tin Mandigma, remains unfinished to date, but is recognized as one of the best fanfic pieces in the RK fandom. The central characters in Of Love and Honor are Aoshi Shinomori and Misao Makimachi – the Oniwabanshuu Okashira and his Itachi Musume.

Excerpts from THE GARDENER
by Rabindranath Tagore

I love you, beloved. Forgive me my love.
Like a bird losing its way I am caught.
When my heart was shaken it lost its veil and was naked.
Cover it with pity, beloved, and forgive me my love.

If you cannot love me, beloved, forgive me my pain.
Do not look askance at me from afar.
I will steal back to my corner and sit in the dark.
With both hands I will cover my naked shame.
Turn your face from me, beloved, and forgive me my pain.

If you love me, beloved, forgive me my joy.
When my heart is borne away by the flood of happiness,
Do not smile at my perilous abandonment.
When I sit on my throne
And rule you with my tyranny of love,
When like a goddess I grant you my favour,
Bear with my pride, beloved, and forgive me my joy.

Do not go, my love, without asking my leave.
I have watched all night,
And now my eyes are heavy with sleep.
I fear lest I lose you when I am sleeping.
Do not go, my love, without asking my leave.

I start up and stretch my hands to touch you.
I ask myself, “Is it a dream?”
Could I but entangle your feet with my heart
And hold them fast to my breast!
Do not go, my love, without asking my leave.