My Life in Seven Days #2

November 7, 2021, Sunday

I recharged and read the following:

  • Short fiction: “Departure” by Erma M. Cuizon (from her Homecoming and Other Stories)

  • Poetry: “The Time Factor” by Ophelia Alcantara Dimalanta (in One Hundred Love Poems: Philippine Poetry Since 1905); “Sketch Notes on Bagua Ling” by Zhang Er (translated by Ting Wang and published on World Literature Today); and three Romanian poems by Deniz Otay: “Mood: seaside,” “Unfamiliar boys leading me through the woods,” and “Grand supernovas” (translated by Cătălina Stanislav for Modern Poetry in Translation)

  • Short prose: “This Strange Thing, the Word” by Trinh T. Minh-ha (from The Brooklyn Rail)

  • Interview: “Two ‘Nasty Women’ Discuss Writing and Editing during Trumpism: A conversation with AGNI contributor and poet Lisa Lewis" (read on AGNI)

New words I learned: obeisance, sibylline, limn, deckle, incursion, divagation

I walked again with Jac-Jac and bumped into two separate neighbors, one was stroking a stray cat and the other holding a kitten and asking me to adopt it. I looked at my gentle dog who likes cats (but cats don't like him) and politely declined. 

Mama went to Danao with her friends. An impromptu trip. And that made me happy for her.

November 8, Monday

I went to meet old colleagues in person, my first in two years. I wore a two-inch pair of shoes, my first, too, in two years. And I love it. 

I bought one kilo (20 pieces) of uncooked chorizo from a neighbor’s store for P170; I gave some to my mama-in-law.

November 9, Tuesday

I tried calculating: Today is our 170th month together (I think, or is it 180th?). How many years would that be?

My mother visited us at 7 a.m. I was happy. The dogs chased each other.

We had salmon. 

Whole day, I was sleepy. The drizzle didn't help.

An interesting word: multipotentialite 

November 10, Wednesday

I read Kevin Power’s criticism of Hilary Mantel’s Mantel Pieces on The Stinging Fly. Mantel’s book is still quite expensive everywhere.

Relearned from Mr. Power: The paragraph is the basic unit of thought in prose.

My husband told me to buy a good-job reward or an early birthday gift for myself. I couldn’t think of any.

November 11, Thursday

I remembered the rain days ago, so I wrote another haiku:

Stripping slowly, these

clouds─like fluffy cotton balls─

to show its dark side.

November 12, Friday

I worked harder today, from 8 a.m. to 9 p.m., almost nonstop. Then I got sick.

Like yesterday, I took a short break on the balcony, thinking nothing. There was no wind and the air was hot. 

I’m still reading Yukio Mishima’s Thirst for Love. I’ve been at it for weeks. I don’t rush reading anymore. 

I started playing Kairosoft’s Dream Park Story. Not bad.

November 13, Saturday

My husband’s optimism and humor uplifted me. He made for me three pieces of my favorite hardened thin-cheese sandwich. 

Listening and reading poetry helped, too. This one is heavenly: “In the Chinese Ceramics Gallery” by Sarah Howe, published on The White Review.

I enjoyed the artistic performances of the South Korean dance crew, Prowdmon. 

I gazed at Ethel Gabain's captivating Carmen sitting on the bath oil painting displayed on the Instagram account of the Abbot and Holder Gallery.

self-care daily journal mental health


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