I saw Shireen Seno’s Nervous Translation with my mom tonight. I treated her to Chinese Barbecue right after. In her words, it was a “relaxing night”, no more and no less. I agree with her, I do feel more placid and sober instead of fuzzy and confused (and slightly, out of body) as I was in the past two weeks.

I want to say plenty of things about Nervous Translation and how it opened up memories of my childhood I thought I’d already effectively shucked into a landfill. No, I won’t drive down the grainy sepia road of afternoon light and bougainvillea shade. Just the sensation of rain, writing down the sound of the wind (and the air-con and the ref…), and trying to make sense of things… that make little sense. Like items one finds in their parents’ drawers that incite all sorts of strange feelings— things that are difficult to take back, and whose meanings are perhaps already warped upon inception.

But I want to take my time with these things. I take time reading art and learning about people, and how I can love them better. How I can teach myself not to always respond with distrust.

And also take time with my “review” of Nervous Translation. (It is showing at Cinema Centenario at Maginhawa Street, Teacher’s Village until Tuesday. It is an endearing, introspective, and well-made film and I implore you to watch it.)

I am on my last paragraph and I will be quick: I made this blog because 1) I’ve always enjoyed blogging— you can keep rambling without anyone cutting you off with “What’s your point?” or “Do you want more beer?”; 2) I want to reach out; 3) I’m reaching out through a partially anonymous blog because… well, I want to make a real effort to go through all my emotional trauma growing up. But I want to do it in a manner that is systematic (one at a time) and at my own pace. Which is to say, maybe I’ll abandon this blog tomorrow… or I’ll keep at it until I’m dead.

Thank you for being with me in these brief moments.