Sunday bloody Sunday

Unang araw ng regla. Para sa akin, ang unang araw ng regla ay isang afterthought. No, let me rephrase that: ang unang araw ng regla ay isang joke, dahil kulang na lang, tingin ko sa sarili ko e araw-araw ay may regla ako dahil sa aking infamous na short temper at mood swings. Kahit mga estudyante ko ay palaging may disclaimer sa akin kapag off-the-charts nanaman ang aking disposisyon.

Enough about that shark-attracting intro.

Yes durga (my sole reader, methinks), I am rather diligent in posting these days. It seems to me that the frequency of my posts are directly proportional to the frequency of my eating out and drinking. As long as I am in very good company (and very good hands).

Classes in UPLB officially ended last Friday, but I 'officially' ended mine last Tuesday. One, as a 'give-away present' to my students who faced sleepless nights the past week. Two, as a reprieve for me to attend to other matters that need my attention. Three, because I am the teacher, dammit.

In yet another 'fit' of dramaqueenitis, I texted K. to meet me for a while at Jack's (not IC's, for once) for a little break (while I'm checking my students' exams) and finally asking from her a tarot reading. Quite poignant that the tarot deck she used for her reading of me is the Marseilles deck, one of the decks used by Calvino in Il castello dei destini incrociati (!), a novel (or series of stories? or a big pun on the genre of the novel?) I discussed in my world lit class.

Keeping in check my tear ducts, I calmly and receptively listened to what she had to say about my card selections. A case of deja-vu as I wonder how the last four cards 'fit' to answer my last question, the same question pondered upon by my students who experienced simultaneous headaches (okay, not quite) comprehending as to whether the cards and the stories coincide or are, to refer to the title 'destined'? Enough about destiny talk. The cards are waaay off the charts - for their eerie, dead-on 'answers'. To all my concerns and questions. Even the 'walang kuwentang' questions.

I could sense that even the three people at the next table couldn't resist listening to two 27-year old females yakking about being comfortable with red and declaring that they love men but wouldn't tie themselves down to one. Which reminded me of a question my students posed to me about marriage. Q: At what age do I see myself getting married? A: If I get married, good. If I don't get married, then that's also fine with me. Met with wide eyes and shock. Immediately concluded I'm a man-hater. To which I answered no. In fact, I told them, I love men. To which K. added, with aplomb, she also loves men. Her questions: why even contemplate the thought of sticking to one? Amen, sister.

So what do I think of my tarot reading? Unlike the way I take into horoscopes in high school, I treated my reading as my mirror. K. is right - nobody needs tarot readings, really. It's just that most of us refuse to admit what we already know and feel through our intuition (especially, I think, with women). I could say 90% of what she told me echoes what I do already know but keep losing through the frequencies of white noise, i.e. the unnecessary distractions, bs, comfort zones, necessary fictions that I've weaved for myself.

Other things that I foung interesting were her series of advice to me: lessen my meat (and not my coffee intake, wonder of wonders); explore avenues of spirituality that delve on processes of detachment such as Daoism and Zen Buddhism, and; continue to love red. Rouge. Rojo. Pula.

On that note, I'd like to rephrase my first statement: The first day of my monthly period is not a joke for me but a reminder of my mortality, my fertility, my sexuality, my (dormant) spirituality, my inherited and created family. The rivers are flushing out the toxins of the past month's hurts, pains, aggressions, insecurities, frustrations, immaturities. Poignantly enough, I begin this week with trepidation and, at the same time, with exhiliration.