Running, dreaming


Here we go. I’m about to start training for my first full marathon. Because as one of my favorite shoes ad says: “I am made of sweat, not swagger.”


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Wide Weekend: Pasig River


For years, I’ve been thinking of going on a Pasig River ferry ride. Last May 21, I was able to gather enough courage to hop on one of the ferries. The Pasig River Rehabilitation Commission and Ateneo Graduate School of Business Student Council organized a guided tour and I went along with some friends from our MBA Program.


There is still so much work to do. The air at the river is not (yet) inviting and I can only imagine how the commuters who ride the line regularly are able to stand the smell. But we’re thankful that there are people who dedicate their time and resources to rehabilitating the river.


The ferry passes through several cities in Metro Manila. This route gives passengers a look at the new and old faces of the metropolis. From the new high-rise residential buildings at Makati to the decades old structures at the City of Manila. The organizers treated us to lunch by the river at the Intramuros Station. Not an ideal dining place for the picky but hey, we’re all still alive.

Ah, Pasig River. There’s such a lot of world to see.

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Wide Weekend: Mt. Pulag

PH Pulag 3

After less than two weeks of rest after my TNF trail run, I was already off to Mt. Pulag with new friends last weekend.

PH Pulag 1

The tour included side trips to Ambuklao Dam, Jangjang Hanging Bridge, the hot springs and, just before we went home, the Upper Session Road.

PH Pulag 2

We were up just a little past midnight for the preparations. The hours of climbing, braving the cold air and managing my aching knee (a hangover from the trail race) were all worth it. It was one of the best sunrises I’ve seen so far.

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TNF100, the fourth time around


The North Face organizes an annual trail running event and I have been joining the Benguet legs of this race since 2012. For months, I have been unable to join races because of a injury brought about by a skimboard hitting my right foot.

Any runner who has taken such a long break knows how bad that feels. What makes this easier to bear is the company of good friends who encourage you to get back up, especially if these friends include ultramarathon runners. They mean it when they say it can be done. So this year, I decided to get back on track.


I ran my worst time this year and contemplated on a DNF at that new steep slope where the route required us to do a difficult u-turn. It was so bad, I almost didn’t make it in time for the 22-kilometer cut-off time. Good thing my buddy Marc was patiently waiting for me to get back and got free lunch ready for me. I headed straight to the paramedics area after crossing the finish line.

Here’s to making myself a better runner this year. As they say, if you really want something, you make time for it.

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Wide Weekend: Palawan, Philippines

PH Coron 7

Having grown up a few minutes away from the sea, trips to the beach didn’t have that much appeal to me. This year I tried to get over this mindset and penciled in a few sea-centered travels.

PH Coron 5

During a weekend in Coron with friends, the question I had in mind was: damn, why didn’t I visit this place sooner? That was my first time to go island and shore hopping outside of my home province. It was also my first taste of the croc sisig (minced crocodile meat), which, as we have agreed upon, fits well into our modified seafood diet.

PH Coron 13

If you’re still planning out your trips for the rest of the year, go see Palawan. This is something we should all be doing at least twice in our lives.

Wide Weekend is a series on this blog where I post short notes and photographs from quick trips and events on, well, weekends. Some people would go as far as calling themselves “weekend warriors” for having a life and some advocacies outside of work. But  I love my work as a lawyer too much to exclude it from what I call “life”. For most of us, the fighting for a better way of living happens everyday, and that makes us common daily warriors. It’s just that things can get so much more colorful on weekends.

Life is short, let’s make it wide.

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A musing and museum afternoon


Via Crucis (2016) by Antipas Delotavo

The last time I went to the Vargas Museum was in college. I can’t even remember the name of the artist who opened his exhibition that day, so I’m pretty sure my attendance was partly because of the free food and beer.

So when I needed a place to work on my paper weeks ago, I visited the Vargas Museum, where there is also a museum cafe. It is true that a place rarely remains the same as the last time you saw it.

My favorite wall at its second floor is the one where Fernando Amorsolo’s paintings of ruins of Manila are on display. When destruction is painted by an artist well-known for works on the beauty of the countryside, we see a fresh wound while looking only at scars.

At the first floor, the current exhibits are those of Antipas Delotavo (Agos) and Roberto Feleo (Mito ng Aklasang Basi). Both exhibits run until April 8.

Museums have been more lenient about the prohibition against photographing the works on display. That might be a good way to reach out to the selfie-obsessed humans we have become. However, I can imagine the curators now face the challenge of creating a deeper experience than what the smartphones would allow.

For example, that day I visited the Vargas Museum, I saw two girls in the hall where Delotavo’s works are on exhibit. They were taking pictures of each other at the gap between the paintings Ganito Noon and Ganito Ngayon. Their hair and backs touched the canvas. They didn’t seem to spend time looking at the paintings, but the photos will most probably end up on their social media profiles.

There is no one way to appreciate a museum experience, sure. And among the many possible ways, there will be those that will prove to be annoying. I would like to ask curators and artists about this. Food and beer are on me.


Allegory of Temptation (1933) by Graciano Nepomuceno

I vaguely remember how an ex-love demanded a trip to the National Museum. It was a weekend and I wasn’t feeling well, but my mind wouldn’t let me say “no.” Who would?

While looking at century-old masterpieces, I made believe my own emotions can transcend time and dust. I leaned and whispered that love lasts if you kiss in front of the Spoliarium. Before the walls of studies, I hoped the message was clear: the masters started somewhere, too. If forever exists, I’m sure it’s not ready-made.

After we broke up, I could come up with just one wish. That, damn it, when we proceed with the business of forgetting, may the memory of that rainy Sunday be spared. It should be framed, how we dragged ourselves out of the weekend slump and went to the museum. Art is always such a good excuse for loving.

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Break going out


It’s World Poetry Day. Here is my favourite poem by Michael Ondaatje:

To A Sad Daughter

All night long the hockey pictures
gaze down at you
sleeping in your tracksuit.
Belligerent goalies are your ideal.
Threats of being traded
cuts and wounds
–all this pleases you.
O my god! you say at breakfast
reading the sports page over the Alpen
as another player breaks his ankle
or assaults the coach.

When I thought of daughters
I wasn’t expecting this
but I like this more.
I like all your faults
even your purple moods
when you retreat from everyone
to sit in bed under a quilt.
And when I say ‘like’
I mean of course ‘love’
but that embarrasses you.
You who feel superior to black and white movies
(coaxed for hours to see Casablanca)
though you were moved
by Creature from the Black Lagoon.

One day I’ll come swimming
beside your ship or someone will
and if you hear the siren
listen to it. For if you close your ears
only nothing happens. You will never change.

I don’t care if you risk
your life to angry goalies
creatures with webbed feet.
You can enter their caves and castles
their glass laboratories. Just
don’t be fooled by anyone but yourself.

This is the first lecture I’ve given you.
You’re ‘sweet sixteen’ you said.
I’d rather be your closest friend
than your father. I’m not good at advice
you know that, but ride
the ceremonies
until they grow dark.

Sometimes you are so busy
discovering your friends
I ache with loss
–but that is greed.
And sometimes I’ve gone
into my purple world
and lost you.

One afternoon I stepped
into your room. You were sitting
at the desk where I now write this.
Forsythia outside the window
and sun spilled over you
like a thick yellow miracle
as if another planet
was coaxing you out of the house
–all those possible worlds!–
and you, meanwhile, busy with mathematics.

I cannot look at forsythia now
without loss, or joy for you.
You step delicately
into the wild world
and your real prize will be
the frantic search.
Want everything. If you break
break going out not in.
How you live your life I don’t care
but I’ll sell my arms for you,
hold your secrets forever.

If I speak of death
which you fear now, greatly,
it is without answers.
except that each
one we know is
in our blood.
Don’t recall graves.
Memory is permanent.
Remember the afternoon’s
yellow suburban annunciation.
Your goalie
in his frightening mask
dreams perhaps
of gentleness.


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