Now/here no/where woman

Here. Read all about annoying clichés in the natural sciences. In my dissertation I am guilty of "shedding light" on the messy complexities that get tangled up in each other when nature conservation and indigenous peoples' rights meet. I am pleased to note that I didn't call for any "paradigm shifts" but I probably said as much, given that there are countless "missing links" in the interactions between agents of conservation and indigenous communities . The former are searching for the "holy grail" of indigenous peoples living in harmony with nature and the latter just want a "silver bullet" with which to shoot the conservationists and other bossy werewolves in the head.

Today I want to remember Pinay heroines. Image credit: by Francsico Coching, seen at komikero komiks Gabriela Silang , who taught me that women could be warriors, and who has had a fierce grip on my imagination from wild childhood days when I would ride whooping through the rain, bareback on a galloping horse, thinking of what it might've been like to be waving a bolo in one hand, charging into enemy ranks. Image taken from kapuso online Corazon Aquino , who taught me another way of being a woman and a warrior, and who made history at a time when I was just beginning to learn what it meant to be a woman, and to be Pinay. Hmmmm, wala bang heroine dyan na may asawa? Hmmmm.

A NERD BOYFRIEND. Check out these fine specimens. More diversions on nerdboyfriend.com . Thank you, Miss Mika O .

To disappear is to cease to be visible. To disappear is to cease to exist or be in use. To disappear is to be lost or impossible to find. To disappear is to be taken and kept against your will. To disappear is to go missing or be killed. To reappear. What does it take?

This evening's rain is my friend. Tonight I am an armadillo and the rain and I are talking. The rain tells me it will keep me safe tonight. The sound of the rain shuts out the rest of the world and I like it this way. I am not hungry. I can stay where I am. Something heavy rustles outside my den. Quickly I curl up into a tight, armored ball, but the rain says, "SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. It's nothing." Image credit: http://www.atmos.washington.edu/2001Q2/211/groupC/biosphere.html

Please join us for the launching of a volume of essays written by authors who have lived and loved in Baguio. Edited by Grace Celeste T. Subido. The Baguio We Know September 2, 2009 at 6PM National Bookstore, SM Baguio "Today, with the emergence of new and concededly more titillating, tourist destinations, many will admit that Baguio has "fallen from grace" from its once lofty position as "Summer Capital of the Philippines." However, perhaps more than anything, this collection of works reveals the Baguio that is so much more than the handmaiden to tourism that some falsely believe is the answer to this city's ultimate salvation. "This collection of works provides a glimpse into that view from within of a place forged in consciousness that transcends boundaries of time and space." -- FROM THE INTRODUCTION The Contributors Cecile Afable Pia Arboleda Arnold Molina Azurin Tita Lacambra-Ayala Nonnette C. Bennett Karl

After our nation's outpouring of love for Cory, what next? What next? What next? Ipat Luna's wonderfully simple suggestion.

Image source: The Daily Dose by Manuel L. Quezon III 11 bottles of $510 champagne. Macapal-Arroyo must have been celebrating something. Some victory, perhaps, after her visit with Obama? What would that be, I wonder? Did she clinch yet another dirty deal at our expense? What does she have in store for us next? Image source: The Daily Dose by Manuel L. Quezon III A $20,000 dinner. Shameless. Oh please give me the strength to hold back all the cuss words piling up on my tongue! Read more At Midfield.

Seeing my irate nanay raise her middle finger at a jeepney that had just barely shaved past us and left us gagging in a cloud of black poison, the six-year old in me sensed that this was a powerful gesture. I asked her what it meant. Nanay must have realized that she had let slip the veil of propriety that mothers are expected to wear. "It's a curse," she said perfunctorily, and taking my hand she walked briskly down the street as if to usher me away from the spot of my almost-awakening to something adult. I was delighted to learn something new and magical. From then on I went about surreptitiously giving the finger to condescending adults (always have loathed them), channeling all my childish indignation through my middle finger. I firmly believed that henceforth these unwitting adults were doomed to live unhappy grownup lives. (Pero redundant pala ang curse ko.) I can't remember when or how I finally learned what the middle finger signified. But I think that by the

Excerpts from a journal entry written January 9, 2008, Phnom Penh: "We knew we had reached Toul Sleng when we saw barbed wire fences around the corner. When we entered the gate the hairs on my nape and arms stood on end. The air in that place is heavy with agony, anger, grief, and depravity. "We first went to Building A, where interrogations were carried out. The rooms had iron beds and shackles on them and worst of all, photos of torture victims that had died on the beds. One room still had blood stains on the ceiling. It was difficult to breathe. I didn't know whether I wanted to cry or vomit. By the 5th room at the end of the hall, my knees weakened and I had to sit down. ( Pan ) was blurry-eyed and red-nosed... I had to send a text (home), to connect myself to love. I'm crying now as I write this. "After a few moments we entered Building B. The first row of rooms contained photos taken by the Khmer Rouge of all the detainees that were brought to S-21 for int