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This is my New Orleans.
It is called The Big Easy. Maybe, because it is very easy to fall in love with the city. It is small enough that you won't get lost, yet big enough that you will find almost anything you need, from Asian food to European cuisine. From games to seafood, to Poboy, to gumbo, jambalaya, and of course, raw oyster.
This is my friend, Denny, enjoying a quiet afternoon at a statue near the World Trade Center by the Hilton near the Mississippi River. 
That is the Spanish Plaza in the background. When I feel lonely and I think that the world is contemplating a conspiracy against poor old me, I do the touristy thing. That means, sipping daiquiri, passing by the Spanish plaza, do a little shopping at Banana Republic, and most importantly, to get my feet wet in the water fountain. Nothing in the world is more relaxing! 
There's the water fountain. A Greek friend in Baltimore (George Papamikail) once told me that if you flip a coin in the fountain, you will certainly go back to that fountain. And we made this pact, that after ten years, we will see each other again in our favorite Chinese restaurant in Baltimore. We used to go there and eat our hearts out before we watched a Van Damme movie.
It was one of those crazy promises you made to friends. You don't really mean for it to happen, but it sure would be good if it did.
That must have been twelve years ago, and I don't know whatever happened to my buddy. What I do know is that until this day, I still flip a coin whenever I see a fountain. Maybe to go back to the place once again. And to remember everything that happened the first time. And maybe do it over again. 
There's the mighty Mississippi river.
It is so enormous, it dwarfs each and every vessel that comes crawling to it, just like that big red ship.
One of my mother's brother is a seaman. He has been around the world and twice, they docked somewhere in the Mississippi river. The interesting part is finding where exactly they docked in Louisiana. Very easily, you get acquainted with a city like Carville, that is nothing more than a little dot in the map of the state, but actually exists and has people living near or in it.
One thing I noticed is that where ever you go in the world, people are friendly, in general. Which is why it pains me so much to know that your enemies are people you do know. 
Around here, we only drive Mercedes.
We pick them in the streets like they grow them in the yard. And it don't matter whose yard it was. Yours or your neighbor's. It don't matter. It's all good. Because when you're here, you're family.
And nothing is better than that, y'all hear? 
What I said earlier about fountains, I didn't really mean. Well, not exactly, anyway.
I flip coins to the fountain because somehow, there's this part of me that wishes to come back to where I have been. But there's also this part of me who wants to move forward and forget the things of the past completely. I don't want to be burdened with nostalgia. I don't want any memory, whether happy or sad, to affect or even cloud my judgement. Or my happiness, at the moment. 
There's the tall World Trade Center, which is always at Number 1 Main Street of every city. Back in Baltimore, I would go up at the roof top of WTC to see a fantastic view of the city, which seemed to go on and on forever. Here, in Nawlins, I go up to Top of the Mart, where they serve liquor.
Now, let me see. Where would I rather be?
Sober at the Inner Harbor or having a party at the French Quarter? That's a tough decision, y'all. 
There's Harrah's Casino. No big surprise there. 
There's Canal Street, where all the major parades eventually pass by. During Mardi Gras and the week before it, people would line up on both sides of the street and try to catch beads.
I don't do that anymore. I only go if I have visiting friends who have not experienced the craziness of Mardi Gras.
I guess, you could say that I have mellowed in time. I am no longer the party animal that I used to be.
But it is good to know that I can still be a party animal. I just chose not to be one. 
On the left is the Aquarium. That is also the location of the IMAX theater. I think they are showing Mummies of Egypt at the moment.
Last year, on my birthday, just to show you how crazy I had become. On my birthday, I saw an IMAX movie about butterflies. And actually liked every minute of it!
Go figure... 
When we took these pictures, tourists thought we were also tourists. They were rather friendly and they tried to avoid getting on our way. I tried to explain that we were locals, but how can you really say anything to a stranger that would be meaningful. They are enjoying their vacation, we are enjoying the photo shoot. 
With clouds like you see in the background, how can one not fall in love with the city?
I love watching the clouds roll by. When Abby and Julius were still little, we would play this game called "I spy in the sky" in the car on our way to New Orleans and back. Those were some of my fondest memories.
These days, I love watching the sky at night. I love to see a clear view of the moon on a cloudless night. I love the fact that the moon looks at its reflection on the river. There was this tale once read to me when I was little. A princess wanted to catch the moon and put it around her neck, and anyone who could do that would get her hand in marriage. Suitors tried, but they all failed and got their heads cut off. Then one clever prince arrived with a bucket of water. When the moon arrived at night, the prince told the princess to look in the bucket. Sure enough, the moon was there.
She may not have gotten the moon around her neck, but she knew where it was. 
Top of the Mart is a revolving bar on top of the World Trade Center. It offers a breathtaking view of the city.
One time, I was on an airplane, probably going to Maddison, Wisconsin, and a thought entered my mind. I thought about the view on top. How many of us have that kind of a view? And how is it down there below?
Some people get to the top of their fields. Some people become head of their families or tribes. Some become head of their government. And they make some decision that affect some other people.
But I believe that the decision that matters most is whether or not you love someone.
I have been battling with this demon for quite some time now.
Why is it that some people you love do not love you back? And why is it that often, these are the ones that really count? Or does it just seem that way?
I have always maintained that you cannot look for someone else for your own happiness. I believe that wholeheartedly.
But it still hurts. Sometimes.
Particularly at night, when all that you have is the burning moon on an unbounded Louisiana sky. Cloudless and vulnerable.
Yet continues to beat. Just like my heart. 
Once inside the World Trade Center, you take an elevator to the 29th floor, then take another elevator to the 33rd floor. Just be careful, because some elevators only go to the 18th floor.
So, where was I?
Oh yeah, we were talking about relationships.
I think the most important relationship of all is between a parent and a child. I don't remember anymore what lies were told to me as a child, or as a young adult. But it comes back to haunt me every now and then.
When I was 21, I probably did not understand how people can fall out of love. But I am older now, and I now understand that they do.
Back then, separateed couples could not even dare mention the separation. They moved on with their lives as if nothing happened. They talked about it like nothing happened.
And maybe nothing happened because I was made to believe that nothing happened.
Yet here I am, staring at the glowing Lousiana moon. And all of my heartaches are real. 
Here's a view of the Mississippi river and the West Bank.
Did you notice the finger? I could have edited it, but I like a little imperfection, myself.
There is nothing wrong with being number 2. As a matter of fact, being number 2 gives you all the reasons and motivations to become number 1 next time.
On my second year in college, the College of Science had this great idea of writing down the names of the people in the Dean's List. The semester before, my average was 1.03, just one 1.25 (in Filipino of all classes, Joi Barrios was the instructor) and the rest 1.0, which was the highest possible grade. The average was more than enough to put me on top of the list.
But what I remember the most were not the praises, but the obscenities and expletives of those who cannot believe what I have done. And I remember exactly what my Tita Ella told me when I went home with my classcards.
She said, "Why didn't you get all 1.0's?"
I can laugh at it now, after years of suppression and anger and meditation, and yes, even prayers. 
To be perfectly honest, I don't really know what part of New Orleans this one is. But it is a river, with a boat.
And to me, that is enough. 
Once I asked Don Pablo
How one becomes a poet
"Metaphors" was the answer
Given by an artist portraying him
Only it was spoken in Italian
A language I never learned
It happened that once
I was atop a mountain of clouds
Searching for Don Pablo, maybe,
Searching for some confirmation,
Some miracle, some solution
Yet all I found
Were thinning clouds
That blurred my vision
And as I try to hold back
The tears that my sunglasses
Could no longer hide
There appeared from afar
In the midst of the feathery soft
White, silver clouds
I saw a hole
A valley, a city
With streets and houses and buildings
Elevated high up in the heavens
Looking down on the deep blue sea
And that's when I knew
That poetry can wait
For yet another day
It has to.
It's got to.
Earlier today, I saw on a tv program someone who advocates connecting with your own family.
SO, I asked myself. Which family? The one I left behind, or the one I am running away from?
These days, choices do not come to me in simple terms.
Yet despite everything, or maybe inspite of it all, I remain calm and open. And loving. Even though now I know that I can love and not be loved back. I can care and not be cared about. I can see and not be seen. I can be, even if others would not let me be.
I am and I have become. 
The window is dirty. That is why it looks like it is raining out there. 
A visit in New Orleans would not be complete without tasting authentic Vietnamese food at the West Bank.
If I remember it correctly, the restaurant is called Pu Thau Bai. I may have the wrong spelling and I may even have spelled some expletives but, who cares! The food was good. The food was cheap.
And this, to me, is heaven.
My home. |
