The Lover's Dictionary by David Levithan 7 comments

I think it's safe to say that I've never read a novel or any book like this before in the hundreds (if not thousands) of books I managed to get my paws on in the almost two decades that I've been reading. 

A nameless character tells the story of a relationship entirely in dictionary entries. There is no chronological order of events, no cohesive plot, no palpable characterization, only flawless narration of events, dialogues and feelings that delivers a story that is vague and nondescript but featuring settings and feelings that are all too familiar to most people who is and has been, at least once in their lives, in love.

Since the novel defies the usual paths of plot line developments, what makes this literary gem sparkle is its ability to lure the reader in solely by just the brilliance of its writing and the ideas and insights that comes with such situations universally common in almost all relationships.

The Lover's Dictionary by David Levithan, an author who was introduced to me by John Green via their collaboration in Will Grayson, Will Grayson, is an easy, wonderful read. It will make you smile, laugh and tear up in different occasions in the less than 3 hours you will spend finishing it. It's a quick read, without overwhelming the senses, without pretending to be what its not. 

 It will make you think about your own life, its past and the future that lies ahead. It will make you love the concept of love, including the struggles and the bliss that comes with the territory. Because, what else is life for?

The Things One Learns From Regularly Seeing Bodies Sliced Open 0 comments

I was supposed to write this deep and profound (redundancy intentional) blog series about my 1 1/2 year experience working inside the Operating Room. I planned it to be hard-hitting stuff, life-changing even, the kind of articles that would make you think about one's purpose in this world, how people tend to put much value on the wrongest of things and complain about the most insignificant details, but for some reason, I couldn't find my Paulo-Coelho-meets-Mitch-Albom voice and, after several sessions of trying, is still incapable to write my own version of Tuesdays with The Alchemist. 

Instead, what keeps popping out of my head is this sarcastic Gossip Girl style voice which likes name-dropping popular authors and makes fun of everything. So be it. I'll make use of you.

So, what did I manage to soak up after months inside a place where only few have gone inside of, half of them on the table, anesthetized, and the other half literally running around the place just to properly run the place?

Crocs are best friends. They may look fugly outside the sterile section of the OR but inside, they are your feet's closest buddy. From standing in one place for hours at a time to jogging around the facility for the whole 8 hour shift to doing the Tinikling just to get out of the way of spilling blood during bloody operations, you'd be glad to have a comfy rubber barrier protecting your feet from bodily fluids that are not yours nor from a person you're in an intimate relationship with.

Babies are not as fragile as you think. They are actually very nimble and resilient. After witnessing and assisting in hundreds of Caesarian Sections, I'm pretty much convinced I could throw one out the window and it will survive the fall. (Just a figure of speech, please don't report me to Bantay Bata.)

It's never as horrifying as macabre movies present it to be. Replace the gloomy, oil-stained walls with clean tiles and a set sterile instruments instead of chainsaws and pliers and it's pretty much the same thing, intestines and blood everywhere. The difference only lies in the anesthesia, and the fact that no one ever screams and loses their appetite after a major operation. In fact, it's all you can do to not forget to wash your hands before attacking that waiting meal in the pantry.

Nudity loses... whatever effect it has when you're surrounded by it everyday. Now I  can understand how people can go people-watching in nudist beaches and find nothing out of the ordinary. Now, seeing a pregnant mother's labia majora is just like staring at an elbow. Well, the inner part of a flexed elbow, maybe.

Surgeons are also humans. They have different personalities and techniques, they make mistakes and perform miracles, they sleep on meticulously scrubbed floors and wear crinkled scrub suits to work. They are not self-proclaimed Gods some people assume them to be nor crazy overachievers like the ones in Grey's Anatomy who have sex in the janitor's closet. Okay, I'm not sure about the latter because we do not have janitor's closets to begin with but you get the point.

You never know what you got until it's gone. Sometimes, the simplest things are the most important ones. And ironically, these are the things we most often take for granted. Like, feet, for example. I mean, I like my feet, I take them to spas and pedicures every month. But I, you, and most people, don't go around saying "God, I feel so blessed to have these feet." because they've always been there, attached to your legs.  And then the next thing you know, you're witnessing someone get theirs sawed off because of a disease or a freak accident and the unthinkable possibilities that have never entered your mind seemed all too real and plausible. And trust me, it will make you stop ingesting sugar by the kilo. 

Nurse's Notes: 1 1/2 Years Shift 9 comments

OPERATING ROOM NOTES

(August 2011 - December 2012 Shift)

> In from bum life / office work via ward with fat pads stubbornly intact on hips, belly and on subcutaneous layers covering self

> With mental, physical and parental consent to work for 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, in the most random General Reliever shiftings possible

> Transferred into Post Anesthesia Care Unit, transferred out patients

> Scrubbed and gowned aseptically

> Hooked to ongoing operations with OS and instrument count repeatedly done with complete remarks

> Operations ended, post-op care to patients rendered  instruments repeatedly washed and packed.

> Ingested 386 units of 3-in-1 coffee 350 ml type Kopiko Brown Sugar, sipping well

> Above coffees consumed followed by 1,257 cases of Caesarian Section

> Kept alive and usefull to society

> Encouraged foot and leg exercises by circulating ongoing operations

> Referred to Dimsum with orders made, paid and eaten

> Referred back to self for further evaluation and management of further plans in life

> Emotional needs perfectly attended

> Endorsed to bum life/office work with stable happiness, with memories attached at heart :)

2012 in a Paragraph 5 comments

Because endings are beginnings and beginnings are both thrilling and exciting, like when you start the year with an optimistic view of the weeks and months to come because you are now employed, well okay, not technically because the "salary" is called an "allowance", nonetheless there is money to receive from someone other than your parents, but better than financial stability in a definite time frame from a one-year contract to work in a sterile area where you are unbelievably grateful to be in, there's the Whole New World of Romantic Possibilities and ending a long term relationship may very well be the best decision you did that past year and everything seems bright and fluffy and brimming with saccharine sweet potential, but it just so happen that things do not turn out the way you expect them to and the weeks and months thereafter are spent in a blur of monotonous routines where there is this inexplicable feeling of uneasiness and forced detachment from the world from not having to load your phone for a month because nobody cares and you know you sound like those whiny schoolgirls who can't go to the bathroom by themselves but that's just the way it is, but then, even though the clouds refuse to part for months, you get used to the shadows and the gloomy weather and see that playing in the rain is actually kind of fun if you're with the right people and then the days are great again and the emptiness is filled with chaotic schedules, operating room antics, hilarious friends and just life in general where you say to the world, with conviction, that goddamit you were born alone from your mother's womb and you can surely exist in peace and ecstasy all by yourself and then it feels like nothing was ever missing because this is just the way it should be, but then just when you least expect it, like a cold gust of wind, with rising orchestral background music, something happens, and your world is plunged into a whirlwind of coded phone book entries, late night rendezvous, tachycardia and butterflies hovering inside and around your digestive tract that you start to wonder if this is all real because it certainly feels like a scene from some movie or novel you've seen or read before or it may very well be just from your own imagination because you've thought about this numerous times but never actually believed it could actually happen in real non-fairy tale existence but then it IS real and here you go again back to the start and the possibilities are both exhilarating and downright terrifying and nothing is yet certain so you tiptoe around the facts and the paranoia and the daydream skits but then after a while, it's still there, more tangible than ever, and you think, we may have something here and you start to realize the reason and the purpose of all the things that have happened before, and you look up to the sky and say, "Hey, nice writing there," and then you're ready for the next chapter...

2013 Opening Remarks and the 19 Books of 2012 0 comments

So. The world refused to end last December 2012. I'd like to congratulate everyone for surviving yet another Armageddon. We are getting good at this, people!

First, I'd like to take this opportunity to beg for forgiveness to the 6 1/3 people who read this blog. I am sorry for being so busy these past few weeks months. Yes, this is me importantly bragging the existence of my hectic non-cyber life, please pretend to be in awe. Ha! 

But seriously, hospital work contracts come and go but this piece in the world wide web has been with me for years now and no matter how toxic my schedule becomes, mark my words: Orchestroscopy. Will. Live. On.

That said, let us welcome this new year with a scandalous and titillating post about the list of books I've read the past year. Year end reviews / lessons learned / new year resolutions that never survive past January will have to wait. This list is easier to write.

From the 34 books I've read in 2010 to the 18 books finished last 2011, here is my brand new spanking list for the year that was. It's not any better from the previous year and I have to admit, without some of the easily-read local titles, this is a worse year for literary achievements. 

(In chronological order of completion)

1. Before Ever After by Samantha Sotto
2. When She Woke by Hillary Jordan
3. Fifty Shades of Grey by E.L. James
4. Fifty Shades Darker by E.L. James
5. Percy Jackson #1: The Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan
6. Percy Jackson #2: The Sea of Monsters by Rick Riordan
7. Percy Jackson #3: The Titan's Curse by Rick Riordan
8. Percy Jackson #4: The Battle of the Labyrinth by Rick Riordan
9. Percy Jackson #5: The Last Olympian by Rick Riordan
10. The Fault in Our Stars by John Green
11. Looking for Alaska by John Green
12. The Perks of Being A Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky
13. An Abundance of Katherines by John Green
14. City of Lost Souls by Cassandra Clare

Local titles:

   15. Ligo na U, Lapit na Me by Eros S. Atalia

   16. Naermyth by Karen Francisco

   17. 100: The Hundreds Project by UP Writer's Club

   18. Bakit Hindi Ka Crush Ng Crush Mo by Ramon Bautista

   19. Table for Two by Marla Miniano

I regret not being able to write reviews for most of these titles. I'm pretty sure I have more than enough thoughts to accomplish an easy write-up if only time (and laziness) permitted me. Now, however, I feel sort of challenged to devour as much novels (and write as much articles) as possible before June, where there is a 99% of me not being able to crack open a book that is not technically written and full of important sounding jargon. (More of that in the posts to come.)

You see, there is a difference of reading any other book and reading a novel. With novels, you see the beauty and brilliance of artistically written language. There is passion in those pages where written facts, diagrams and figures could never hope to achieve nor even come close to. I think this is what I'll miss the most with the path I am determined to take. But whatever the future may hold, at least I'll know, I'll always have words.

Inside the Operating Room: The Sterile R.N. 4 comments

They stand at the end of the line, near the foot of the bed, away from the action. While everyone is looking one way, a lone entity looks at another, fussing over a table littered with blood streaked instruments. They are the quiet ones often pushed at the end of the field while a handful of assists grapple with retractors and bang each other's heads for a good view of the action. 

They are the silent ones with roving eyes and reeling minds, mentally counting sponges and having that mini heart attack whenever one is nowhere to be found. They are consistently the first on the scene to set up the suite and the last one to go after the patient has been transferred to the recovery room. Then even after that, there are the myriad of instruments to be washed, dried and packed for sterilization. 

While surgeons battle their inflamed appendices, myomas, gallbladders, cysts and a variety of infected tissues, scrub nurses are in combat with a different kind of villains. Each and every one has his/her own share of "Kelly. KELLY!!!" scenario, unavailable sutures, deaf moments, missing sponges and unfamiliar instrument names of unknown origin and appearance. 

Truth is, no patient nor relative is going to thank a scrub nurse for a successful operation. In fact, they are rarely seen by those they serve. Hidden behind masks, the drowsiness of anesthetized patients, and commonly in the shadows of the operating theater lights and the egos of more important people, one could easily underestimate the utmost significance of that unassuming person scrubbed in at the end of the table, waiting to serve.

To assist selflessly as the heroes work their magic in battling the forces of internal anomalies is a trademark of all dedicated scrub nurses. Never mind the grumbling stomach, clogged nose, full bladders, aching feet and, by god, the varicose veins. Never mind the burn out of assisting in a 6-hour operation, doing post-op care to the patient and yet still have 2 trolleys full of used instruments to wash, dry and pack.

Because then, where would surgeons be without their scrub nurses? Where would Aladin be without his Genie? Bruce Wayne without his ever loyal Alfred? Frodo without Sam? Harry Potter without Ron and Hermione? Nemo without Dory? Edward Cullen without his hypoallergenic foundation and body glitter?

A successful major operation is achieved not by individual brilliance nor state of the art equipment. It is by teamwork that lives are saved and souls are once again tethered to this mortal coil. Heroes may swing and punch and flex their bulging muscles, but it is the keepers of the weapons, among others, who help them succeed in their sacred endeavor.

The clanging of swords in a mid-century war clashing for freedom or territory rings the same bell as the resounding clink of scattered steel instruments in a mayo table in battling stubborn bleeders and messed up anatomy. We are all fighting the same war, saving the same lives. And the scrub nurse plays a crucial role in the struggle, even without the spotlight. 

Inside the Operating Room: An Introduction 2 comments

Blood. There is blood everywhere. On the floor, pooling in basins, dripping from sponges and coating once glimmering stainless steel instruments. Smoke lazily floats up the room as the smell of burning flesh lingers in the air, cloying, at times suffocating. A monitor is beeping incessantly at one corner of the room, wires and cables extending from its body like a robotic creature happily entangling its prey. 

The room is filled with aliens. Or maybe not, but they sure look like extraterrestrial beings. Or maybe those specialists who cater to ones. All suited up, capped and masked, with rubberized hands. They talk with invisible mouths, their eyes being the only windows to their souls. Assuming each of them has one.

And in the middle, a body. Lying down, immobile and strapped up. A tube protruding from its mouth, and its intestine poking out from its torso. A plastic suction tube held by one of those rubber hands slurps out excess fluid as a variety of metal clamps stick out from the abdominal hole like some grotesque part of a Saw torture chamber.

Buzz. Smoke. Clamp. Tie. Suture.

Stitch, stitch, stitch.

The scene may seem like an empty mechanical show of technical procedures, but behind every needle bite is a disease and behind every disease is a person, and behind every person is a story. 

These are the stories that I would never have witnessed anywhere else. 

This familiar shiny hallway and these tiled rooms have witnessed much of people's weaknesses, but also humanity's unwavering strength, more than any other places in the world. To be a spectator a midst all the action, suspense, drama and comedy have undoubtedly shaped me more than I can explain and have made me view things in a different lense. Things may not appear brighter nor more colorful, but they do extract sense and importance in this world governed by misplaced priorities and the pursuit of temporary bliss.

Future related posts in this series will tell stories not my own, but of life's complexities that only presents itself in the most trying of times. No paper-pushing routine job, even the highest paid ones, could mirror this front-seat view on the unadulterated, barefaced truths of our existence. And this is why I wouldn't exchange this experience for the glitz of a more glamorous job.

So, who am I?

I am an OR Nurse. And I have stories to tell.

100: The Hundreds Project by UP Writers Club 2 comments

It takes 43 muscles to frown. 17 muscles to smile. 14, 17, or 35 muscles to kiss. It takes much more muscles to make love. It takes a wink to be noticed. A note to make the moment memorable. Or, a drink and a bed to make the night less lonesome. It takes six words to a story. 14 lines and a meter to a sonnet, but you know that’s hard to find. It takes 3 words to express what you feel. 3 words and a slap to know you expected too much. It takes 100 words to express why we all need love and should bother reading this book.

And it takes a trip to the 33rd Manila International Book Fair to take home this one of a kind collection of stunning literary works "expressing kilig to kirot and all points in between."

In elementary or even in high school, writing a 100-word essay may feel like a painful chore of physically extracting words from your brain but when writing becomes a hobby, a hundred words may feel like jotting down a measly phrase. That is why I admire the format and the works from this literary goldmine I almost didn't purchase because the few remaining copies were hiding behind boring looking books.

And what better theme to give such a format than the still undefinable four-letter-word everyone could relate to. Add to that a sprinkle of unrequited yearnings, passion and the gory details of a broken heart combined with a candid dash of sex, lust, and all the things the CBCP warned teenagers not to do, this compilation is a perfect mix of sweet and complicated which addictingly delivers what makes up young love today.

Here are (hopefully) non-copyright infringement, cyber-crime-law-fearful copies of my favorite pieces:

Full of poetic quotes and relatable lines readers would be dying to post on Facebook, Twitter and upload a lomofied snapshot of in Instagram (I am guilty of this), it's a shame that the book is not available in most of the leading bookstores nationwide. However die hard fans may check out this site for more information on how to get a copy:

http://www.panitikan.com.ph/event/writers-club-publishes-100-hundreds-project-now-available

"Be a period, a stop. Be the end of my every sentence. Cut me into sentences, paragraphs: the better for me to understand myself. Because unlike a comma, you will not let me run on. You will be my brake; you will make me make sense. Give me meaning and open me up to the world. You will ground me, and I will love you for it."

- No. 87 by Isobel Yap

Where We Stand 0 comments

The beauty of the Internet lies in the freedom to air opinions and expose truth without the fear of persecution. #notocybercrimelaw

Starbucks Inspired Shorts: Table for Two by Marla Miniano Book Review 0 comments

Every once in a while, everyone (at least everyone who reads for pleasure) needs a good novel to curl up to during rainy evenings under the cozy warmth of a comforter surrounded by familiar it's-so-fluffy-I'm-gonna-die pillows. 

The kind of book that reminds one of the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the yellow lights of somewhere classy but also laid back where people can sit all day and talk or just mind their own emo sentimentalities. The class of literature that makes one think of the pleasure of people watching and conjuring stories based on the looks and body gestures of two connecting individuals or a lone entity sitting by the windowsill watching rain droplets slide through the glass like a physical weather-related manifestation for all the uncried tears humanity has been keeping inside.

This is exactly what Marla Miniano's novel, Table For Two, felt like. Uncannily similar to listening to a good friend tell her story in detail over a cup of overly expensive creamy latte with pretty boy baristas blending frappe just a few feet away.

Made up of five interconnecting short stories which happen to collide in a serendipitous yet unassuming coffee shop beside a Korean grocery store, the novel is a treasure box for romance, angst and everything in between, told in a witty yet thought-provoking manner. There may not be stand out one-liners that readers could post on Twitter and on Facebook in an attempt to sound well-read and deep, but then the narration flows effortlessly and engages readers right from the very first page.

It is worth mentioning the 4th short story of the book entitled "This Closure". It is a gripping piece no doubt everyone can relate to and will be in awe of the raw yet unedited, hauntingly delivered emotions beautifully put together by melancholy memory montages and candid thought monologues.

All in all, even though the stories' connections to each other can be wrapped up a bit more neatly, the book is a delicious mix of familiar stories to keep one occupied in an otherwise another cold and dreary rainy evening. All you will need is the book, a good light source to keep the migraines away (side effect of being an habitual ebook reader), a cup of your favorite caffeinated hot beverage and you will feel like you're in the company of good friends and greater stories, perfect to keep the loneliness at bay.

Orchestr-o-meter: B