New gym

In the new gym I enrolled in, the coach, a petite lady in her late twenties or early thirties, wearing close-fitting gym clothes, asked me what I wanted. Her statement felt like a scripted goal-setting question she often asked clients who walked in to enroll. I said, “Strength training. I want to build muscles for health.” I did not, at that point, discuss with her the importance of maintaining sufficient muscle mass, and the association between sarcopenia and longevity and quality of life. I also didn’t tell her I didn’t want to be inconsistent. I couldn’t tell my patients to exercise when I myself didn’t. I would reserve my confessions for later. It was 7 am, the start of the week, and the people were still having breakfast at home, getting ready for work.

She looked at me closely and said, amid the blaring 90’s upbeat music, “Oh, toning.”

“Yes, yes, that.”

“And maybe . . .  this?” She pointed at my soft flabs, my father's genetic legacy, and she made a circular motion in the air. “Charis.”

She smiled and put me to work.

I liked her instantly.

Alunan Avenue during T'nalak 2026

My aunts and uncles and my cousin Don from Banga joined me to see the bahay kubo displays. Cars and tricycles inched their way through Judge Alba Street; the traffic flow looked like Metro Manila side roads on good days. We walked from the house to Alunan Avenue, which had been closed to motor vehicles for a week. Auntie Net was excited: at least she could reach her target her daily step count. 

After going through routine security check, where military personnel checked bags for weapons, we joined the growing throng of people. The street was alive and joyful. 

T'nalak Festival wasn't a big deal then. It was a simple affair when I was in high school: some street dancing, then a beauty pageant (where two of my classmates won, if I'm not mistaken), and store displays. It is certainly quite the big deal now—a proper festival where people work their schedules around the carefully curated events. Some people living abroad go home to South Cotabato to join the celebrations. 

Friends from high school, or from work, or, like me, family members, meet up, finding time to listen, eat, and observe. Everyone accepts the fact of life slowing down during one week in July. 

 

My favorite is the bahay kubo display in front of the Provincial Capitol. At night the Philippine traditional houses, one for each town, become jewels of light and artistry. 

Banga. Of course, Aunties Net and Bebet had to get their pictures! 

Tantangan. 

Surallah. This won the competition. 

Tupi, which won second prize. My favorite actually. 

The ternate-inspired (Clitoria ternatea) lampshades was beautiful. What an interesting scientific name, by the way!

Norala.

Koronadal.

Tboli.

Sto. Niño.

Polomolok.

Lake Sebu.

The crowd and their phones!

Balloons! 

Ate selling the traditional T'nalak cloth. 

Ate just bought something to take home. 

Kuya and the kids. 

Sawsawan. 

Cotton candy. The stuff of my childhood!

Fresh sour mangga. 

Chicken, rolling in the heat. 

Then we went home!

About my Olivetti Lettera 32

My new typewriter is an Olivetti Lettera 32. It arrived by mail last week.

The brilliant Gerald dela Cruz restored the machine. He even added an extra—an old typewriter case that he painted over.

This Olivetti model sparked my interest years ago. I had read that the writer Cormac McCarthy had used one for most of his novels and screenplays. I looked up the model online. I liked how it looked—a certain quiet elegance and a pragmatic design seemed to emanate from it. Maybe I was being melodramatic.

Holding the machine and typing away random thoughts on old paper lying around the house, I realized I had not been exaggerating at all. This Olivetti is a truly gorgeous machine.

Why do I choose to collect typewriters anyway? I have several computers at home. I have several printers as well. But unlike these machines, they all run on electricity. Word processors are fine things, but they don't quite capture the beauty of typed letters, the carriage moving forward, the intelligent yet rhythmic sound of the keys soothing the mind as it figures out what thoughts to verbalize. The process is hypnotic.

I saw a YouTube clip of Woody Allen showing off his old typewriter (an Olympia Portable).The cover had been lost, but the machine seemed built to last forever. He also demonstrated the analog way of copying and pasting. He would literally cut portions of the manuscript and paste them wherever he wanted, say, for a paragraph to appear. He used a stapler, a pair of scissors, and glue. It is still fascinating to watch.

I don't really know where I'm going with this. But that's the thing with typewriters. Deleting a word or a line is inconvenient. I saw a YouTube tutorial that discouraged the use of correction fluid—or "Touch and Go," in my generation—because it could destroy the machine's type slugs. I suppose the alternative is to avoid errors altogether or simply accept that they can appear anywhere in the document.

The Olivetti Lettera 32 is a precious addition to my typewriter collection, which already consists of a Smith-Corona, an Underwood, an Erika Weinrich, and a Hermes Baby. I put them on rotation. I use them as often as I can.

I write stories and essays and lists with them. They bring me so much joy. To see them and to work with them—I'm amazed at human ingenuity.

But on a more specific note about the Olivetti:

First, I like its size. It is portable. The old journalists and writers used to carry this around. One of these days, I might just bring it to a café.

Second, I like its functionality. The keys are beautiful. The carriage moves smoothly. The bell is soft but still satisfying to hear.

Third, I like how it looks. The color is a shade of green—closer to olive, I suppose. I should look that up. It's true: it is indeed elegant to look at. But it also gives off a very serious vibe.