books

How we conceive a familial history

/ RCRuiz

In The Darker Side of the Renaissance, Walter D. Mignolo quotes Isidore in the chapter on Record Keeping without Letters. He quotes this from Isidore: For among the ancients, without exception, only those who were witnesses and who had seen the things they narrated wrote history, for we understand what we have seen better than what we know by hearsay.

I had a conversation with a cousin who is older than I am, who might know more about the history of my grandparents. They might know more, not just because they are older, but they might know more because of how they were situated in physical proximity to my grandfather. My cousins lived in Cagayan de Oro and this cousin tells me that our grandfather visited them often and the story they tell about my grandfather is one of a gentle and kindhearted giant of a man. Someone whose visits they looked forward to and whose presence was very much welcomed.

Our family was located far from where the rest of my father’s family lived. In fact, we were located on the opposite end of the archipelago. My sister and I grew up in the mountains of Ifugao, my brothers were born there too, and we spent our childhood blissfully unaware of any drama that might be taking part in that place that could just as well be another country. We were far from where my grandmother was located. Also far from where my grandfather and his second family lived. Back then, the trip from where they were to where we were would have been almost the same as traveling from The Netherlands to the Philippines. By Filipino standards, it still is a costly trip.

My cousin tells me that my Dad, being the youngest, was his mother’s favourite and so he didn’t receive the same kind of harsh corporal discipline that his elder brothers received when they were growing up. My memories of my grandma are those of a rather strict lady. I thought at that time that it was because she had Spanish blood and Spanish people are strict (right?). She was always affectionate towards our Dad and the affection was reciprocated.

The story of familial relation unfolds differently when told from the perspective of my cousin who tells of the horror that came with growing up in the proximity of my grandmother. According to this account, my grandmother was more than strict. Indeed, she was quite unreasonable, more than demanding, and even cruel. Any sign of enjoyment when she was visiting with them, was punished with a lengthy sermon that would end only after one of my cousins was punished for an imagined wrongdoing.

My cousin relates this to me from her perspective. We didn’t see, she tells me. We didn’t know what our grandmother was really like. And so, she wants to relate what we never witnessed or experienced for ourselves because of distance. The grandmother she knew and the grandmother I knew seem to be two different people.

A memory arises from a time when my grandmother took me with her to visit her younger sister in Manila. She was fussy about my comfort and then when we arrived at her sister’s house, she was devastated to find out that she’d forgotten to pack extra underwear for me. I think I must have thrown some kind of a tantrum (I was a bit of a handful as a child) and she just didn’t know what to do or how to get me out of the bathroom as I kept on blaming her for not knowing that kids are supposed to have clean undies everyday. She was strict, but not more strict than my own mother and she didn’t spank me for throwing a tantrum. She waited and then made me do what she wanted me to do. (Just as my mom would have done.)

By the time my grandmother came to live out her days with us, she had been gentled by years. She had had had a stroke, but she was recovering even though she wasn’t very mobile. She loved telling stories about the past while I massaged her legs and listened eagerly.

I loved hearing her talk because my Dad didn’t tell us very much.

Later, when we were much older and after my grandma was no longer with us, my Mom tells us an entire story of how she would warn my Dad each time my grandma came to visit: Bantay ka! (watch out). Your Mom isn’t going to lay a finger on one of my kids.

None of us ever experienced such harsh punishments or treatments as those described by my cousins. We might have been subjected to some nagging, but our mother would send us out to play and even though we were scolded by my grandmother, I always had this idea that it was because she wanted the best for us. Did this have to do with how my mother stood between us and her? Was it because of the close bond between her and my father? Or are these things that I have imagined because there is a lot I do not know.

I can remember the sound of my grandmother’s voice whenever she called out to my Dad.

“Nonoy,” she would say.

Now that I have children, I recognise that tone of affection that one reserves for one’s own children, and in particular, for the youngest one.

For a long time, until my grandfather came to visit, my sister and I believed my grandmother was a widow. And then, when we found out that there was a grandfather, we thought he must have done some dastardly crime because no one spoke about him.

I suppose this speculation was natural considering how we grew up far from anyone belonging to my father’s family, in our defence, we only ever met him once.

My sister and I met our grandfather for the first time when he was already sick. By the time he came to visit us in Ifugao, he was dying. But he came to see us, or perhaps he came to see my father. No one spoke about why he’d come; not even afterwards, so I can only speculate. Did he come to mend broken bridges? I don’t know.

In my mind, I see my grandfather as a tall man with a gaunt and lonely face trying to connect with us kids. I can still see him towering over us, trying to win us over by showing us his magic slippers.

This memory is overshadowed by whispers and a feeling of tension. It seemed as if we saw him only that one afternoon, but I’m sure it must have been more than that one afternoon. I remember my mother trying to keep my father from going away to the city on an errand and my father’s stubborn insistence on going and how while my father was gone, my grandfather died.

My mother talked about how she had to have a casket made. It must have been a while before my father arrived because I remember visiting the carpenter’s shop and the carpenter explaining to me how he was making a casket for my grandfather. I thought I should feel properly sad, but I didn’t know how to feel about the tall stranger with magic slippers who now lay in a casket in our living room while the voices of visitors filled our living room. I felt uncomfortable and impatient for my father to return.

It’s interesting what kinds of snapshots the mind retains. I see one of myself frozen in the moment when my father arrives. The house is teeming with people, but the living room is in the shadows. I am standing on the stairs looking down onto the porch as my father climbs up toward my mother. He doesn’t look up to where I am, all that is him is focused on my mother and then a sound breaks from him. After my sister died, I understood what that sound was and what kind of deep grief that sound contains.

Is this the memory that colours my recollection of my father’s pain?

Did I imagine my father’s feelings towards my grandfather? I know we hardly spoke about him and when I did try, he tended to be quite abrupt. Was he in pain because he wasn’t there when his father died? Had he left because he didn’t know what to say after so many years of not seeing each other? Had something been left unsaid or undone? I can only speculate.

The person writing about my father’s life writes from the perspective of someone who spent time in conversation with my Dad, long after the pain had been healed. Their conversations took place after a transformation had taken place. It gives me peace to know that my father was no longer angry. He was no longer in pain. He had reconciled his grief and pain and he had become the beautiful self everyone remembers–a man filled with compassion, gentled by time, always present and in service of those who needed him.

If we are to take Isidore at his word, then it means I can only write what I have seen and what I have understood from that seeing. As Mignolo writes, Isidore wasn’t concerned with the distinction between a narrative of witnessed events (which will become past events from a future perspective) and a narrative of the narrative of witnessed events.)

Again, Mignolo quotes Isidore: Things that are seen are reported without any ambiguity. This discipline pertains to grammar, for only the things deemed worthy of memory were written down.

These entries are (for me) a way of processing. Thinking about family history as I think on what I am reading. Blessings and peace to you who read this and Daghang Salamat for passing by.

Downtime and Tricia Hersey’s Rest is Resistance

/ RCRuiz

It’s the first proper week of my summer break and I have to admit that I’m really enjoying the time to just chill and do whatever I want. Downtime is a great period to relax and reflect–do a little bit of dreaming, think about lessons learned, about the work that’s been done and what it means. I also find myself thinking on how to encourage a younger generation of activists and collaborators because community work can eat you up if you don’t get the support and the rest that you need.

I recently shared a book with one of my dear friends and a fellow collaborator. It’s a book that came across my timeline and the title of the book drew my attention because it speaks to something I hear coming from workers in different spaces.

“I am tired.”

“I feel like I need more sleep.”

“I want to recharge.”

I hear different variations on this theme of needing rest. So when Rest is Resistance by Tricia Hersey came across my timeline, I felt moved enough to put it into my basket.

Hersey’s book is a quick read, but it is a good read. Reading it, I found myself thinking of how easily a body can be trained to forget about rest. For instance, when I first moved to The Netherlands, I still practiced siesta time (like we do in The Philippines). My in-laws were rather shocked/surprised and I was shocked/surprised to find that Dutch people do not do siesta unless you’re old or sick. I had to un-learn siesta pretty quick because being caught in siesta resulted in that disapproving look that made me feel like I had committed a crime. Nowadays, I’m like: I do not care…I will siesta if I feel like I need a siesta.

Hersey’s story about her father–his life of work, in service to God, in service to family, in service to community, reminded me so much of my father. My father was the youngest of three brothers, all three who were raised by my grandmother who became a single mother when her husband left them for someone else. There are many ways to justify a man leaving his wife and family. My Grandma was quite a character and I have been told repeatedly by other people that living with my grandma was hard for my grandpa and so when he met this lovely young woman who became his second wife, it was understandable that he chose to leave my grandma. I know how much my Dad valued my grandma and how much his Dad’s leaving hurt him. I don’t doubt my Dad had heard all the reasons. He didn’t blame the woman his Dad left them for, but it didn’t make his pain less and it doesn’t make his pain invalid.

All throughout his life, my Dad was determined to be there for us, even as he also lived his life in service to the community and in service to God. He was a doctor, and a lot of times, he would be opening the door to patients when it was way past midnight. Later on, he organised medical missions to places where medical care was inaccessible. Free clinics for those who couldn’t afford it. He was always on the go.

On the day he died, he was preparing for another medical mission.

I think of how the life of my father was punctuated by constant movement. He was so invested in providing for us and protecting us. He wanted to keep my Mom free of stress and worry. He was taking care of so many people and so many things, he didn’t tell us he had a heart condition.

I thought of how the pattern of my life ran similar to my Dad’s because my Dad was my hero and I wanted to be just like him. So, I almost never said no to anything. I found it hard to refuse help. I found it hard to set boundaries and to say: I can’t or until here and that’s it. Then I had a burnout where my body literally refused to function. Then, Jan died. Then, the diagnosis happened. And I was forced to rethink my life and say “no, I cannot”. “No, I don’t have the energy for that.” “No, I have to prioritise something else first.”

It took my body breaking down for me to re-learn rest.

The funny thing is–once you come face to face with it, you understand that the human body isn’t meant to keep going like an engine. Rest and sleep are essential to the recovery process. When I was going through treatment, I thought of how the emphasis is often on the parts of us that are sick or that carry disease. So, I thought to myself. So, there’s this small nodule somewhere. But it’s not everywhere. I can’t do much about the nodule, but the parts of my body that are well, can be made stronger. Can be made stress-resistant, can be helped to be healthier. So, no one knows how much time I’ve got, but no one else on earth knows that either. So, what I can do is be as alive as I can be right now. When my body was weak from chemo, I remembered what gives life to the body is not the body itself, rather there is that source that is beyond human explanation. We are, after all, more than these vessels we occupy and the spirit that is inside us travels on a path undefinable and unconfined by human parameters.

After my last treatment, there was moment where I could feel life gaining momentum. I was working more, I had more energy, I was more focused. I thought: I can do this. Oh, I can do that. Oh, yes. But I also felt this jealous guarding of my alone time–the downtime. Time to recuperate. Time to gather my thoughts. Time to be alone with a book. Time to nap. Time to tune in to that other space–to that other timeless space where dreaming happens.

A lot of what Hersey writes about is recognisable. My hope is that those who read it won’t just read it as this best-selling book where after reading it, they can put a checkmark beside the title. Read that. Liked it. Next book. (That would so defeat the purpose of it.)

I am reminded that my body is a vessel that carries me through life. I can’t accomplish what I want to do with this life, if I’m not taking care of my body and taking time to rest, recuperate and dream.

Writing this, I am reminded again of The Sabbath and Heschel’s thoughts on time and how time is like this cathedral we live inside of. Time isn’t going anywhere. We just need to dwell here and be here and do what we need to do where we are right now.

Maraming salamat for reading. May blessings and peace go with you as you journey on.

Fruits of my write-a-thon

/ RCRuiz

If you’ll look at the sidebar (or if you’re on the phone, it’s probably going to be the footer), you’ll notice that I’ve posted two lovely badges from the Clarion West Write-a-thon. It’s been a while since I felt up to participating in the write-a-thon, but this year felt like an important year. I wanted to find a way to write about books again. For some reason going back to the bookblog felt too raw. The place she left behind is still right there and I had a jolt when I realised that it’s been nine years since we last talked about books.

Every memory I have of me and my sister is related to us reading books together, arguing over who would read what book first, complaining about how slow the other person was at finishing a book (no backtracking allowed), arguing over what kinds of books were best, discussing the pros and cons of a book, disagreeing over characters and how things unfolded in a book–and a really bad phase when I was so snobbish about my sister’s love of romance books that I got her some of those body rippers for a present. (She really hated me for that and I regretted it a lot because it wasn’t a very loving thing to do.)

I couldn’t understand the appeal of Mills & Boons romances with men treating women like trash and women still going back to those kinds of men because of ‘melt’. We argued about that too and discussed alternative endings where women would look down their noses at those men and say: ‘I am perfectly fine on my own and who needs love if it means being treated like you are less than just because.’

So, when I got my reading mojo back and tentatively started reading novels again, I missed being able to send her an email and ask her what she thought. I imagined us having face time conversations about details in books that we noticed. What we liked and what we didn’t like and what we wished were different or what we wished we could see more of.

Perhaps it was my sister nudging this bright idea towards me from where she now lives. Why not just blog about the books I was reading alongside blogging my thoughts on the work I was doing? Why not make that a write-a-thon goal alongside revisiting The Cartographer and finding out what I needed to do to make it work this time? Make it not too stressful because writing a thousand words a day might not be doable after not writing for a long time.

It took me reading and writing about Nisi Shawl’s book to find a way to keep the conversation going with my sister. In some way, Everfair unlocked that space where I could write without feeling pressured to review. It was like writing to my sister and trying not to give away spoilers about this novel I’d read. I loved it so much and wanted so much to talk about it with her that I wanted her to read it too. I might give away bits and pieces but not all because she would really scold me if I did that in the real. Writing about Everfair connected me to that part belonging to my sister and the history of books between us.

In between EverFair and preparing for LIMBO’s booklet event, I decided to go read other books on my reader. Long train rides are really great for catching up on reading. I finished R.S.A. Garcia’s The Nightward in less than a week while traveling back and forth to Amsterdam. I finished reading Martha Wells’s City of Bones even quicker because i was traveling almost everyday. Along the way, I noticed how my reading speed seemed to be improving along with my ability to keep focus. (I do have notes and plan to write that reading post sometime soon.)

Perhaps one of the realisations I’ve had is how when we love to read, we tend to take it for granted. I started reading at an early age, so did my sister. I never imagined that I would be not able to read until chemo affected my ability to focus and hold onto things I’d read. I had to learn to be kind to myself and also I grieved a little bit because I didn’t know if I’d get my reading mojo back. Now, reading feels like a miracle. It’s something I’m so thankful for and it’s a reminder not to take things for granted.

I didn’t realise that today was the last day of the write-a-thon until I got the email. It was also stunning to get the mail telling me that a good friend had pushed my write-a-thon goal way past my original funding goal. I am incredibly moved.

During the worldbuilding workshop that I gave for the Springschool Co-creation Lab, I talked about the potential of science fiction to help us think around possibilities. How science fiction at its very best challenges us to think of different ways of being in the world. Science Fiction has this potential for us to dream of different kinds of worlds, different ways of being in community and in relation to and with one another.

It’s my hope that we continue to encourage one another not just to think about how to write great stories, but more importantly to think on how we can create small movements that could lead to change in the spaces we move in. Let’s encourage each other to keep asking questions, to think of different ways of being in the world, to question why we do what we do when we do them and to live and create with intentionality.

Thank you for passing by. Maraming salamat and may blessings and peace be with you.

*Big shoutout to my dear friend, Vicki, who pushed me way past my writeathon goal. Thank you so so much.

**If you want to help us achieve 100%, the fundraiser is still open. Click on this sentence to visit the writeathon page.

Some thoughts on Nisi Shawl’s Everfair

/ RCRuiz

If you’ve taken the time to come visit my blog, it must mean that you enjoy discovering new works and reading almost as much as I do. Nisi Shawl’s Everfair was published in 2016, but at that time I was going through some challenging stuff. I made a note of it and somewhere along the timeline, I bought the e-book. But as happens in life, it took me until this year to get around to reading it. I’ve since found out that there is a book 0.5. and other books as well. It probably means there are things that have happened before this book that I might not be aware of, but it doesn’t take away from the joy of reading volume one.

What to say beyond simply saying: buy this book or read this book?

I want to say that Everfair is not an easy read. It’s not the kind of book that you just breeze through. It’s also not a lighthearted summer read. It’s the kind of novel that takes you on a journey–a journey that happens in a timeline that’s historically different from ours. Along the way, you decide to make notes. You might put the book down for a while, to take a breath of air, but then it calls you back and you keep on reading. It’s the kind of book where you look up from its pages and scan the clouds because there might be air canoes floating up there. The attention to detail is amazing.

In the beginning, it took me a while to sort out the personages. I tend to be a bit forgetful, but Nisi does a great job of reminding us who this character is and where we first met them. I found it pretty intriguing to witness the transformation Thomas undergoes (for instance). And I like how things are not always explained.

One of the joys of this novel is how Nisi Shawl gives us characters we can root and feel for. Characters we care about and it is those characters who we travel with and through whose eyes we see the world as it changes and evolves. It’s interesting to think about how Nisi Shawl makes use of riding cats (for instance) because in a manner of speaking we are riding the novel as we discover and learn more about Everfair. The politics of the Mote was interesting to me as well as the politics and the power struggles that take place inside and outside of Everfair. There is spionage and adventure enough to thrill the heart of anyone who loves spy novels. Relationships are never simple even personal relationships. I love how Nisi brings nuance to all these things. I found myself thinking on where and how I would draw a line where relationships are concerned. (I’m not gonna spoiler but you will find out when you read the book.)

Afterwards, I found myself still thinking on the questions around loyalties, allegiances, friendships and relationships. What makes us loyal to places and people? How do we determine loyalties? What about the dynamics that exist in friendships? And is it possible to have real friendship when there is a power imbalance? Those sorts of questions rise to mind when I think about Everfair.

Everfair would not be Everfair if it didn’t acknowledge the historical conflicts that took place in and around the Congo of our timeline. The conflict first with the Belgians, then with countries interested in what can be mined or taken from the Congo, and then the war that breaks out when King Mwende makes this decree where all who are foreigners must leave and return to their own countries. (How different would the world have been if the Belgians had been defeated in their mission to colonise the Congo?)

Everfair also speaks to ongoing discussions in the real world where the line “go back to your own country” has become a go to phrase when someone says something we don’t agree with. And while my kneejerk reaction was the same as King Mwende and I was like: ‘yes, go back to your own country.’ Nisi Shawl asks us: what do we really mean by that? What does it mean to be of a country? And how do we determine that?

I love how King Mwende with the help of Queen Josina (one of my favorite characters) realises that saying “leave and go back to your own country” is not the solution and that war is waste–primarily a waste of human life.

Nisi Shawl creates this world that isn’t utopian even though it starts with a utopian dream from those who first founded of Everfair. I like how Nisi doesn’t back down from knotty problems that occur when you’re trying to build a nation that’s home to and for everyone regardless of race, regardless of creed. It takes a while (for example) for one of the characters (Daisy) to come face to face with her own prejudices, her privilege and assumptions.

I’ve sometimes read books with relationships that feel forced, as if the author doesn’t understand how queer relationships or mixed race relationships work, but just wants to include them. Nisi does such a beautiful job at showing us not just how these relationships unfold but also how there is a lot of work that goes into making such relationships successful. Nisi doesn’t take a shortcut or take the easy way out. Yes, these relationships are complex, but Nisi also gives us joy.

Reader, I’m pretty sure that if you wanted me to tell you about historical things and what genre this novel might belong to, you would just head over to Amazon.com or google for one of the many reviews far more in-depth than this. I thought I would write this as if I were writing a letter to my sister who also loved reading books like these. I wish she could have read Everfair along with me.

If you enjoyed reading this topsy-turvy response to Nisi Shawl’s Everfair, I hope you’ll consider helping me reach 100% of my Clarion West Writeathon goal. There’s a button on the top right of this page that will lead you to my page.

Thank you for reading. And may joy accompany you on the journey.

Returning to the world of the Body Cartographer

/ RCRuiz

Sometime in August, the English version of the story published in De Komeet is going up on Philippine Genre Stories. I’m very grateful to Mia Tijam for her patience with me as replies have been often delayed. I have a tendency to think I have done things and find out I haven’t. Chemo-brain sounds like an easy excuse, but this tendency is common with a lot of people who’ve gone through chemotherapy. It gets better with time and the longer you’re away from the last chemotherapy treatment, the more clarity you get as well. So I am very thankful for the gentle nudges and the patience coming from editors during the period I was in treatment as well as the period of recovery.

The publication of this story works like a jumpstart of sorts. I started thinking about the works in progress that I still had on my drive and when the call to join the Clarion West Write-a-thon landed in my inbox, I carefully considered whether I would be able to do it. A conversation I had with Marielle (Wegbree)made me think that the write-a-thon would give me an easy way to slide back into writing with some accountability. I thought that I could at least do some book reviews on the blog as a measure of how much work I was doing. But in the process, I found myself returning to my one drive. I had this idea that the drafts I’d been working on were still quite messy.

My first thinking was to go back to writing in the world of Raissa and Anghe. But somehow I found myself pulled back into the Body Cartographer’s world. (If anyone wants to read Song of the Body Cartographer, it’s still available online.) After my first round with radiation therapy, I started working on this long piece again except somehow it felt almost confronting. Mainly because it starts with the main character waking up after a moment of crisis, after a near death experience that changes her so much that she is no longer exactly as she was. Yep. I wrote those parts before I was diagnosed and continuing to write those parts felt too close, I had to put it away.

But now, six months after being declared in remission and after being told that the last treatment worked, I find myself drawn back into that world and I recognise the place my main character is at. Having a deeper understanding of what it takes to recover from crises and how life-altering that can be helps me to also see where I was making the journey to recovery too smooth for my character. But I also see how this crises doesn’t define my character. It has to become part of her life if she’s to really live her life. And I am reminded again of my oncologist telling me: you are more than cancer.

We are more than the physical challenges that we face. We are more than the crises we have had to overcome. We are more than our traumas and our illnesses. We are more than that. And so I want my main character to reach that realisation too because loss has been very much a part of this character’s life but those losses do not define her. Instead, I hope that she emerges stronger and more herself.

I’m thinking about worlds today because I’m going back to the team I’m working with and I think we are going to set world parameters or at least I hope we are. I would very much like to get away from the D&D model and I am hoping that this is a shared vision. If it’s not then I have to think on whether I’m okay with that and how to go about that. Of the games that I’ve played, the one that appeals the most to me is a game built on Belonging outside Belonging. I love it for the spontaneous creativity that it gives rise to–and yes unpredictable silliness which even if you know it’s silly, you just go with it because it is fun to be silly with friends.

So I suppose July is building up to be a month of lots of thinking and reading and writing happening. Something I would not have been able to predict a couple of months ago when I was down in the dumps about not being able to write. I am evidence that the Recovery and Balance programme pays off in spades.

Finally, if you’d like to support my quest to raise funds for Clarion West, please feel free to visit my fundraising page and press the donate button. I would love for us to go over our combined goal as that means more support for the workshop and the writers who will be going there. WordPress doesn’t seem to support embedding my page, but here’s the link to it:

https://givebutter.com/2025cw-writeathon/rochitaloenenruiz

Thanks so much for taking the time to read. I am quietly surprised when I discover people have read what I write here. I hope it offers some food for thought, some inspiration or anything that you can take with you on the journey. Blessings and peace and thank you for dropping by.

Thinking about co-creation

/ RCRuiz

Traveling to and from destinations is helping me catch up with my reading list. I find it sometimes surprising when I recognise how much traveling I’m doing. I live very close to a train station and from here it’s easy to catch a train to Amsterdam or Utrecht or Rotterdam or The Hague. I haven’t been to The Hague in a while and my library card has lapsed, but I want to return to writing and reading in the Royal Library sometime late in July after the projects I’m involved with have moved into the summer holiday phase. I also want to think more around what I want to do when the season starts up again. What is necessary to me? What do I want to keep on doing? What do I need to let go of and what do I need to prioritise?

I’m currently working together with a team that was put together with the goal of creating a table top rpg. It’s a process that’s new to most of us, but one of our team is an experienced Game Master and that helps the process along as we think around gameplay and building something that is interesting, fun and hopefully thought-provoking. We’ve been thinking around themes that we want to see as well as the kind of world and stories we hope to explore.

It’s a process that I needed time to wrap my head around as perhaps the biggest difference between writing alone and writing in the team is the work of coming to agreement. There’s also the process of making space for how we will not always agree and how we are fine with that.

We might fall into thinking that co-creation is some harmonious zen process. It can be, but by large it depends on the size of the team, it depends on the kinds of participants and the dynamics in a group, it depends on a lot of factors so co-creation can be as zen or as gnarly and messy as all get out, but it needs to be what it needs to be and there is no way to go around that and effectively co-create. I realise that going through the gnarly mess is a good thing. It’s good when we are able to show our faces to each other, to say: I don’t agree with you on this and I don’t want things to go in this direction and I actually would like to go elsewhere. When that kind of freedom exists, that holds a promise of something extraordinary coming into being.

Co-creation is a process that takes time because when we are creating together, it means we have to give a little and be willing to compromise in order to reach our common goal. I don’t think it can be hurried along and I think the best thing we take away from such engagements is how creating together allows us to quickly move away from surface and shallow niceties into spaces where we feel safe and seen and where we know that just because our thoughts and ideas are not shared by everyone, it doesn’t mean they are of lesser importance.

[Some questions I’m thinking around in relation to the work and the projects I’m working on: Do we want to build community? Do we want to share stories? Do we want to heal ourselves? What do we need and what do we want and how do we get there?) ]

At the heart of it, co-creation has to do with relationships. It’s related to how we’re entangled and connected to one another. If we are open and ready to make space for ideas and ways of thinking that are not the same to how we think and if we are willing to let go of control or if we are willing to step into the gap when we recognise a gap. Does this then mean that there is no space for individuality or for the individual choice?

I like to think that there can be room for both. That we can share and compromise and adapt while leaving space and room for ourselves to do and to create and to work around what speaks to us individually. I think that leaving space for individuals to come to terms with what works and what doesn’t is necessary if we want to come to satisfying conclusions.

I’m ruminating on this because creating world in a team feels very actual to the discussion around co-creation and I also am interested in how that translates into community building and creating together outside of fiction spaces.

Where ttrpg is concerned, we can try to think of directions in which we want players to go towards, but we can’t control or predict and while we can prepare for some scenarios, it’s quite possible that players will go towards outcomes we don’t expect or even want and that’s perfectly fine. I like to think that’s a good thing because there should definitely be room for insights and outcomes other than what we want.

Perhaps the most important takeaway for me from this process is to let go of the self that goes: ‘oh but actually’. Instead, I should just let the part of me that carries on snarky and whacky conversations with my other parts come out and play.

Throughout this writing, I keep thinking of that phrase from Donna Haraway from Staying With the Trouble: “It matters what matters we use to think other matters with; it matters what stories we tell to tell other stories with; it matters what knots knot knots, what thoughts think thoughts, what descriptions describe descriptions, what ties tie ties. It matters what stories make worlds, what worlds make stories.”

Blessings and peace to you who read this and maraming salamat for passing by.

Staying with the Trouble is available from Duke University Press and from other booksellers.

(editing to add my thanks to Aliette de Bodard and Vida Cruz-Borja for listening to me while I worked through this process.)

On reading Maria Dermout’s Tien Duizend Dingen

/ RCRuiz

There is a house on an island and there is a garden around the house and in that garden are the graves of three little girls.

I read Maria Dermout’s De Tien Duizend Dingen in Dutch, so the above sentence is as close as I can get to summing up the opening of this Dermout’s beautifully immersive novel.

What captivated me the most about this novel was the intentional use of language and how through language Maria Dermout pulls the reader into the rhythm of a time and a place. It’s beautifully evocative and not only does the writer make us see the house, but we also see the garden, the leviathan who lives near the edge of the water that is in the garden, and then we are made aware of the graves and the possible ghosts of the three dead girls.

There is also the history of a place and of the first Mevrouw Kleyntjes who lived in this house and the second Mevrouw Kleyntjes who still lives in this house. There is the history of these women and the stories of the lives of the people who have interacted with and lived in relation to the house and around them is the history of place.

Somewhere halfway through De Tien Duizend Dingen, I sent a message to the friend who told me about this book. I told her that it made me think of Virginia Woolf. It’s been quite a long time since I read Virginia Woolf, but I remember a similar mesmerising almost hypnotic use of language in The Waves.

We are immersed in the world Maria Dermout writes about. We are transported to a period in time when the then Dutch East Indies (now Indonesia) is heading towards–an upheaval that will lead to a complete social-political change. Through the manner of telling, we can feel the simmering undertone of imminent change. Something is about to happen. What is about to happen is faintly present at the opening of the novel, but as the novel progresses, so does the sense of danger and precariousness–it is enough to make us recognise that at this point in time, the people in this place are no longer willing to simply accept the authority of Dutch masters. In this world, the woman, the house, the garden and its ghosts are relics of a past that will soon be nothing more than a dream.

De Tien Duizend Dingen was published in 1955 by Querido publishing house. It’s also available in English as The Ten Thousand Things.

What I have read and what I am reading

/ RCRuiz

Now that I’ve regained enough focus to read whole novels, I find myself missing the conversations I used to have with my sister. A lot of our conversations used to revolve around books we’d read and what we thought about the story or how the writer managed to do something well or not well enough. I think my sister was the original bookworm in our family and I simply followed in her footsteps because whatever my sister read, I had to read too. Anyway, I’ve started reading the books I downloaded onto my reader and I thought I would write a little bit about the one I’ve just started reading as well as the one that I just finished reading. I thought I’d switch between fiction and non-fiction. Non-fiction often takes me longer as I like to reflect on what I’ve just read.

Fiction Read:

I’ve just finished Tade Thompson’s excellent Far From the Light of Heaven. I’m pretty sure Tade has written and published a bunch of novels since this one, but I just got around to reading again and the title of Tade’s excellent murder mystery called to me. It took me a week and a half to finish reading (this is my current reading speed for novels) but I never once lost track of the thread of the story. I’m also glad that I decided to get a tablet because it’s made it easier for me to just open a book and read when I’m on the train or when I remember that I am in the midst of reading a book.

I understand the importance of titles now because for some reason, that title just kept jumping out at me each time I clicked on my reader and I decided that once I had enough focus I would read that novel first. Far From the Light of Heaven makes use of elements of space opera and science fiction but at the heart of it, Far From the Light of Heaven is a murder mystery. The stakes are high and I liked how the characters feel real. I have to admit a fondness for Shell Campion’s Uncle Larry. I could relate to that feeling of wanting to protect someone younger who you consider part of your family. I found myself quite intrigued by the Lambers as a race and I want to know more about them. Reading this book, I also had to think about conversations around AI and the use of AI. I like how Tade doesn’t take sides on that, but tries to show how AI can be useful but also how it has its vulnerabilities and can be subverted in a way that it becomes a danger. I don’t know if this was intentional, but it felt very much so.

One of the things I loved about this novel is how we get to see how what happens on and to Ragtime affects the world the characters live in. It’s a reminder of how actions taken reverberate in the world. The question becomes this: do those actions lead to understanding that brings lasting change or do those actions lead to polarisation and division in the society around us? I may very well be putting my own interpretation on it, but this is something I thought about when I got to that part. Another memorable scene for me is the communal rite of grief/processing trauma.

I won’t say anymore as I might spoil the book for those who haven’t read it yet, but if you enjoy murder mysteries that are more than just murder mysteries, this might be just the book for you. Highly recommended.

I have a rather lengthy TBR list and I think I would like to try and write about as many of them as I can. I’m pretty sure there are things I’ve read in the past three years and a half that I forgot to write about.

Current Non-Fiction reads:

As I tend to dip into multiple non-fiction books at one time, I might write about my impressions from those books every now and then.

I’ve started on Karen Barad’s Meeting the Universe Halfway. I don’t even know who recommended this book or why I decided to buy it, but I’m pretty sure the person who recommended it made an impression on me. Anyway, I’ve just started reading it and there’s a line in the preface that just resonates so much with me. In the preface, the author writes about entanglements and how to be entangled is not simply being intertwined but it’s more than that. It’s a really great preface and if you’re interested in quantum physics, it does look like an engaging read.

A recent book I’ve recommended and gifted to fellow community workers is Aminata Cairo’s Holding Space. Aminata was one of the guest facilitators for LIMBO and the workshop she gave was joyful and beautiful and one that opened up space for stories to be shared and told. In this book, Aminata talks not just about holding space, but shares her own journey towards holding space. It’s a book that calls for reading and re-reading and for dipping back into when you feel the need.

Just yesterday, I had a lovely conversation with a friend who shared this line with me from a conversation she had with an older Dutchwoman. In that conversation, the Dutchwoman spoke of her husband, not as passed away or dead, but as someone who had stepped out of this timeline. I rather liked that phrase and it makes me think that entries like these are like missives sent to where my sister now lives–in a timeline that is outside of this timeline. It’s a lovely, lovely thought.

What are you reading now and what from those readings do you choose to keep with you?

Things I’m thinking about today

/ RCRuiz

The past week has been quite intense and quite busy as I traveled back and forth from home to Amsterdam. The travel is a little more than an hour and when I get to the station I’m supposed to be at, it takes another 10-12 minutes before I’m at my destination.

Last week, I was at the Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam for most of the week where I participated in the Spring School Co-Creation Lab. This was the first Spring School held at the Faculty of Social Sciences and I believe the intention is to have a repeat of this every year for a period of time. The effect of what’s taking place in the US was quite visible at Spring School as events over there made it impossible for one of the invited guests to travel to us in Amsterdam.

It did give me a chance to talk about science fiction, visionary worldbuilding and science fiction as an instrument that can be used for thinking through issues that concern us and then we did a collaborative world-building exercise.

In asking the questions around collaborative exercises, it reminded me once again that in the work we do where we want to bend the needle towards justice and equality, it’s necessary to remember what our community’s vision is. To consult and collaborate and work together even when the outcome is not what we expected. It reminded me too that in the kind of work that we do where we seek to advocate for and are working for communities on the margins, listening and paying attention are some of the most important things that we can bring to the table. (There are a number of other things too like love and acting on the principle of seeing each other as Kapwa, as connected, as human.)

For myself, attending Spring School made me realise that I have to face up to my own responsibility to my written work. One of the comments I read somewhere said that a lot of the links on my website led to dead-ends and it looked like I hadn’t updated in a while. This is, in fact, true. For a long time, I didn’t have the energy or the focus to update this space. I knew the links were dead-ends, but I kept thinking: who cares anyway?

From listening to the conversations around me, I realised that it was important to keep an accounting and a documentation of things I’d written and published. Not only for me, but also because it might help someone else down the line. So, I found myself searching through my disorganised drive, trying to locate as many of the columns that I wrote for Movements as well as other non-fiction work that I had written around change, decolonisation practice and women’s work. (I’m compiling them to create a pdf that can be downloaded for anyone interested in reading. Suggestions are welcome as to how I can make it available as I’m new to this.)

As I was reviewing the work I’d written, I found myself quite emotional. I remembered how a lot of the non-fiction work that I did is what supported our family through the most difficult periods when Jan didn’t have any work and often pay from whatever writing I managed to get published was what helped keep the children fed. Interestingly, my kids don’t seem to remember that time as a time of hardship. It was more like: we ate noodles for a week and it was great!

Writing this my heart aches because I know there are parents at this time who despair because there is nothing to feed their children with. There are parents who don’t even know if their children will survive to see another day, and there are children without parents to worry over them. Having noodles for an entire week sounds like heaven when food supply has been cut off or withheld by the powers that be. What’s happening in Gaza, what’s happening in Sudan, what’s happening in Ukraine, what’s happening in all the places where war and oppression are taking place happens to all of us and we cannot allow ourselves to become numb or to look the other way.

For those of us who live in places of privilege where there is no war or famine or fear of rockets detonating over our heads, while we may not be able to jump on activist boat like Greta Thunberg, we can still do something. We can listen. We can advocate. We can bear witness.

Blessings and peace to you who read this. May we ever be striving to move the needle towards what is just and true and may we recognise how we are connected in our humanity.

art and narrative

/ RCRuiz

Last Thursday, I moderated a panel discussion on the Fractal Art of Julius Horsthuis at NXT Museum. It was quite an interesting event as not only was the artist on panel, but we also had Dr. Margriet van der Heijden on panel–a physicist who specialised in particle physics at CERN. I’d never thought all that much about fractals before–I mean, if someone said the word fractal, I would understand that they’re talking about self-similar patterns which we often see in nature, but I probably wouldn’t be able to tell you what it is in-depth. For math people, talk about fractals will often lead to thinking about the Mandelbrot equation, but did you know that before Mandelbrot, there was the Julia? (Yep. I learned all these things while doing my prep.)

I also found myself thinking on the question of what makes art. What do we mean when we say a thing is a work of art? And what function do we ascribe to art? Julius Horsthuis says that his focus on Fractals lies in the fact that he hasn’t gotten bored by it yet.

For Julius, documenting or discovering the 3D worlds opened up by the input of various equations is what makes it fascinating for him. He talks about the films Baraka and Samsara which don’t follow a conventional narrative and how these films were an inspiration for the 3D films that he makes.

I certainly think that experiencing this kind of art by being in a space where you are surrounded by it is a different one from that of seeing it onscreen (on your laptop, your pc or your television). There is a mesmeric quality to it, but at the same time there is (as one of the audience said) a feeling of loneliness. Perhaps because there is an absence of characters interacting with the landscape. (Perhaps the person in the space becomes a character interacting with the landscape or could it be the maker himself?)

I watched Baraka and thought about that difference (the absence of humans in Julius’s work) and found myself thinking of how a landscape changes with the presence of humans. As Margriet said to me later on: Humans are not fractals.

I do like the concept of non-conventional narration and how it ties in with how story doesn’t have to conform in order for it to matter.

Later, Julius speaks of how the absence of narration is deliberate, although as he explores the possibilities of bringing his creations to VR, he realises that the absence of narration may not be conducive to people engaging with the art, particularly if they come to the experience for the first time.

Is story an experience? Is art an experience?

I think about these as I deliberate on my own work and process. I think of how as writers of story, there is a certain expectation arising from centuries of stories being told. What happens when story doesn’t conform to expectation? What happens when a story simply wants to show a world in the same way a documentary maker would show the world?

But is showing the world enough? We could argue that the majority of science fiction and fantasy books are about showing the world.

Piranesi, one of the books I read when I finally got my reading brain back, feels very much like that. It’s basically Susanna Clarke showing us the world Piranesi occupies. Piranesi’s voice compels us to come along and see and learn more about the world they live in. The cast of characters is barely there, but we’re seeing the world through Piranesi’s eyes and it’s beautiful and fascinating and a lot of times it is lonely. Piranesi eventually conforms to a story expectation but then not really and the feeling of fascination remains long after the book is finished.

Does Horsthuis’ art work in the same way? I can’t help but wish I had thought to ask how exploring the world of Fractals has changed or enriched the artist as a person. I’m not even sure if this is what the artist is after. Does it even matter? Should our work change us or reflect us or enrich us even? Does a work have to mean something in order for it to have value? Is fascination and sense of wonder enough?

In the light of discussions around the lives of creators, to what extent does the character and life of a creator influence our engagement with the work that they create? And can we separate things made from the people who make them? (Probably something for another post…my brain tends to wander off in tangents and this is my blog. 🙂 )

I think there is room in the world for different kinds of artmaking because every form of creation will find its own audience and will speak to audiences in different ways. Thursday’s event reminded me of that. It reminded me of the beauty of physics, the endless mystery of the world we live in and that joyful feeling that arises when people come together with a desire to create bridges of understanding and knowledge.

If you’re in Amsterdam, I would recommend checking out NXT Museum (check out what’s on exhibit first as it varies). Not only is Julius Horsthuis’s Fractal Art on display, but they also have a fascinating exhibition by the postdigital art group Random International.

Blessings and peace to you who read this. Daghang salamat for passing by.