Christmas Eve, I read The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides. The wry plot somehow made the syrupy taste of the noche buena more palatable even as the sound of off-key caroling outside the gates continued to heap on calories on the holiday cheer way past midnight. When books like that fall on my lap for no apparent reason, I usually go ahead and read it for I know then, fate always has an interesting reason up its sleeve.
Probably to distract me from being too nosy about his love life, my older brother -- who’s managed to take a couple of days off from kite boarding in Boracay and visit us home -- showed me the book earlier while our north-bound van crawled through the heavy traffic along Mandaue highway. It didn’t look familiar but the picture of four lovely girls making do like well-bred sardines on a small bed below a crucifix draped by a cream-colored brassiere tickled my interest for the bizarre.
So like a voyeur across the street with no name, I joined the boys who adored the entrancing Lisbon sisters in monitoring their lives from a neighboring house.
The first one to go was weird Cecilia, 13, who slit her wrists and, when it didn’t work, later on threw herself off the window (or was it the roof?) and fell upon the fence to die.
After some time, the rest of them followed -- daring Lux (14), conservative Bonnie (15), vain Mary (16), and science nerd Therese (17). Suicide methods include using a rope, sticking one’s head in a microwave, and drowning in sleeping pills. Mary was the last one to die. She survived her attempt at the microwave, so she went on to using the more reliable sleeping pills. It was noted she had make up on when she finally died.
The story’s quite interesting but I didn’t like the way it was told. The constant reference to the general teen suicide trend, with accompanying stats and psycho babble just made it so, so… preachy.
And goodness, could the narrator be any more long-winded? He seemed too enthralled describing every useless detail, skirting around the house and the girls’ lives, without ever really letting us in. What a tease! From time to time, I longed to shout, “Puhleez, shut up and get on with the story!”
Perhaps it was meant to be that way for the teller was a spectator himself. But when you have suicide and five girls on your hands, you’d be itching to know why and what goes on in the victims’ minds. Suppositions aren’t enough. I wanted to hear them talk more. I longed to go inside the book myself and discover the real story.
Was it because they were guarded too much by their parents? But I know of people with ultra-strict parents and yet they survived. What’s more, why ALL of them? They were beautiful, vibrant girls. Their parents loved them. They had each other. Their cramped, messy rooms testified they lived like normal girls. Was it genetic then? Or was it just too much of a pressure being isolated in their old house after Cecilia died? What was it like then?
My many questions followed me to the toilet. And as I sat there farting, contemplating, and speculating, I finally figured a few theories of my own:
-- Having had to share cramped rooms drove the sisters mad and triggered the suicides.
My sister and I shared a room until I graduated from high school. Yes, it was fun but I also remember the shouting matches, the “I’m-gonna-kill-you-for-using-my-shirt/dress/sandals/brush/etc.-without-permission” moments, the screams over “this-is-my-side-of-the-room” violations, the frustration of knowing each other’s secrets and being able to use them as blackmail items when one of us was pissed off, and the countless arguments over the littlest thing.
Good thing though there were just two of us and we have an older brother who sometimes forces us to momentarily cease fire, unite, and gang up on him when he’s being his naturally annoying self (which is quite often). And then there were the parents, constantly refereeing us and lecturing about love.
But maybe for the five Lisbon sisters it was different. Maybe, if left unchecked, too much familiarity does breed contempt (against others and most probably against self). At least, from experience I know that lack of space is enough to drive you mad.
-- Being isolated and stuck in one place for too long bored them so much they wanted to kill themselves. Ayayay! What a thought! Let’s go pack those bags and fly now, pay later!
-- Suiciditis is contagious.
Cecilia probably got the virus from the boy who killed himself over another girl. And living in such close proximity, the rest of the sisters also got infected.
So the lesson here I guess is, when counseling a suicidal person, we sympathize but we also make sure we put the walls up. If we’re not careful, that person will start making sense to us and before we know it, we’ll be thinking of suicide too.
-- The sisters probably made one of those stupid Musketeer pacts when they were little. You know, the “one for all, all for one” or the “together forever” kind of pact. I guess in their case, it was “One dies for all, all dies for one.”
Sigh. Only the innocence of youth could prompt such a pact. As you grow older though, you realize that every one lives and leaves to find one’s own destiny. There is no such thing as being together forever – even for soul mates.
-- The Lisbon sisters chanced upon the seeming worldwide conspiracy to annihilate and torture all virgins of this time. Probably got it from watching too much TV—which they did since they weren’t allowed to go out that often. Maybe they’re afraid that when they reach their 20s with their hymen still intact, people will start to pressure them or brand them as freaks.
Lux tried to solve this problem by sneaking to the roof with the boys and her varied contraceptive collection. But I guess the rest of the sisters weren’t as bold. So rather than fall into the vindictive hands of the enemy, they decided to end their lives themselves. Lux, not wanting to be left out – and probably finding out that being a non-virgin isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be – joined them.
Uh-huh, maybe it does sound farfetched. But this theory is more believable than the one that goes -- the Lisbon sisters killed themselves for loving the same man. Now that is just plain stupid.
I’m curious about The Virgin Suicides’ film version, though. I heard it’s already out in the market. Kirsten Dunst plays one of the girls -- I’m thinking Lux. Sounds promising. Still, I wonder if or just how Hollywood would make me wanna flush it down the toilet.
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
Thursday, December 23, 2004
WANTED: A Man in 2005
I give up. I surrender. You win.
Today, I give you -- my nosy comrades, family, ex/future work pals and even those I do not personally know who are unfortunate enough to stumble upon this blog – the great commission for 2005 to go out into the world and find me a man. Yes, I said it – a man.
After what must have been a gazillion get-togethers I’ve attended lately (and the merry season’s not even over yet), I find that I’ve reached my breaking point. If I hear one more ayin-how’s-your-love-life-or-why-on-earth-are-you-still-single kind of question, I’m bound to go ballistic and slice off somebody’s head.
That’s why, my dear friends, before I disgrace myself, I now announce my formal resignation as presiding queen of the Blessedly Single Forever Federation - Cebu Chapter on December 31, 2004. (Do I hear clapping? Hissing? Snarling?) It breaks my heart, you know. It’s been such a blissful reign. To my single fellows, I am deeply sorry.
Okay, okay, call me a traitor, a political butterfly, or even ahas -- but guys, can I really help it if I’m weak?
I’m tired – and not just about that seemingly perpetual question smug couples just looove to ram down the singles’ throats.
I’m tired of being the third wheel you call on to give your dating life a twist. Come on guys, if the relationship's really that boring, drop it. Hello?? Hallerr? Balleeeww?
I’m tired of being the backup plan and the substitute when your men or women are off to never, never land.
It frustrates me that every time you do PDA and then turn to me as if to say “Aren’t we the cutest couple ever?”, I can’t do anything else but fake a smile and gag secretly because I don’t have anyone to smooch with and distract me. Okay, fine, it makes me jealous. You’re so hot together you make my eyes sweat.
But what really drives me to the edge is you using me as a sounding board every time you’re in the mood to whine about your partners and then, when I actually voice out my solicited advice, you reply with, “No, you don’t understaaaand, you’re single pa man guuud….” What the – waaaaahhhh!!
Enough. I give in. Go, find me my own man. You’re right. I should be attached. What on earth was I thinking to have allowed myself to be single this long?
For the entire year 2005, I give you unlimited freedom (gasp!) to be my glorified pimps – ahem – I mean, marketers/promoters/publicists/agents. Why you? Because you – my dear comrades, family, ex/future work pals and even those I do not personally know who are unfortunate enough to stumble upon this blog -- are the nosy and enlightened ones. If I do it myself, I’ll just scare the guys off away again.
So I need your help. Build me up. Research, experiment, screen, filter, match and match. Promote me. Advertise. Spread the news. Email friends, foes, everyone you know and even those you don’t. Launch a phone brigade. Whip up those cell phones, go over those lists of contacts and start talking and texting. Buy a whole page from any national or local daily (preferably SunStar though) and put out the blazing headline: WANTED: A MAN FOR SMART, AMAZING WOMAN. (Hey, I said, woman, not celfone, so wipe that image of Martin Nievera off your wandering minds)
I’m serious. In fact, finding a man is going to be number one on my list of 2005 resolutions. I’ll even wait and watch the clock strike midnight, upon which I’ll jump with the list just so the heavens will hear right and be prone to guide and help me in this quest.
The corollaries to my number 1 New Year’s resolution are:
- I promise not to use anymore excuses like, “My batt went dead; wala load; I didn’t get your text; I was in a noisy bar so I didn’t hear my phone ring” to avoid a man.
- I will quit laughing out loud every time I see/hear a man make a dumb comment or do anything moronic.
- I will be kind and continue to smile even when I find a guy long-winded and a certified show-off.
(Gasp! This is not me, stop meee!!)
- I promise to give every man with an idiotic habit a second chance.
- I will keep my appointment book open for the guys, even when there’s a truckload of writing assignments. I will not throw them dagger looks nor bite their heads off when they interrupt me while I’m writing or rehearsing for a play.
(Forgive me Lord, for my future sins and possible broken promises up ahead…)
- I will willingly leave my circle of friends whenever a cute guy asks for my company. (You perfectly understand, don’t you?)
- I will no longer skip buying Cosmo’s monthly issue so I can study, research, learn and master the many ways and secrets to being beeeyuutiful and charming all the time even if it kills me.
Really, I’ll do my best to be good. All I ask is you find me the right man.
My comrades, family, ex/future work pals and even those I do not personally know who are unfortunate enough to stumble upon this blog -- I leave the fate of my love life in your hands. I will personally hold you responsible in this quest.
So if by the end of 2005 I’m still single, I WILL BLAME YOU. That’s right, I will. And you will forever lose your right to throw the ‘ayin-how’s-your-love-life-or-why-on-earth-are-you-still-single’ question at my face again. Because if you do, I will be mean and scream without a qualm, “Shutttt upppp, just shut up, shut up…” – complete with dance steps! I will dance and sing until you have no choice but beg me to stop -- which I won’t. As such, you will then find yourselves scarred for life…nah, not just for life but forever. See how serious this is? I almost pity you, guys.
But hey, I’m excited. I have great expectations for you (finding me the right man) and for me (having the right man). I have great faith in your matchmaking abilities (don’t disappoint me!) so yes, I will expect and assume and assume. In fact, I will project to be the most assuming woman in 2005 in search of a man. Yohooo!
Meantime, let me just get out of Cebu City for a while to enjoy what’s left of the year celebrating my single blessed life in peace.
God knows, if we all have our way, I’ll sorely miss it.
Today, I give you -- my nosy comrades, family, ex/future work pals and even those I do not personally know who are unfortunate enough to stumble upon this blog – the great commission for 2005 to go out into the world and find me a man. Yes, I said it – a man.
After what must have been a gazillion get-togethers I’ve attended lately (and the merry season’s not even over yet), I find that I’ve reached my breaking point. If I hear one more ayin-how’s-your-love-life-or-why-on-earth-are-you-still-single kind of question, I’m bound to go ballistic and slice off somebody’s head.
That’s why, my dear friends, before I disgrace myself, I now announce my formal resignation as presiding queen of the Blessedly Single Forever Federation - Cebu Chapter on December 31, 2004. (Do I hear clapping? Hissing? Snarling?) It breaks my heart, you know. It’s been such a blissful reign. To my single fellows, I am deeply sorry.
Okay, okay, call me a traitor, a political butterfly, or even ahas -- but guys, can I really help it if I’m weak?
I’m tired – and not just about that seemingly perpetual question smug couples just looove to ram down the singles’ throats.
I’m tired of being the third wheel you call on to give your dating life a twist. Come on guys, if the relationship's really that boring, drop it. Hello?? Hallerr? Balleeeww?
I’m tired of being the backup plan and the substitute when your men or women are off to never, never land.
It frustrates me that every time you do PDA and then turn to me as if to say “Aren’t we the cutest couple ever?”, I can’t do anything else but fake a smile and gag secretly because I don’t have anyone to smooch with and distract me. Okay, fine, it makes me jealous. You’re so hot together you make my eyes sweat.
But what really drives me to the edge is you using me as a sounding board every time you’re in the mood to whine about your partners and then, when I actually voice out my solicited advice, you reply with, “No, you don’t understaaaand, you’re single pa man guuud….” What the – waaaaahhhh!!
Enough. I give in. Go, find me my own man. You’re right. I should be attached. What on earth was I thinking to have allowed myself to be single this long?
For the entire year 2005, I give you unlimited freedom (gasp!) to be my glorified pimps – ahem – I mean, marketers/promoters/publicists/agents. Why you? Because you – my dear comrades, family, ex/future work pals and even those I do not personally know who are unfortunate enough to stumble upon this blog -- are the nosy and enlightened ones. If I do it myself, I’ll just scare the guys off away again.
So I need your help. Build me up. Research, experiment, screen, filter, match and match. Promote me. Advertise. Spread the news. Email friends, foes, everyone you know and even those you don’t. Launch a phone brigade. Whip up those cell phones, go over those lists of contacts and start talking and texting. Buy a whole page from any national or local daily (preferably SunStar though) and put out the blazing headline: WANTED: A MAN FOR SMART, AMAZING WOMAN. (Hey, I said, woman, not celfone, so wipe that image of Martin Nievera off your wandering minds)
I’m serious. In fact, finding a man is going to be number one on my list of 2005 resolutions. I’ll even wait and watch the clock strike midnight, upon which I’ll jump with the list just so the heavens will hear right and be prone to guide and help me in this quest.
The corollaries to my number 1 New Year’s resolution are:
- I promise not to use anymore excuses like, “My batt went dead; wala load; I didn’t get your text; I was in a noisy bar so I didn’t hear my phone ring” to avoid a man.
- I will quit laughing out loud every time I see/hear a man make a dumb comment or do anything moronic.
- I will be kind and continue to smile even when I find a guy long-winded and a certified show-off.
(Gasp! This is not me, stop meee!!)
- I promise to give every man with an idiotic habit a second chance.
- I will keep my appointment book open for the guys, even when there’s a truckload of writing assignments. I will not throw them dagger looks nor bite their heads off when they interrupt me while I’m writing or rehearsing for a play.
(Forgive me Lord, for my future sins and possible broken promises up ahead…)
- I will willingly leave my circle of friends whenever a cute guy asks for my company. (You perfectly understand, don’t you?)
- I will no longer skip buying Cosmo’s monthly issue so I can study, research, learn and master the many ways and secrets to being beeeyuutiful and charming all the time even if it kills me.
Really, I’ll do my best to be good. All I ask is you find me the right man.
My comrades, family, ex/future work pals and even those I do not personally know who are unfortunate enough to stumble upon this blog -- I leave the fate of my love life in your hands. I will personally hold you responsible in this quest.
So if by the end of 2005 I’m still single, I WILL BLAME YOU. That’s right, I will. And you will forever lose your right to throw the ‘ayin-how’s-your-love-life-or-why-on-earth-are-you-still-single’ question at my face again. Because if you do, I will be mean and scream without a qualm, “Shutttt upppp, just shut up, shut up…” – complete with dance steps! I will dance and sing until you have no choice but beg me to stop -- which I won’t. As such, you will then find yourselves scarred for life…nah, not just for life but forever. See how serious this is? I almost pity you, guys.
But hey, I’m excited. I have great expectations for you (finding me the right man) and for me (having the right man). I have great faith in your matchmaking abilities (don’t disappoint me!) so yes, I will expect and assume and assume. In fact, I will project to be the most assuming woman in 2005 in search of a man. Yohooo!
Meantime, let me just get out of Cebu City for a while to enjoy what’s left of the year celebrating my single blessed life in peace.
God knows, if we all have our way, I’ll sorely miss it.
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
My Menu
At one point in our lives, we must leave home to be independent. My brother did. But in my and my sister’s case, it was our parents who left us home – forcing us to be independent and to fend for ourselves.
By the time I graduated from college, my parents’ move to their new house by the beach was already complete. In a move that’s aptly described as sneaky, they did it so gradually over my last couple of years in school that I hardly noticed it.
The way some of the furniture and appliances disappeared bit by bit should have sent the bells ringing. But when you have a thesis to think of, most things just fade away.
“Girls, we’ll be transferring the big TV to the new house. We’ll just trade in a new, smaller one, okay?” I now remember mami asking us.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Go, go,go,” I mumbled as my eyes remained glued to the PC screen, trying to reconstruct bar graphs and make sense of statistical boink-ilations. “Who has time to watch TV anyway?”
Yeah, up to now I still can’t believe I said that. But my mami swears by it so I can’t argue my way to repossessing the big TV back now that the thesis-tical fog has long cleared. Sneaky is what they are (I love you mom, pops).
And then, bit by bit, some of the kitchen utensils, clocks, linens, and what-else too said bye-bye.
But it never really hit us until one day, my sister and I stood before our ref (thank God it’s too big to move miles away) and discovered all the food was gone!
Resigned to the fact that our mami has defected – yes, I do mean defected -- to another camp, go to the grocery store ourselves, we did.
We tried. My sister and I really tried. But our first attempt at independent domestic survival 101 was a red mark and that, apparently, set a precedent to our other expeditions to grocery land. I dunno, but we always seem to end up with too much junk food and not enough ingredients for a home-cooked meal. Which, let me add, never fails to send yaya luz into one of her looong critical spiels.
Okay, okay. So we’re not too hot on the kitchen department. Good thing for us, there’re still TV, billboards, and friends to clue us in on the Generation X Survival Kit.
Table of Contents: FOOD … turn to page three.
There it was! The subtitles: Instant Cuisine (i.e. pancit canton, canned food, oatmeal, choco/coffee mix, etc.); Take-Out (i.e. KFC, Jollibee!!!! Hehehe); Order-out (i.e. Pizza, pizza, pizza); and Dining Out (i.e Welcome to Ayala Mall… I loooove you more today than yesterdaaaay….).
Along the way, you pick up a few things and then learn to master some. You gain enough confidence to experiment. And that, my dear friends, is how you discover your own tastes and whip up some style – weird, it may be.
Today, I still don’t profess to be some culinary artist. (Well, if you’re prone to think that after tasting my superlicious tuna spaghetti – the only real food I know how to cook for the moment– well, I can’t help that anymore ;)) But for the benefit of those neophytes to independent life, I’d like to share with you a portion of My Menu. Perhaps, it’ll help make your adjustment a little easier.
My Menu is a product of years of research and experimentation. I make no guarantees. But, I tell you, it’s fast and easy (Gen X’s mantra) to put together. Some may be tempted to brand it as weird but I call it simply an exotic mix. As for side effects, all I can say is -- I still don’t have any ulcer and my bowel movement remains relatively fine. Safe enough? So go, be adventurous. Have a taste of My Menu at your own risk.
My Menu
Appetizers
Ripe banana topped with dried bolinao (bulad) (from Fritz)
Black Coffee with flavored French fries (try sour cream, barbecue or cheese)
Milo (powder variety) mixed with cooked white rice (from Maya and Louie)
Ripe banana dipped in yummy peanut butter
Steamed banana with cheez whiz
Entrees
Yakisoba pancit canton with skyflakes
Yakisoba pancit canton with cheese bread
Yakisoba pancit canton with tuna fish
Yakisoba pancit canton with rice and fish stew (inon-onan)
Yakisoba pancit canton with fried/grilled fish
Lucky Me pancit canton with skyflakes
Lucky Me pancit canton with cheese bread
Lucky Me pancit canton with tuna fish
Lucky Me pancit canton with rice and fish stew (inon-onan)
Lucky Me pancit canton with fried/grilled fish
Cold, cold tuna spaghetti with iced mango juice
Century Tuna caldereta (canned) with rice
Dessert
San Mig Strong Ice with semi-frozen Oreo Cheesecake (Cue Café’s the best)
Scotch topped with Hershey’s kisses**
Vodka Ice with DJ Mix (okay, okay, Marlboro will do)
Black coffee with Cadbury chocolates (not to be mixed)
** Pssst, there are some in Berna’s candy containers strategically placed on a couple of sala tables in her apartment. Grab some for you and me, quick! And then, don’t forget the leftover scotch in the ref. She may have already hidden it somewhere else though (her tummy perhaps?). In which case, you have to search for it. Scotch and kisses have to go together!)
By the time I graduated from college, my parents’ move to their new house by the beach was already complete. In a move that’s aptly described as sneaky, they did it so gradually over my last couple of years in school that I hardly noticed it.
The way some of the furniture and appliances disappeared bit by bit should have sent the bells ringing. But when you have a thesis to think of, most things just fade away.
“Girls, we’ll be transferring the big TV to the new house. We’ll just trade in a new, smaller one, okay?” I now remember mami asking us.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Go, go,go,” I mumbled as my eyes remained glued to the PC screen, trying to reconstruct bar graphs and make sense of statistical boink-ilations. “Who has time to watch TV anyway?”
Yeah, up to now I still can’t believe I said that. But my mami swears by it so I can’t argue my way to repossessing the big TV back now that the thesis-tical fog has long cleared. Sneaky is what they are (I love you mom, pops).
And then, bit by bit, some of the kitchen utensils, clocks, linens, and what-else too said bye-bye.
But it never really hit us until one day, my sister and I stood before our ref (thank God it’s too big to move miles away) and discovered all the food was gone!
Resigned to the fact that our mami has defected – yes, I do mean defected -- to another camp, go to the grocery store ourselves, we did.
We tried. My sister and I really tried. But our first attempt at independent domestic survival 101 was a red mark and that, apparently, set a precedent to our other expeditions to grocery land. I dunno, but we always seem to end up with too much junk food and not enough ingredients for a home-cooked meal. Which, let me add, never fails to send yaya luz into one of her looong critical spiels.
Okay, okay. So we’re not too hot on the kitchen department. Good thing for us, there’re still TV, billboards, and friends to clue us in on the Generation X Survival Kit.
Table of Contents: FOOD … turn to page three.
There it was! The subtitles: Instant Cuisine (i.e. pancit canton, canned food, oatmeal, choco/coffee mix, etc.); Take-Out (i.e. KFC, Jollibee!!!! Hehehe); Order-out (i.e. Pizza, pizza, pizza); and Dining Out (i.e Welcome to Ayala Mall… I loooove you more today than yesterdaaaay….).
Along the way, you pick up a few things and then learn to master some. You gain enough confidence to experiment. And that, my dear friends, is how you discover your own tastes and whip up some style – weird, it may be.
Today, I still don’t profess to be some culinary artist. (Well, if you’re prone to think that after tasting my superlicious tuna spaghetti – the only real food I know how to cook for the moment– well, I can’t help that anymore ;)) But for the benefit of those neophytes to independent life, I’d like to share with you a portion of My Menu. Perhaps, it’ll help make your adjustment a little easier.
My Menu is a product of years of research and experimentation. I make no guarantees. But, I tell you, it’s fast and easy (Gen X’s mantra) to put together. Some may be tempted to brand it as weird but I call it simply an exotic mix. As for side effects, all I can say is -- I still don’t have any ulcer and my bowel movement remains relatively fine. Safe enough? So go, be adventurous. Have a taste of My Menu at your own risk.
My Menu
Appetizers
Ripe banana topped with dried bolinao (bulad) (from Fritz)
Black Coffee with flavored French fries (try sour cream, barbecue or cheese)
Milo (powder variety) mixed with cooked white rice (from Maya and Louie)
Ripe banana dipped in yummy peanut butter
Steamed banana with cheez whiz
Entrees
Yakisoba pancit canton with skyflakes
Yakisoba pancit canton with cheese bread
Yakisoba pancit canton with tuna fish
Yakisoba pancit canton with rice and fish stew (inon-onan)
Yakisoba pancit canton with fried/grilled fish
Lucky Me pancit canton with skyflakes
Lucky Me pancit canton with cheese bread
Lucky Me pancit canton with tuna fish
Lucky Me pancit canton with rice and fish stew (inon-onan)
Lucky Me pancit canton with fried/grilled fish
Cold, cold tuna spaghetti with iced mango juice
Century Tuna caldereta (canned) with rice
Dessert
San Mig Strong Ice with semi-frozen Oreo Cheesecake (Cue Café’s the best)
Scotch topped with Hershey’s kisses**
Vodka Ice with DJ Mix (okay, okay, Marlboro will do)
Black coffee with Cadbury chocolates (not to be mixed)
** Pssst, there are some in Berna’s candy containers strategically placed on a couple of sala tables in her apartment. Grab some for you and me, quick! And then, don’t forget the leftover scotch in the ref. She may have already hidden it somewhere else though (her tummy perhaps?). In which case, you have to search for it. Scotch and kisses have to go together!)
Saturday, December 18, 2004
Toxic
Right now, for once, I do not know what I’ll be writing about. But after three sticks of DJ Mix and what must have been 10 tall glasses of scotch and wine running down after an unbelievable amount of food variety I do not normally eat, the brain is somehow alive and itching to spill over. Rather than throw up, let me just give writing a try.
Was it Ernest Hemingway who was reputed to have been unable to write when not drunk? I know too of many a writer who use cigarette smoke as a screen for visions of nonsense and recycled inspirations.
I think though writing while intoxicated has merit. For then, you do not have to hide behind the curtain of propriety. Your conscience is asleep and the juices of truth and creativity flow, though without sense, with spunk and purpose.
Last night, I saw fireworks along the highway of oh-puhleezz-not-again Mandaue City. While beautiful in its complicated glory, it brings back the stench of days gone by. My mind floats for a while to a harbor unvisited in sobriety.
It is rare for one to acknowledge disgust for another being. Or to entertain the green-eyed monster with chips and a bottle of wine. But with the crutches we use to dilute the embarrassing habits we never quite learn to curtail after decades of etiquette lessons, anything becomes possible.
I have low tolerance for people who profess to be something they’re not. I am tired too of the games we use to hide our true intentions. I am frustrated about lost opportunities and constant changes. But I find I am open to new beginnings, surprises, and gradual connections.
There is something to be said about the continuity of old relationships. Though not nurtured the way we want to, some things grow to a respectable degree we never quite expect. There is something to be said about the way one overcomes petty differences to forge something real and substantial. Not everyone finds a friend in the clinks of shared glasses of mixed spirits.
It’s 4:00 AM, so I’ll let the rambling stop. My world still spins and flies as I try to make this piece stand still in time.
I have a feeling this more than 2,000-character document doesn’t make much sense. Sigh, so what’s new? Sober or not, few people get me anyway.
Was it Ernest Hemingway who was reputed to have been unable to write when not drunk? I know too of many a writer who use cigarette smoke as a screen for visions of nonsense and recycled inspirations.
I think though writing while intoxicated has merit. For then, you do not have to hide behind the curtain of propriety. Your conscience is asleep and the juices of truth and creativity flow, though without sense, with spunk and purpose.
Last night, I saw fireworks along the highway of oh-puhleezz-not-again Mandaue City. While beautiful in its complicated glory, it brings back the stench of days gone by. My mind floats for a while to a harbor unvisited in sobriety.
It is rare for one to acknowledge disgust for another being. Or to entertain the green-eyed monster with chips and a bottle of wine. But with the crutches we use to dilute the embarrassing habits we never quite learn to curtail after decades of etiquette lessons, anything becomes possible.
I have low tolerance for people who profess to be something they’re not. I am tired too of the games we use to hide our true intentions. I am frustrated about lost opportunities and constant changes. But I find I am open to new beginnings, surprises, and gradual connections.
There is something to be said about the continuity of old relationships. Though not nurtured the way we want to, some things grow to a respectable degree we never quite expect. There is something to be said about the way one overcomes petty differences to forge something real and substantial. Not everyone finds a friend in the clinks of shared glasses of mixed spirits.
It’s 4:00 AM, so I’ll let the rambling stop. My world still spins and flies as I try to make this piece stand still in time.
I have a feeling this more than 2,000-character document doesn’t make much sense. Sigh, so what’s new? Sober or not, few people get me anyway.
Thursday, December 16, 2004
Hello, December!
The absentminded waiter deftly placed on our table three bottles of San Mig Strong Ice and a plate of tasty, hot calamares sticks—the last order we were allowed for the night as the restaurant anticipated closing before the witching hour.
Sting’s music filled the air. I gently run my fingertips down the sides of the ice-cold beer bottle, disrupting the innocent droplets’ merry flow to the table top. Satisfied, I took a sip then reached for the calamares. Just as I tilted my head to catch the dripping sauce in my mouth, I saw it.
Stars! Probably a hundred of them twinkling in changing hues -- blue, green, red and silver -- against the wide, purplish blanket. Too engrossed with Henryl’s latest story, I almost forgot they were there. Mesmerized, I munched on the squid and stared for a few moments. I grinned at the fat tree playing hide and seek with them. Where’s the moon? Where’s the moon?
A movement caught my eye. “Hey look, a shooting star!”
“Quick, wish me a new job,” my news-editor-soon-to-be-bum buddy said.
“Hey, that’s supposed to be my line. I resigned way before you, remember?” I retorted.
Then for the first time – after two consecutive midnights discussing Henryl’s stressful resignation from Cebu Daily News, we burst out laughing. Who would have thought, after all those focus, training and education, we’d find ourselves in the middle of December both clueless about the future?
“Are you sure? Did you really want to do it? Are you happy?” I asked him.
“What I know is that the work no longer makes me happy. I’m not sure about the future but I know I don’t want to go back. I know I have a good shot at bigger things in this field but this is not the life I want. Basta, it really felt good resigning. I’m ready to give my other dreams a shot.”
That stopped my questions. How could I not understand when I echoed exactly the same words a few months ago?
I looked up at the sky and felt the cool breeze run through my hair. Amazing isn’t it, how peaceful it can be even in the midst of uncertainty?
I remember how during my tumultuous teenage years, I learned to talk to God. Whenever things start to overwhelm me, I’d simply look up and seek out the moon, the stars, the skies, or the sunset. More than anything, they remind me my God is bigger than I am and whatever else I may be facing for that matter. They tell me that life’s beauty goes on and that chaos is only in the mind. It’s humbling and it helps put things in perspective.
This cool December night, I looked at the stars and felt their magic once more. I winked at the three stars I personally call the Tres Marias. No matter where I go, I always find them up there. So how can you feel lost when you see something that constant?
“You’ll be okay, ryl,” I told him.
Taking a detour or facing a crossroad, I guess, is just like a rollercoaster ride – exciting and a cause for indigestion. It’s a freedom few people can afford. Without courage, you’ll never find it. Without faith, you’ll get lost. Without purpose, it becomes useless.
“So, ey, what do you say we start looking for new jobs already?” he asked.
“Hmm…why don’t we leave that for next year? It’s December after all. Let’s celebrate and enjoy it while we still can.”
December…. aahh, divine, delicious December. There’s nothing like December to remind me what a blessed life we live.
Years ago, a single star in Bethlehem signaled something great was coming. Now, another night, with the heavens still aglow, I smell endless possibilities around the corner.
Sting’s music filled the air. I gently run my fingertips down the sides of the ice-cold beer bottle, disrupting the innocent droplets’ merry flow to the table top. Satisfied, I took a sip then reached for the calamares. Just as I tilted my head to catch the dripping sauce in my mouth, I saw it.
Stars! Probably a hundred of them twinkling in changing hues -- blue, green, red and silver -- against the wide, purplish blanket. Too engrossed with Henryl’s latest story, I almost forgot they were there. Mesmerized, I munched on the squid and stared for a few moments. I grinned at the fat tree playing hide and seek with them. Where’s the moon? Where’s the moon?
A movement caught my eye. “Hey look, a shooting star!”
“Quick, wish me a new job,” my news-editor-soon-to-be-bum buddy said.
“Hey, that’s supposed to be my line. I resigned way before you, remember?” I retorted.
Then for the first time – after two consecutive midnights discussing Henryl’s stressful resignation from Cebu Daily News, we burst out laughing. Who would have thought, after all those focus, training and education, we’d find ourselves in the middle of December both clueless about the future?
“Are you sure? Did you really want to do it? Are you happy?” I asked him.
“What I know is that the work no longer makes me happy. I’m not sure about the future but I know I don’t want to go back. I know I have a good shot at bigger things in this field but this is not the life I want. Basta, it really felt good resigning. I’m ready to give my other dreams a shot.”
That stopped my questions. How could I not understand when I echoed exactly the same words a few months ago?
I looked up at the sky and felt the cool breeze run through my hair. Amazing isn’t it, how peaceful it can be even in the midst of uncertainty?
I remember how during my tumultuous teenage years, I learned to talk to God. Whenever things start to overwhelm me, I’d simply look up and seek out the moon, the stars, the skies, or the sunset. More than anything, they remind me my God is bigger than I am and whatever else I may be facing for that matter. They tell me that life’s beauty goes on and that chaos is only in the mind. It’s humbling and it helps put things in perspective.
This cool December night, I looked at the stars and felt their magic once more. I winked at the three stars I personally call the Tres Marias. No matter where I go, I always find them up there. So how can you feel lost when you see something that constant?
“You’ll be okay, ryl,” I told him.
Taking a detour or facing a crossroad, I guess, is just like a rollercoaster ride – exciting and a cause for indigestion. It’s a freedom few people can afford. Without courage, you’ll never find it. Without faith, you’ll get lost. Without purpose, it becomes useless.
“So, ey, what do you say we start looking for new jobs already?” he asked.
“Hmm…why don’t we leave that for next year? It’s December after all. Let’s celebrate and enjoy it while we still can.”
December…. aahh, divine, delicious December. There’s nothing like December to remind me what a blessed life we live.
Years ago, a single star in Bethlehem signaled something great was coming. Now, another night, with the heavens still aglow, I smell endless possibilities around the corner.
Saturday, December 04, 2004
Get Out of My Life and Stay There
Just so you'll know
You've ignored me for the last time
Did you really think I wouldn't mind
Being played for a fool?
There are limits to friendship
You've hurt me too much
You're not worth it
All my love is spent
I'm tired of you and people like you
You suck everything then leave me dry
You're better off using someone else
I'm letting you go
This time for good
A pity
For I would've rocked your world.
Layas!
You've ignored me for the last time
Did you really think I wouldn't mind
Being played for a fool?
There are limits to friendship
You've hurt me too much
You're not worth it
All my love is spent
I'm tired of you and people like you
You suck everything then leave me dry
You're better off using someone else
I'm letting you go
This time for good
A pity
For I would've rocked your world.
Layas!
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
Body Jam
I've been dancing for days now -- at home with baby allen, at the videoke-han with a date, and yes, at the grand new barely-opened gym in ayala with cousin fritz.
After a very stressful week, i finally gave in to fritz's urgings to check out the gym and attend his fabulous dance classes (he's here in Cebu from Manila for about three weeks to launch the body jam program among other things). Another freebie. Another adventure. Why not?
So there I was finding my way through what used to be Ayala Cinema 6. I was amazed at the transformation-- they really spruced it up. As you tour the place, you see white walls that still smell of fresh paint, winding steel bars, classy wooden floors, a cozy lounge with coffee unlimited, a psychedelic cycling room, a lockers section with muted lights, lots and lots of vitamins for the eyes (hehe) and mirrors, mirrors everywhere whistling to one's vanity.
Not immune to the mirrors, I entered the dance hall. Then jam, I did.
First dance: hip-hop. Groan. Of all dances, why did it have to be hip-hop? I hate it -- song, dance, or artist. I really do. But there I was groovin' and movin' to a track by Justin Timberlake (or was that someone else?)
Jump, twist, lift right leg, kick right, step back, front, close, then sway, sway, shoulder sway...
I was barely catching up, what with my thighs and ass still smarting from the torturous 45-minute cycling session my coz made me attend the day before. But did he give me any relief? Noooo.
Like a dancing general, he barks from the stage, "Move it, move it. Feel the music. C'mon, show it to me, coz!" I glanced up just in time to see him hide a grin. Aba-aba! Pinagtawanan ba naman ako?? Aba, challenge!
I could never perfect the steps but i faked it with attitude. I tried imagining myself jammin' with all those overdressed hip-hop kids in ayala on weekends. Soon enough, I was laughing at myself. Enjoy man pod diay. Well, I have to admit, once you get the hang of it, hip-hop can be a bit cool. Just a little bit, mind you.
Next: the Latin groove. Oooh lala! What a sexy dance! I just love dancing with my butt and following the snake moves. By the time I was doing the figure 8, all stress simply melted away.
Then there was the 80s mix. The jumps, the twirls, the mini cha-cha slides, kicks, and what-else.
One dance followed another and before I knew it, the hour was up. Still, I was high.
Dancing is really something else. Especially when you dance, as they say, like nobody's watching.
At first, it was kinda awkward. There were a lot of people -- guests and members -- milling around and looking in as they checked out the gym. Thoughts were running in my head like-- what if someone I know passes by? What if I'm the worst dancer here? My God, what if I couldn't dance at all? I just knew Fritz would tease me mercilessly after this. Why on earth did I ever listen to him?
But then, there comes a point when all that just cease to matter. For honestly? Nobody really cares. Klutz or not, nobody minds you because everyone is too engrossed in their own world.
And realizing that, I began to feel free.
Feel the music, Fritz says.
When it's cool, you think cool, and you begin to dance cool. When it's sexy, you think sexy, and you begin to dance sexy. When the energy is up, give in to it. Jump, kick, bend. Just move. Never mind the missteps. And when in doubt, just look at the mirror. It will tell you you're at your most beautiful when you dance.
So, hala bira!
P.S. To the dancerous mi amigas, enroll na ta na!
After a very stressful week, i finally gave in to fritz's urgings to check out the gym and attend his fabulous dance classes (he's here in Cebu from Manila for about three weeks to launch the body jam program among other things). Another freebie. Another adventure. Why not?
So there I was finding my way through what used to be Ayala Cinema 6. I was amazed at the transformation-- they really spruced it up. As you tour the place, you see white walls that still smell of fresh paint, winding steel bars, classy wooden floors, a cozy lounge with coffee unlimited, a psychedelic cycling room, a lockers section with muted lights, lots and lots of vitamins for the eyes (hehe) and mirrors, mirrors everywhere whistling to one's vanity.
Not immune to the mirrors, I entered the dance hall. Then jam, I did.
First dance: hip-hop. Groan. Of all dances, why did it have to be hip-hop? I hate it -- song, dance, or artist. I really do. But there I was groovin' and movin' to a track by Justin Timberlake (or was that someone else?)
Jump, twist, lift right leg, kick right, step back, front, close, then sway, sway, shoulder sway...
I was barely catching up, what with my thighs and ass still smarting from the torturous 45-minute cycling session my coz made me attend the day before. But did he give me any relief? Noooo.
Like a dancing general, he barks from the stage, "Move it, move it. Feel the music. C'mon, show it to me, coz!" I glanced up just in time to see him hide a grin. Aba-aba! Pinagtawanan ba naman ako?? Aba, challenge!
I could never perfect the steps but i faked it with attitude. I tried imagining myself jammin' with all those overdressed hip-hop kids in ayala on weekends. Soon enough, I was laughing at myself. Enjoy man pod diay. Well, I have to admit, once you get the hang of it, hip-hop can be a bit cool. Just a little bit, mind you.
Next: the Latin groove. Oooh lala! What a sexy dance! I just love dancing with my butt and following the snake moves. By the time I was doing the figure 8, all stress simply melted away.
Then there was the 80s mix. The jumps, the twirls, the mini cha-cha slides, kicks, and what-else.
One dance followed another and before I knew it, the hour was up. Still, I was high.
Dancing is really something else. Especially when you dance, as they say, like nobody's watching.
At first, it was kinda awkward. There were a lot of people -- guests and members -- milling around and looking in as they checked out the gym. Thoughts were running in my head like-- what if someone I know passes by? What if I'm the worst dancer here? My God, what if I couldn't dance at all? I just knew Fritz would tease me mercilessly after this. Why on earth did I ever listen to him?
But then, there comes a point when all that just cease to matter. For honestly? Nobody really cares. Klutz or not, nobody minds you because everyone is too engrossed in their own world.
And realizing that, I began to feel free.
Feel the music, Fritz says.
When it's cool, you think cool, and you begin to dance cool. When it's sexy, you think sexy, and you begin to dance sexy. When the energy is up, give in to it. Jump, kick, bend. Just move. Never mind the missteps. And when in doubt, just look at the mirror. It will tell you you're at your most beautiful when you dance.
So, hala bira!
P.S. To the dancerous mi amigas, enroll na ta na!
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
Skydiving, Anyone?
It rocks! And it's here in Cebu.
Think about it: No Brakes. No Seatbelts. No Roll Bar. No Spare Air. No Safety Line. No Timeouts. No Simulation. No Game. No Fake Bullets. Just pure adrenaline rush!
It might just be your answer to that never-ending bouts of stress, boredom, and insanity. After all, what could be more mind-boggling than jumping out of perfectly good airplanes for fun? Hehe.
A solo jump cost around P4,000. But if you're queasy about doing it on your own for the first time, well, there's always the tandem jump- where you get strapped to an instructor while taking that wild dive down. Thing is, it's at $200.
I know, I know. It's kinda expensive. But if you're up to a few mad minutes of flight anyway, just contact Jason Young of Cebu Sport Parachute Club at 0917-623-4739 or Guada Torrevillas of Gold Coast Tandem Skydive Philippines at 0918-603-3382.
Think about it: No Brakes. No Seatbelts. No Roll Bar. No Spare Air. No Safety Line. No Timeouts. No Simulation. No Game. No Fake Bullets. Just pure adrenaline rush!
It might just be your answer to that never-ending bouts of stress, boredom, and insanity. After all, what could be more mind-boggling than jumping out of perfectly good airplanes for fun? Hehe.
A solo jump cost around P4,000. But if you're queasy about doing it on your own for the first time, well, there's always the tandem jump- where you get strapped to an instructor while taking that wild dive down. Thing is, it's at $200.
I know, I know. It's kinda expensive. But if you're up to a few mad minutes of flight anyway, just contact Jason Young of Cebu Sport Parachute Club at 0917-623-4739 or Guada Torrevillas of Gold Coast Tandem Skydive Philippines at 0918-603-3382.
Monday, November 08, 2004
Mr.19 Years Old
Saturday night was swell -- I saw Steve again. Who? Steve, remember – the 19-year-old half-German guy? There now, I can imagine a few heads nodding from those who know me well.
Ah, Steve. Here’s a man who grew up in Germany, lived in Bohol, transferred to Cagayan, studies Vet Med in Leyte, occasionally stops over in Cebu, and dreams of setting up a clinic in France.
Talk about my dating life and you bet I can’t not mention him. After all, didn’t he start the curse?
I met Steve about three years ago while he was just turning 19. Like his latest text message, it was unexpected.
As a favor to MD who was game enough to attend a children’s party with me held by one of the people I was covering for SS Weekend then, I reluctantly accompanied her on a date she wasn’t too crazy about right after. Turned out it was a good thing for the guy, too, brought along two friends with him – Steve and his brother Garik.
Like usual, we ended up drinking coffee. And then we talked and talked and the coffee never tasted better.
He was 5 years younger yet made more sense than most guys I know my age or even older.
He was a DJ. I remember the following day I closed the TCR pages with his voice blasting through my earphones. I almost fell off my swivel chair when I heard my name. Said he was dedicating a couple of songs to me. That’s how I came to know Usher. By the time Bic Runga’s Sway reached my ears, I could no longer feel my knees.
I flirted shamelessly after that. Ja, I do know how when the mood strikes me ;p Age difference be shot.
But things didn’t always work out the way I wanted to.
He visited the house while I was having a bad hair day.
He called me up when I least expected him to and ignored me the rest of the time.
Eventually, he set up the first date... and then canceled at the very last minute. Was I mad? Nah. Hair-raising mad? Ja!
And then five months later, he left Cebu. Just when I was beginning to forgive and really like him. The asshole.
After a while, I learned to laugh over that episode in my life. I got over him. He was just 19 after all! But then after he left, something weird happened which made it hard to forget him -- 19-year-old guys began popping out of nowhere. Really.
I went to Malapascua and who did I find flirting with me? A 19-year-old model who wiggles his feet while sleeping.
I went to Boracay and who’s the first cutie I met? A 19-year-old hotdog vendor.
You know, strange things like that I’ve begun to believe happen only to me.
Now, I can’t even travel someplace without Igat Almera’s stern warning ringing in my ears, “Igat, behave ha.” Meaning, no flirting with 19-year-olds and below. As if.
I introduce a guy’s name in conversation with friends and the first thing they ask is, “Wait ‘day, dili 19?”
Sigh. In the dating game, does age really matter? How young is young and how old is old?
I went out with a guy once I suspect was almost twice my age and I had the feeling it was kinda wrong too. People stared. Or was it just me? Double sigh.
I couldn’t understand my lab layp, so I just focused on my career. Enron was hot. America’s airlines were going down after 9/11. The Troubled Company Reporter’s pages were running high. We were busy.
Christmas went and summer came. Then Steve came back for a visit. He wanted to see me. Well, well, well!
I was tempted to brush him off, but I couldn’t bear to be unkind. Besides, I was curious to see what’s become of the guy who broke a date with me and left without a word. And yes, I was vindictive enough to want to get back at him.
So I told him yes.
No, I didn’t stand him up or break it at the last minute. That’s too predictable. I was girl enough to believe that the best way to really make a guy suffer was to turn my plain countenance into something cute, if not gorgeous. And I knew just how to do it. Let him eat his heart out!
It worked. “You look beautiful,” he said. But did he have to sound surprised? The jerk. Why, wasn’t I before? I just gave him a killer smile.
Fifteen minutes later though, after our first laugh over an unexpected joke, I began to warm up to him. Underneath it all, I realized he’s really a nice guy. I remembered why I liked him in the first place. I can’t say the old feelings came rushing back. But he’s really interesting. Smart. Different.
He’s the one who taught me that in some parts of the world, people drink beer like water.
With him, I can gush about European authors and he wouldn’t bat an eyelash. Cool.
He introduced me to alternative music.
He’s one person I know who’d debate against the merits of studying Rizal.
He doesn’t think I’m crazy when I suggest we walk from the village to ayala instead of taking a cab.
And isn’t it refreshing to meet someone who doesn’t always agree with what you say? (And to think I’m older than him!) What’s more, he makes you see why too.
When I boasted about my superlicious spaghetti, all he said was, "Nah, one of these days I'll cook for you. Mine's better."
Whenever he asks me out, I appreciate the way he’s already got a place in mind and not wait for me to make all the decisions. All I’ve got to do is say ‘fine’.
He’s not afraid at all to say, “Hey, I’m beginning to see you have a bad side. It's showing.” (And to think I covered it so well. hahaha)
He remembers my sister has a baby – a fact I told him over a year ago.
And most of all, he’s the only person I know who manages to talk about the Iraqi war, of courage and carpe diem for some minutes and then segue so smoothly to declaring he has feelings for me.
I remember it well, Steve. It was the night before your boat leaves for Bohol. We were at Kaona Grill, drinking San Mig Light by a table underneath a tree near midnight when you said those things. Then all of a sudden, the lights went out. And all I could think of at that moment was how lovely the full moon was that night.
I didn’t know what to say.
Ours was the only table left outside but still the waiter was kind enough to light us a candle instead of making us leave.
The light flickered. I glanced up and saw you waiting.
“You’re a year too late, Steve,” I finally said.
“I know. I just have to say it. I don’t want to leave without saying it.”
You added, “Maybe this just makes it complicated because… well, I know I can’t stay. And honestly I don’t know when I’ll be back. I wish I had more time.”
I tried to make things light by saying, “Come on, don’t worry about it. I think you’re just carried away by the moment. You’ll get over it, you’ll see.”
“Really, you think? Nah, this is real. I know how I feel.”
I fell silent because I didn’t know what to say to that.
“I’m not really expecting anything more. I know it would be unfair. But will you at least keep the door open for me?”
And I said, “Why not?”
Then you walked me home. During goodbye, you said, “I’ll keep in touch.”**
I didn’t really believe it but he did. The texts were sporadic and far between. Like me, he doesn’t like texting and talking over the phone. But once every few months or so, he’d check to see if I’m still alive – just when I least expected him to.
Then last Saturday, he stopped over Cebu for a few hours -- long enough to be able to invite me out for coffee. I was cleaning the house and was on my knees waxing our 50-year old wooden floor when my phone beeped. What timing! And so like him to come when I least expected him to.
It was nice finding it easy to slip back to being good friends with him again. He’s not as skinny as before (though he still is) and he still speaks English with that German accent. He still smokes Marlboro Reds-- eew. He’s still the same interesting person, this once 19-year-old guy.
We talked and talked and the cheap coffee never tasted better.
We didn’t bring up last time. Nor did we speak of tomorrows. I was glad.
With Steve, you never know. From him, I’ve learned there’s beauty in simply taking the moment as it comes.
Thank you, Steve, for the moments you make me feel special. I know when you think of Cebu, you also think of me.
That is the sweetest thing.
Ah, Steve. Here’s a man who grew up in Germany, lived in Bohol, transferred to Cagayan, studies Vet Med in Leyte, occasionally stops over in Cebu, and dreams of setting up a clinic in France.
Talk about my dating life and you bet I can’t not mention him. After all, didn’t he start the curse?
I met Steve about three years ago while he was just turning 19. Like his latest text message, it was unexpected.
As a favor to MD who was game enough to attend a children’s party with me held by one of the people I was covering for SS Weekend then, I reluctantly accompanied her on a date she wasn’t too crazy about right after. Turned out it was a good thing for the guy, too, brought along two friends with him – Steve and his brother Garik.
Like usual, we ended up drinking coffee. And then we talked and talked and the coffee never tasted better.
He was 5 years younger yet made more sense than most guys I know my age or even older.
He was a DJ. I remember the following day I closed the TCR pages with his voice blasting through my earphones. I almost fell off my swivel chair when I heard my name. Said he was dedicating a couple of songs to me. That’s how I came to know Usher. By the time Bic Runga’s Sway reached my ears, I could no longer feel my knees.
I flirted shamelessly after that. Ja, I do know how when the mood strikes me ;p Age difference be shot.
But things didn’t always work out the way I wanted to.
He visited the house while I was having a bad hair day.
He called me up when I least expected him to and ignored me the rest of the time.
Eventually, he set up the first date... and then canceled at the very last minute. Was I mad? Nah. Hair-raising mad? Ja!
And then five months later, he left Cebu. Just when I was beginning to forgive and really like him. The asshole.
After a while, I learned to laugh over that episode in my life. I got over him. He was just 19 after all! But then after he left, something weird happened which made it hard to forget him -- 19-year-old guys began popping out of nowhere. Really.
I went to Malapascua and who did I find flirting with me? A 19-year-old model who wiggles his feet while sleeping.
I went to Boracay and who’s the first cutie I met? A 19-year-old hotdog vendor.
You know, strange things like that I’ve begun to believe happen only to me.
Now, I can’t even travel someplace without Igat Almera’s stern warning ringing in my ears, “Igat, behave ha.” Meaning, no flirting with 19-year-olds and below. As if.
I introduce a guy’s name in conversation with friends and the first thing they ask is, “Wait ‘day, dili 19?”
Sigh. In the dating game, does age really matter? How young is young and how old is old?
I went out with a guy once I suspect was almost twice my age and I had the feeling it was kinda wrong too. People stared. Or was it just me? Double sigh.
I couldn’t understand my lab layp, so I just focused on my career. Enron was hot. America’s airlines were going down after 9/11. The Troubled Company Reporter’s pages were running high. We were busy.
Christmas went and summer came. Then Steve came back for a visit. He wanted to see me. Well, well, well!
I was tempted to brush him off, but I couldn’t bear to be unkind. Besides, I was curious to see what’s become of the guy who broke a date with me and left without a word. And yes, I was vindictive enough to want to get back at him.
So I told him yes.
No, I didn’t stand him up or break it at the last minute. That’s too predictable. I was girl enough to believe that the best way to really make a guy suffer was to turn my plain countenance into something cute, if not gorgeous. And I knew just how to do it. Let him eat his heart out!
It worked. “You look beautiful,” he said. But did he have to sound surprised? The jerk. Why, wasn’t I before? I just gave him a killer smile.
Fifteen minutes later though, after our first laugh over an unexpected joke, I began to warm up to him. Underneath it all, I realized he’s really a nice guy. I remembered why I liked him in the first place. I can’t say the old feelings came rushing back. But he’s really interesting. Smart. Different.
He’s the one who taught me that in some parts of the world, people drink beer like water.
With him, I can gush about European authors and he wouldn’t bat an eyelash. Cool.
He introduced me to alternative music.
He’s one person I know who’d debate against the merits of studying Rizal.
He doesn’t think I’m crazy when I suggest we walk from the village to ayala instead of taking a cab.
And isn’t it refreshing to meet someone who doesn’t always agree with what you say? (And to think I’m older than him!) What’s more, he makes you see why too.
When I boasted about my superlicious spaghetti, all he said was, "Nah, one of these days I'll cook for you. Mine's better."
Whenever he asks me out, I appreciate the way he’s already got a place in mind and not wait for me to make all the decisions. All I’ve got to do is say ‘fine’.
He’s not afraid at all to say, “Hey, I’m beginning to see you have a bad side. It's showing.” (And to think I covered it so well. hahaha)
He remembers my sister has a baby – a fact I told him over a year ago.
And most of all, he’s the only person I know who manages to talk about the Iraqi war, of courage and carpe diem for some minutes and then segue so smoothly to declaring he has feelings for me.
I remember it well, Steve. It was the night before your boat leaves for Bohol. We were at Kaona Grill, drinking San Mig Light by a table underneath a tree near midnight when you said those things. Then all of a sudden, the lights went out. And all I could think of at that moment was how lovely the full moon was that night.
I didn’t know what to say.
Ours was the only table left outside but still the waiter was kind enough to light us a candle instead of making us leave.
The light flickered. I glanced up and saw you waiting.
“You’re a year too late, Steve,” I finally said.
“I know. I just have to say it. I don’t want to leave without saying it.”
You added, “Maybe this just makes it complicated because… well, I know I can’t stay. And honestly I don’t know when I’ll be back. I wish I had more time.”
I tried to make things light by saying, “Come on, don’t worry about it. I think you’re just carried away by the moment. You’ll get over it, you’ll see.”
“Really, you think? Nah, this is real. I know how I feel.”
I fell silent because I didn’t know what to say to that.
“I’m not really expecting anything more. I know it would be unfair. But will you at least keep the door open for me?”
And I said, “Why not?”
Then you walked me home. During goodbye, you said, “I’ll keep in touch.”**
I didn’t really believe it but he did. The texts were sporadic and far between. Like me, he doesn’t like texting and talking over the phone. But once every few months or so, he’d check to see if I’m still alive – just when I least expected him to.
Then last Saturday, he stopped over Cebu for a few hours -- long enough to be able to invite me out for coffee. I was cleaning the house and was on my knees waxing our 50-year old wooden floor when my phone beeped. What timing! And so like him to come when I least expected him to.
It was nice finding it easy to slip back to being good friends with him again. He’s not as skinny as before (though he still is) and he still speaks English with that German accent. He still smokes Marlboro Reds-- eew. He’s still the same interesting person, this once 19-year-old guy.
We talked and talked and the cheap coffee never tasted better.
We didn’t bring up last time. Nor did we speak of tomorrows. I was glad.
With Steve, you never know. From him, I’ve learned there’s beauty in simply taking the moment as it comes.
Thank you, Steve, for the moments you make me feel special. I know when you think of Cebu, you also think of me.
That is the sweetest thing.
Biyahe ta ‘Bay
Early this year, the travel bug bit me. It made me feverish enough to dig out the dusty Philippine map at home, borrow my sister’s backpack, and start hitting the hot spots in Visayas, Luzon and Mindanao.
It may have been that catchy DOT-sponsored song over Cebu TV’s channel 28 -- “Tara na, biyahe tayo!” -- that got to me. Maybe it’s the feeling of being stuck in one place for too long. Or it could just be my perverse nature wanting to prove that at a time when practically most Filipinos dream of the next country, it’s better to explore my roots and rediscover something worth staying for.
Whatever the reason, I decided one day to “Just do(h) it!”, as one senator would say. Money was tight so I traveled in spurts but I was determined. And I guess it’s true -- when you decide that you really want something, the universe will conspire to get you there.
It’s one thing to read about people and places in history and travel books, another thing to experience them firsthand. There are a few truths you just don’t believe till you’re a part of it.
I was there during the recent flooding of Tarlac. The overflowing waters destroyed a lot of people’s homes and their rice fields. It should have been enough to break the people’s spirit too. But no, it spurred them to unite and move on. It made me realize that we Filipinos are survivors.
Davao made me see that we could be a disciplined people. There, they follow a curfew -- no booze and minors on the streets after 2 AM. I was amazed even the young respect that.
Baguio made it possible for me to touch the sky. So I guess some dreams do come true after all despite the seemingly endless financial crisis.
Camiguin, Dumaguete and Bantayan redefined my concept of unspoiled beauty and provincial charm.
The beach bums in Boracay made me realize that we don’t need much to have a glorious life. Not when we have the sun, sea and a supportive community to cheer us on.
I experienced the cold blast of regionalism in places like Iloilo, Manila, and Bohol. But before I could freeze, a good friend pointed out that it mostly stems from the language barrier and it would make me no different if I just brush the people off. So with an effort, I tried to go beyond the wall and learn a few words from their mother tongues. And I found out that most will meet you halfway when you’re sincere enough.
Traveling opened my eyes to so many things I used to take for granted about our people and our country. Now I know what they mean when they say we are a beautiful and colorful race, a people both simple and proud. Now I understand that while we may be poor, we are rich in the diversity of our languages, land, culture and traditions. Now I see that the Philippine islands may be scattered and each island unique but we borrow a word, we share some waters, and some style from each other enough to make us all interconnected.
It’s exhilarating to discover that the Philippines is not that little at all, contrary to what a world map may tell us. It may not be big either but I say it’s enough to sustain us. Enough, if we work hard for it, to have a taste of heaven here.
Our Department of Tourism has a point. Biyahe ta ‘bay. Indulge those restless feet. Like me, fall in love with this country again. Discover what makes us different yet the same. In the course of doing so, we get a greater gift -- we discover ourselves.
--Crossline, SunStar Weekend, October 30, 2004
It may have been that catchy DOT-sponsored song over Cebu TV’s channel 28 -- “Tara na, biyahe tayo!” -- that got to me. Maybe it’s the feeling of being stuck in one place for too long. Or it could just be my perverse nature wanting to prove that at a time when practically most Filipinos dream of the next country, it’s better to explore my roots and rediscover something worth staying for.
Whatever the reason, I decided one day to “Just do(h) it!”, as one senator would say. Money was tight so I traveled in spurts but I was determined. And I guess it’s true -- when you decide that you really want something, the universe will conspire to get you there.
It’s one thing to read about people and places in history and travel books, another thing to experience them firsthand. There are a few truths you just don’t believe till you’re a part of it.
I was there during the recent flooding of Tarlac. The overflowing waters destroyed a lot of people’s homes and their rice fields. It should have been enough to break the people’s spirit too. But no, it spurred them to unite and move on. It made me realize that we Filipinos are survivors.
Davao made me see that we could be a disciplined people. There, they follow a curfew -- no booze and minors on the streets after 2 AM. I was amazed even the young respect that.
Baguio made it possible for me to touch the sky. So I guess some dreams do come true after all despite the seemingly endless financial crisis.
Camiguin, Dumaguete and Bantayan redefined my concept of unspoiled beauty and provincial charm.
The beach bums in Boracay made me realize that we don’t need much to have a glorious life. Not when we have the sun, sea and a supportive community to cheer us on.
I experienced the cold blast of regionalism in places like Iloilo, Manila, and Bohol. But before I could freeze, a good friend pointed out that it mostly stems from the language barrier and it would make me no different if I just brush the people off. So with an effort, I tried to go beyond the wall and learn a few words from their mother tongues. And I found out that most will meet you halfway when you’re sincere enough.
Traveling opened my eyes to so many things I used to take for granted about our people and our country. Now I know what they mean when they say we are a beautiful and colorful race, a people both simple and proud. Now I understand that while we may be poor, we are rich in the diversity of our languages, land, culture and traditions. Now I see that the Philippine islands may be scattered and each island unique but we borrow a word, we share some waters, and some style from each other enough to make us all interconnected.
It’s exhilarating to discover that the Philippines is not that little at all, contrary to what a world map may tell us. It may not be big either but I say it’s enough to sustain us. Enough, if we work hard for it, to have a taste of heaven here.
Our Department of Tourism has a point. Biyahe ta ‘bay. Indulge those restless feet. Like me, fall in love with this country again. Discover what makes us different yet the same. In the course of doing so, we get a greater gift -- we discover ourselves.
--Crossline, SunStar Weekend, October 30, 2004
Friday, October 29, 2004
Beauty Talk
Maxi Peel para Kutis Artista!
-- Kristine Hermosa, TV commercial
Bwahahaha!
-- Me
Cream Silk Conditioners: Pollution control for super beautiful hair!
-- Lea Salonga, Billboard along Gorordo Avenue
Charing!
-- Me
Rebond? Hinde ah, shinampoo ko lang yan
-- Friend quoting the Rejoice ad
Baloney!
-- Me
Beauty Secret: "None, just moisturize. Use sunblock. Laugh. Younger Men!"
--Mylene Dizon, Cosmo May 2004
AMEN!!!
-- Me
-- Kristine Hermosa, TV commercial
Bwahahaha!
-- Me
Cream Silk Conditioners: Pollution control for super beautiful hair!
-- Lea Salonga, Billboard along Gorordo Avenue
Charing!
-- Me
Rebond? Hinde ah, shinampoo ko lang yan
-- Friend quoting the Rejoice ad
Baloney!
-- Me
Beauty Secret: "None, just moisturize. Use sunblock. Laugh. Younger Men!"
--Mylene Dizon, Cosmo May 2004
AMEN!!!
-- Me
Chasing Cagayan
Your reach should be beyond your grasp
For what is heaven for?
-- M quoting Mr. Cabrera quoting some forgotten writer
For me, Cagayan de Oro is far yet from being the best city in the Philippines. It reminds me a lot of Cebu when the downtown area was still the hot spot. My visits there are often by chance and don’t last for more than an hour. At best, it’s a stopover on the way to Davao or wherever.
Early this year though, on our way home from Camiguin, a friend and I decided to stay overnight and a day to explore the place. First thing it did to me was greet me with catcalls at the pier. My gutsy friend Ann was ready to go into a fistfight just to defend my honor and my very skimpy orange shorts (well, I just came from a very hot beach, didn’t I?). Next thing it did was swallow my money as I tried to withdraw from the monstrous Equitable PCI atm about 2 blocks away from VIP hotel. Up to now, I don’t think I’ve completely forgiven Cagayan yet for the harassment and inconvenience.
But then, a recent text message from one very interesting guy I know now based in Cagayan reminded me that like a stained mouse pad that’s always there but which we tolerate and seldom notice, it too may have its interesting point at a different angle. After all, where else can you find Internet rental which goes as low as P10 with a connection that's even better than Cannon Creek’s?
My sexy cousin Maya babes though sees Cagayan beyond such trivialities. For her, it stands for something else -- freedom, independence, and a new lease on life.
Her decision to leave her husband and a thriving business in Digos, Davao del Sur – her home for more than 30 years, to follow a dream was not an easy one. After chasing answers to a life-altering question as far as northern Luzon for months, she’s finally found the light and settled in Cagayan.
Why Cagayan of all places? Well, she says, at least it’s not too far from home yet far enough to disappear to for awhile. To grow, she wants time out from the familiar, the ready clutches and constricting buzz of a comfort zone.
Brave, M said.
Foolish, a lot would say.
Go on, the heart says.
So she went, searched for and rented her own house, and enrolled at the top university in the area. Getting into the college course she wanted was not as simple as she thought. But her years in U.P. Diliman way back have taught her that nothing good is ever really simple. So, in her natural way, she just eased out a sexy shrug, straightened her spine and started plotting how she’s going to create a door when there isn’t one for the moment. Come what may, she’s gonna reach for that star. And, for better or worse, she’s chosen Cagayan to bring her there.
I have my own stars and heaven to reach for. But somehow, even after all those places, I’ve yet to find and chase my own Cagayan, elusive as it is.
Perhaps, heeding Maya’s call for a visit might just point me in the right direction.
For what is heaven for?
-- M quoting Mr. Cabrera quoting some forgotten writer
For me, Cagayan de Oro is far yet from being the best city in the Philippines. It reminds me a lot of Cebu when the downtown area was still the hot spot. My visits there are often by chance and don’t last for more than an hour. At best, it’s a stopover on the way to Davao or wherever.
Early this year though, on our way home from Camiguin, a friend and I decided to stay overnight and a day to explore the place. First thing it did to me was greet me with catcalls at the pier. My gutsy friend Ann was ready to go into a fistfight just to defend my honor and my very skimpy orange shorts (well, I just came from a very hot beach, didn’t I?). Next thing it did was swallow my money as I tried to withdraw from the monstrous Equitable PCI atm about 2 blocks away from VIP hotel. Up to now, I don’t think I’ve completely forgiven Cagayan yet for the harassment and inconvenience.
But then, a recent text message from one very interesting guy I know now based in Cagayan reminded me that like a stained mouse pad that’s always there but which we tolerate and seldom notice, it too may have its interesting point at a different angle. After all, where else can you find Internet rental which goes as low as P10 with a connection that's even better than Cannon Creek’s?
My sexy cousin Maya babes though sees Cagayan beyond such trivialities. For her, it stands for something else -- freedom, independence, and a new lease on life.
Her decision to leave her husband and a thriving business in Digos, Davao del Sur – her home for more than 30 years, to follow a dream was not an easy one. After chasing answers to a life-altering question as far as northern Luzon for months, she’s finally found the light and settled in Cagayan.
Why Cagayan of all places? Well, she says, at least it’s not too far from home yet far enough to disappear to for awhile. To grow, she wants time out from the familiar, the ready clutches and constricting buzz of a comfort zone.
Brave, M said.
Foolish, a lot would say.
Go on, the heart says.
So she went, searched for and rented her own house, and enrolled at the top university in the area. Getting into the college course she wanted was not as simple as she thought. But her years in U.P. Diliman way back have taught her that nothing good is ever really simple. So, in her natural way, she just eased out a sexy shrug, straightened her spine and started plotting how she’s going to create a door when there isn’t one for the moment. Come what may, she’s gonna reach for that star. And, for better or worse, she’s chosen Cagayan to bring her there.
I have my own stars and heaven to reach for. But somehow, even after all those places, I’ve yet to find and chase my own Cagayan, elusive as it is.
Perhaps, heeding Maya’s call for a visit might just point me in the right direction.
Friday, October 15, 2004
The Little Prince & Me
About this time last year, I and a couple of friends were thick in the middle of rehearsals for a play designed to alter our lives – The Little Prince. I distinctly remember it took us about four months to plan and execute the production. We had no money, but we made up through sheer guts. What we lacked in professional experience, we countered with a driving passion and love for the theater arts and the book.
Being the play’s creative director is perhaps the most glamorous title I’ve held in my career. It was to be my professional stage debut. And yes, ambitious that I am, I saw it as a remarkable steppingstone towards bigger productions and greater fame.
Funny though, after that one tumultuous and exhilarating ride, I realize that just like magic wands and stardust, glamour is a myth. Any hint of it has long been lost to oblivion as one remembers the sweat, blood, and tears in making things happen. For me, The Little Prince was the ultimate test for patience, elasticity of a creative mind, courage of execution, and the bond of friendship.
Once Upon A Time
It all started over a lukewarm cup of coffee. One particular August night, Al and I were lamenting over life's quotidian not-so-merry-go-round. Honestly, don’t you ever get tired of it all- work, mall, eat, coffee, sleep, then back again? Surely, there’s got to be more to life than these.
And then over sips of coffee, we grumbled some more about how life’s little perks like plays and movies have become ridiculously expensive with little value. We discussed one particular production I had the seeming misfortune to watch. The coffee by then must have gone to our heads for we lost no time hotly debating on the best way we could have done it different.
A germ of an idea started hopping around – if we don’t like something, why not change it ourselves? Or better yet, why not create and produce something to satisfy us and jolt us out of this bout of whining? So what if we’ve got little connections and not much professional training? Everyone has got to start somewhere. We were already bored anyway, what have we got to lose? Well, probably just our reputation, time, a bit of money, a large chunk of sanity and what-else. Who cares?
To make it work, we needed a material close to our hearts. Al beat me to an answer: The Little Prince.
For something this big, we needed one more person to complete the circle. And when it comes to theater productions, I know of only one other lady who’s as bold, crazy and passionate about it as I am – M. We’ve worked our way together through minor workshops and countless school plays so I know when it comes to dreams and visions, she absolutely gets it. And I was right. Over a plate of veggie beef biryani and a pot of tea, she signed on.
We wanted the play to matter. We were serious enough about it that we submitted to the taxing process of registering the partnership with the Securities & Exchange Commission to give us-- the producers -- a valid name. We got approved. Artist Link Productions Co. was born.
Once Upon a Play
It was a crazy life. It wasn’t as easy as we thought it would be.
We visited about five institutions before we found one we could link up with and share our vision.
We auditioned about 50 kids to get a cast of 20.
We made seven revisions to the script before we settled with the final version.
I listened to about 20 CDs and 150 songs to pick out just 10 for the soundtrack.
We had about 35 rehearsals to prepare for just 3 shows.
We sent out about 40 sponsorship letters and they were rejected for one reason or another, except for two – Timezone and Grolier International. But sorry, they can only give in kind, not cash – which was what we really needed. Oh well, that was better than nothing.
We called, faxed, and delivered invitations to practically all the schools in the city. Only two accepted and showed up.
And what did we do to fill up 300 seats? Target to sell a thousand tickets.
We hounded friends to help with the logos, designs and printing. We called long ago acquaintances to help us promote in the papers and their orgs. One cold late night, we hiked from Gorordo Avenue to Mango Avenue, onto the CAP Center in Osmeña Boulevard to stick posters in various strategic spots.
As the play progressed along, Al developed an aversion to phones and companies, M lost our bag of newly printed tickets, and I – one fateful night – totally lost my cool and screamed at the kids. It was hell.
I remember it was as early as the last week of October when we almost reached breaking point. By then, a lot of people were already telling us, “Don’t worry, it’s normal for a first production to fold, anyway. Mamawi nalang mo sa next one ‘coz by then, naa namo’y experience.” Grrrr. We suspect even the foundation doubted we could pull it off. I guess we were just too “girly” for them to be real.
Al, M and I were beginning to dread our coffee sessions / meetings. What’s there to look forward to when people kept saying No and everything seemed to be in shambles? We stopped talking like normal friends. And whenever possible, we avoided each other like the plague for we knew it would only take a single wrong word or act to blow up. The pressure, people, and the play were grating on our nerves like the sound of a fingernail against glass that just won’t stop.
So we called for a break. For about two weeks, we suspended rehearsals, agreed not to make a single phone call, and not talk about any of it at all. It was heaven.
I guess it did us some good. It gave us time to think if each of us wanted to stop or go on. Eventually, all of us decided that we could take anything except falling on our faces when we’ve scarcely even started. If we don’t at least finish it, how else will we be able to launch another project in our lives? Yes, it was pride and our stubbornness in believing that the dream is still possible that carried us through. So we picked up the bat once more and decided to give the ball our best shot – win or lose.
Eventually, we got used to being insane. We learned to love the kids, tolerate their mind boggling moves for affection and approval, and deal with their tantrums and petty fights. We realized that in all this, they are the point, not us. To counter the stress, we decided to make every rehearsal fun, every creative effort a learning experience, and every meeting a food binge. We learned to just stick out our tongues at people who refused to help us instead of scream or pull each others’ glorious hair. And then, when we couldn’t afford it, we decided to challenge the fates, and rented a grand stage for the production instead of settling for a little amphitheater. When you decide to do something, might as well do it right and big and grand all the way, right? Otherwise, what’s the point?
And then I realized that to make this dream come true, I got to believe in the project myself. In an act of faith, I took the risk and invested what little savings I had to tide us over on things we just couldn’t beg or borrow. I figured somehow we’ll make it through. We were already at rock bottom. There was no other way to go but up.
One Happy Ending
Performance day was a blast. Any of the three shows we had was far from perfect, true. Some lines were missed, the sound equipment acted up, backstage witnessed one glitch after another and so on. But do you know that feeling when everybody simply decides to throw caution to the winds and do their best anyway come what may because after all, there’s no more tomorrow? Unity. Teamwork. Fun. We had it all.
And God, the joy in the children’s faces, that moment when you see them come out of their shell to share that talent you help shape, the awe in their faces after having their few minutes in the spotlight and realizing that dreams do come true -- it’s something I’ll never forget. It makes every tear, every heartache, each struggle, every sleepless night, everything -- all worthwhile.
And then, voila!, the people came. This despite the heavy rain. I even thought the room wouldn’t be enough. After everything, it was so unexpected.
What’s more, we broke even. No debts and the food was overflowing at the goodbye party. Wait, let me correct that – we profited actually. Let’s not forget the game tickets from Timezone and the wonderful books from Grolier International.
And then there were the invisible gifts beyond prize like friendship, love, passion, faith, and self-respect.
New Beginnings
It took me about a year to be able to write all of this down. I couldn’t help it. When you let go of something so beautiful – especially when you’ve given your heart and soul to it– well, it hurts for awhile.
But now I write all of this down, not really because I want to make you suffer too by reading a very long blog entry. Hehe. I’m writing this down because I don’t want to forget. I want to remember that at one point in my life I did it – I fought with my friends and won and made the dream happen. And to know, that if I just believe, it could happen again.
I think each of us needs at least one “Little Prince” experience in our lives. It doesn’t necessarily have to be a play, if you know what I mean. It could be a game won, a board exam passed, a business established, or even a love well-fought for. I think each and everyone should have that something to look back to and say, “Yeah, one time I risked it all and beat all the odds. It was crazy. It was hard, sure, but I survived. I could do it again.”
As for Artist Link, the fire stirs once more. After more than a year, we finally captured another out-of-this-world idea and are now planning for the next production. Nothing solid yet, but it’s enough to make us dream again. This time it’s going to be different, maybe not bigger, but if it pushes through we’ll be risking so much more than we ever did. The way things stand, odds of it happening are also slim. But hey, if it’s written on the stars just like the Little Prince was, who are we to argue, right?
Dreams, after all, do come true.
Being the play’s creative director is perhaps the most glamorous title I’ve held in my career. It was to be my professional stage debut. And yes, ambitious that I am, I saw it as a remarkable steppingstone towards bigger productions and greater fame.
Funny though, after that one tumultuous and exhilarating ride, I realize that just like magic wands and stardust, glamour is a myth. Any hint of it has long been lost to oblivion as one remembers the sweat, blood, and tears in making things happen. For me, The Little Prince was the ultimate test for patience, elasticity of a creative mind, courage of execution, and the bond of friendship.
Once Upon A Time
It all started over a lukewarm cup of coffee. One particular August night, Al and I were lamenting over life's quotidian not-so-merry-go-round. Honestly, don’t you ever get tired of it all- work, mall, eat, coffee, sleep, then back again? Surely, there’s got to be more to life than these.
And then over sips of coffee, we grumbled some more about how life’s little perks like plays and movies have become ridiculously expensive with little value. We discussed one particular production I had the seeming misfortune to watch. The coffee by then must have gone to our heads for we lost no time hotly debating on the best way we could have done it different.
A germ of an idea started hopping around – if we don’t like something, why not change it ourselves? Or better yet, why not create and produce something to satisfy us and jolt us out of this bout of whining? So what if we’ve got little connections and not much professional training? Everyone has got to start somewhere. We were already bored anyway, what have we got to lose? Well, probably just our reputation, time, a bit of money, a large chunk of sanity and what-else. Who cares?
To make it work, we needed a material close to our hearts. Al beat me to an answer: The Little Prince.
For something this big, we needed one more person to complete the circle. And when it comes to theater productions, I know of only one other lady who’s as bold, crazy and passionate about it as I am – M. We’ve worked our way together through minor workshops and countless school plays so I know when it comes to dreams and visions, she absolutely gets it. And I was right. Over a plate of veggie beef biryani and a pot of tea, she signed on.
We wanted the play to matter. We were serious enough about it that we submitted to the taxing process of registering the partnership with the Securities & Exchange Commission to give us-- the producers -- a valid name. We got approved. Artist Link Productions Co. was born.
Once Upon a Play
It was a crazy life. It wasn’t as easy as we thought it would be.
We visited about five institutions before we found one we could link up with and share our vision.
We auditioned about 50 kids to get a cast of 20.
We made seven revisions to the script before we settled with the final version.
I listened to about 20 CDs and 150 songs to pick out just 10 for the soundtrack.
We had about 35 rehearsals to prepare for just 3 shows.
We sent out about 40 sponsorship letters and they were rejected for one reason or another, except for two – Timezone and Grolier International. But sorry, they can only give in kind, not cash – which was what we really needed. Oh well, that was better than nothing.
We called, faxed, and delivered invitations to practically all the schools in the city. Only two accepted and showed up.
And what did we do to fill up 300 seats? Target to sell a thousand tickets.
We hounded friends to help with the logos, designs and printing. We called long ago acquaintances to help us promote in the papers and their orgs. One cold late night, we hiked from Gorordo Avenue to Mango Avenue, onto the CAP Center in Osmeña Boulevard to stick posters in various strategic spots.
As the play progressed along, Al developed an aversion to phones and companies, M lost our bag of newly printed tickets, and I – one fateful night – totally lost my cool and screamed at the kids. It was hell.
I remember it was as early as the last week of October when we almost reached breaking point. By then, a lot of people were already telling us, “Don’t worry, it’s normal for a first production to fold, anyway. Mamawi nalang mo sa next one ‘coz by then, naa namo’y experience.” Grrrr. We suspect even the foundation doubted we could pull it off. I guess we were just too “girly” for them to be real.
Al, M and I were beginning to dread our coffee sessions / meetings. What’s there to look forward to when people kept saying No and everything seemed to be in shambles? We stopped talking like normal friends. And whenever possible, we avoided each other like the plague for we knew it would only take a single wrong word or act to blow up. The pressure, people, and the play were grating on our nerves like the sound of a fingernail against glass that just won’t stop.
So we called for a break. For about two weeks, we suspended rehearsals, agreed not to make a single phone call, and not talk about any of it at all. It was heaven.
I guess it did us some good. It gave us time to think if each of us wanted to stop or go on. Eventually, all of us decided that we could take anything except falling on our faces when we’ve scarcely even started. If we don’t at least finish it, how else will we be able to launch another project in our lives? Yes, it was pride and our stubbornness in believing that the dream is still possible that carried us through. So we picked up the bat once more and decided to give the ball our best shot – win or lose.
Eventually, we got used to being insane. We learned to love the kids, tolerate their mind boggling moves for affection and approval, and deal with their tantrums and petty fights. We realized that in all this, they are the point, not us. To counter the stress, we decided to make every rehearsal fun, every creative effort a learning experience, and every meeting a food binge. We learned to just stick out our tongues at people who refused to help us instead of scream or pull each others’ glorious hair. And then, when we couldn’t afford it, we decided to challenge the fates, and rented a grand stage for the production instead of settling for a little amphitheater. When you decide to do something, might as well do it right and big and grand all the way, right? Otherwise, what’s the point?
And then I realized that to make this dream come true, I got to believe in the project myself. In an act of faith, I took the risk and invested what little savings I had to tide us over on things we just couldn’t beg or borrow. I figured somehow we’ll make it through. We were already at rock bottom. There was no other way to go but up.
One Happy Ending
Performance day was a blast. Any of the three shows we had was far from perfect, true. Some lines were missed, the sound equipment acted up, backstage witnessed one glitch after another and so on. But do you know that feeling when everybody simply decides to throw caution to the winds and do their best anyway come what may because after all, there’s no more tomorrow? Unity. Teamwork. Fun. We had it all.
And God, the joy in the children’s faces, that moment when you see them come out of their shell to share that talent you help shape, the awe in their faces after having their few minutes in the spotlight and realizing that dreams do come true -- it’s something I’ll never forget. It makes every tear, every heartache, each struggle, every sleepless night, everything -- all worthwhile.
And then, voila!, the people came. This despite the heavy rain. I even thought the room wouldn’t be enough. After everything, it was so unexpected.
What’s more, we broke even. No debts and the food was overflowing at the goodbye party. Wait, let me correct that – we profited actually. Let’s not forget the game tickets from Timezone and the wonderful books from Grolier International.
And then there were the invisible gifts beyond prize like friendship, love, passion, faith, and self-respect.
New Beginnings
It took me about a year to be able to write all of this down. I couldn’t help it. When you let go of something so beautiful – especially when you’ve given your heart and soul to it– well, it hurts for awhile.
But now I write all of this down, not really because I want to make you suffer too by reading a very long blog entry. Hehe. I’m writing this down because I don’t want to forget. I want to remember that at one point in my life I did it – I fought with my friends and won and made the dream happen. And to know, that if I just believe, it could happen again.
I think each of us needs at least one “Little Prince” experience in our lives. It doesn’t necessarily have to be a play, if you know what I mean. It could be a game won, a board exam passed, a business established, or even a love well-fought for. I think each and everyone should have that something to look back to and say, “Yeah, one time I risked it all and beat all the odds. It was crazy. It was hard, sure, but I survived. I could do it again.”
As for Artist Link, the fire stirs once more. After more than a year, we finally captured another out-of-this-world idea and are now planning for the next production. Nothing solid yet, but it’s enough to make us dream again. This time it’s going to be different, maybe not bigger, but if it pushes through we’ll be risking so much more than we ever did. The way things stand, odds of it happening are also slim. But hey, if it’s written on the stars just like the Little Prince was, who are we to argue, right?
Dreams, after all, do come true.
To Be or Not To Be
Ugh. I hate making decisions – especially the big ones. For more than two months now, I’ve managed to stay away from this arduous task but I guess, at some point, life always catches up with you.
To be or not be?
Even now, my stomach turns and my head pounds unmercifully as I try to answer this proverbial question. So I asked my beloved older and supposedly wiser sister if she’d agree to a deal – I’ll pay her P5,000 if she’d just make all my decisions for me for a month. Her answer? One ridiculous snort and an emphatic shake of the head. But then she comes back with, “Double that and I’ll agree.” This time, I snorted.
My crazy/beautiful sexy cousin Maya babes is also at a crossroad in her life. To find her own definite answer to the “To Be or Not to Be” question, she decided to grab her backpack and travel the many miles from Davao to Manila, Cabanatuan, then Cebu. Her phone call woke me up at 9 AM. She gleefully announced her plan of hounding cousin Fritz, her brother Louie, my aunt and I as well as the rest of the family to help her out in this process. Hehe. Great! Now I have somebody to play ping-pong-the-many-questions with.
But then, no matter how you analyze, discuss, dissect a question with somebody, no matter how many guidelines you give each other, ultimately the decision still rests upon you and you alone.
So now, I write instead in the hope that as I ramble on, I’ll find the key to an answer I should have made days ago.
Am I in or out?
I’ve got about 8 months to spare before I go back to school. So I figured I might as well look for a job. Three applications and a couple of interviews later, I got an offer. Wow, the job is exciting. I really like it. There’s travel, challenge, and exposure galore – three things I’ve always looked forward to.
“Can you handle long hours?” the interviewer asked. “Gladly, but I’d like to have my entire weekend off,” I shot back. Agreed. Cool.
And then, just as I was on the verge of giving my delightful YES!, she sneakily drops a four-figure bomb. Ouch! It’s just for a start, she hastily assures. Hey, that still hurts.
The mind starts whirling. Do I take it still? At this point in my life, the money doesn’t really matter that much. But-- is it wise to go back to a low-salary job after I’ve spent the past four years collecting sound experiences and building a solid reputation? Am I willing to settle for a shot of something different even though I know I’ve got a standing offer for a job with twice the salary?
I’ve long realized that there are no perfect jobs out there. So I guess it all boils down to what we can and can’t live with.
In this moment of introspection, I realize that I have a great capacity to sacrifice for something that I really want. But then I also have this nagging sense of justice which insists that a man should be given his due. Otherwise there won’t balance, and without it, there won’t be peace.
All this thinking is driving me nuts. Let me add to the stress and launch a different line of questioning:
What are my options? Is this job a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity? What’s my priority right now? Have I truly finished this phase in my life to start a new one? Will I be a better person if I follow through?
Suddenly, I know.
Thank God.
To be or not be?
Even now, my stomach turns and my head pounds unmercifully as I try to answer this proverbial question. So I asked my beloved older and supposedly wiser sister if she’d agree to a deal – I’ll pay her P5,000 if she’d just make all my decisions for me for a month. Her answer? One ridiculous snort and an emphatic shake of the head. But then she comes back with, “Double that and I’ll agree.” This time, I snorted.
My crazy/beautiful sexy cousin Maya babes is also at a crossroad in her life. To find her own definite answer to the “To Be or Not to Be” question, she decided to grab her backpack and travel the many miles from Davao to Manila, Cabanatuan, then Cebu. Her phone call woke me up at 9 AM. She gleefully announced her plan of hounding cousin Fritz, her brother Louie, my aunt and I as well as the rest of the family to help her out in this process. Hehe. Great! Now I have somebody to play ping-pong-the-many-questions with.
But then, no matter how you analyze, discuss, dissect a question with somebody, no matter how many guidelines you give each other, ultimately the decision still rests upon you and you alone.
So now, I write instead in the hope that as I ramble on, I’ll find the key to an answer I should have made days ago.
Am I in or out?
I’ve got about 8 months to spare before I go back to school. So I figured I might as well look for a job. Three applications and a couple of interviews later, I got an offer. Wow, the job is exciting. I really like it. There’s travel, challenge, and exposure galore – three things I’ve always looked forward to.
“Can you handle long hours?” the interviewer asked. “Gladly, but I’d like to have my entire weekend off,” I shot back. Agreed. Cool.
And then, just as I was on the verge of giving my delightful YES!, she sneakily drops a four-figure bomb. Ouch! It’s just for a start, she hastily assures. Hey, that still hurts.
The mind starts whirling. Do I take it still? At this point in my life, the money doesn’t really matter that much. But-- is it wise to go back to a low-salary job after I’ve spent the past four years collecting sound experiences and building a solid reputation? Am I willing to settle for a shot of something different even though I know I’ve got a standing offer for a job with twice the salary?
I’ve long realized that there are no perfect jobs out there. So I guess it all boils down to what we can and can’t live with.
In this moment of introspection, I realize that I have a great capacity to sacrifice for something that I really want. But then I also have this nagging sense of justice which insists that a man should be given his due. Otherwise there won’t balance, and without it, there won’t be peace.
All this thinking is driving me nuts. Let me add to the stress and launch a different line of questioning:
What are my options? Is this job a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity? What’s my priority right now? Have I truly finished this phase in my life to start a new one? Will I be a better person if I follow through?
Suddenly, I know.
Thank God.
Monday, October 04, 2004
Hangover
Like a rubber ball
Rolling down the rocky edges of a cliff
Towards a sea of wine gold
You bounce, bounce
In wanton abandon
Spurred by the crashing waves
Thrown back to dizzying heights
Rushing to nauseous depths
While romancing the shattered stones
Of days gone by
The world tilts and spins
Even as you fly to meet the wind
Praying for deliverance
Release
Pure bliss
As you fall back
You never quite drown
Buoyed by a playful safety net
A familiar anchor that steadily waits
And delivers you to dry land
Come sunrise
A battered body
Lies cautiously still
Throbbing and hot from unseen bruises
The flesh grows numb
Now used to the flips and spins
Of a tilted world gone mad
--------------------
To Alvin, Nadet, Bong, Ronald, Junjun, and the little one,
Thank you for an unforgettable Saturday night. You guys are the best! With you, I can be totally wacky, indulge my one-night stands with tequila, lose all reason, and still feel blessedly safe for I know, even in your own moments of deliriousness, you'll be there to catch me when I can't.
Rolling down the rocky edges of a cliff
Towards a sea of wine gold
You bounce, bounce
In wanton abandon
Spurred by the crashing waves
Thrown back to dizzying heights
Rushing to nauseous depths
While romancing the shattered stones
Of days gone by
The world tilts and spins
Even as you fly to meet the wind
Praying for deliverance
Release
Pure bliss
As you fall back
You never quite drown
Buoyed by a playful safety net
A familiar anchor that steadily waits
And delivers you to dry land
Come sunrise
A battered body
Lies cautiously still
Throbbing and hot from unseen bruises
The flesh grows numb
Now used to the flips and spins
Of a tilted world gone mad
--------------------
To Alvin, Nadet, Bong, Ronald, Junjun, and the little one,
Thank you for an unforgettable Saturday night. You guys are the best! With you, I can be totally wacky, indulge my one-night stands with tequila, lose all reason, and still feel blessedly safe for I know, even in your own moments of deliriousness, you'll be there to catch me when I can't.
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
The Notebook
Last Friday, the predawn hours found me in tears. I didn’t know that a bunch of love letters could touch me so deeply. And they weren’t even for me. I’ve written and then read some in my life, true, but nothing really has moved me until now. Not until The Notebook.
I chanced upon the book while raiding my sister’s book shelf for something to help me sleep. The title rang a distant bell. Wasn’t there some hype about this on TV awhile back? Poor boy meets rich girl, mother drives them apart. Rich girl meets rich boy and agrees to marry. Poor boy comes back to the picture, rich girl is now confused. Ugh, not another cheesy love story, please. But then I figured I wanted to sleep anyway so this ought to do it.
I started reading midnight. Twenty minutes later, the first tear fell. And then some. By the time I finished with the last page about 3 AM, I was sobbing like mad. Sleep was long forgotten.
Two days later, I was strolling in the mall when guess what – there it was "The Notebook" on film! I couldn’t believe it. And then, just like a cue from a play, my phone sings with a text message: ‘hey, want to catch a movie later?" Do I ever!
My mistake.
I guess I should have just stuck with the book and let the movie go. For all the while I was watching, I couldn’t help but compare it to the book and the movie just didn’t live up to my expectations.
I guess the problem (mine particularly) with reading good books is that, you connect to it on a certain way and remember the moment so much that you don’t want anything, anything at all, changed. And it’s a sad thing really when someone tries to copy or renew something and still the original author outshines or tells it better than the director or screenwriter of the new material does. Same goes with singers who try to revive, nah, redo the classics.
It’s not that the movie was really bad. If I hadn’t read the book, I may have even applauded it. I love the acting especially. Rachel McAdams as Allie was real and captivating. She was totally in character. I just loved her. Ryan Gosling, well, I couldn’t have picked a better Noah. I fell in love with him myself. Not only is he a dreamy leading man but one who knows how to play it as well.
I guess I just have a problem with details of the film’s interpretation.
* North Carolina, the big southern house Noah rebuilt, and even the lagoon with the swans looked lovelier and more romantic in my imagination than on film. I never did get to see in any of the scenes Noah reflecting on the wraparound porch bathed in the colors of twilight as portrayed in the book. I didn’t feel the poetry in the setting:
This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best
Night, sleep, death and the stars. (Walt Whitman)
* Noah wasn’t supposed to be a daring, boisterous character as seen on film. It was supposed to be Allie who said hi and opened up to him first, not the other way around, because he was shy. Noah was supposed to be deep, reflective, quiet, yet confident and a bit wiser for his age. He was supposed to play the guitar. And above all, he was supposed to be a lover of poetry. I couldn’t understand why they treated that lightly and showed that part of Noah only in passing when I think it was in fact poetry which defined the man. It was the reason Allie fell in love with him. It was the reason I fell in love with him. How can you resist a man who sends notes like this:
The body slows with mortal ache, yet my promise
remains true at the closing of our days,
A tender touch that ends with a kiss
will awaken love in joyous ways.
Our souls were one, if you must know
And never shall they be apart;
With splendid dawn, your face aglow
I reach for you and find my heart.
* In the book, they passed the time with Noah reading poetry to Allie. They culminated their summer romance, at 17, by losing their virginity together in the old dilapidated southern house. In the movie, I couldn’t understand it -- Noah and Allie were always kissing each other, and yet when the moment came, they didn’t push through coz they got interrupted. What the -- ! What was that all about? What’s the point of not letting them come together? It was a significant moment in their lives. They were supposed to be each others’ firsts.
* Noah and Allie didn’t part in a fight. It was painful for them but they accepted it. As Noah wrote:
My dearest Allie,
I don’t know what to say anymore except that I couldn’t sleep last night because I knew that it is over between us. It is a different feeling for me, one that I never expected, but looking back, I suppose it couldn’t have ended another way.
You and I were different. We came from different worlds, and yet you were the one who taught me the value of love. You showed me what it was to care for another, and I am a better man because of it. I don’t want you to ever forget that.
I am not bitter because of what has happened. On the contrary, I am secure in knowing that what we had was real, and I was happy that we were able to come together for even a short period of time. And if, in some distant place in the future, we see each other in our new lives, I will smile at you with joy, and remember how we spent a summer beneath the trees, learning from each other and growing in love. And maybe, for a brief moment, you’ll feel it too, and you’ll smile back, and savor the memories we will always share together.
I love you, Allie.
Noah
And when they reunited, it wasn’t out of anger or frustration that they made love again. It was a slow rekindling of the fire, a remembering of the love they once shared, a beautiful moment when Allie realized she hasn’t really stopped loving Noah.
Sigh. Maybe I’m just nitpicking. But hey, did they really have to change it? I feel like it’s Boracay all over again. When I first went to that place, it was less crowded and the beach was really pristine and lovely. Now, with its popularity comes too many shops, too many people, too many conventions, too much noise. I guess they commercialized it so much it’s never the same. Except, maybe, during off season.
A part of me understands that sometimes moviemakers are really left with no choice but to cut parts of a book and sew back pieces in a different way especially when they have limits. It’s only a 2-hour-or-so flick after all so they really can’t present all.
Which, in a roundabout way, supports the point I’m after – why attempt to do it at all? I want to say: Next time, Hollywood, when there’s a really, really good book, leave it alone please! Why force it when you can’t do it justice? You start presenting a version, your version, and you rob the readers of their imagination. You cloud the personal meanings one might get out of the book. You interrupt the connection with your own style and colors. You’re like spoon feeding and I don’t like it! Why not make your own original stories? Don't your writers get paid to be original and creative?
Now, if it’s a bad book and you think you can present it better, that’s a different story. But a bestseller? Tsk. Tsk.
The Notebook should have been left alone as a book. For me, what makes it beautiful is not really the plot or the story. Theirs is a theme (love, love triangle, forbidden love) used many times over. But the way the author weaved them all together -- the place, the characters, their emotions, and their minds – ooohh boy, it was lovely. The real power I believe is in the written words-- the poetry and the love letters – all of it were so simple and yet so real. And that’s something the movie didn’t or couldn’t capture.
As I read the book, I wondered about Nicholas Sparks, the author. A person who writes about such love must be a man in love himself. I looked at the dedication page and there was my answer. He writes: This book is dedicated with love to Cathy, my wife and friend.
And when the feeling is real, like love, it shows. It touches you. Deeply.
I cried for Lon, Allie’s rich boy fiancé who truly fell in love and lost. I cried for him when he began to fear for that love, when he realized she was slipping away, and yet, even in his perfection, he can’t do anything about it. As Noah wrote of him to Allie:
"No, he could not understand losing you, but how could he? Even as you explained that you had always loved me and it wouldn’t be fair to him, he didn’t release your hand. I know he was hurt and angry, and tried for almost an hour to change your mind, but when you stood firm and said, "I can’t go back with you, I’m sorry," he knew that your decision had been made. You said he simply nodded and the two of you sat together without speaking… And when he finally walked you to your car, you said he told you that I was a lucky man. He behaved as a gentleman would, and I understood then why your choice was so hard."
I cried for Noah because his love was so pure and deep. He never wavered. And he gave so much. He writes:
"You are always here with me when I do so, at least in my heart, and it is impossible for me to remember a time when you were not a part of me. I do not know who I would have become had you never come back to me that day, but I have no doubt that I would have lived and died with regrets that thankfully, I will never know.I love you, Allie. I am who I am because of you. You are every reason, every hope, and every dream I’ve ever had, and no matter what happens to us in the future, everyday we are together is the greatest day of my life. I will always be yours.
And, my darling, you will always be mine.
Noah"
I cried for Allie because I really believed her when she said she loved both men.
And then I cried for me, because in that 3-hour moment, I realized that in all my 26 years, I have never really been in love. Not the real kind. I have never really loved another as passionately and as deeply as they did. No man has ever really touched my soul. And I’m beginning to wonder why and if I ever will.
I wonder. Funny, the questions life brings you.
I chanced upon the book while raiding my sister’s book shelf for something to help me sleep. The title rang a distant bell. Wasn’t there some hype about this on TV awhile back? Poor boy meets rich girl, mother drives them apart. Rich girl meets rich boy and agrees to marry. Poor boy comes back to the picture, rich girl is now confused. Ugh, not another cheesy love story, please. But then I figured I wanted to sleep anyway so this ought to do it.
I started reading midnight. Twenty minutes later, the first tear fell. And then some. By the time I finished with the last page about 3 AM, I was sobbing like mad. Sleep was long forgotten.
Two days later, I was strolling in the mall when guess what – there it was "The Notebook" on film! I couldn’t believe it. And then, just like a cue from a play, my phone sings with a text message: ‘hey, want to catch a movie later?" Do I ever!
My mistake.
I guess I should have just stuck with the book and let the movie go. For all the while I was watching, I couldn’t help but compare it to the book and the movie just didn’t live up to my expectations.
I guess the problem (mine particularly) with reading good books is that, you connect to it on a certain way and remember the moment so much that you don’t want anything, anything at all, changed. And it’s a sad thing really when someone tries to copy or renew something and still the original author outshines or tells it better than the director or screenwriter of the new material does. Same goes with singers who try to revive, nah, redo the classics.
It’s not that the movie was really bad. If I hadn’t read the book, I may have even applauded it. I love the acting especially. Rachel McAdams as Allie was real and captivating. She was totally in character. I just loved her. Ryan Gosling, well, I couldn’t have picked a better Noah. I fell in love with him myself. Not only is he a dreamy leading man but one who knows how to play it as well.
I guess I just have a problem with details of the film’s interpretation.
* North Carolina, the big southern house Noah rebuilt, and even the lagoon with the swans looked lovelier and more romantic in my imagination than on film. I never did get to see in any of the scenes Noah reflecting on the wraparound porch bathed in the colors of twilight as portrayed in the book. I didn’t feel the poetry in the setting:
This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best
Night, sleep, death and the stars. (Walt Whitman)
* Noah wasn’t supposed to be a daring, boisterous character as seen on film. It was supposed to be Allie who said hi and opened up to him first, not the other way around, because he was shy. Noah was supposed to be deep, reflective, quiet, yet confident and a bit wiser for his age. He was supposed to play the guitar. And above all, he was supposed to be a lover of poetry. I couldn’t understand why they treated that lightly and showed that part of Noah only in passing when I think it was in fact poetry which defined the man. It was the reason Allie fell in love with him. It was the reason I fell in love with him. How can you resist a man who sends notes like this:
The body slows with mortal ache, yet my promise
remains true at the closing of our days,
A tender touch that ends with a kiss
will awaken love in joyous ways.
Our souls were one, if you must know
And never shall they be apart;
With splendid dawn, your face aglow
I reach for you and find my heart.
* In the book, they passed the time with Noah reading poetry to Allie. They culminated their summer romance, at 17, by losing their virginity together in the old dilapidated southern house. In the movie, I couldn’t understand it -- Noah and Allie were always kissing each other, and yet when the moment came, they didn’t push through coz they got interrupted. What the -- ! What was that all about? What’s the point of not letting them come together? It was a significant moment in their lives. They were supposed to be each others’ firsts.
* Noah and Allie didn’t part in a fight. It was painful for them but they accepted it. As Noah wrote:
My dearest Allie,
I don’t know what to say anymore except that I couldn’t sleep last night because I knew that it is over between us. It is a different feeling for me, one that I never expected, but looking back, I suppose it couldn’t have ended another way.
You and I were different. We came from different worlds, and yet you were the one who taught me the value of love. You showed me what it was to care for another, and I am a better man because of it. I don’t want you to ever forget that.
I am not bitter because of what has happened. On the contrary, I am secure in knowing that what we had was real, and I was happy that we were able to come together for even a short period of time. And if, in some distant place in the future, we see each other in our new lives, I will smile at you with joy, and remember how we spent a summer beneath the trees, learning from each other and growing in love. And maybe, for a brief moment, you’ll feel it too, and you’ll smile back, and savor the memories we will always share together.
I love you, Allie.
Noah
And when they reunited, it wasn’t out of anger or frustration that they made love again. It was a slow rekindling of the fire, a remembering of the love they once shared, a beautiful moment when Allie realized she hasn’t really stopped loving Noah.
Sigh. Maybe I’m just nitpicking. But hey, did they really have to change it? I feel like it’s Boracay all over again. When I first went to that place, it was less crowded and the beach was really pristine and lovely. Now, with its popularity comes too many shops, too many people, too many conventions, too much noise. I guess they commercialized it so much it’s never the same. Except, maybe, during off season.
A part of me understands that sometimes moviemakers are really left with no choice but to cut parts of a book and sew back pieces in a different way especially when they have limits. It’s only a 2-hour-or-so flick after all so they really can’t present all.
Which, in a roundabout way, supports the point I’m after – why attempt to do it at all? I want to say: Next time, Hollywood, when there’s a really, really good book, leave it alone please! Why force it when you can’t do it justice? You start presenting a version, your version, and you rob the readers of their imagination. You cloud the personal meanings one might get out of the book. You interrupt the connection with your own style and colors. You’re like spoon feeding and I don’t like it! Why not make your own original stories? Don't your writers get paid to be original and creative?
Now, if it’s a bad book and you think you can present it better, that’s a different story. But a bestseller? Tsk. Tsk.
The Notebook should have been left alone as a book. For me, what makes it beautiful is not really the plot or the story. Theirs is a theme (love, love triangle, forbidden love) used many times over. But the way the author weaved them all together -- the place, the characters, their emotions, and their minds – ooohh boy, it was lovely. The real power I believe is in the written words-- the poetry and the love letters – all of it were so simple and yet so real. And that’s something the movie didn’t or couldn’t capture.
As I read the book, I wondered about Nicholas Sparks, the author. A person who writes about such love must be a man in love himself. I looked at the dedication page and there was my answer. He writes: This book is dedicated with love to Cathy, my wife and friend.
And when the feeling is real, like love, it shows. It touches you. Deeply.
I cried for Lon, Allie’s rich boy fiancé who truly fell in love and lost. I cried for him when he began to fear for that love, when he realized she was slipping away, and yet, even in his perfection, he can’t do anything about it. As Noah wrote of him to Allie:
"No, he could not understand losing you, but how could he? Even as you explained that you had always loved me and it wouldn’t be fair to him, he didn’t release your hand. I know he was hurt and angry, and tried for almost an hour to change your mind, but when you stood firm and said, "I can’t go back with you, I’m sorry," he knew that your decision had been made. You said he simply nodded and the two of you sat together without speaking… And when he finally walked you to your car, you said he told you that I was a lucky man. He behaved as a gentleman would, and I understood then why your choice was so hard."
I cried for Noah because his love was so pure and deep. He never wavered. And he gave so much. He writes:
"You are always here with me when I do so, at least in my heart, and it is impossible for me to remember a time when you were not a part of me. I do not know who I would have become had you never come back to me that day, but I have no doubt that I would have lived and died with regrets that thankfully, I will never know.I love you, Allie. I am who I am because of you. You are every reason, every hope, and every dream I’ve ever had, and no matter what happens to us in the future, everyday we are together is the greatest day of my life. I will always be yours.
And, my darling, you will always be mine.
Noah"
I cried for Allie because I really believed her when she said she loved both men.
And then I cried for me, because in that 3-hour moment, I realized that in all my 26 years, I have never really been in love. Not the real kind. I have never really loved another as passionately and as deeply as they did. No man has ever really touched my soul. And I’m beginning to wonder why and if I ever will.
I wonder. Funny, the questions life brings you.
Monday, September 20, 2004
Emi, The Rose With Many Names
When she was still Emiat to me, I wrote a profile about this girl as an answer to a journalism class requirement. I remember it took me about 5 pages to 'summarize' her external achievements and the length almost made me sorry as I was called to read all pages in front of the class. But what could have I left out? Even as a student, this girl's already been planting remarkable seeds as she plots and sashays to make her mark in this world through governance and the theater arts.
Now, as I attempt to write about her again, I no longer know where exactly to begin. I've known her for too long and too deeply that I'm slowly beginning to realize there is no box big enough to define her.
I've seen this woman in her many faces and phases as M, Em-Em, Emi, Rose, Remoroza, Emiat, Sesbreño and Parcon. But still, how do you exactly paint a girl who's often misunderstood yet makes no apologies? How do you capture someone with noble intentions who's brave enough to stand up for what she believes in? How do you keep someone still when her dreams are too fiery for her not to fly? How do you pen a girl who confesses to be vain yet zips her jacket upside down?
Truly, there is simply no defining Emi. To do so won't do her justice.
So for now, let it be enough to say: She's Emi, the rose with many names.
Luv ya, M. You inspire me. Mwah!
Now, as I attempt to write about her again, I no longer know where exactly to begin. I've known her for too long and too deeply that I'm slowly beginning to realize there is no box big enough to define her.
I've seen this woman in her many faces and phases as M, Em-Em, Emi, Rose, Remoroza, Emiat, Sesbreño and Parcon. But still, how do you exactly paint a girl who's often misunderstood yet makes no apologies? How do you capture someone with noble intentions who's brave enough to stand up for what she believes in? How do you keep someone still when her dreams are too fiery for her not to fly? How do you pen a girl who confesses to be vain yet zips her jacket upside down?
Truly, there is simply no defining Emi. To do so won't do her justice.
So for now, let it be enough to say: She's Emi, the rose with many names.
Luv ya, M. You inspire me. Mwah!
Monday, September 13, 2004
Of Tonys and Connie & Carla
And the 2004 Tony Award for best musicale goes to AVENUE Q! (applause, cheers, tweet-tweeeeet!)
Personally, when I saw the excerpt, I thought Avenue Q was a bit weird. And that's mainly because of the puppets.I mean, there were some of the cast manipulating puppets to mirror themselves as they acted out their songs and dialogues. I find it kinda redundant and a waste of space. But then I gotta admit, it was a first and so a bit refreshing to watch.
The featured song number was quite catchy -- the main players along Avenue Q were trying to outdo each other in the my-life-sucks-more-than-anybody's game. Apparently, Avenue Q can be likened to one of life's waiting rooms. It's a place for dreamers-- the jaded and optimistic alike-- people who wait (patiently, impatiently, scornfully) till their dreams come true.
When the producer/director accepted the award on behalf of an exuberant cast and crew, she simply said (as I recall it), "I'd like to thank all our investors for believing along with us that a young musicale with a big heart can have a life in Broadway."
Inspiring, I'll give her that.
***
Boy, Hugh Jackman was a whopping surprise! As he belted out his sizzling number on stage (flaunting a skin tight costume, let me add), one thought kept running in my head -- is he gay or what?!
It's said that A boy from OZ is his stage debut and -wowowow!-- he really could dance, and sing, and strut, and lambada baybehh! He's thinner than I've ever seen him on film. X-men's Wolverine is just full of surprises-- little did I know that he can also crawl, split, jump, and what-else. And yes, yes, he's still yummy too.
I realize that Hugh Jackman is way beyond just another pretty face in Hollywood. He's a versatile actor too. That's why I agree with Tony wholeheartedly for awarding him as Best Leading Actor in a musical play.
************
From the stage, now let's move on to the big screen.
There is a movie in Ayala Cinema that I highly recommend: Connie and Carla.
Do what I did-- pass over those other hyped-up Hollywood films and choose to view something different -- you won't be sorry. It's hilarious, fun, touching, and it even inspired the dreamer in me.
When cousin Louie and I got inside the theater, we saw there were just a handful of us watching. Which, by the way, works for us -- no screaming teenagers, no smelly feet from behind, no accident prone moviegoers to watch out for. We can laugh, cry, and even scream our heart out and nobody would care -- after all, the moviehouse is almost empty. And so we did all that and I couldn't remember when I enjoyed a movie so immensely.
Needless to say, Connie and Carla is not a movie the mainstream crowd would go for. I guess it's an acquired taste. It's a story about two female friends, who are also stage-stars-wannabes, on the run who pose as drag queens as they hide from the bad guys. In the course of doing so, they make a name for themselves and slowly realize their dream --as drag queens. Of course, in the end, they "came out" and told the truth, exposed the bad guys, hooked the guy, and all that stuff.
I like it because i don't find it shallow at all. I admire Connie and Carla for their unwavering faith in making it big, their loyalty to their friends, their easy acceptance of the differences and truth about one's sexuality, and their courage in crossing over the line without losing themselves and turning what is into a great opportunity.
The players' names in the movie are not really that big in Hollywood. In fact, I didn't recognize them at first. Then I realized that Connie played the lead in My Greek Wedding or something. I still don't know her real name. And then, as an added bonus, I was really tickled to find that my all time favorite crush David Duchovny played the male lead. Woweee! There was also one funny Filipino in the cast. And the rest of the drag ("dressed as girls") gang were really great as show girls.
The acting's superb. The movie's not too commercial. It's not a drag (forgive the pun) at all. It made me laugh, it made me cry, it made me believe.
All in all, I give my thumbs-up to Connie and Carla! Go watch it.
Personally, when I saw the excerpt, I thought Avenue Q was a bit weird. And that's mainly because of the puppets.I mean, there were some of the cast manipulating puppets to mirror themselves as they acted out their songs and dialogues. I find it kinda redundant and a waste of space. But then I gotta admit, it was a first and so a bit refreshing to watch.
The featured song number was quite catchy -- the main players along Avenue Q were trying to outdo each other in the my-life-sucks-more-than-anybody's game. Apparently, Avenue Q can be likened to one of life's waiting rooms. It's a place for dreamers-- the jaded and optimistic alike-- people who wait (patiently, impatiently, scornfully) till their dreams come true.
When the producer/director accepted the award on behalf of an exuberant cast and crew, she simply said (as I recall it), "I'd like to thank all our investors for believing along with us that a young musicale with a big heart can have a life in Broadway."
Inspiring, I'll give her that.
***
Boy, Hugh Jackman was a whopping surprise! As he belted out his sizzling number on stage (flaunting a skin tight costume, let me add), one thought kept running in my head -- is he gay or what?!
It's said that A boy from OZ is his stage debut and -wowowow!-- he really could dance, and sing, and strut, and lambada baybehh! He's thinner than I've ever seen him on film. X-men's Wolverine is just full of surprises-- little did I know that he can also crawl, split, jump, and what-else. And yes, yes, he's still yummy too.
I realize that Hugh Jackman is way beyond just another pretty face in Hollywood. He's a versatile actor too. That's why I agree with Tony wholeheartedly for awarding him as Best Leading Actor in a musical play.
************
From the stage, now let's move on to the big screen.
There is a movie in Ayala Cinema that I highly recommend: Connie and Carla.
Do what I did-- pass over those other hyped-up Hollywood films and choose to view something different -- you won't be sorry. It's hilarious, fun, touching, and it even inspired the dreamer in me.
When cousin Louie and I got inside the theater, we saw there were just a handful of us watching. Which, by the way, works for us -- no screaming teenagers, no smelly feet from behind, no accident prone moviegoers to watch out for. We can laugh, cry, and even scream our heart out and nobody would care -- after all, the moviehouse is almost empty. And so we did all that and I couldn't remember when I enjoyed a movie so immensely.
Needless to say, Connie and Carla is not a movie the mainstream crowd would go for. I guess it's an acquired taste. It's a story about two female friends, who are also stage-stars-wannabes, on the run who pose as drag queens as they hide from the bad guys. In the course of doing so, they make a name for themselves and slowly realize their dream --as drag queens. Of course, in the end, they "came out" and told the truth, exposed the bad guys, hooked the guy, and all that stuff.
I like it because i don't find it shallow at all. I admire Connie and Carla for their unwavering faith in making it big, their loyalty to their friends, their easy acceptance of the differences and truth about one's sexuality, and their courage in crossing over the line without losing themselves and turning what is into a great opportunity.
The players' names in the movie are not really that big in Hollywood. In fact, I didn't recognize them at first. Then I realized that Connie played the lead in My Greek Wedding or something. I still don't know her real name. And then, as an added bonus, I was really tickled to find that my all time favorite crush David Duchovny played the male lead. Woweee! There was also one funny Filipino in the cast. And the rest of the drag ("dressed as girls") gang were really great as show girls.
The acting's superb. The movie's not too commercial. It's not a drag (forgive the pun) at all. It made me laugh, it made me cry, it made me believe.
All in all, I give my thumbs-up to Connie and Carla! Go watch it.
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
Luzon in a Nutshell
The tongue has grown a bit weary of drawling Tagalog that I guess the time has come to go home... at least for a while. But before I finally say goodbye to Luzon, allow me to freeze it in a moment and write this:
Places
Best City: Baguio
Best Mall: SM City Baguio, Upper Session Road
Worst Mall: SM North Edsa, Manila (when I was there, wala'y aircon!)
Best Viewing Site: Mines View Park, Baguio City
Best Shopping Sites: Mines View Park and Palengke in Baguio City
Best School Visited: U.P. Diliman, Quezon City
Best Accomodation: Tita Leonor's House in Mayapyap Sur, Cabanatuan City (truth to tell, she'll give any five star hotel a run for their money)
Cheapest Hotel: Bambino's Transient House in Tarlac City
Most Expensive Hotel: Munsayac Inn, Baguio City
Strangest-Yet-Educational Place: BED and the surrounding gay town in Malate, Manila
Biggest Barangay: U.P. Village, Quezon City (it took us 15-30 mins to find fritz's house)
Rides
Best Drive: During twilight, speeding down North Expressway in Ian's Revo (coming from Cabanatuan going to Manila) , simply dazzled by the sunset
Most Remarkable Land Transpo: Taxis in Baguio ( P20 ra flagdown and P1 ang patak ;))
Worst (read: Shameless) Drivers: Manila taxi drivers, though Tarlac's tricycle drivers come a close second
Best Bus: Victory Liner
Best Airport: Still Mactan-Cebu airport, Manila's Centennial is spacious but almost empty
Longest Drive: 12-hour ride in Ian's Revo round and round Tarlac and then onto to Cabanatuan, then Manila
Most Expensive Fare: PAL
Food
Best Meal: Max's, Cabanatuan City
Best Coffee: Figaro, SM City Baguio
Best Coffee Shop to Hangout: Mocha Blends, SM City Baguio
Most Visited Food Place: Jollibee (where I get my first meal in almost every new place :))
New Food: N.E.'s Espasol in Cabanatuan, Luzon's specialty I'm told
Best Food: Fishballs, somewhere off the road in Cabanatuan (the best! yumyum)
Cheapest Carenderia: Sugar's, Burgos Ext. in Cabanatuan City ( and the food is yummy too)
Most Drank Alcoholic Beverage: San Mig Strong Ice
Most Expensive Meal: Ninoy Aquino International Airport, Manila
People
Adventure Buddy: Igat Almera
Most Memorable New Friends: Ian and Vher
Most Interesting People: Fritz and Louie
Fun
Best Entertainment: A Midsummer Night's Dream in Makati City
Best Buys: Silver hoop earrings & knitted blouses in Mines View, Baguio
Most Unforgettable Gimik Night: Videoke with Al, Ian and Vher with the accompaniment of Strong Ice and San Mig Light and lotsa lotsa chips at our Richville Hotel room in Tarlac City
Longest Gimik Night: Malate, going home at 5 AM
Moments
Most Scary: Going down from Baguio City to Tarlac in the wake of the storm
Most Amazing Sight: The flooding in Tarlac
Best Adventure: Driving around Tarlac just to get to Luisita Starbucks (15-20 mins away normally from hotel) despite the knee-deep, even waist-high, floods
Most Poignant/Romantic: Boat ride in Burnham Park while drizzling
Best Air: Baguio-- fog, fog, I love the fog! Biting cold galore
Worst Weather: Humid, humid Manila
Best Blooper: Slipping down the steps at Wright Park, Baguio
Funniest: Watching smoke come out from the mouth due to the cold air while talking in SM City Baguio
Best Deed: Helping Al set up Lexis' room for a romantic anniversary moment
Most Peaceful Tambay Moment: Dencio's, Camp John Hay
Most Dizzying: 2-hour search for a place to stay in Baguio
Weirdest New Info: There's palaka-fishing in Tarlac. They normally eat them like chicken, it's almost a specialty. Eeew!
Note: All these are limited to my own 2-week field of experience.
Places
Best City: Baguio
Best Mall: SM City Baguio, Upper Session Road
Worst Mall: SM North Edsa, Manila (when I was there, wala'y aircon!)
Best Viewing Site: Mines View Park, Baguio City
Best Shopping Sites: Mines View Park and Palengke in Baguio City
Best School Visited: U.P. Diliman, Quezon City
Best Accomodation: Tita Leonor's House in Mayapyap Sur, Cabanatuan City (truth to tell, she'll give any five star hotel a run for their money)
Cheapest Hotel: Bambino's Transient House in Tarlac City
Most Expensive Hotel: Munsayac Inn, Baguio City
Strangest-Yet-Educational Place: BED and the surrounding gay town in Malate, Manila
Biggest Barangay: U.P. Village, Quezon City (it took us 15-30 mins to find fritz's house)
Rides
Best Drive: During twilight, speeding down North Expressway in Ian's Revo (coming from Cabanatuan going to Manila) , simply dazzled by the sunset
Most Remarkable Land Transpo: Taxis in Baguio ( P20 ra flagdown and P1 ang patak ;))
Worst (read: Shameless) Drivers: Manila taxi drivers, though Tarlac's tricycle drivers come a close second
Best Bus: Victory Liner
Best Airport: Still Mactan-Cebu airport, Manila's Centennial is spacious but almost empty
Longest Drive: 12-hour ride in Ian's Revo round and round Tarlac and then onto to Cabanatuan, then Manila
Most Expensive Fare: PAL
Food
Best Meal: Max's, Cabanatuan City
Best Coffee: Figaro, SM City Baguio
Best Coffee Shop to Hangout: Mocha Blends, SM City Baguio
Most Visited Food Place: Jollibee (where I get my first meal in almost every new place :))
New Food: N.E.'s Espasol in Cabanatuan, Luzon's specialty I'm told
Best Food: Fishballs, somewhere off the road in Cabanatuan (the best! yumyum)
Cheapest Carenderia: Sugar's, Burgos Ext. in Cabanatuan City ( and the food is yummy too)
Most Drank Alcoholic Beverage: San Mig Strong Ice
Most Expensive Meal: Ninoy Aquino International Airport, Manila
People
Adventure Buddy: Igat Almera
Most Memorable New Friends: Ian and Vher
Most Interesting People: Fritz and Louie
Fun
Best Entertainment: A Midsummer Night's Dream in Makati City
Best Buys: Silver hoop earrings & knitted blouses in Mines View, Baguio
Most Unforgettable Gimik Night: Videoke with Al, Ian and Vher with the accompaniment of Strong Ice and San Mig Light and lotsa lotsa chips at our Richville Hotel room in Tarlac City
Longest Gimik Night: Malate, going home at 5 AM
Moments
Most Scary: Going down from Baguio City to Tarlac in the wake of the storm
Most Amazing Sight: The flooding in Tarlac
Best Adventure: Driving around Tarlac just to get to Luisita Starbucks (15-20 mins away normally from hotel) despite the knee-deep, even waist-high, floods
Most Poignant/Romantic: Boat ride in Burnham Park while drizzling
Best Air: Baguio-- fog, fog, I love the fog! Biting cold galore
Worst Weather: Humid, humid Manila
Best Blooper: Slipping down the steps at Wright Park, Baguio
Funniest: Watching smoke come out from the mouth due to the cold air while talking in SM City Baguio
Best Deed: Helping Al set up Lexis' room for a romantic anniversary moment
Most Peaceful Tambay Moment: Dencio's, Camp John Hay
Most Dizzying: 2-hour search for a place to stay in Baguio
Weirdest New Info: There's palaka-fishing in Tarlac. They normally eat them like chicken, it's almost a specialty. Eeew!
Note: All these are limited to my own 2-week field of experience.
Monday, August 30, 2004
A Midsummer Night's Dream in Manila
"The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth,
from earth to heaven;
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes,
and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name."
---- Theseus, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 5, Scene 1
When I got back to Manila, I was in for quite a treat. Not only did I get to hang out with my well-missed beautiful gay cousins, Louie (from Davao) and Fritz (also from Davao, but now our host in Manila), I had the chance to see the much talked about play, A Midsummer Night's Dream at the RCBC Theatre in Makati City.
Tickets to the play cost around P2000 but since Fritz was dancing, Louie and I got in for free. So there we were at the orchestra side, sitting with Lara Fabregas and other big shots in Manila, transported to the magical forest world of Shakespeare's mind. And boy was I impressed!
The adorable, playful yet misguided Puck was played by Epi Cuizon. He was great, I didn't realize he was a serious thespian. It's said that Mylene Dizon also used to alternate for the role but then she quit when she got pregnant-- which was actually a good thing, Fritz said. Mylene was quite terrible for such a crucial role especially when she tended to eat her lines.
Demetrius and Lysander were goodlooking enough and the girls, Helena and Hermia made me laugh. The King Fairy Oberon and Theseus were played by Paolo Fabregas. I didn't recognize him.
And then there was John "Sweet" Lapus and his gang of lost dramatists in the forest almost stealing the show. They were just so funny! The play was cleverly arranged in such a way that there was a story within a story and they kinda adapted part of it to the Filipino setting to make it more palatable probably to the mainstream crowd. But cousin Louie for one, felt the mamang sorbetero was quite overdone.
The Shakespearian dialogue was so lyrical, I was moved. And the set, wow! Lights in greens and blues gave the illusion of a mystical forest. Someday, I hope to learn how to do that-- mixing and blending lights for effect. And then there were Puck, the King and Queen fairies in harnesses, they were practically flying all over the place. I just couldn't take my eyes off the stage.
But what I love best about it were the dances by the fairies/soldiers. And of course, my cousin Fritz was simply the best ;p I realized I underestimated his talent. I didn't know he could split, bend and curl that way with so much grace, control and passion.
Fritz used to be a member of the award-winning UP Pep Squad. He was among the first pep squad flown to the 2002 Asian Games in Korea. He was also chosen as a delegate to compete in Sports Aerobics in the 2003 SEA Games in Vietnam and is now a member of the Philippine Team. Right now he's living his passion -- he is an instructor at Fitness First by day and dances in plays at night. He's quite an inspiration. So watch out, world, you've yet to see his name in lights. Hehe
The play is running till September. They're halfway their designated 50 performances. The show is directed by Ricardo Abad with selected translations by Rolando Tinio, a respected Filipino playwright. The producer, Steven Uy, was quite a surprise-- he's so young. I was told he's made his million at such a young age too. I like him especially for sharing or investing part of it to the theater world.
A Midsummer Night's Dream is quite an experience and one I doubt I'll forget. It made me realize that there is still so much I can learn about theater, the craft, the production, the artistry. It made me think of magic and possibilities. It challenges me to stretch myself more to make my own dream, how elusive it might be, come true.
To Fritz and Louie, thank you for sharing the dream with me. I miss you guys already.
Doth glance from heaven to earth,
from earth to heaven;
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes,
and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name."
---- Theseus, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 5, Scene 1
When I got back to Manila, I was in for quite a treat. Not only did I get to hang out with my well-missed beautiful gay cousins, Louie (from Davao) and Fritz (also from Davao, but now our host in Manila), I had the chance to see the much talked about play, A Midsummer Night's Dream at the RCBC Theatre in Makati City.
Tickets to the play cost around P2000 but since Fritz was dancing, Louie and I got in for free. So there we were at the orchestra side, sitting with Lara Fabregas and other big shots in Manila, transported to the magical forest world of Shakespeare's mind. And boy was I impressed!
The adorable, playful yet misguided Puck was played by Epi Cuizon. He was great, I didn't realize he was a serious thespian. It's said that Mylene Dizon also used to alternate for the role but then she quit when she got pregnant-- which was actually a good thing, Fritz said. Mylene was quite terrible for such a crucial role especially when she tended to eat her lines.
Demetrius and Lysander were goodlooking enough and the girls, Helena and Hermia made me laugh. The King Fairy Oberon and Theseus were played by Paolo Fabregas. I didn't recognize him.
And then there was John "Sweet" Lapus and his gang of lost dramatists in the forest almost stealing the show. They were just so funny! The play was cleverly arranged in such a way that there was a story within a story and they kinda adapted part of it to the Filipino setting to make it more palatable probably to the mainstream crowd. But cousin Louie for one, felt the mamang sorbetero was quite overdone.
The Shakespearian dialogue was so lyrical, I was moved. And the set, wow! Lights in greens and blues gave the illusion of a mystical forest. Someday, I hope to learn how to do that-- mixing and blending lights for effect. And then there were Puck, the King and Queen fairies in harnesses, they were practically flying all over the place. I just couldn't take my eyes off the stage.
But what I love best about it were the dances by the fairies/soldiers. And of course, my cousin Fritz was simply the best ;p I realized I underestimated his talent. I didn't know he could split, bend and curl that way with so much grace, control and passion.
Fritz used to be a member of the award-winning UP Pep Squad. He was among the first pep squad flown to the 2002 Asian Games in Korea. He was also chosen as a delegate to compete in Sports Aerobics in the 2003 SEA Games in Vietnam and is now a member of the Philippine Team. Right now he's living his passion -- he is an instructor at Fitness First by day and dances in plays at night. He's quite an inspiration. So watch out, world, you've yet to see his name in lights. Hehe
The play is running till September. They're halfway their designated 50 performances. The show is directed by Ricardo Abad with selected translations by Rolando Tinio, a respected Filipino playwright. The producer, Steven Uy, was quite a surprise-- he's so young. I was told he's made his million at such a young age too. I like him especially for sharing or investing part of it to the theater world.
A Midsummer Night's Dream is quite an experience and one I doubt I'll forget. It made me realize that there is still so much I can learn about theater, the craft, the production, the artistry. It made me think of magic and possibilities. It challenges me to stretch myself more to make my own dream, how elusive it might be, come true.
To Fritz and Louie, thank you for sharing the dream with me. I miss you guys already.
Wednesday, August 25, 2004
Baguio, The City of Pines
God, I just love Baguio! In fact, I like it so much that I'm seriously thinking about relocating here. Cebu will always be home but I gotta say that among the cities I've been to, Baguio is simply the best.
Everything about it suits me well-- the nippy weather, the soothing sight and smell of countless pine trees, the grandiose mountains, the biting cold, and even the seemingly endless rain. Its truly clean and green all around. And apparently, there's not a single straight or flat road here. I always feel like I'm mountain climbing on paved roads. Up and down, round and round it goes all the way to the mountain top.
Accomodation
After a dizzying 2-hour search for a suitable place to stay, Almera and I finally settled in Munsayac Inn along Leonard Wood Road. It's near the popular Teachers Camp, and about 5 minutes away from SM City. The hotels here are quite expensive, even now when it's rainy and not the tourist season. They range from 800-2000. Less than that and the place is either fully-booked or something that looks 'horror'.
Munsayac charges P800 per day for a room good for two. Its rooms are spacious, carpeted, with hot and cold water, cable TV, and a nice view of the street and pine trees beyond. We like it because it's relatively quiet and far from the crowded areas in the city, yet near enough SM so you feel safe going there anytime. The place also has its own restaurant and souvenir shop filled with handcrafted items.
There are also transient houses here though which charge about 500 per room or 250 per bed space. But then, the CR is common and there's no TV.
Sights
Baguio is filled with parks that are truly breathtaking. They're almost always enveloped by fog (even during daytime) that renders a mystical ambience all around.
We ate some spicy fishballs and took a romantic boat ride at Burnham Park while it was drizzling. God, it was just so beautiful I felt I could float there forever. Then there's Botanical Garden near our place that I'm pretty sure my mom would go gaga over.
On the third day, Almera had to go down to Cabanatuan to work, but I couldn't leave Baguio yet, so I opted to stay behind. And so I went to see Mines View Park on my own. Even on a Monday, there were a lot of tourists around. I went to the viewing site and I was speechless. I felt like I was in heaven, riding on a cloud, looking down at the refreshing and lovely panorama of Baguio City. The majestic mountains that surround make you feel regal too. I got my picture taken with one of the tourists, it was funny. And then I sat there for a long time. I was so humbled by what lay before me that I just prayed and dreamed. Alvin texted me not to forget to make a wish at Mines Views' wishing well. And so I did. There were also pretty ponies around, not for horsebackriding, mind you, but for picture taking. They charge about P10 per picture, imagine.
I went inside the famous gates of Mansion House but the house itself was off limits. And so I just took a stroll down Wright Park directly across it, a popular site for horsebackriding. It was there I slipped down the mossy steps, it was almost horrible were it not for a gracious stall owner who helped me up.
Camp John Hay is surprisingly big and wide but not completely done yet. The rain stopped me from going to Liberty Park, where the comic cemetery of negativity lies. So I just ate and stayed at Dencio's restobar for awhile and watched the rain and pine trees.
I would have also wanted also to go up the steps of Lourdes Grotto near or along Naguilan Road but after the Wright Park incident, I wasn't willing to risk it in the rain.
Shopping
The best place to go shopping here is the palengke where the ukay-ukays abound. I was really delighted when we went there because I found the place to be clean. I think it's clean wherever you go here. In fact, at the various tourist spots, signposts say"Clean Comfort Rooms"and when we checked it out, voila!, it really is.
Anyway, my friend Almera and I went crazy over the ukay. It was really, really cheap and the stuff are good. You can buy great pants for as low as P70 and lovely blouses at 30-50 pesos. My friend insisted that we could not possibly leave Baguio without eating strawberries, so we bought some in the market and some cream and ate them at the hotel. I found that I do not like strawberries that much after all. But the peanut butter was good. It melts in your mouth.
In Mines View, knitted blouses for P50 are a-plenty. I had fun haggling for baby Allen's knitted cap and knitted shoes.
Here in Baguio, aside from knitted items, there's silver galore everywhere-- what with the mines and all. For best buys, Ibay's Silver Shop is popular but slightly more expensive than the others.
SM City Baguio
This is definitely the best mall I've been in so far. Like their taxis, it uses no aircon (open air!), and yet, it's more likely colder than SM City Cebu. It's always fogging here, day time or night. In fact, on our first night, Al suddenly squealed, "Gosh, there's smoke coming from your mouth!" I looked at her, and alas, saw smoke coming from her own mouth too. We've seen it on TV but this was the first time we experienced it for real. Yes, yes, we were a couple of ignoys. And there on the railing-cum-viewing-deck, with a mountain of city lights before us, we were laughing like loons, and holding tight to our jackets.
Located in Upper Session Road, SM City sits grandly on top of a hill or mountain and offers a great view of the city. There are coffee shops in all the right spots-- Figaro, Seattle's Best, Mocha Blends, Starbucks -- and there are also a scatter of tea shops.
Being at SM City Baguio is just like chillin' out at Tops, Cebu, with the added convenience of what a mall offers.
Schools
Being a true-blue UPian, I could not resist the call of the oblation so I visited UP Baguio despite the rain. Located in North Drive, it's far from the congested areas in the city so it was quite peaceful. It's bigger than it first looked. The buildings look like the newly-erected AS building in Cebu -- all white and stone. Again, there's a lot of fog and in the back part, more pine trees. Along with jackets and umbrellas, wearing slippers seem to be the norm and the practical thing to do.
I asked about their post-grad studies and found out that they offer Languages and Literature. There is no college of law though. All in all, it's got possibilities.
I meant to make my next stop in the University of Baguio-- just to compare. But the taxi driver convinced me that the school is not Grade A, that they even accept dropouts of the better schools, and that some students can even buy their grades. And so, after seeing the horde of students by the gate, I followed the driver's advice and told him to bypass the school and go straight to St. Louis University.
St. Louis University is said to be the best school in Baguio, even better than UP, some people say. But for sure, I wasn't impressed when I saw it. Maybe I'm just biased, but I guess I'll always remember it as the school with the pain-in-the-ass guards, snotty school officials, slippery stairs, and ugly old buildings along the very congested Bonifacio extension road.
The People & the City
I've got to say Baguio is a place of goodlukin' people. From drivers, tinderos, and other locals, there are always cuties around. I figure it must be the air. The biting cold really makes your skin glow. And I didn't know that the sight of men carrying umbrellas could be so natural and sexy at the same time. hahaha!
Most of the people here speak tagalog. Though there's a scatter of Ilocano and the Igorots have their own dialects. But practically everyone here speaks Tagalog.
Their taxis, as i've said, is non-aircon so it's cheaper. Flagdown for big and small taxis alike is only 20 and the patak is P1. So go taxi galore. It's better too especially when there are slopes to climb where some jeepneys no longer pass by. Baguio's jeepneys are a bit frustrating, too. They've got no sign cards. They just print the routes on the side and that's it. No specifics to guide you along.
Baguio is a place where it's colder out in the streets than inside any building. You'll go numb if you're caught without a jacket especially at night. One time, Al and I walked the street towards Botanical Garden at 12 noon under the sun. Still, she was wearing a jacket. It's that cold.
One taxi driver said were it not for the students and tourists who flock to the city, Baguio won't survive. They're the ones keeping the businesses alive, he said. But apparently, commercialism has its price too. Another kind driver warned us to be careful for Baguio is no longer as safe as it used to be. There are cases of pickpockets already, he said. And as I looked out the window, I couldn't help but worry too over the many vehicles that are not quite environment-friendly. You can see them especially in the crowded areas of Abanao Street and Session Road. There, traffic is so heavy and the air blended with black smoke, it almost seems like Manila and downtown Cebu.
Still , Baguio is better than most. It's the first city outside Cebu where I feel safe. And definitely, I've had some of my best moments here. It opened to me a world I didn't know existed in this country.
I've been here for five days now. I'd have wanted to stay longer, but there's a family dinner in Manila that can't wait (or so my couzin Fritz tells me) and so I had to go down tomorrow.
Alvin is probably the fifth person to ask me for pictures on Baguio. But alas, we've got no camera. I always bring one with me when I travel, but this time, I didn't and when I saw the sights, boy I regretted it so much, it was depressing. But then after awhile, I thought about it and figured it's better this way.
For frankly? I doubt an automatic camera can really shoot the essence of the place. The camera prints won't do it justice. You've got to see, smell, taste, and feel Baguio. That's how you capture a truly lovely memory that I know in my case, will forever be etched in my mind and soul.
Everything about it suits me well-- the nippy weather, the soothing sight and smell of countless pine trees, the grandiose mountains, the biting cold, and even the seemingly endless rain. Its truly clean and green all around. And apparently, there's not a single straight or flat road here. I always feel like I'm mountain climbing on paved roads. Up and down, round and round it goes all the way to the mountain top.
Accomodation
After a dizzying 2-hour search for a suitable place to stay, Almera and I finally settled in Munsayac Inn along Leonard Wood Road. It's near the popular Teachers Camp, and about 5 minutes away from SM City. The hotels here are quite expensive, even now when it's rainy and not the tourist season. They range from 800-2000. Less than that and the place is either fully-booked or something that looks 'horror'.
Munsayac charges P800 per day for a room good for two. Its rooms are spacious, carpeted, with hot and cold water, cable TV, and a nice view of the street and pine trees beyond. We like it because it's relatively quiet and far from the crowded areas in the city, yet near enough SM so you feel safe going there anytime. The place also has its own restaurant and souvenir shop filled with handcrafted items.
There are also transient houses here though which charge about 500 per room or 250 per bed space. But then, the CR is common and there's no TV.
Sights
Baguio is filled with parks that are truly breathtaking. They're almost always enveloped by fog (even during daytime) that renders a mystical ambience all around.
We ate some spicy fishballs and took a romantic boat ride at Burnham Park while it was drizzling. God, it was just so beautiful I felt I could float there forever. Then there's Botanical Garden near our place that I'm pretty sure my mom would go gaga over.
On the third day, Almera had to go down to Cabanatuan to work, but I couldn't leave Baguio yet, so I opted to stay behind. And so I went to see Mines View Park on my own. Even on a Monday, there were a lot of tourists around. I went to the viewing site and I was speechless. I felt like I was in heaven, riding on a cloud, looking down at the refreshing and lovely panorama of Baguio City. The majestic mountains that surround make you feel regal too. I got my picture taken with one of the tourists, it was funny. And then I sat there for a long time. I was so humbled by what lay before me that I just prayed and dreamed. Alvin texted me not to forget to make a wish at Mines Views' wishing well. And so I did. There were also pretty ponies around, not for horsebackriding, mind you, but for picture taking. They charge about P10 per picture, imagine.
I went inside the famous gates of Mansion House but the house itself was off limits. And so I just took a stroll down Wright Park directly across it, a popular site for horsebackriding. It was there I slipped down the mossy steps, it was almost horrible were it not for a gracious stall owner who helped me up.
Camp John Hay is surprisingly big and wide but not completely done yet. The rain stopped me from going to Liberty Park, where the comic cemetery of negativity lies. So I just ate and stayed at Dencio's restobar for awhile and watched the rain and pine trees.
I would have also wanted also to go up the steps of Lourdes Grotto near or along Naguilan Road but after the Wright Park incident, I wasn't willing to risk it in the rain.
Shopping
The best place to go shopping here is the palengke where the ukay-ukays abound. I was really delighted when we went there because I found the place to be clean. I think it's clean wherever you go here. In fact, at the various tourist spots, signposts say"Clean Comfort Rooms"and when we checked it out, voila!, it really is.
Anyway, my friend Almera and I went crazy over the ukay. It was really, really cheap and the stuff are good. You can buy great pants for as low as P70 and lovely blouses at 30-50 pesos. My friend insisted that we could not possibly leave Baguio without eating strawberries, so we bought some in the market and some cream and ate them at the hotel. I found that I do not like strawberries that much after all. But the peanut butter was good. It melts in your mouth.
In Mines View, knitted blouses for P50 are a-plenty. I had fun haggling for baby Allen's knitted cap and knitted shoes.
Here in Baguio, aside from knitted items, there's silver galore everywhere-- what with the mines and all. For best buys, Ibay's Silver Shop is popular but slightly more expensive than the others.
SM City Baguio
This is definitely the best mall I've been in so far. Like their taxis, it uses no aircon (open air!), and yet, it's more likely colder than SM City Cebu. It's always fogging here, day time or night. In fact, on our first night, Al suddenly squealed, "Gosh, there's smoke coming from your mouth!" I looked at her, and alas, saw smoke coming from her own mouth too. We've seen it on TV but this was the first time we experienced it for real. Yes, yes, we were a couple of ignoys. And there on the railing-cum-viewing-deck, with a mountain of city lights before us, we were laughing like loons, and holding tight to our jackets.
Located in Upper Session Road, SM City sits grandly on top of a hill or mountain and offers a great view of the city. There are coffee shops in all the right spots-- Figaro, Seattle's Best, Mocha Blends, Starbucks -- and there are also a scatter of tea shops.
Being at SM City Baguio is just like chillin' out at Tops, Cebu, with the added convenience of what a mall offers.
Schools
Being a true-blue UPian, I could not resist the call of the oblation so I visited UP Baguio despite the rain. Located in North Drive, it's far from the congested areas in the city so it was quite peaceful. It's bigger than it first looked. The buildings look like the newly-erected AS building in Cebu -- all white and stone. Again, there's a lot of fog and in the back part, more pine trees. Along with jackets and umbrellas, wearing slippers seem to be the norm and the practical thing to do.
I asked about their post-grad studies and found out that they offer Languages and Literature. There is no college of law though. All in all, it's got possibilities.
I meant to make my next stop in the University of Baguio-- just to compare. But the taxi driver convinced me that the school is not Grade A, that they even accept dropouts of the better schools, and that some students can even buy their grades. And so, after seeing the horde of students by the gate, I followed the driver's advice and told him to bypass the school and go straight to St. Louis University.
St. Louis University is said to be the best school in Baguio, even better than UP, some people say. But for sure, I wasn't impressed when I saw it. Maybe I'm just biased, but I guess I'll always remember it as the school with the pain-in-the-ass guards, snotty school officials, slippery stairs, and ugly old buildings along the very congested Bonifacio extension road.
The People & the City
I've got to say Baguio is a place of goodlukin' people. From drivers, tinderos, and other locals, there are always cuties around. I figure it must be the air. The biting cold really makes your skin glow. And I didn't know that the sight of men carrying umbrellas could be so natural and sexy at the same time. hahaha!
Most of the people here speak tagalog. Though there's a scatter of Ilocano and the Igorots have their own dialects. But practically everyone here speaks Tagalog.
Their taxis, as i've said, is non-aircon so it's cheaper. Flagdown for big and small taxis alike is only 20 and the patak is P1. So go taxi galore. It's better too especially when there are slopes to climb where some jeepneys no longer pass by. Baguio's jeepneys are a bit frustrating, too. They've got no sign cards. They just print the routes on the side and that's it. No specifics to guide you along.
Baguio is a place where it's colder out in the streets than inside any building. You'll go numb if you're caught without a jacket especially at night. One time, Al and I walked the street towards Botanical Garden at 12 noon under the sun. Still, she was wearing a jacket. It's that cold.
One taxi driver said were it not for the students and tourists who flock to the city, Baguio won't survive. They're the ones keeping the businesses alive, he said. But apparently, commercialism has its price too. Another kind driver warned us to be careful for Baguio is no longer as safe as it used to be. There are cases of pickpockets already, he said. And as I looked out the window, I couldn't help but worry too over the many vehicles that are not quite environment-friendly. You can see them especially in the crowded areas of Abanao Street and Session Road. There, traffic is so heavy and the air blended with black smoke, it almost seems like Manila and downtown Cebu.
Still , Baguio is better than most. It's the first city outside Cebu where I feel safe. And definitely, I've had some of my best moments here. It opened to me a world I didn't know existed in this country.
I've been here for five days now. I'd have wanted to stay longer, but there's a family dinner in Manila that can't wait (or so my couzin Fritz tells me) and so I had to go down tomorrow.
Alvin is probably the fifth person to ask me for pictures on Baguio. But alas, we've got no camera. I always bring one with me when I travel, but this time, I didn't and when I saw the sights, boy I regretted it so much, it was depressing. But then after awhile, I thought about it and figured it's better this way.
For frankly? I doubt an automatic camera can really shoot the essence of the place. The camera prints won't do it justice. You've got to see, smell, taste, and feel Baguio. That's how you capture a truly lovely memory that I know in my case, will forever be etched in my mind and soul.
Monday, August 23, 2004
Speechless in Baguio
Cabanatuan -- Pangasinan -- La Union -- Baguio, Benguet
Meaning: V-hire, P170, 4 hours
Stop. Wow. Brrrr..
Meaning: V-hire, P170, 4 hours
Stop. Wow. Brrrr..
Thursday, August 19, 2004
Crossing Cabanatuan
The route from Tarlac to Cabanatuan is a dangerous one, we're told, since NPAs abound in the area. But being young and thirsty for adventure, my friend and I turned a deaf ear, prayed hard, and followed our restless feet. By the time we made our stop in Cabanatuan, we looked at each other and burst out laughing. Without saying a word, and in perfect agreement, we went on to proceed to, where else, but another Jollibee -- a comfort zone.
If Tarlac looks like Roxas City in Panay, then Cabanatuan City-- the capital of Nueva Ecija-- can be likened to Iloilo. It's more spacious, the roads are bigger, and here, the jeepneys compete with the tricycles in number.
Because I was intimidated by the area on my first day, I hesitated to strike out on my own. I figured it would be better to tag along my friend as she worked and made her rounds to get a better view and feel of the place. So for a day, I crossed over Cabanatuan following the footseps of a med rep taking on the various hospital/clinic-routes. I was hardly dressed for it-- you know, the snappy outfit, big bags, and file folder on hand, but I managed to breeze through with a smile and kind talk. The med rep pack reminds me a lot of my internship days in the media. The camaraderie among reps even though they're from different companies, the wait outside the doctor's office, the "coverage", the chikka with the doctors-- all these are reminiscent of news sources and the reporters doing coverage on their different beats.
From Cabanatuan City, we went to travel as far to the northern outskirts -- Talavera, Muñoz, and San Jose. And to the south, there's Sta Rosa. The distance from one stop to the other is just like that from Cebu City to Liloan, or possibly Danao. But then people here seems to think nothing of 1-to-2-hour drives.We traveled via their jeepney equivalent-- which they call Ford or XLT. Two main differences are, the Ford's got a door at the entrance and has glass windows. Laysyo
When you're in a strange town, you discover that drivers are your best friend. What we usually do is that we look for a jeep with an empty front seat to be near enough to charm and pump the driver for details-- routes, nice spots, tips, where to go and not to go, a bit of history of the place, some culture and traditions, what to do and not to do in the place, and a bit of this and that. I know, I know, it's quite a lot, but save for jumping pedestrians on the streets, it seems to be the best place to know what you need to know. So you ask, and ask, and be friendly to the max. Some drivers may not answer you in kind. Some may even make fools out of tourists. But usually, most of them are helpful and would welcome the diversion. And I found out, that Cebuano drivers are even more protective when they know you're also from Cebu or a kababayan.
In Mayapyap Sur, Cabanatuan, I have an aunt who just got back from the states and settled here with her husband. Because she was there for such a long time, I've only seen here once or twice, and her husband never. So basically, I don't really know her that much though I remember her to be warm and kind. And when it's family, my mother tells me that you always have a duty to visit whenever you're in the area, so contact her I did.
Call it crazy but instead of asking to be fetched, I asked my friend if she was game to search for the house on our own even though we're complete strangers to the area. She was. And so we did -- armed with only the barangay name, house no., my aunt's family name. We found it without trouble-- with only the drivers as our guide.
Wow, the house was big and yet only my aunt and uncle lived there. The guest rooms were certainly better than any hotel room in the area or I've been in for that matter. And the food-- yum! We've been staying in my friend's dorm for two nights now but tomorrow, we stay in their home overnight before I say goodbye to Cabanatuan.
One thing weird here in Luzon is the common misconception about Cebuanos. My friend and I used to be taken aback whenever some locals asked us, "Segurado ba kayong you're from Cebu?" We answer, "Of course naman, ba't hindi?" They answer "Eh, ba't wala kayong punto (accent)?" or "Hinihintay ko yong punto nyo pero wala yata." And they really are amazed. Here once again is the power of TV on display. Because the Bisaya people they know from TV are the maids with accents, people automatically assume that we all speak the same. And so we educate them that that isn't always true. But two things people don't argue here are that Cebuanas are "maganda" and that Cebuanos speak good English. Hehe. That we totally agree on 100% (wink)
The people of Cabanatuan speak mostly Tagalog, though it's mixed with Kapampangan and Ilocano. Instead of "Para, mama" , here they mostly say "Tabi lang po". They are basically a polite people. The speak slowly and they call each other Ate, Kuya, Tito, Tita even though they hardly know each other. I was even warned by my friend that if you take out the "'po" in your statements, some would hear it as an insult. So "po" nalang ako nang "po" whenever I talk. I've lost count of the many "po's" I've uttered already since I got here.
On my second day, I felt confident enough to wander around on my own while my friend worked. After my Aunt and Uncle treated us to lunch at Max's -- the most convenient classy restaurant in the city -- I explored N.E. Pacific (?) Mall, the biggest so far I've come to since I got here. I'm happy to see that it looks a bit like Ayala Center Cebu -- though it's smaller with only two floors. And then I discovered National Bookstore and became delirious with joy. The only other mall here is Metrocenter. Haven't been there yet.
Before leaving, my aunt and uncle asked how I'm gonna get back to my friend's dorm on my own. I told them I'll be riding the jeep or tricycle. My uncle chuckled and joked, "Aba, parang taga-Cabanatuan ka na, ha. Alam mo na yata." Nah, it's just that I've learned not be afraid to ask questions and that I believe in the power of celfones. hehe. They were hesitant to leave but I assured them I'd be fine.
I don't know, but ever since I took this trip, I've been a friend to risks. I'm not done with this place yet. I mean to explore more and absorb as much as I can.
And then, on Saturday, we go to Baguio.
If Tarlac looks like Roxas City in Panay, then Cabanatuan City-- the capital of Nueva Ecija-- can be likened to Iloilo. It's more spacious, the roads are bigger, and here, the jeepneys compete with the tricycles in number.
Because I was intimidated by the area on my first day, I hesitated to strike out on my own. I figured it would be better to tag along my friend as she worked and made her rounds to get a better view and feel of the place. So for a day, I crossed over Cabanatuan following the footseps of a med rep taking on the various hospital/clinic-routes. I was hardly dressed for it-- you know, the snappy outfit, big bags, and file folder on hand, but I managed to breeze through with a smile and kind talk. The med rep pack reminds me a lot of my internship days in the media. The camaraderie among reps even though they're from different companies, the wait outside the doctor's office, the "coverage", the chikka with the doctors-- all these are reminiscent of news sources and the reporters doing coverage on their different beats.
From Cabanatuan City, we went to travel as far to the northern outskirts -- Talavera, Muñoz, and San Jose. And to the south, there's Sta Rosa. The distance from one stop to the other is just like that from Cebu City to Liloan, or possibly Danao. But then people here seems to think nothing of 1-to-2-hour drives.We traveled via their jeepney equivalent-- which they call Ford or XLT. Two main differences are, the Ford's got a door at the entrance and has glass windows. Laysyo
When you're in a strange town, you discover that drivers are your best friend. What we usually do is that we look for a jeep with an empty front seat to be near enough to charm and pump the driver for details-- routes, nice spots, tips, where to go and not to go, a bit of history of the place, some culture and traditions, what to do and not to do in the place, and a bit of this and that. I know, I know, it's quite a lot, but save for jumping pedestrians on the streets, it seems to be the best place to know what you need to know. So you ask, and ask, and be friendly to the max. Some drivers may not answer you in kind. Some may even make fools out of tourists. But usually, most of them are helpful and would welcome the diversion. And I found out, that Cebuano drivers are even more protective when they know you're also from Cebu or a kababayan.
In Mayapyap Sur, Cabanatuan, I have an aunt who just got back from the states and settled here with her husband. Because she was there for such a long time, I've only seen here once or twice, and her husband never. So basically, I don't really know her that much though I remember her to be warm and kind. And when it's family, my mother tells me that you always have a duty to visit whenever you're in the area, so contact her I did.
Call it crazy but instead of asking to be fetched, I asked my friend if she was game to search for the house on our own even though we're complete strangers to the area. She was. And so we did -- armed with only the barangay name, house no., my aunt's family name. We found it without trouble-- with only the drivers as our guide.
Wow, the house was big and yet only my aunt and uncle lived there. The guest rooms were certainly better than any hotel room in the area or I've been in for that matter. And the food-- yum! We've been staying in my friend's dorm for two nights now but tomorrow, we stay in their home overnight before I say goodbye to Cabanatuan.
One thing weird here in Luzon is the common misconception about Cebuanos. My friend and I used to be taken aback whenever some locals asked us, "Segurado ba kayong you're from Cebu?" We answer, "Of course naman, ba't hindi?" They answer "Eh, ba't wala kayong punto (accent)?" or "Hinihintay ko yong punto nyo pero wala yata." And they really are amazed. Here once again is the power of TV on display. Because the Bisaya people they know from TV are the maids with accents, people automatically assume that we all speak the same. And so we educate them that that isn't always true. But two things people don't argue here are that Cebuanas are "maganda" and that Cebuanos speak good English. Hehe. That we totally agree on 100% (wink)
The people of Cabanatuan speak mostly Tagalog, though it's mixed with Kapampangan and Ilocano. Instead of "Para, mama" , here they mostly say "Tabi lang po". They are basically a polite people. The speak slowly and they call each other Ate, Kuya, Tito, Tita even though they hardly know each other. I was even warned by my friend that if you take out the "'po" in your statements, some would hear it as an insult. So "po" nalang ako nang "po" whenever I talk. I've lost count of the many "po's" I've uttered already since I got here.
On my second day, I felt confident enough to wander around on my own while my friend worked. After my Aunt and Uncle treated us to lunch at Max's -- the most convenient classy restaurant in the city -- I explored N.E. Pacific (?) Mall, the biggest so far I've come to since I got here. I'm happy to see that it looks a bit like Ayala Center Cebu -- though it's smaller with only two floors. And then I discovered National Bookstore and became delirious with joy. The only other mall here is Metrocenter. Haven't been there yet.
Before leaving, my aunt and uncle asked how I'm gonna get back to my friend's dorm on my own. I told them I'll be riding the jeep or tricycle. My uncle chuckled and joked, "Aba, parang taga-Cabanatuan ka na, ha. Alam mo na yata." Nah, it's just that I've learned not be afraid to ask questions and that I believe in the power of celfones. hehe. They were hesitant to leave but I assured them I'd be fine.
I don't know, but ever since I took this trip, I've been a friend to risks. I'm not done with this place yet. I mean to explore more and absorb as much as I can.
And then, on Saturday, we go to Baguio.
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