Saturday, May 30, 2009

Chips, Sea, Ahoy!

One free Saturday afternoon, my friend MK borrowed her grandfather’s boat and took me and five other single ladies cruising along the Mactan Channel and beyond. The boat was a gorgeous, sleek, modern lady too with just the right curves in all the right places. Like us, it was raring to break free from its anchor, run away to the sea and leave the city behind.

As we sailed on south, we watched the old landmarks, buildings, bridges and SRP flashing by with smug grins on our faces. We waved like queens at the matchbox cars and tiny people on the coast. With the sea as our buffer, we were all giddy at the thought that even just for awhile, the little stresses and issues we have contained in the island couldn’t touch us. For the moment, we let the chips fall from our shoulders - no work, no responsibilities, no loved ones to think of. There was just the sea, the boat and each other.

As ladies of the hour, we did our best to live up to our modern reputation – free, independent, bold and fearless. We fed our vanities and flirted with boundaries. We dared to break the rules.

For once, we conveniently forgot our work cell phones inside our tote bags. Sorry for the missed calls.

We drowned out the voices of Vicky Belo, Ponds Whitening Cream, and other skin gurus in the city as we shed our tight dresses of inhibitions, donned our two-piece suits and soaked up too much of the afternoon sun.

Then never mind that for months, we’ve constantly struggled to keep our bodies fit. As we settled on the nose deck, we indulged in a rare moment of junk food binge – chips, chocolates, super oily ngohiong, and more chips. Then, overflowing cocktails in plastic cups at 2pm? Why not?

Of course, there was gossip about men and the bizarre creatures on land. There were the countless poses and familiar snapshots of four different cameras. Then, further down south, there was the occasional bold dare among women: Jumping from the boat in the middle of the sea without a lifejacket? Why not?

It was a wild day for single women, trailing with shouts and peals of laughter. It was a day of breaking free, feeling light and crossing over. It was sweet and liberating.

We were still high from the experience when we finally turned around and docked. Not wanting to end the day yet, we decided to continue the party on dry land... only to find another one already in full swing on the same beach spot we intended.

We stopped in our tracks as we saw a bunch of half-naked coeds in their late teens dancing to loud music, drinking booze and smoking pot like it was the most natural thing in the world. And here we thought we were already wild. Some might say it was also sweet and liberating. But the sight sobered me up.

They invited us over to party with them. We declined. Maybe it’s the age gap. Maybe we’re just too old for their kind of fun. Maybe, despite being bold and fearless, there are still some boundaries we’re not willing to cross over after all. I don’t know. Like the water under the Mactan Bridge, somehow, it just didn’t smell right.

-- SunStar Weekend, 5/30/2009

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Once Upon A Time

“Tell me a fact and I’ll learn. Tell me a truth and I’ll believe. But tell me a story and it will live in my heart forever.” – Indian Proverb

When I was a child, my father would read me stories. During siesta time, we would snuggle in bed with my favorite book -- a slightly tattered, dog-eared collection of fables, myths and fairy tales which always began with the classic words, “Once upon a time…”

I would marvel at how he just didn’t read the words, he also acted them out – changing his voice and making faces to make each story more alive. I would snicker at the sight of his moustache twitching with every punctuation. I would stare at his animated face and be mesmerized by his deep voice as I flew with Peter Pan in Neverland or skipped with Little Red Riding Hood in the woods. I adored him, this amazing man, who introduced me to the pages of magic and ever-afters.

I guess it was no wonder that eventually I developed two consuming passions in life – writing and the theatre arts. All through high school and college, I tried to recreate the magic in feature stories, scripts and dramafests. I attended one workshop after another and my fascination with stories simply grew. So much so that in 2004, I and fellow stage enthusiasts Em and Al put up a little theatre company called Artist Link Productions.

The first play we ever produced was based on the famous and well-loved novel by French aviator Antoine de Saint-Exupery -- The Little Prince. While the material’s inspired, our greatest challenge was sharing the heart of the story—that which is essential and invisible to the eye-- to a cast of 7-to-12-year-old kids, most of whom would rather be playing ball, computer games or pranks than reading a script.

I remember during our first script run-through, one kid actually fell asleep. The next day, my friends and I tried reading to them, just as my father would have probably, but the cast just sat there with their shy and blank faces. As days passed, lines were memorized, but still everything was flat. There was no heart, no passion for the story.

As the play’s creative director, I was frustrated beyond words. How could they not feel the wonder and loss of The Little Prince? How could they be indifferent to his journeys? How could I ever tame these foxes? I was ready to pull out my long glorious hair and scream. But then, at that moment, I remembered myself with my father many years back. How was he able to sustain the magic? Then it hit me—he always made me feel that the story was my own.

So there in the middle of rehearsal space, I changed direction. I told each cast member to drop their scripts for the meantime. For first, I believed, we needed to hear a different story -- their own.

The kids took turns sharing their personal tales – some funny, others sad, but each one definitely interesting. Then, with a little imagination, my friends and I tied their stories with the Little Prince’s. Like pieces in a magnetic jigsaw puzzle, you could almost hear them clicking together-- the ‘aahhs’, ‘oh-yeahs’ and nods of understanding made our blood sing. This time, the Little Prince was a part of them. And I thought, isn’t it just amazing how one’s story could actually define another?

Once upon a time, my father told me a story and gave me my first dream. With it came invisible gifts beyond price like passion, friendship, faith and love. Perhaps, you could share your story too.

-- SunStar Weekend, May 16, 2009

Saturday, May 02, 2009

Summer Fling

For some, a Summer Fling is the cool overpriced cocktail you order at the bar. For others, it’s the seductively wild affair you know will never last. As for me, he’s the longtime-crush-turned-friend I first met eight summers ago in the city.

Let’s call him Mr. DJ -- a guy who grew up in Germany, lived in Bohol, transferred to Cagayan, studied Vet Med in Leyte, occasionally stops over in Cebu, and dreams of setting up a clinic in France.

I first met him when he was just turning 19, and I 23 – a time when we were still game enough to be the backup-plan-cum-chaperones of a couple of friends going on a blind date. Like usual, we all ended up drinking coffee. While our respective friends suffered from the worst blind date ever, the both of us talked and smoked Marlboro Reds on the side and the bitter black coffee never tasted better.

He was 4 years younger yet made more sense than most guys I knew my age or even older. He taught me that in some parts of the world, people drink beer like water. With him, I could blah about European authors and he wouldn’t bat an eyelash. He introduced me to Bic Runga, Usher and the unforgettable beats of alternative music.

We flirted for a time. But things didn’t always work out the way I wanted to. Just when I was beginning to really like him, he left Cebu without a word. Ouch.

Christmas went and summer came. Then Mr. DJ came back for a visit. This time, he declared he had feelings for me all along… just when I was no longer available. Well, well, well. It was awkward but as we continued to talk over a couple of San Mig Lights, we decided we liked each other enough to remain friends.

So we kept in touch. The calls and texts were sporadic and far between but once every few months or so, he’d check to see if I’m still alive – times when I least expected him to. Then Friendster started happening and it made it easier to update each others’ lives. The following years, we crossed paths in Cagayan, Cebu, Leyte… but each time never for long.

This summer, I had the unexpected gift of seeing him again. Mr. DJ dropped by Cebu for a few hours -- long enough to be able to invite me out for coffee. It’s been two years since I saw him last but it was nice finding it easy to slip back to being good friends with him again. He’s not as skinny as before but the rest is, like Rob Thomas’ song, Ever the Same. He still speaks English with that German accent. He still smokes Marlboro Reds. 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 Mr. DJ, you never know. From him, I’ve learned there’s beauty in simply taking the moment as it comes.

They say each person who comes into your life is there for a reason, a season or a lifetime. With Mr. DJ, I’m still not quite sure even after all these years. But for the moment, he’s like a long cool glass of iced melon tea with rum on a hot summer day. That’s what I call the perfect summer fling.

--SunStar Weekend, 5/2/2009

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