writing with light

And the Path Points To...

2007-05-26T00:12:00.000+08:00

Because endings are beginnings.

2007-05-21T00:59:00.000+08:00

And we grow. And get impatient with Blogger's HTML editor. Will point where the trail leads.

Jinjie Belene Carlos

2007-05-19T23:10:00.000+08:00

At the ripe old age of 92 doggie years, Ate Jinjie (as Tita Rose and Tito Lenny would have us call her) passed away a few days ago. Sniff.

Entries for Philippine Speculative Fiction

2007-05-07T00:42:00.000+08:00

From Dean Alfar's blog:

I am now accepting submissions of short fiction pieces for consideration for the anthology "Philippine Speculative Fiction Vol.3".

Speculative fiction is the literature of wonder that spans the genres of fantasy, science fiction, horror and magic realism or falls into the cracks in-between.

1. Only works of speculative fiction will be considered for publication. As works of the imagination, the theme is open and free.

2. Stories must cater to an adult sensibility. However, if you have a Young Adult story that is particularly well-written, send it in.

3. Stories must be written in English.

4. Stories must be authored by Filipinos or those of Philippine ancestry.

5. Preference will be given to original unpublished stories, but previously published stories will also be considered. In the case of previously published material, kindly include the title of the publishing entity and the publication date. Kindly state also in your cover letter that you have the permission, if necessary, from the original publishing entity to republish your work.

6. First time authors are welcome to submit. In the first two volumes, there was a good mix of established and new authors. Good stories trump literary credentials anytime.

7. No multiple submissions. Each author may submit only one story for consideration.

8. Each story's word count must be no fewer than 2,500 words and no more than 5,000 words.

9. All submissions must be in Rich Text Format (.rtf – save the document as .rft on your word processor) and attached to an email to this address: dean@kestrelimc. com. Submissions received in any other format will be deleted, unread.

10. The subject of your email must read: PSF3 Submission: (title) (word count); where (title) is replaced by the title of your short story, without the parentheses, and (word count) is the word count of your story, without the parentheses. For example - PSF 3 Submission: How My Uncle Brought Home A Diwata 4500.

11. All submissions must be accompanied by a cover letter that includes your name, brief bio, contact information, previous publications (if any).

12. Deadline for submissions is September 15, 2007. After that date, final choices will be made and letters of acceptance or regret sent out via email.

13. Target publishing date is December 2007/January 2008.

14. Compensation for selected stories will be 2 contributor' s copies of the published anthology as well as a share in aggregrate royalties.

Kindly help spread the word. Feel free to cut and paste this on your blogs or e-groups.

Thanks,
Dean

First Summer Haiku

2007-04-22T23:39:00.000+08:00

Standing by the sea
Contentment laps at my feet
A sigh of relief

Rusty Poetry

2007-04-05T02:12:00.000+08:00

Dead stars
once bright,
still shine
from far away.

Staring at the night sky
may prove deceiving.

Twinkling lights
may cease to be,
yet the brightness
that travels
bears not with it
illumination,
but a yearning
for what has already gone.

The blush
that springs,
the warmth
of memory,
are echoes
from a different
time and place.

- MPN 2007

The ending of Paz Marquez-Benitez's short story 'Dead Stars' socked me in the gut. Thanks Dang, for sharing the story.

blogging miles

2007-03-14T21:12:00.000+08:00

And we've got another home on the web: Blogging Miles Around the Metro

Thank you, Jesus!

2007-02-24T20:10:00.001+08:00

This one made me smile. Congratulations to Glenn David for making it to the MBA program of Boston University on scholarship! That's his little whiteboard I took a photo of yesterday.

planning snapshots

2007-02-20T16:39:00.000+08:00

Photo credits to Bernice de Leon

Crem Crem

2007-02-20T13:28:00.000+08:00

Hey, Berns took this cool shot of Creamy during planning over the weekend.

He rolled off the bed.

2007-02-19T00:55:00.000+08:00

Question: How does a laptop roll off a bed? Answer: with a loud thud.

Okay, okay. Just to clarify, Buboy (my laptop), was in his carrying case, inside his backpack-home. In a frenzied moment of dad-is-downstairs-honking-the-carhorn-hurry-up, time stops for a split second when out of the corner of your eye, you see your backpack threateningly tilt to the ground from the bed, and then magnetically connect to the floor in the loudest eye-widening thud your fluttering heart will hear.

blogging for dear life

2007-02-08T13:17:00.000+08:00

So we have two more blogs: Pangaraps v. 2, and the soon-to-be-notorious Gusto Ko. Do visit.

Asking the Right Questions

2007-02-05T22:31:00.000+08:00

“Hindi nga, what change do you expect of the government?”

Laughter.

This answer would tell me a number of things. One would be, the question is so absurd, it doesn’t even merit an answer. Another conclusion I would come to is that people don’t expect to be popped with that question in the middle of a casual conversation. I suppose “change in government” could be ranked together with other notorious questions that would be met with either laughter or skepticism, like, “Would you marry me?” or “Is that another head I see growing out of your neck?”

With the elections this May, we stare in awe and disbelief as candidates’ ads start coming out on TV (I stare in awe and disbelief—nay, sometimes I collapse in seizures on the floor), and can’t help but think of the lengths these candidates go to, to occupy seats of public service. In this day and age, politicians are tainted with suspicion, which have been confirmed and reaffirmed time and again with the ruckus of Congressional hearings, Senate inquiries, and a backlog of cases at the Office of the Ombudsman. We hear of who did whom in, who gained from what, or who deceived whom. Every few years or so, we citizens get together, and exercise our sovereign right to select our public servants. With the mess that spills and splashes all over the media every time we switch our television sets on, or check out the newspapers, one can’t help but think what fools we are, what exercises in futility these so-called elections have become.

So I hear a lot of young people are opting to skip out on the elections. Oh well. There goes our nation’s future.

“Hindi nga eh, pambihira. What change do you expect of the government, what with the upcoming elections?”

Silence.

Now, this is the point in the conversation wherein the person you’re talking to knows you’re dead serious. What would this answer tell you? Hmmm. I can only think of three things. Either the person I’m talking to has never considered the question before, owing to the incredulity of the question given the hopelessness of our political situation, or that he or she is seriously considering the question, and carefully thinking of an answer. Or—the person I’m talking to has decided that the conversation has gone waaaay beyond the point of no return, and thus has decided to tune me out of their version of existence.

Despite personal skepticism, one always hopes for a contemplative sort of silence. A sort of relaxed version of the dead air on a first date, as each one racks his or her brains for interesting things to say. Think, think.

Maybe I should rephrase my question. “What changes do you want to see?”

Let’s forego the stigma of being overly patriotic, and hurl ourselves into the realm of reality. Not detaching ourselves from the larger picture, where do we stand in all of this? Hopefully not on the sidelines, or worse, beyond a looking-glass. Passive acceptance is one of the surest signs of a stagnating society. I don’t know where I read that, but it sounds cool, doesn’t it? I also think it’s true. And if there is a society that passively and powerlessly accepts the half-baked dregs given them, then that is definitely not the Filipino people (historically speaking, at least).

Elections shouldn’t be simply an exercise of “who is better than whom.” What it ought to be is “What do I want?” Maybe it’s time to start thinking of what ought to be rather than just focus on what is there. Then maybe we’ll have an idea of what we want to happen, and actually want it badly enough to ask for it, and ensure its reality. Maybe it’s time to start thinking of ourselves in relation to the changes we want to see.

Maybe these upcoming elections will see us through better-informed choices. And maybe, just maybe, that can be the start of us actually knowing what we want. The elections being an exercise in futility or not, what is at stake is too valuable for us to not put our two cents in. People who have influenced this world have, at one time or another, been called fools, anyway.

So, what changes do you want to see?

mutterings in the back row

2007-01-30T11:51:00.000+08:00

At the bottom of the steps we were posing on was a pool of water. After the formalities of the group shot, Sunit suggested, "We could push everyone into the water, and continue the rest of the East Asia Regional Meeting in the pool."

The meeting that lasted 2 days brought people from all over the region together, and cultivated what we all hope to be fruitful partnerships in the field of ICT4D.

wedding petals

2007-01-02T12:34:00.000+08:00

And Gay tied the knot with Daniel, in the presence of God and nature, and a bunch of people who love them. The ceremony was wonderfully simple, the reception intimate. Got to see Beyan and Alan again. And thank you Marc for the camera SOS.

Was able to upload some photos, check out their wedding album here.

pigs fly!

2007-01-01T12:00:00.000+08:00

New year was fireworks, food, frightened pets and flying pigs! Missed you, Clarisse and Eleanor!

*****

Uploaded photos of the Bangkok-Singapore escapade to my photo album. Will also add Christmas and New Year pictures for the benefit of the much-missed siblings. Hope you guys all enjoyed your holiday celebrations. Here's to the coming year!

A text message from Nikki quoting Neil Gaiman: "May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books, and kiss someone who thinks you're wonderful, and don't forget to make some art--write or draw, or build or sing, or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself."

Untitled

2006-12-16T12:11:00.000+08:00

A lone figure walking down the street,
darkness playing hide-and-seek with
headlights
and streetlamps.
I am not alone.
Walking down the street
in a city
of kings and angels
and angels that pretend,
my shadows keep me company.

- MPN, Bangkok 2006

submerged

2006-12-12T19:21:00.000+08:00

Not two hours from stepping off the bus from the airport at Clark, I find myself submerged in a spin cycle of ideas, concerns and updates. Punching the keys on my beloved travel companion from the big development bank in Ortigas, I find myself digesting recent political events, the aftermath of the most recent storm to hit, updates from my teammates, new freelance assignments, news from friends' colorful lives, and a germ of an idea (uh oh) which I plan to put down on paper soon.

I also want to arrange all of the photographs I've accumulated over the past week and a half, cross reference them with scribbles and observations, and profiles of the interesting people I've met over my mini travel-escape.

With eyes half-closed, and mind abuzz with ideas, memories and things-that-need-to-be-attended-to, my keys click and clack, resizing thoughts, writing photos, and taking psychic notes, hoping they don't float away before I can grab them in mid-air and peek at them while they glow from the center of my nearly-closed fist.

*****

My Yahoo Messenger has a virus. If you receive an unsolicited link from me, please do not open it. I can be contacted via Google Chat, Skype and MSN.

notes from the wireless front

2006-11-22T08:56:00.000+08:00

Thanks to Jin, we got our home wireless network up and running. Mom's ploy of installing broadband internet to make me stay at home more often is working. So far, Mart's indulged his iTunes and Limewire requirements, while I am going dizzy with all of the information and opportunities there are out there for newbie non-profits like ours.

In the meantime, we've also had wireless internet installed at the office. I guess it's time to start bringing an extra set of clothes wherever I go. Between the hotspots of office and home, and the apartment (now the unwireless escape), who knows where I shall find myself spending the night? Harhar.

Mart also found our house on Google Earth. Kind of tiny in this photo, but you can see the curve of our street, and our neighbor's pool.

it's been a while

2006-11-11T21:58:00.000+08:00

I'm sitting in front of my brother's computer, in the same spot I used to spend hours at, a bit over a year ago. The breeze is familiar. Thoughts wander silently to the past, etching trailmarks, leading back to places that were once loved.

*****

My mind doesn't seem to want to rest. It's both delight, and a wariness that creeps over me, recalling that old creative restlessness. There really isn't enough time in the day (or night). I need a pensieve of sorts, to dig into when things are calm once again. It's the nervous anticipation of being in the front seat of a flux unfolding, and not knowing exactly where it will take you, or when it will end. Possibilities are simply intoxicating.

I like indulging the twinkling lights before my eyes while feeling the upward push of the ground beneath my feet.

*****

The optimism and arrogance (or shall we call it confidence?) it takes to start an organization with some of the most terriffic people you'll ever come across, slowly ferments to a sincere admiration for the people you work with. The broth both gurgles and boils, but truly, what one learns is how wonderful it is to be surrounded by people who are more talented, more intelligent and more disciplined than you. The delight for me here is that I can just be the stubborn one.

New office, new week. New projects. And hopefully, more good news (may 'new' din naman iyon ah).

*****

Thank you to all friends who said prayers for my grandmother and dropped by her wake and her funeral the week before last. Was it the week before last? It feels like longer than that. Anyhow, thank you for your sympathy and condolences.

*****

We now have wifi at home, but for some weird reason, the browser on my mac couldn't access the net. This is terrible, terrible suffering.

i need bigger eyes.

2006-10-15T22:55:00.000+08:00

There are times when I wished my eyes were bigger, so that it would take more time to fill with tears. I realized the other night, I was involuntarily making my eyes wider whenever the tears would well up. When I succeeded in staring at the ceiling long enough for the incriminating fluid to dry up, I realized my nose started to run. There really is no winning here. And then you start to notice when everyone else tries to hold back their tears. The shiny eyes, the oddly placed expressions, like they were just put on uncertainly, not quite one expression or the other.

*****

I learned the value of redemptive tears a long time ago. Now I figure everyone else just has to learn to cry with everyone else.

*****

Work is neverending.

The Nose in Nostalgia

2006-10-06T21:27:00.000+08:00

How quiet it seems
when certain scenes
of the not-so-ordinary everyday
emerge
into a slow,
memory-stained hue.

The scrape of a chair
pushed aside,
re-entering
the smell of coffee,
and thinking,
I used to write poems here.

*****

Too busy to blog, but my head swims with thoughts. More like twirls around in a vertigo. Took advantage of a few moments while waiting for my teammate before a meeting to scribble a few lines.

the start of another story

2006-08-26T15:28:00.000+08:00

I miss writing. While looking over old files, I came across this unfinished piece. Will finish it soon.

*****

The earth seemed alive. With pipes jutting out of the ground spouting water from the nearby manmade lake, the grass was sodden, soggy. The day was crisp and fresh, the way the world looks—much clearer after a good cry. It seemed as though the night had unburdened itself of a heaving, hiccupping sob. The stagnant smell of the lake water gave an air of emanating staleness from the ground. But the sky was clear, high above reach. The sun scattered itself among the blades of grass, obliging drops of water with its image, creating sparkles of little suns among the shades of green and faded brown. It was maintenance day at the cemetery.

The grass in some plots looked quite healthy and well-taken care of. Inventive gardeners created little relief grass hearts and crosses that decorated certain plots. Still other plots looked sinewy with neglect, overrun with weeds, stone markers with peeling paint. One could hardly read what was written about the people that rested beneath. I searched for the maintained markers. Rare were those with descriptions or testimonials of the deceased. One would normally just see some redemptive Bible verse inscribed on the stone. In death we seem to try to escape the words and labels that haunt us while still alive. My grandfather didn’t have anything written on his, other than his name, dates of birth and death. Despite his notoriety, my grandmother never really had much to say about him.

1993 was the year he passed away, leaving 2 grieving families—2 widows, 13 children who begrudgingly acknowledged each other, and 21 bewildered grandchildren. The 4 children from the “other” family stood behind the other mourners during the funeral, keeping to themselves. Though much younger than the first family, they were old enough to look around with wary eyes, knowing that their presence pained and angered those around them, through no fault of their own. Yet the circumstances of their family and childhood left them fairly content with bits and pieces. They never felt the need to press the issue of entitlement. They meekly stood in place, holding their ground as grandfather’s children, whether or not other people understood. No one was outwardly hostile towards them. Passive aggressive would be the right description of the atmosphere, hostility and mourning drawing the veritable shroud that wrapped the solemn funeral rites. Though they were relatively ignored, they were whispered about by the veiled women who covered their mouths with lacy fans that proved useless in filtering the stories circulated by some of my other more spiteful uncles. My mother’s siblings apparently haven’t gotten over the fact that their already strained household was actually a lot worse than it had seemed.

My mother motioned that we would start praying the rosary. Standing beside my brother, we stood behind mother as she led in the prayer ritual, repeating each worship, and we answering with the cued petition. I always thought the dynamic of this prayer relied on persistence, the way a child gets his or her way after bombarding a parent with the same relentless request. Of course, the worship would be more of some form of flattery, the type we use to butter up our parents first before making our plaintive requests known.

*oww*

My brother has a habit of flicking me at the most inopportune moments.

With a face as solemn as the petition that escaped my lips, I returned my brother’s flicking with a vengeance. My mother, unaware of the goings-on behind her, continued the prayer. There we stood, a triumvirate against the backdrop of sky and soggy ground.

test

2006-07-18T21:14:00.000+08:00

the pressure is on

2006-07-08T12:04:00.000+08:00

"But I do hope you're at peace with your decision," the woman in front of me said with an embarrassed smile.

"Yes, I am," I said with a reassuring nod.

One makes sacrifices for what one may perceive to be something greater. It is within one's grasp to make sacrifices made worthwhile.

say it with me

2006-06-27T19:00:00.000+08:00

You say 'maya,' I say 'bah-yah.' Wudderful.

pelikula at pundaquit

2006-06-26T22:58:00.000+08:00

I found it, I found it! I thought I had lost my CD of Pelikula at Pundaquit by the Bolipata Brothers. Going over my PC installers earlier, I found it. The violin and cello here are simply maddening, playing out tunes of old Filipino movies with such sorrow and passion--ayayay, I'm lost for words. Now I just have to get back my San Miguel Philharmonic Orchestra Tunes, and my OST playlist will be complete--well, almost. With composers and interpreters like John Williams, Ennio Morricone, Henry Mancini and Tan Dun on my list, some smashing George Canseco and Willy Cruz should make the mix just about right.

woohoo!

2006-06-25T19:46:00.000+08:00

Mom passed the NCLEX! So proud!

Let's do the dance of joy (a la Larry and Balky):lai lai lai lai lai lai lai lai lai lai-hai hai hai hai hai hai-yay!

*****

I don't like my poems anymore. Save for a couple of sentimental ones and my silly haikus, I would like to put them away. Oh dear muse, where are you? So in the absence of words of my own, we once again turn to...Ani Difranco.

willing to fight
Ani Difranco

the windows of my soul
are made of one way glass
don't bother looking into my eyes
if there's something you want to know,
just ask
i got a dead bolt stroll
where i'm going is clear
i won't wait for you to wonder
i'll just tell you why i'm here

'cause i know the biggest crime
is just to throw up your hands
say
this has nothing to do with me
i just want to live as comfortably as i can
you got to look outside your eyes
you got to think outside your brain
you got to walk outside you life
to where the neighborhood changes

tell me who is your boogieman
that's who i will be
you don't have to like me for who i am
but we'll see what you're made of
by what you make of me
i think that it's absurd
that you think i
am the derelict daughter
i fight fire with words
words are hotter than flames
words are wetter than water

i got friends all over this country
i got friends in other countries too
i got friends i haven't met yet
i got friends i never knew
i got lovers whose eyes
i've only seen at a glance
i got strangers for great grandchildren
i got strangers for ancestors

i was a long time coming
i'll be a long time gone
you've got your whole life to do something
and that's not very long
so why don't you give me a call
when you're willing to fight
for what you think is real
for what you think is right

doing it the fred flintstone way

2006-06-17T22:28:00.000+08:00

An SMS from Julia: The taxi I'm riding has a hole on its floor, can watch the road between my two feet, great ventilation, hahaha, I hope we don't splash over any puddles.

Followed by: I could've stuck my foot through if the taxi stalled and run like Fred Flintstone.

I miss you, Juls.

silence and the sound

2006-06-12T09:52:00.000+08:00

We celebrate Independence Day today. This morning, I padded downstairs and flipped on the television to see what festivities might be going on. The NBN channel was showing a parade of festivals from across the country, with people in brightly colored costumes prancing about and dancing before the people that amassed at Luneta for the Independence Day celebration. I imagine the President to be among those watching. Elsewhere, people are also amassing. Not to celebrate the 108th year of our country's independence, but to point out that as of today, we live in fear. Almost every week, one reads of killings of 'leftists' and 'subversives', gunmen in motorbikes felling activists one after the other. And the government keeps silent. Our country is brandished as the most dangerous country for journalists in the world, with Iraq being the close second. The majority of the 79 reported journalist slayings since 1985 have been committed during the term of our current president. And the government keeps silent.

All I can hear is the gratingly nasal intonations of our president, admonishing her constituents and the people she serves to please let her do her job.

googlism

2006-06-12T01:42:00.000+08:00

I tried my French given name in googlism, and here are some of the wild results:
- marielle is a dutch form of mary (I didn't know this)
- marielle is a dark and mysterious lady in the service of ratitick (what is a ratitick?)
- marielle is now dancing professionally and her specialties are jazz (wow)
- marielle is determined to discover the truth (to...)
- marielle is there (yeah)
- marielle is available for travel if all expenses are paid (hahaha, true)
- marielle is featured on many modeling and acting websites (wahahaha)
- marielle is made to dance & display her shiny spikes (verry curious about the context of this)
- marielle is now learning about the lord
- marielle is a beautiful model based in stockholm (that explains it)
- marielle is my favorite heroin (adik!)

Doing my geisha walk in the rain

2006-06-06T12:54:00.000+08:00

Saturday morning found me at the big development organization in Ortigas. Hunched over Joe's workstation, I caught up on hi-speed internet and tweaked layouts under the watchful care of the third occupant of the room, our bodyguard Eddie. Guarding Joy and I and a bag of Joe's surplus banana chips with his big-ass rifle, Eddie sat on the window sill, staring out into the empty rooms across the East Core (which resembles some reactor core, or a giant egg). That's his picture up there. With Eddie around, you're probably wondering what kind of projects I'd be working on in this development complex that demands you go through two x-rays for you and your baggage before reaching the lobby. Well. All I can say is--they have the best, cheapest chocolate cake in the cafeteria. Hahaha.

Yes. I had work on a Saturday morning (nothing new). Then an attempt at emceeing at the ArtPlay exhibit opening in Quezon City. Then a mini-meeting with Rhea back in Ortigas for the Idea!s planning sked. Then buying materials for the planning, and for cards for a friend. Then back home to Alabang. I don't know whatever possessed me to wear a very long denim skirt (the heavy kind that limits you stride). It rained that day (it rains pretty much everyday now), and so i got stuck hobbling around in the rain in a drenched and thus rather heavy skirt, sloshing through mini-rivers of rainwater.

Dragged myself home in a more sabog state than usual. Then it was off to Anilao the next day.

I'm the most dangerous kind of evil.

2006-05-29T22:42:00.000+08:00

You Are 24% Evil

A bit of evil lurks in your heart, but you hide it well.
In some ways, you are the most dangerous kind of evil.

How Evil Are You?

Snippets from Around the World

2006-05-28T22:20:00.000+08:00

California, USA:
I can just imagine mommy leaning over her book and studying for the NCLEX. Her reading glasses are perched on her nose, and it's still and silent. She likes studying during the wee hours of the morning.

Dubai, UAE:
Clarisse and I are chatting as she uploads her photos from her recent vacation in Seychelles. She's sitting in front of her desk, her big bed behind her. Outside the big, tinted sliding doors that open to a narrow balcony, the construction of the building next door is in progress (or is it already finished?). She gets up from her computer and gets ready to go to mass.

Boracay, Philippines:
I forgot Mart went to Boracay, so when I gave him a ring to ask him if he wanted to watch X-Men 3, I realized my attempt at sibling-quality-time was futile (yes, its the big kuya who introduced the wide-eyed little sister to X-Men and comic books). He sounded reaaaally groggy. Too much fun in the sun? Gosh, I do hope it's sunny there. The rainy season's already started.

Tsukuba, Japan:
Herb-san and I chat and discuss the prospects of me visiting her there via winning an essay writing contest (hahaha, we dream, don't we?). I have to learn to ride the bike daw. Better for sightseeing.

I can imagine the cold cobblestones on the streets of Paris; the crisp morning air of Ilmenau as we walk to and from the Ilmenau Technical Institute in Thuringen, Germany; the narrow alleyways of Rome; the cold floor of the Venice train station; the inclined streets of San Francisco; the urban night life of Kuala Lumpur; the reverie of the Buddhist temples in Colombo; lying in the powdery sand and gazing at the stars over El Nido, Palawan; walking down Session Road in Baguio; stuffing myself with grilled food in Cebu; staring at the sea in Dumaguete; watching the waves in Mindoro; wandering about the marketplace in Cagayan de Oro; trekking in Banaue; marching down the street with torches in Davao; eating sushi in Cotabato (ahehehe); hunting for DVDs in Quiapo; commuting to Tagaytay in the dead of the night from CCP...it goes on and on.

Ergh. Bitten by intense wanderlust. Someone stop me before I re-pack my bag and head out. Er, on second thought, don't.

*****

Thoughts and prayers for the people in Indonesia.

"Nid som1, alon in life"

2006-05-20T13:02:00.000+08:00

A word to the wise: be careful when reading bus seat scrawls out loud. The person in the seat before you might just think you're doing a bit of aggressive self-promotion.

Colombo

2006-05-13T13:55:00.002+08:00

Contrary to popular misgivings about Colombo, the situation didn't seem so bad (of course, I write this from the safety of my home back in Alabang, I highly doubt Dev would appreciate this statement being stuck in Colombo 'til the 15th). Yes, there were soldiers most everywhere, liberally bearing their big-ass rifles, randomly stopping tuktuks (a form of transportation similar to our tricycles) and doing passport checks on foreigners. I was also told that security checkpoints when traveling at night were one too many. Nevertheless, the GKP International Forum went on, and quite literally the world gathered to share knowledge, debate and asses action plans on ICT4D.

Events like this allow you to see the great stuff others have been doing, learn and see how things can be done better, meet people, form partnerships and gain a renewed sense of urgency for the huge amount of work that challenges each of us. Oooh, if only I was built for schmoozing (haha, my new word). I feel better hiding behind production work. Hanging with the rest of the YSEI gang was fun though.

I got to explore a bit of Colombo too.

The travel to and from Colombo was quite an adventure in itself too. Maybe more of that sometime. Check out my Fotopage for more photos.

Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

2006-05-06T22:54:00.000+08:00

I pray the Lord my soul to keep.

I'm camping out at KLIA. Ah, Apryll, this is reminiscent of the time we just parked ourselves on a the seats of the Venice train station. Except that here, the seats are more comfortable. Harhar. And with all the people with Malay features walking around, it seems rather comforting, parang nasa Pilipinas ka pa rin. I have strategically positioned myself near the toilet for emergency purposes (no train-hopping at 4 AM just to use the bathroom, haha!). They have a nice airport. For tonight, I shall call it home sweet home.

"If I were to become a priest, I would be a Jesuit."

2006-05-01T11:28:00.000+08:00

The above text was uttered by a good female friend. Just goes to show what the priesthood is missing out on.

*****

There's The Rub : Silent Rage

First posted 00:43am (Mla time) May 01, 2006
By Conrado de Quiros
Inquirer

Editor's Note: Published on page A14 of the May 1, 2006 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer

TODAY DOESN'T JUST MARK THE umpteenth anniversary of Labor Day, it marks the fifth anniversary of something of special significance in these harried times. That is the so-called "Edsa III," the mammoth gathering of the-by all means figurative-Great Unshod at the Edsa Shrine that culminated in the riots in Mendiola.

What is the significance of that event today? Doubtless, Erap's (former President Joseph Estrada’s) supporters will recall it as the real Edsa, the one that manifested true People Power, which is the power of the masa, the poor and thereto powerless, who are the majority of the population of this country. Doubtless, too, they will interpret it as the refutation of the idea that Edsa II represented real "People Power," and a confirmation of their argument that Edsa II was simply an elite coup, wrought with the help of the middle class, against a perfectly legitimate and pro-poor president.

The truth is a little more complicated than that. There is no doubt, with his landslide victory, that Erap was a perfectly legitimate president, just as there is no doubt, with the "Hello Garci" tape, that GMA (Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo) is not. None of that means that the effort to impeach Erap, on the ground of having betrayed the public trust, had no popular support. That overlooks, as I've repeatedly pointed out, the impact of the impeachment trial, or more to the point, the airing of the impeachment trial on TV, which had the most popular telenovelas of the time biting its dust. That wasn't just watched by the middle class, it was watched by the masa, who debated it at length, often violently, in drinking sprees in narrow alleys in crowded slums. That was what turned Erap from hero to heel, not unlike the storyline of his own action movies.

"Edsa III" was about Erap, but it also went past Erap. The Edsa II forces, many of whom ended up in GMA's government, heaped scorn on "Edsa III" for variously being an anachronism, an atavism, a throwback to the past, or as Bishop Socrates Villegas (who violently protested its being held at the Edsa Shrine), said, a desecration of hallowed ground. But that was because they reduced it to a simple and irrational support for a fallen idol. There was, of course, that element, too. It was a spontaneous support for a fallen idol, one who, after having been downed, was being kicked on the ground. The image of Erap being fingerprinted in a local precinct proved a most explosive one. And Erap's lieutenants, of course, were prominently in display at the Edsa Shrine goading the throng-which was easily bigger than the one that flocked at Edsas I and II-to "Sugod! Sugod!" Malacañang and throw Gloria out. Not the least of those lieutenants were Miriam Santiago and Juan Ponce Enrile, who after "Edsa III" failed flew to GMA's side and metamorphosed into her undying faithful.

But "Edsa III" was far more than that, which is why I've always put the term in quotation marks, because of its mestizo quality. Beneath its seeming irrationality was something perfectly understandable, beneath its seeming bizarreness was something completely sane. Which is why it has something to say to us, especially today. Beneath "Edsa III's" surface support for Erap was a deep-seated explosion of the wrath of the poor over their lot. It was, as I said then, the "social volcano" exploding. Everyone had warned of it before martial law: The social volcano-created by the divide between the "spectacularly rich and the spectacularly poor," as Ninoy Aquino put it, was near to exploding. It happened much much later, in "Edsa III."

To put it another way, beneath the farce of support for Erap in "Edsa III" lay the force of the revolt of the masses in "Edsa III." Beneath the Eraption was the Eruption.

That anger hasn't gone, notwithstanding that the riots at Mendiola were quelled, and the possibility that the revolt of the masses would be repeated remains. It can be stoked easily, which is also its danger. It can be set aflame just as easily by false prophets as real ones. The lot of the poor hasn't improved, it has worsened, especially under GMA where the scale of pillage has reached staggering proportions (given an image by the face and body of Pidal), restrained only by the finitude of things left to steal.

Traditionally, several things have served as safety valves allowing the magma in the social volcano to seethe without spitting its fiery venom out. Work abroad, faith in Providence and gambling are three of them. But there are limits to the restraining power of all three. There are limits to how many jobs we can get abroad, and as the Asian Development Bank has warned, the export of skilled labor has vicious consequences in the immediate future. Faith in Providence has not exactly deterred the poor from taking to crime, faith in this country having bizarre, cultist interpretations and expressions to begin with. And as to gambling, well, the stampede at the PhilSports Arena shows what happens when people's hopes are dashed while they are desperately trying to get a crack at salvation.

Rep. Joey Salceda, a government economic adviser, has already warned of a "silent rage" over oil as a result of spiraling oil prices. The "silent rage" goes much deeper and farther than over oil. It has been seething over the years, now being stoked to near-eruption by a hugely unpopular usurper whose appetite for wealth and power has had no peer since Marcos.

We keep talking about the promise of another Edsa, it's time we talked about the threat of another "Edsa." May 1 is a particularly good time to do that, being both Labor Day and the day of the Mendiola riots, a day for thinking about workers and a day for thinking about the poor, who are often one and the same.

Hell hath no fury than the desperate scorned.

I'm not even a small fish

2006-04-29T14:07:00.000+08:00

"The only reason I could think, of why someone would want to hack into your account, is that if you were plotting to overthrow the Arroyo administration," he said.

"Whaaaaaat," I replied. "I'm not even a big fish. I'm not even a small fish. I'm not even a fish. I'm just an egg, a zygote even."

Still mourning my Yahoo account. I've been crazily changing all of my passwords. According to my Google account, I now have a very strong password. Haha. Beware.

*****

Herb-san, I miss our Greens days! Wala lang.

There Are No Heroes.

2006-04-29T00:01:00.000+08:00

I come from the context wherein we all get something in return. The whole concept of heroism stems from sacrifice. Why do people sacrifice? Because they envision something greater, something beyond themselves. It may not be for them, and these guys may not personally benefit from whatever sacrifice they make (the concept of not "gaining" in conventional terms boggles mainstream society's mind, and thus they put these selfless people on pedestals and poof, our heroes are born), but somewhere down the line, they benefit from what they do. It just depends on your values system. What do you value more? Monetary gain or personal fulfillment? The freedom of your country, or your life? Your offspring's future, or your personal comfort? Sometimes I feel weird that selflessness merits this kind of recognition. It makes you realize how rare it is. And...that's kind of sad. I wish there would be a time wherein selflessness would be as ordinary as the crime blotters we hear reported over the news night after night after night.

*****

Someone screwed with my Yahoo mail account. So now, I made a new one. Please forgive me if I don't respond to your emails. Goodbye, o numerous yahoogroups. *sniff*

Can You See?

2006-04-26T23:25:00.000+08:00

My entry to the PBBY-Salanga of last year. Yvette asked to read it, I figured I may as well post it. :-)

Can You See (What Buboy Sees)?

Buboy is Mang Enteng’s only son. Bright-eyed and outgoing, he spent all of his six years in the loving care of his father.

Buboy always enjoyed riding the jeep with his dad while on vacation from his elementary school classes. Every morning, he would eagerly accompany Mang Enteng as he drove his passenger jeep around their subdivision. He was familiar with his dad’s frequent passengers, and often greeted them with an energetic wave as he called out, “Good morning!” with a bright smile.

Around the first corner from their house waited Ate Lina. She was always up bright and early to go to the market for her Tia Tacion, who craved the freshest fruits in season for breakfast. Ate Lina was already standing at the corner clutching her colorful market bayong as they rounded the corner. “Good morning, Ate Lina!” called out Buboy from the jeepney’s passenger seat. “Good morning Buboy, Mang Enteng!” replied Ate Lina as she sat at the end of the jeepney close to the door.

Further down the street waited Mang Gorio and Aling Tinay. They both had jobs in the city and had to leave early each morning. Mang Gorio worked as a driver for one of the richer families, his crisp white drivers’ barong lovingly ironed by Aling Tinay before she delivered the rest of the laundry in the city, and picked up new laundry requests. They both got off near the entrance to their quiet subdivision, Mang Gorio carrying Aling Tinay’s load of clean clothes.

Halfway around, Kuya Berting hopped onto the jeep, carrying a large sack filled with packets of cookies and sweets to be sold at Lola Selya’s Sari-Sari store. “Good morning, Kuya Berting!” Buboy smiled. Kuya Berting smiled back and handed Buboy a pack of candy. “Thanks!” said Buboy as he took the candy handed to him. Kuya Berting replied with, “That’s for making each morning real pleasant, Buboy. We’re glad you accompany your dad in the morning.”

Mang Enteng smiled as he heard what Kuya Berting said. As other passengers boarded and got off the jeepney, Buboy stared out from his window. Driving by the marketplace where Ate Lina got off, he could see a group of children selling large sacks to the early-morning buyers. The leader of the group was Elena, his classmate. She was tall for her age with long limbs, her thin arms flailing each time she approached a buyer. She was helping an elderly lady put purchased vegetables into her sack when she saw Mang Enteng’s jeepney pass by. She saw Buboy in the passenger seat, and smiled as she recognized him, at the same time pocketing the change the old lady handed her.

“Daddy, why do Elena and her friends sell sacks at the market?” asked Buboy, wondering why his classmate wasn’t at home watching cartoons like the other children he knew. “Well Buboy,” Mang Enteng began, “Elena earns the money she spends for her allowance in school. It’s going to be June soon, so she works every morning, selling sacks to the market goers to put their groceries in.”

Buboy kept silent, thinking of the small allowance his dad gave him every morning. A few pesos was enough for him to buy ice candy and a cupcake for recess. Elena had to earn that amount to buy her treats.

As the jeepney kept on through their subdivision, Buboy spied Mang Fred, sitting at his usual corner with his guitar. Mang Fred lost his sight with old age. Refusing to depend on his grown children for money, he strummed his guitar all day, singing love songs for passersby. They would occasionally drop a coin or two. He noticed that today, Mang Fred’s coin can was lying on the ground, a few coins close to it. Without Mang Fred noticing, a passerby accidentally kicked the can. Buboy wanted to help Mang Fred, but he couldn’t stop the jeep his father was driving. So he sat there, watching men, women, the young and the old as they went about their daily routines.

Whenever he accompanied his father on his jeepney rounds, he saw things that made him ask questions. Why was Mang Fred alone? Why can’t Elena join their summer patintero tournament? Why are there children who play in heaps of garbage? Sometimes Buboy asked Mang Enteng these questions all at once, as he saw more and more of these things each day. Sometimes Mang Enteng would answer, but sometimes he would get tired, and just smile and shake his head. Buboy would then sigh and lean back into his seat, still thinking about the people he sees everyday from the passenger seat of his father’s jeep.

One day, Buboy’s father got sick. Buboy sat for a while by the window, thinking of his father’s daily passengers. He played by himself in their yard, half-heartedly constructing a tower of twigs. A sudden gust of wind knocked his tower down. He could hear the voices and the laughter of the other children from down the street as they played cops and robbers. The gate to their yard creaked with the next gust of wind. Buboy looked out the gate onto the street. Then he decided to take a walk.
Buboy took a deep breath as he walked through the morning sunshine, its brightness and heat he never really felt before, as he was always riding in Mang Enteng’s jeep. He was now among the people he watched each morning from the safety of his passenger seat. As he approached Mang Fred’s corner, he saw that some coins were once again scattered on the floor. He reached down to pick them up and drop them into the can. “Mang Fred,” Buboy said, “some of your coins were on the floor. I’m putting them into your can so they don’t get lost.”

“Thank you, iho,” Mang Fred replied. “You don’t pass here often, I can tell.”

“No, Mang Fred. I am Enteng’s son. I usually see you when I accompany him when he does his rounds on the jeep. My name is Buboy.”

“Well Buboy, I’m glad you decided to walk today. Things must look quite different from here on the sidewalk than the view you usually get from your jeepney’s passenger seat,” chuckled Mang Fred. “I may be blind now, but I do remember how different things can seem from another point of view.”

Buboy sat down beside Mang Fred, and he listened as the old man told him stories of his younger days. He learned of Mang Fred’s family, of how his wife passed away, and of how his children had moved on with their lives and their own respective families.

“I’m sorry to hear you’re all by yourself,” Buboy said as Mang Fred ended the story of his youngest son who moved abroad. “You don’t have to be sorry,” Mang Fred said, “I’m not alone. I’m happy when there are young people like you who take the time to listen to my stories. People just usually pass me by. Tell you what Buboy,” said Mang Fred as he picked up his guitar and started strumming, “whenever you pass by on your father’s jeep, do holler me a greeting.”

“Will do, Mang Fred,” said Buboy, smiling. “And I’ll be sure to pass by every now and then to listen to your stories.”

The sun was slowly climbing as Buboy reached the marketplace. “Hey Buboy!” called out Elena, as she sat on the steps of the fruit vendor’s stall. She was counting the coins she earned from selling sacks that morning. “What are you doing here? I see you almost every morning riding your father’s jeep.”

“Dad’s sick today, so I decided to take a walk.” Buboy’s brow furrowed with worry for his father. Elena noticed Buboy’s concern. “Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll be fine. Your father works very hard. Maybe he just needs to rest,” Elena said with a reassuring smile. She took Buboy’s arm and led him into the market.

Buboy’s eyes shone with amazement as he observed the people in the market. Men, women and children were all over the place, running about, transferring goods, haggling over prices. The place was so filled with activity. This was so different from what he was used to seeing. He would always pass by the marketplace, but he never stepped inside. Elena led him to a stall that sold cookies and candy that came with small plastic toys. She handed him a cookie. “Don’t feel bad,” she said as she paid for the cookie she gave him.

Buboy felt strange. He was touched by what Elena did, knowing how hard she worked for the money she earned. “My daddy isn’t around anymore,” Elena said sadly. They sat on the steps of the candy stall. Elena would push back the hair from her thin face as she told Buboy of how her own father left her family to work in Saudi. He used to write frequently, and Elena always looked forward to his letters. But as time passed, his letters came less frequently, until they stopped completely. Unable to contact her father, Elena and her sisters took on responsibilities and jobs to earn money for school and allowance. Her mother worked as a helper in the city. “I don’t know what happened to my daddy,” Elena said, tears forming in her eyes. “I miss him. Whenever I see you and your father each morning, I’m reminded of him.”

Buboy stood up. It was his turn to take Elena’s arm. Elena was surprised when Buboy started running. They ran and ran, huffing and puffing as they reached Buboy’s house.

“Buboy, where have you been?” Mang Enteng asked when Buboy and Elena tumbled through the door. “Daddy!” Buboy cried. He pulled Elena and introduced her. Elena shyly greeted Mang Enteng. The two children sat on the wooden bangko facing Mang Enteng’s rocking chair. Buboy then told Mang Enteng about his morning, about Mang Fred and his stories, about the marketplace, and of how Elena treated him to a cookie.

“That’s very generous of you, Elena.” Mang Enteng said. Buboy could see that Elena was happy being in his home. “You’re welcome here anytime you like.” Elena smiled.

Mang Enteng stretched and stood up. “Well, I think I feel well enough to drive the jeepney this afternoon. Would you kids like to come along?” Buboy and Elena nodded excitedly and followed Mang Enteng to the jeepney.

The wind whipped their faces as Buboy and Elena shared the passenger seat. They watched from the window as people walked along the sidewalk, as mothers tended their lawns, and the other children played on the street, making chalk drawings of piko and drawing patintero lines. They passed Mang Fred’s corner and shouted hello. Mang Fred’s face lit up and he smiled.

When Buboy and Mang Enteng got home after making the rounds and dropping Elena off at her house, Buboy sat beside Mang Enteng resting in the living room. “Daddy,” Buboy began, “I never knew there was so much more to what I see every morning.”

Mang Enteng chuckled and ruffled Buboy’s hair. “Buboy, we see different things from different places. They may be the same people you see everyday, but when you get to know them and hear their stories, you start to see them in a different way.”

Buboy smiled as he remembered Mang Fred and Elena. He knew that from that day on, he would be walking around more often, and get to know the people he saw everyday. It was comfortable to just watch from a distance, but Buboy knew that there was so much more to learn from listening and sharing.

The hullabaloo about Easter eggs

2006-04-15T12:35:00.000+08:00

Jesus had no servants, yet they called Him Master.
Had no degree, yet they called Him Teacher.
Had no medicines, yet they called Him Healer.
Had no army, yet kings feared Him.
He won no military battles, yet He conquered the world.
He commited no crime, yet they crucified Him.
He was buried in a tomb, yet He lives today.

I got the above text from an Easter greeting from one of my former college professors.

*****

Hesus ng Aking Buhay
Arnel dc. Aquino, SJ

Sikat ng umaga, buhos ng ulan
simoy ng dapithapon, sinag ng buwan;
batis na malinaw, dagat na bughaw
Gayon ang Panginoon kong Hesus ng aking buhay

Saan man ako bumaling, Ika'y naroon
tumalikod man sa 'Yo, dakilang pag-ibig Mo
sa akin tatawag at magpapaalalang
ako'y 'Yong ginigiliw
at siyang itatapat sa puso

Tinig ng kaibigan, oyayi ng ina
pangarap ng ulila, bisig ng dukha
ilaw ng may takot, ginhawa ng aba
Gayon ang Panginoon kong Hesus ng aking buhay

This one's my favorite among the Himig Heswita songs. Beautiful, beautiful.

*****

So, why do we have the bunny and the eggs when we celebrate Easter? These are actually non-Catholic beliefs. Then again, what Catholic text stipulates the observance of the Easter bunny anyway? In the same way that Santa Claus is to Christmas, the Easter bunny is to well, Easter. Shopping centers make a killing selling brightly decorated eggs and cute, fluffy bunnies. Country clubs and hotels organize egg hunts complete with matching buffet meals and entertainment.

Whenever someone would ask me about the egg's role in the Easter celebration, I would simply give some vague response about the egg symbolizing life, etc., etc--no, Jesus did NOT come from an egg, blah blah blah. The egg, according to About, is a Roman symbol for the seed of life. The bunny on the other hand was some sort of fertility symbol (you can imagine why). The bunny or hare's spirit was said to lay eggs in the grass, and thus the egg hunts were born. These practices persist and have been morphed by commercialism into the festive Easter traditions we have today.

Ah, another side to the Easter bunny's cute fluffiness.

Revolutionary Petunias

2006-04-10T21:47:00.000+08:00

The Nature of This Flower Is to Bloom
By Alice Walker

Rebellious. Living.
Against the Elemental Crush.
A Song of Color
Blooming
For Deserving Eyes.
Blooming Gloriously
For its Self.

Revolutionary Petunia.

On turning 25 and other things

2006-04-02T23:36:00.000+08:00

Yup, 25 and over the hill. Hahaha! The age of 25 ought to be a landmark of sorts. Instead I see turning quarter-life somehow the way I would see an opening in the earth being closed in as I stare in anguish from some musty underground compartment. When you get past 25, there's no more excuse for being infantile and naive. Not that I actually see myself as that (ahahaha), but it's more of the lack of comfort in hiding behind the convenient excuse of being young.

*****

The YSEI Capacity Building Workshop is over. We cross our fingers, and wait for the news. In the meantime though, we work, work, work. If you want to check out the press release, visit the Global Knowledge Partnership website. I was amazed and inspired by the people and programs I met and learned from. I think I also gained a new patch of white hair from summoning my left brain to rise to the challenge of accomplishing the requirements. Thank God for the relentless mentoring of the YSEI team, the encouragement and tips from my fellow finalists, and the prayers from my good friends.

I updated my Fotopage.

*****

GXP Team 52 is currently in Davao. Good luck you guys! Enjoy.

Shhhh.

2006-04-02T16:56:00.000+08:00

When Marielle is quiet, it means she is cooking up something.

Some shoutouts:

Engaged! Congratulations to my dear friend Gay and her partner Daniel on their engagement! I hope to see you both very soon.

Apryll passed the bar exam! My super-asteg travelmate never got to see the Code of Hammurabi when we were at the Louvre (I suppose we can divulge that now). But she made it anyway!!! Let's go travel again, Lawyer-Apryll! Saan ang blowout? Haha.

Tita Nikki is soon to be featured as an achiever on Mega Magazine. You go, Tita-girl!

Hopes and Hopes

2006-03-12T14:54:00.000+08:00

When youth take on challenges, exciting things begin. I am eager and excited to see things unfold as we all focus on our respective projects. Last Friday was the Global Xchange Benefit Dinner. With the blaring music from the dance sport competition echoing from the outside, a group of young people presented their earnest appeal for support to family, friends and colleagues over dinner, poetry and music.

Tita Gang indulged us with Ani DiFranco's words. Thank you, thank you. You do enjoy that poem, and it does show. I'm posting it below.

Congrats Team 52.

*****

my i.q.
Ani DiFranco

when i was four years old
they tried to test my i.q.
they showed me a picture
of 3 oranges and a pear
they said,
which one is different?
it does not belong
they taught me different is wrong
but when i was 13 years old
i woke up one morning
thighs covered in blood
like a war
like a warning
that i live in a breakable takeable body
an ever increasingly valuable body
that a woman had come in the night to replace me
deface me
see,
my body is borrowed
yeah, i got it on loan
for the time in between my mom and some maggots
i don't need anyone to hold me
i can hold my own
i got highways for stretchmarks
see where i've grown
i sing sometimes
like my life is at stake
'cause you're only as loud
as the noises you make
i'm learning to laugh as hard
as i can listen
'cause silence
is violence
in women and poor people
if more people were screaming then i could relax
but a good brain ain't diddley
if you don't have the facts
we live in a breakable takeable world
an ever available possible world
and we can make music
like we can make do
genius is in a back beat
backseat to nothing if you're dancing
especially something stupid
like i.q.
for every lie i unlearn
i learn something new
i sing sometimes for the war that i fight
'cause every tool is a weapon -
if you hold it right.

Surreal

2006-03-01T18:41:00.001+08:00

There’s a surreal sense of normalcy around me. People still lining up for the MRT, music coming from downstairs as my housemates have breakfast, the electric fans still turn, swaying from left to right, right to left, much like the heads of those who cluck their tongues and shake their heads at the volatility of the current political situation. We’ve had enough, they say, and they sit right back behind their desks. Life goes on. We go to the corner stainless to avail of the cheapest, tastiest lunch of bopis and rice that we could find, we purchase fake DVDs and pore over movie schedules. We meet up with friends at Figaro and enthrall ourselves with the wonders of wifi.

It’s true what my friend said. By the age of 25 (which I will soon be), we should have reached our limit/quota of political uprisings. If there are martial law babies, perhaps we would be the coup d’etat kids? Political analysts point this to the precedent set by the first EDSA. Ah, the paradox of fighting for democracy and becoming too liberal with it. We have an EDSA 1, 2, 3, 4… We sit back and wrinkle our noses at the personalities who gather on the streets, accusing each of preserving themselves and their own interests. Political animals, these guys are. Hypocrites who use prayer as an excuse to standoff their agendas in public. We would be better off not making any trouble. Naku, mga pampagulo lang ang mga yan, as I’ve heard so many people say.

There are no heroes.

These are exercises in self-preservation, not moments of self-glorification. Not just for the political personalities who rally in the streets, but for us ordinary folks as well. What do we fight for? Put plain and simply, our rights. The rights which allow us to honestly and openly express how we feel about the current state of affairs, the rights which allow us to tell our public servants what we think without fear. The right to know and to learn about what is happening around us.

Ignorance isn’t bliss. It’s the traitorous lout that will bite you on the ass if you don’t shake it and put in your centavo’s worth.

Things may not seem that bad. We still get to enjoy our cups of coffee with friends, malls still have their sales, summer is fast approaching and we make our plans for trips to the beach. But if we still think everything is rosy and dandy, steady and normal, then indeed, that would be a reason for alarm.

Breastmilk is still best for babies.

2006-02-14T11:21:00.000+08:00

Joy found multiple copies of this by our fax machine. Hmmm. I suppose this answers the question, "After Lovapalooza, what will they do next?"

twenty minute verses

2006-02-13T14:28:00.000+08:00

This is what happens when I am pressured to write brief, poetic (haha) copy for an invite to a welcome home party of our boss' son who served in Iraq.

for those who return

as a mother waits
and a father wields
the weight of absence

words on a page
become a lifeline
penned
with the ink of hopes

realized
in the embrace
of those who have returned

Illustrate, illustrate!

2006-02-06T18:12:00.000+08:00

A rather late post. But hey--there's still time! If you want a copy of my story, just email me at marielle.nadal@gmail.com. Since I have changed my status on the GXP RP-UK Team 52 to cheerleader, rather than official participant, I suddenly have quite a bit of time (MA and Idea!s aside). Hehehe. I'm thinking of joining this one too. Sana ganahan ako.

The Philippine Board on Books for Young People (PBBY) is now accepting entries for the 2006 PBBY Alcala Prize. The contest is co-sponsored by the Cultural Center of the Philippines (CCP) and The National Library. The winner will be given a cash prize of P25,000.00, a gold medal, and an opportunity to be published with the help of the PBBY. Prizes will be awarded in an appropriate ceremony to be held during the celebration of National Children’s Book Day on July 18, 2006.

Contest Rules:
1. The contest is open to all Filipino citizens except those who are related to any PBBY members up to the third degree of consanguinity.
2. Entries must be based on any of the three winning stories: Can You See (What Buboy Sees)? by Marielle Nadal; Tonyong Turo by J. Dennis Teodosio; and, Rosario and the Stories by Ian Casocot. Copies of the story may be requested from the PBBY Secretariat.
3. All entries must be original unpublished illustrations that have not won in any previous contest.
4. All entries must consist of three (3) illustrations that are of the same size and medium.
5. A contestant may send in more than one (1) entry.
6. Each entry must be signed by a pen name only, preferably on a small piece of paper pasted on the back of each artwork. Entries with a signature or any identifying marks are automatically disqualified.
7. Together with each entry, contestants must submit a separate envelope, on the face of which only the pen name of the contestant shall appear. The envelope must contain the contestant’s full name, address, contact numbers, short description of background, and notarized certification vouching for the originality of the entry and for the freedom of the organizers from any liability arising from the infringement of copyright in case of publication.
8. All entries must be sent to the PBBY Secretariat, c/o Adarna House, Room 201, JGS Bldg., 30 Scout Tuazon St., Quezon City by March 4, 2006.
9. Winners will be announced no later than March 25, 2006. Non-winning entries must be claimed no later than April 29, 2006, after which they will no longer be the responsibility of the organizers.
For more details, interested parties may contact the Philippine Board on Books for Young People, at Room 102, JGS Building, 30 Scout Tuazon St., Quezon City, Telefax 372-3548 or email pbby@adarna.com.ph.

Brokeback to the Future!

2006-02-06T18:04:00.000+08:00

Offering

2006-02-06T00:14:00.000+08:00

Sitting rapt in attention as if a thousand cherubims had exploded into song right above the congregation, I distractedly looked at my mother seated next to me as I felt a crackly sum of currency pressed into my hand. If only the attention I was earlier exuding was focused on the religious proceedings before us. I smiled sheepishly and took the bill, waiting for the collection basket’s sojourn towards us happy givers.

Ever since I was little, it would be regular Sunday mass protocol to give the mass offering to the youngest of the lot to drop into the collection basket. I vaguely recall asking my mother why they insisted on doing this, when the money really was coming from them, and not from us. After all, God could distinguish from whom the money came from, etc., etc. “Well,” my mother earnestly explains. She has this habit of explaining religious protocol with childlike simplicity and submission, brows slightly bent, eyes half-closed and focused faraway, hands gesturing with palms facing upward, fingers splayed as if she were literally offering you the gist of religious mysticism.

“It’s so that the blessings go to you.”

Well, who could bring themselves to argue, faced with that kind of reasoning? For an eight-year-old, that argument is selfishly unquestionable, and therefore absolute.

Ever since then, I never took notice of the practice. It was only today when I unconsciously took the money to drop into the basket that I realized how second nature the gesture was. Here I am, all grown up and already earning my own paycheck, and still whenever the collection basket is passed around, my mom still hands me money to give as offering.

Parents never cease to be parents. And children never cease to be children in the eyes of their parents (to their joy and ire). Up until today when my mother knows that I can very well produce my own mass offering moolah, she still hands me the crispy bill, in the hopes that her little offering will reap blessings and blessings for me. How wonderfully innate, this selflessness is. How Peter Pan-nish, the way we never seem to outgrow this parental womb.

Idea!ists, unite!

2006-01-17T17:41:00.000+08:00

And the full proposal was passed. Let's keep our fingers crossed. I'll expound come first week of February. In the meantime, I've updated my fotopage! Photos from the YFC dinner and Idea!ists' meeting and Starbucks sideline posted. Will be leaving for my ITC training for the GXP in a while. Feeling the first strains of excitement. Oh my gulay. The year has indeed begun.

In Transit #1

2006-01-15T21:06:00.000+08:00

In a semi-conscious state, I opened my eyes and rubbed the spot where the side of my head bounced once more against one of the dead light switches that lined the bus’ walls. Bounce, bounce, my hard head. How could something so hardline stubborn actually bounce? How could the gray matter encased within allow its steadfast boundary repeated trauma? It’s as if I couldn’t embed the thought into my head. It’s as if I haven’t faced family and friends and shrugged it off as if it didn’t matter to me anymore. Looking at the light switch through sleep-dazed eyes, it’s as if I see only half of the world, and through a lopsided gaze at that. The yellowing switch sat on a shiny, squarish, deep violet base, attached to the wall with a plastic lining of imitation stainless steel. Innocent-looking enough, but quite a pain. Then again, light switches aren’t meant to be bounced upon by world-weary heads. If only the switches worked, I probably would’ve given the lady seated next to me quite a bit of disco ambience. Maybe if I tilted my head a bit away, it wouldn’t magnetically connect with the enticing light switch every five minutes or so, depending on the bus’ speed. Hugging my backpack, I think sleep is a precious commodity, purchased only at the expense of projects unfinished, words unwritten, deeds left undone.

Leaning back into my seat, I try and recapture the elusive state of rest, sore temple and all.

New Year's Resolution

2006-01-12T15:33:00.000+08:00

In the year 2006 I resolve to:

Sell myself on ebay.

Get your resolution here

once grand

2006-01-02T15:28:00.000+08:00

The New Frontier Cinema Theater, Araneta Center, Cubao. With a seating capacity of 3,500, it was said to be the second largest theater in the world next to Radio City Music Hall. It was constructed in 1967. Now it looks so sad and old (at least from the outside). Photo taken from the Cineplex level at Gateway.

Either Or, Come What May

2005-12-31T08:45:00.000+08:00

2006 hasn't even begun, and already I'm feeling overwhelmed. I'm excited, but also quite exhausted. I'm coming down with a cold, and I'm breaking out.

I've learned so much this past year. And I'm thankful for so many things. I've made awesome new friends. I've gotten to know just how special some of my favorite people are. I've traveled to places I've never been to, I've savored coming home. I've discovered more of myself, and found out a bit more of what I really, really want. I've cried and cried and cried, and laughed my head off (not necessarily in that order). I've felt like a struggling neophyte and seasoned sage. And there's such a wide, wide world to explore, countless pairs of slippers to wear out, a gazillion books to read, pictures to paint, words to pen, and of course, the matter of learning to bike and to cook. Hehe.

"Live as if you were to die tomorrow, learn as if you were to live forever." - Mahatma Gandhi

I got that from the YSEI site.

I pray this new year, we all get to sit back, think about the past year, look to the new one, and smile. We've got a lot to do.

To All The Nadals Out There...

2005-12-26T09:35:00.000+08:00

A little bit of family name history. Thank you to Tito Sandro for providing this.

*****

The Spanish surname Nadal is of nickname origin, deriving from a nickname that was attributed to the original bearer of the name. In this instance, the surname deries from the Catalan word "Nadal", which means "Christmas", further derived from the Latin "dies natalis", or "date of birth", from the verb "nasci", meaning "to be born". In the earliest days of Christianity, "dies natalis" primarily referred to the day of martyrdom, which in turn was also the day of being born into eternal life. However, beginning with the fourth century, the phrase referred to the day of birth of Jesus, or Christmas. Since the ecclesiastical calendar became deeply rooted in folk tradition, many surnames arose from names of religious holidays. The nickname Nadal was thus given to someone who was born during the Christmas season or on Christmas Day. The name may have also arissen from the practice of owing a particular feudal duty to the lord of the manor during the month of December, or may have even been applied to an individual who gave a memorable performance in a church pageant depicting the events surrounding Christmas. The surname Nadal thus means "son or descendant of the one nicknamed Nadal". It is interesting to note that surnames are found in other European countries that derive from a similar origin, such as the English and French surname Noel and the Italian surname Natale.

In the archives we find the listing of several noble families bearing the surname Nadal whose ancestral seats were located in Catalonia, Aragon, and Mallorca. Notable bearers of the name included Father Jeronimo Nadal, who died in 1581, a Jesuit priest and friend of Saint Ignatius of Loyola, who helped to establish the Order of the Society of Jesus. Records also show that one Juan Bautista Nadal defended he town of Pollensa against the Moors in 1560.

*****

Of course, let's not forget Rafael (the tennis hotshot), and Kitchie. Hehehe.

Team 52

2005-12-24T08:39:00.000+08:00

So, my 2006 is already planned all the way until September. Sad thing is, I won't be there at the National Children's Book Day Awarding in July. This last quarter of the year has been something else. I have a lot to be thankful for.

*****

The British Council, VSO Philippines, and VSO Bahaginan, would like to thank everyone for participating in the GXP Assessment Days held at the Social Development Complex, Ateneo de Manila Campus in Quezon City last December 14 & 15. It was indeed a tough selection process for us as everyone did really well and impressed our selectors with your enthusiasm.

After deliberating the results of the interviews, and activities (as a group and in pairs), we are pleased to announce the selection of the following candidates who will compose the Filipino counterparts of the RP-UK Team 52 of GXP:

Bethany Basis
Rafael Diezmos (pending)
Hazel Galang
Behren Mendoza
Jalidah Moti
Marielle Nadal
Majella Pua
John Henry Sagun
Samsodin Tomawis

And placed on the reserve list are the following candidates:

Rhea Alba
Patrick Asinero
Jason Mortel

Congratulations!

in retrospect: my suicidal schedule

2005-12-19T11:39:00.000+08:00

I finally got to upload the photos from the digicam to Winston last night. Whew. Just thinking that all of this happened within the span of less than a month got me tired already. I thought it was just Christmas stress. With cramps kicking in and my left eye in a chronic spasm, I type away and present...the month (almost) that was (work and school aside).

Mishka Adams' Farewell Concert was the best concert I had attended all year. Maybe it was the intimacy of the venue (Music Museum) as compared with the mega-concerts at the Araneta. Somewhere between Tots Tolentino's mind-blowing saxophone solos and Cynthia Alexander's Moon River duet with Mishka, I found myself in audience rapture--and appreciating jazz even more. She really had excellent performers as guests, complementing her music perfectly. Her band, the Blue Echo was amazing too--it draws you in, the way they feel their music as they perform. It simply carries you away. After the concert, we stuck around and got our photo taken with Mishka. Bianca, on cloud nine, got her autograph.

Our organization's Christmas party was the night before. Dressed as gypsies, bohemians and retro kids, they partied while I snapped away. And won a rice cooker. Only to find out that my housemate, Angel won a complete kitchen showcase (rice cooker and ref included)! Wowie! When I got home, my dad happily presented what he won at their raffle--another rice cooker and a microwave oven. Puwedeng puwede na kaming mag rice party.

The Lantern Parade this year I found a bit somber. Not all colleges were required to participate, and those that did did so with minimal participation (e.g. carrying a banner and marching down the academic oval...where's the lantern?). Parang damang-dama mo ang austerity measures sa iilang mga lantern na pumarada. Fine Arts, being the only unit required to participate, delivered with their Earth, Wind, Fire and Water theme (where on earth did that come from?). I even saw Sir Mel Silvestre grading his students as they marched along with the parade. This year, lantern parade technology has evolved to include heavy use of rattan and japanese paper, aside from the usual use of materials such as sliced foam, and chicken wire and paper mache. This I would think, is Sir Mel's doing. That man is a genius (aside from being a really endearing college daddy-figure).

I had my first taste of suckao at the chocolate bar of 'that bald man' with Gay, Nowell and Bas.

The much-awaited second forum on art galleries sponsored by the Met Museum was some sort of a tragedy, with none of the expected speakers actually being there. That was more than made up for with a personal tour (c/o Dang), and quite a bit of ham photo-op moments with Gay, Nowell, Dang, Ajin, Matt and Irene.

Elvis Recharged was rained in, and plagued quite ironically, by brownouts. We left just when it was getting good. We did discover a really makulit band, FMD. The lead singer's stage antics, and the funny lyrics to their cover-spoofs made it worthwhile. Malate was the next stop that evening, with Reg singing the Indigo Girls' 'Galileo' with Cookie Chua and Color it Red at Unplugged.

Mom and Dad came home! And brought Winston a baby brother, Buboy. :-)

Caught Romulus d' Grayt at the PETA Theater with Dang and Dan. Sir Leo Abaya did the stage design. Save for miscalculated english captions, the humorous play on the fall of Rome was true to PETA form, with a dash of timely political innuendos.

Sir Joey Tanedo had an exhibit of photographs at the Oarhouse in Malate. Each photo a tale of his travels. I don't think I've ever laughed so hard in my life during the exhibit opening, with Herb, Marc and I listening to Chong's kakulitan, and to photojournalist Jay Directo's adventures and misadventures. Nabusog ako sa kakatawa. Tuloy, di ko naubos ang aking inorder na schnitzel.

More backtracked kuwentos to follow.

Mami moo-moo

2005-12-16T16:28:00.000+08:00

Mami moo-moo. Haha. Talk about regression. Poster paint and india ink. 11"x8.5".

Panalo si Buboy!

2005-12-14T09:20:00.000+08:00

It was rather surreal to see my name on someone else's blog. Someone whom I have never been introduced to, especially when my name is one of three listed in a press release of PBBY-Salanga Awardees! Woohoo! Congratulations to Ian Casocot and J. Dennis Teodosio (sana ma-meet ko kayo, at mabasa ang inyong mga kuwento). Salamat din kina Tita Kneekee, Dang, Julia, Herb, Kris, Tata, Gay and roomies Nowell, Vera and Angel for the input and taking time to read. Haha. Nowell tried to sell me an entirely different ending for that story.

What a nice bloghopping surprise.

Press Release:

For the 2006 PBBY-Salanga Prize, The Philippine Board on Books for Young People awards honorable mention to three authors: Ian Casocot (Rosario and Her Stories), J. Dennis Teodosio (Tonyong Turo), and Marielle Nadal (Can you see?). No grand prize was awarded this year.

The three winners shall be awarded cash and certificates from the National Library and the Cultural Center of the Philippines at the National Children's Book Day (NCBD) celebration in July 2006 to be held at the CCP.

Aside from being multi-awarded and well-published, Casocot maintains a website on Filipino writings and literary criticism. Like Casocot, Teodosio has also bagged many awards for his writing, including those for Best Screenplay at the Don Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards for Literature. Marielle Nadal, on the other hand, is a graphic artist by profession and works full-time at a foundation.

*****

Life is a tad bit more toxic than usual. Will update soon.

Mantra

2005-12-12T18:56:00.000+08:00

Mantra

fly fast,
fly.
leave,
and cry.
we
seek out
life
to lay
down
and
die.

Photo was taken at a bar in Malate.

Clarikitikitik en a Blue-Black Sheep

2005-11-22T10:18:00.000+08:00

Is it true, yes or no? This is my ate-ate-ate (though yes, she looks much younger than I!). Poster paint and india ink on illustration board. Size: 11 in x 8.5 in.

Sikat!

2005-11-21T13:14:00.000+08:00

(L) FPJ's deathmask (R) FA 221 sculptor-wannabes at the home of titser (si Vik ang may hawak ng camera)

Class last Saturday was quite interesting. It was an instant field trip to the home of our workshop teacher, Napoleon Abueva. From the white lincoln with NA plates to the ferris wheel of paintings, to the mobile bookshelves, to the swinging house--not to mention the moulds and art-utility pieces that decorated his home, it was all rather surreal. Can't wait to start chipping away at my piece of wood next Saturday. If only I had a design ready...

*****

Oh, and guess who's one of friendster's top searches (in my network anyway)? Buwahahahahaha. Sikat.

Daddy di do du

2005-11-15T11:06:00.000+08:00

Poster paint and india ink. This is my daddy-di-do-du! He's turning 61 next Saturday, and is quite eager to start using his senior citizen's card. *mwah* Happy Birthday daddy-o.

Closing Cycles

2005-11-11T11:24:00.000+08:00

Closing Cycles
By Paolo Coelho

One always has to know when a stage comes to an end. If we insist on staying longer than the necessary time, we lose the happiness and the meaning of the other stages we have to go through.

Closing cycles, shutting doors, ending chapters whatever name we give it, what matters is to leave in the past the moments of life that have finished. Did you lose your job? Has a loving relationship come to an end? Did you leave your parents' house? Gone to live abroad? Has a long-lasting friendship ended all of a sudden?

You can spend a long time wondering why this has happened. You can tell yourself you won't take another step until you find out why certain things that were so important and so solid in your life have turned into dust, just like that.

But such an attitude will be awfully stressing for everyone involved: your parents, your husband or wife, your friends, your children, your sister, everyone will be finishing chapters, turning over new leaves, getting on with life, and they will all feel bad seeing you at a standstill.

None of us can be in the present and the past at the same time, not even when we try to understand the things that happen to us. What has passed will not return: we cannot for ever be children, late adolescents, sons that feel guilt or rancor towards our parents, lovers who day and night relive an affair with someone who has gone away and has not the least intention of coming back.

Things pass, and the best we can do is to let them really go away. That is why it is so important (however painful it maybe!) to destroy souvenirs, move, give lots of things away to orphanages, sell or donate the books you have at home. Everything in this visible world is a manifestation of the invisible world, of what is going on in our hearts and getting rid of certain memories also means making some room for other memories to take their place.

Let things go. Release them. Detach yourself from them. Nobody plays this life with marked cards, so sometimes we win and sometimes we lose. Do not expect anything in return, do not expect your efforts to be appreciated, your genius to be discovered, your love to be understood. Stop turning on your emotional television to watch the same program over and over again, the one that shows how much you suffered from a certain loss: that is only poisoning you, nothing else.

Nothing is more dangerous than not accepting love relationships that are broken off, work that is promised but there is no starting date, decisions that are always put off waiting for the ideal moment. Before a new chapter is begun, the old one has to be finished: tell yourself that what has passed will never come back. Remember that there was a time when you could live without that thing or that person. Nothing is irreplaceable. A habit is not a need. This may sound so obvious, it may even be difficult, but it is very important.

Closing cycles. Not because of pride, incapacity or arrogance, but simply because that no longer fits your life. Shut the door, change the record, clean the house, shake off the dust. Stop being who you were, and change into who you are.

*****

I got the above text from Agatha's blog. Maybe someday I will discover the reason for my fascination with endings. With finishing things. I suppose it's like the excitement and anticipation of seeing a completed artwork.

*****

Walking along Paseo to lunch this afternoon, I saw a big orange cat occupying the sidewalk. It was sitting in the middle of a cluster of vendors, looking very much in place--actually looking like it owned the place. It was sitting/lying, the way cats do when engaged in licking bodily parts we wouldn't even imagine reaching ourselves, looking--nay, sizing up the people walking past--the way cats do while observing minions. The fat orange cat looked like some sort of lord being attended to by his subjects, possessing every right to occupy that portion of the Makati sidewalk. Natuwa ako sa kanya.

When you give a child a chainsaw...

2005-11-07T11:26:00.000+08:00

Raya had fun with the chainsaw at the Bangis shoot. For more photos, check this out.

Egg donations, anyone?

2005-10-28T10:28:00.000+08:00

This ad freaked me out. Small copy at the bottom reads "Help dreams come to life. Donate your eggs to an infertile couple."

With the Authoress and the Akafella

2005-10-23T14:07:00.000+08:00

At Tita Kneekee's booklaunch at PowerBooks! O di ba, with the prized authoress and the Akafella. That afternoon I met up with Ms. Olive, Paulo and Ria of the old Zobel PPRO notoriety. It's nice seeing how much people have changed, and have stayed the same. I like it when I see changes. Funny though if you look at it superficially--I think I've changed quite a bit since high school. But at this point, with the weight gain aside, I'm back to almost the way I looked then--long hair, ponytail and all.

*****

These days, I always seem to be on the edge. Teeter-tottering on a tightrope of commitments and expectations. I'm still teaching myself to know which ones I can let go of. Liminal, I think would be an appropriate term for my current state. With everything bearing on me, I feel I can snap at anytime. And I actually did yesterday. There are times when my eyes just well up on random occasions. I think I need a shrink. Hahaha. It actually helps to worry about someone else. Sometimes. It helps when you don't think of yourself.

gasp

2005-10-17T11:58:00.000+08:00

Which poem are you?

Sonnet 17 by Pablo Neruda

Aw, you're a romantic. You believe in true love and all that sort of stuff. How cute are you? To you, love is incredible and amazing.

Click Here to Take This Quiz
Brought to you by YouThink.com quizzes and personality tests.

Power Plays

2005-10-17T10:52:00.000+08:00

it's amazing to see how much
power skips and dances
prances
around the four corners of a table
glances
from the corner of your eye
laughter
makes matters more trivial
than they are--
the giants titter, chuckle,
spurn
and reduce obstinacy to
mere pouting play.

Spacing out during meetings produces poems.

What My Underwear Says About Me (daw)

2005-10-11T17:53:00.000+08:00

What Your Underwear Says About You

You like your underwear to make you feel girlish and pretty. Let's hope you're a chick.

You're comfortable in your own skin - and don't care to impress anyone.

The Underwear Oracle

Kulay ng Pangarap

2005-10-11T09:33:00.000+08:00

Art with abandon. "Kulay ng Pangarap" was the theme of the activity organized by the UP Special Education Council in coordination with ArtPlay. Roughly 143 kids assembled at the University Hotel to sling paint, listen to stories, sing their hearts out and dance to Spaghetti.

Photos courtesy of Marc San Valentin.

(L) Imagine listening to heavy metal music at the climax of the song. Imagine the lyrics of the song as "aaaaarhhhhtttt, we make AAAARRRHHHTTTTT...rowrrrr roooowwwwrrrr". But no. We were listening to the William Tell Overture and the Sexbomb's Spaghetti. Art explosion!
(R) See our headbands? We are the Darna.

(L) May and her kids. (R) The ArtPlay head teacher crew led by Ma'am Mitzi!

Beybeh

2005-09-27T08:19:00.000+08:00

Congratulations to my cousin Clarisse Punzalan-Trinh! She, Khoa and Maliah have another baby girl (I'm assuming girl ha--Kaylani ang pangalan e. Is that Hawaiian?)! Yikeee, a new baby girlie in the famileee.

Congrats din sa isang kapatid--he oh-so-casually texted a day before his wedding that he was getting hitched! Hahaha...only you men, only you can do that. Ipagpaumanhin ang aming rush na regalo. :-)

I Miss the Tea-With-Milk at Kha's.

2005-09-22T08:42:00.000+08:00

It's such a relief when you can be comfortably silent with someone. :-) Thank you Gladys.

***

Cine Europa! (Huhu. I hope I can watch)

***
I'm still agonizing over my paper for AS 245. I fear an incomplete is in the offing. It's a good thing I'm not as grade-conscious as I was when I was an undergrad (who am I kidding).

***
I suddenly remembered that I attended my first mobilization as a curious sophomore 5 years ago yesterday--September 21. I remember walking around Liwasang Bonifacio with Jaime and Jeff Evil (who was then actively recruiting for Alay Sining). The anti-Erap campaign was beginning. I remember Guingona giving a particularly fiery speech. I remember the effigies, the heat and the people. Armed with my beloved Canon A-1, we climbed trucks (I struggled), snapped photos and watched the programme. I was particularly excited about that roll of film I had, because I took it with me to the Libingan ng mga Bayani when I went there with my Dad later on that week. I had a lot of shots I was eager to see. But when I got to the dark room to develop my film, I tragically discovered that the film wasn't properly placed, and so it didn't advance. None of the photos were recorded. And all the while I didn't notice the film wasn't advancing! Hindi kumagat. I felt like crying.

Tough lesson.

Sometimes Moon Moment

2005-09-20T08:37:00.000+08:00

I was listening to music last night when all of a sudden I remembered the full moon in Palawan. We were walking home from the shop where we borrowed our snorkeling gear. It was nighttime. It wasn't that late, and the streets of sleepy El Nido were just that--sleepy. Not much night life except for a couple of seedy-looking bars and good old Squido's with the satellite TV. We decided to walk along the shoreline. Stowing our slippers on the steps of one of the beachfront houses, we waded as far as we could without getting our clothes wet (we happily failed there). There was a moderate surf, just enough for your toes to tease the breaking waves for a moment before running back to shore, laughing and shrieking while the waves sigh at their inability to follow. We waded once again, this time holding ground against the waves. We just stood there, facing the full moon, holding hands and soaking in the moment--the wind, the sound of the surf and the smell of the sea. The sky was dark, but everything seemed to reflect a certain luminescence--the coconut trees, the beached fishing boats, the houses with their fading lights, the froth of the waves and the powdery sand. It's a poem of a memory I have yet to translate.

Otso-otso

2005-09-16T08:36:00.000+08:00

My lola lydia celebrated her 88th birthday early this month. Huwaw. 88. My mum had me make a powerpoint show for the party. I learned how to put music into a powerpoint presentation. Hehehe. Many thanks to Kris and his dad for the music. Here are some pictures of the party. Wish I was there.

(L) Six out of ten of lola's kids--mum's in bright orange; (R) 2/4 of the lovely Nadal kids (shet, ang gaganda ng mga kapatid ko)

(L) Lola Lydia! (R) Hindi ko kaya. Nag-magic sing sila gamit ang projector!

Photos courtesy of Clarisse.

In the meantime, I'm trying to relate my remembering my dreams (my other self trying to tell something to my waking self, according to Dang) to my PMS. I'm going for a mystical-psychic-powers-triggered-by-that-time-of-the-month kind of angle. Isn't too far-fetched, huh?

I Like Being Sad

2005-09-15T18:44:00.000+08:00

We celebrate sadness. And happiness. Not to worry though. This is probably just PMS. :-P Daytime scribbles to a good friend.

gusto ko ang sinasara ko ang mata ko kapag nakikinig ako at pinapakinggan ang kalungkutan ng kanta... i figured sadness sometimes moves me more than happiness. maybe it's because sadness is something that has to be wallowed in. happiness is a cloud-mist-bliss type of feeling--best when shared. sadness is your own. my own. and my own to expel--by painting, writing. happiness has never moved me to paint or write. happiness is something to enjoy and savor--and take pictures of. sadness is something to look back at in some processed form you expel. you release it from yourself, give it away. it becomes a creation, something foreign, something other (forgive me ma'am datuin for using the term out of context. i just appropriated it and made it mine)...

And you know what? When sadness moves me to create, I love it.

the blower's daughter
damian rice

and so it is
just like you said it would be
life goes easy on me
most of the time
and so it is
the shorter story
no love no glory
no hero in her skies
i can't take my eyes off of you
and so it is
just like you said it should be
we'll both forget the breeze
most of the time
and so it is
the colder water
the blower's daughter
the pupil in denial
i can't take my eyes off of you
did I say that I loathe you?
did I say that I want to
leave it all behind?
i can't take my mind off of you
my mind
'til I find somebody new

Lumpiang Ubod and a Strange Dream

2005-09-13T09:20:00.000+08:00

I remembered my dream, I remembered my dream!

I took a nap last night upon getting home--that was around ten. I was quite shocked when I woke up and looked at my watch--almost seven in the morning! I tried to remember if I set my alarm clock and celphone alarm...I vaguely recall doing so. Then it came back to me--running, running, recalling the look and feel of the neighborhood I was running in. I remember making my way through a neighborhood, one I was familiar with. Nice, well-kept houses. Big ones too. Upper-middleclass neighborhood. Family members spending time outside on their front lawns. I was running, the way I used to jog around the village. But somehow the way I was running felt the way you feel when you try to run underwater. A kind of slomo, exaggerated kind of running. I recall being puzzled at this resistance to my movement. But I kept running. Then I remembered I was running out of time, I think I had an appointment or something. Then I got lost. For some reason, this neighborhood reminded me of my village, and yet it wasn't. It's a neighborhood I've been in before, maybe in another dream (haha, may parallel universe na ako doon). I got a little panicked, and put in more effort in trying to reach my destination (wherever that was). I even remember asking for directions. I just had to get to my destination, and time was running out.

Then I remember meeting up with Dang (yes, you were in my dream! Along with some of your siblings and relatives--weird noh?). We were submitting entries to a competition. I don't know what kind, it wasn't a painting competition. From some urban commercial district where the world outside seemed to have the quality of scratchy celluloid film, we took a cab and met up with some of your siblings and cousins (that is soooo weird). We were all gathered in a room, and we were informally talking about our submissions. Agh. I have nooooo idea what that can mean. Too fragmented.

Maybe it's all of the lumpiang ubod I consumed yesterday. I had one during lunch, I had three for dinner, then one for breakfast this morning. At least fresh lumpia is healthy. Hehehe.

German English

2005-09-05T08:20:00.000+08:00

This post on the Stand-Up egroup from Jpaul made my Monday morning.

News Flash:

European Commission has just announced an agreement whereby English will be the official language of the European Union rather than German, which was the other possibility.

As part of the negotiations, the British Government conceded that English spelling had some room for improvement and has accepted a 5-year phase-in plan that would become known as "Euro-English".

In the first year, "s" will replace the soft "c". Sertainly, this will make the sivil servants jump with joy. The hard "c" will be dropped in favour of "k". This should klear up konfusion, and keyboardskan have one less letter.

There will be growing publik enthusiasm in the sekond year when the troublesome "ph" will be replaced with "f". This will make words like fotograf 20% shorter.

In the 3rd year, publik akseptanse of the new spelling kan be expekted to reach the stage where more komplikated changes are possible. Governments will enkourage the removal of double letters which have always ben a deterent to akurate speling. Also, al wil agre that the horibl mes of the silent"e" in the languag is disgrasful and it should go away.

By the 4th yer people wil be reseptiv to steps such as replasing "th" with "z" and "w" with "v".

During ze fifz yer, ze unesesary "o" kan be dropd from vords kontaining "ou" and after ziz fifz yer, ve vil hav a reil sensibl riten styl. Zer vil be no mor trubl or difikultis and evrivun vil find it ezi tu understand ech oza. Ze drem of a united urop vilfinali kum tru.

Und efter ze fifz yer, ve vil al be speking German like zey vunted inze forst plas.

So, How Do You Want Your Women?

2005-09-01T08:45:00.000+08:00

Driving down the South Superhighway with my brother last Sunday evening, I couldn't help but notice the huge Dove billboards on their Campaign for Real Beauty. Challenging the stereotype of beauty shoved down women's throats through different media, they try to show that real beauty is skin deep through a series of events and awareness materials. A laudable effort, really. But why was I bothered by the huge billboards showing women, and then the tallied options of dichotomized physical traits (such as fat or thin--okay, okay, they didn't exactly use those terms, but you get the picture)? On the website, with all the explanations, and complementary information on "real beauty," it didn't seem as weird. But up there, on a billboard surrounded by other billboards of waif-like models, the photograph of the woman and the tallied options looked more like a menu to me. So, how do you want your woman? Fat, or thin? On that billboard in that particular location, the woman seemed objectified. With the tallied options there indicating the number of people who prefer fat or thin, you couldn't see past that--fat or thin. You couldn't see past her physical appearance, because that is precisely what is being served up to you on a silver platter. It seems like an alternative campaign on physical appearance. Up there on the billboard, that is exactly what it is. I don't know anything else about this plus-sized woman, apart from the fact that she is plus-sized (and attractive).

Their other events, like their essay writing contest for teens (in the US), are good efforts of instilling self-esteem beyond physical appearance in young women. But their ads for me are something else. With anonymous women gracing billboards, and people voting on options regarding appearance, it doesn't go beyond the physical. I don't know anything else about that woman. I only see her physical traits. So, sino ang ahensyang namamahala sa kampanyang ito?

Y.E.L.L.E.

2005-08-30T18:32:00.000+08:00

Hahaha, natuwa ako dito. Bakit parang andami kong blog ngayong araw na ito. E ang heggard heggard ng panahon. Hmmm. As soon as I get over my 3 reports for my 2 classes tomorrow--haaaaaay.

This is my cyborg name. Hmmm. Ano kaya ang Ytterbium?

Microsoft Bintana

2005-08-30T12:41:00.000+08:00

Access to Yahoo has been returned. Yahoo!

WTF???!!!!

2005-08-30T08:55:00.000+08:00

National crises aside, some of us have problems of our own. My stint with the web-based e-messenger was short-lived. Everything Yahoo is blocked (yes, that includes my email, my yahoo groups, etc.). This is the unofficial declaration of virtual martial law. What about my 3,000++ unread messages in Yahoo??? What about my academic-socio-civic yahoo groups? Not to mention my let's-keep-in-touch yahoo groups??? Waaahhh.

I really don't understand. In international offices, they even use Yahoo Messenger to communicate internally, the way Joy and I used to do (in the days that YM wasn't yet banned). Filtering viruses and making a kickass firewall isn't that big a problem for them. And I would think these younger companies are more liberal when it comes to the internet (meaning they aren't as technophobic, meaning they're more adventurous when it comes to surfing, downloading, etc.). Grrr.

Ibabaw Cubao

2005-08-23T16:29:00.000+08:00

The culprits: Dan, Dang and Yelle. The happy victim: Bern. With Paulo in absentia, we kidnapped Bern from her animation workshop (pero sakay kami sa kotse niyang siya ang nagda-drive), and headed for the Marikina Shoe Expo to check out the garage sale at Blacksoup Interactive. Dinner at Bellini's (tama si Dan, quatro fromage rocks) where we got entertained by a magician/social science teacher. We checked out the exhibit at Future Concepts (tama nga ba?) where we chanced upon a Roberto Chabet (Father of Philippine Conceptual Art) sighting. Whenever I see him at an exhibit, he's always seated on a chair, his cane resting on the side, with disciples seated on the floor around him. I wonder what they talk about. Feeling ko no matter how much I study theory, I will never understand their art. Pero mababaw lang ako, and just viewing and speculating about their pieces does quite a bit for me. Pang mass culture ang aesthetic sensibilities ko, hehehe. Sorry, Adorno.

Photos courtesy of Bern. Ayun, goofing around Vintage Pop.

Of Happy Thoughts and One Night Stands

2005-08-12T10:15:00.000+08:00

"So is this what a one night stand feels like?" I joked, getting ready to head out the door to work.

My sister burst out laughing. "But you're not a boy!!!"

My flight attendant ate is in town for a 24-hour layover. Whenever these occasions arise, the whole family troops to the hotel to greet and eat, and those of us who have no problems falling asleep at anyplace at anytime sleep over. With Eleanor in the States, the sleep-overee would be me. Medyo nakakamiss, sharing a bed, confiding things in sisterly intimacy.

Of course I wouldn't elaborate on what we talked about, but I would like to say that I'm glad to see my ate this way. She seems more strong-willed and she knows what she wants. I'm happy for her, and I know fortune shall not delay for those who do not dilly-dally (like me).

She also hand-delivered this cute kitty postcard. Chinese Cats - Cat 5 by Cheng Dehong. I love postcards. Kung may lalabas ng bansa, ito ang ipasalubong niyo sa akin ha? Hehehe. May sulat man o wala. Pero siyempre mas gusto kong may sulat.

*****

Thank you Gladys for the happy thoughts. She sent me these:

Waking up to the sound of a flowing river.
Surviving a muddy and slippery hike.
Native pigs eating grass (my favorite).

*****

AUGUST
Adrienne Rich

Two horses in yellow light
eating windfall apples under a tree

as summer tears apart milkweeds stagger
and grasses grow more ragged

They say there are ions in the sun
neutralizing magnetic fields on earth

Some way to explain
what this week has been, and the one before it!

If I am flesh sunning on rock
if I am brain burning in fluorescent light

if I am dream like a wire with fire
throbbing along it

if I am death to man
I have to know it

His mind is too simple, I cannot go on
sharing his nightmares

My own are becoming clearer, they open
into prehistory

which looks like a village lit with blood
where all the fathers are crying: My son is mine!

*****

Happy birthday, Tita Gang! *mwah*

Heto Pa

2005-08-08T14:09:00.000+08:00

There's also the German Silent Film Festival featuring the films of Fritz Lang. Libre ito. Yahoo. Every Thursday of August, 8 PM, SM Megamall.

Schedule of Film screenings:
• August 4 - METROPOLIS, music by Rubber Inc
• August 11 - SPIES, music by The Sammy Asuncion Group
• August 18 - DR. MABUSE, THE GAMBLEr, music by Tots Tolentinoand Buhay
• August 25 - DESTINY, music by Cynthia Alexander

There are also advanced screenings of Dekalog by Polish filmmaker Krzysztof Kieslowski. Pero sa SM Centerpoint at SM Manila lang. Malayo. Wahahahaaaa. Check out the 2005 Cinemanila website.

May I Plug

2005-08-08T13:47:00.000+08:00

The Ang Ilustrador ng Kabataan (Ang INK) Annual Exhibit is coming up! Entitled ANIMALAYA (wehehe), it was organized in coordination with Haribon Foundation, and will showcase various species of endangered animals rendered by Inkies within the context of different environmental issues. Opening is at 5:30 PM on August 23, 2005 at the Marikina Riverbanks Mall. May libreng pagkain!

During the meeting last Saturday, a bunch of interesting workshop schedules at the Raya School were also passed around. Here are a couple I'm quite interested in:

BOOKBINDING 101

Part 1 (Sept. 17, 1-4 PM, Workshop Fee: PhP1,100.00, inclusive of journaling kit)
Part 2 (Sept. 24, 1-4 PM, Workshop Fee: PhP1,100.00, inclusive of journaling kit)

This workshop introduces the participants to different media and techniques in bookbinding. Included are basic cover production and binding for ring bound journals, accordion card binding, and Japanese book binding techniques.

Production output: 1 mini journal (2" x 3") and 1 regular size journal (8.5" x 11") using the Japanese book binding technique, one ledger type journal, and 1 accordion-type card

ADVANCED BOOKBINDING

(October 1, 9-3 PM, Workshop Fee: PhP 850, inclusive of lunch)

This workshop introduces participants to different media and techniques in creating a hardbound journal using non-traditional materials.

Production output: 1 mini journal (2" x 3") and 1 regular size journal (8.5" x 11")

To find out more, check out Winnie D' Stitch Witch.

Colorful Socks

2005-08-05T13:05:00.000+08:00

Peering into the gloomy room, my eyes were drawn to the little stripes of color at the far end. What colorful socks! The ones with little toes on the ends, no less! My cheery heart began to sink though when I began to notice that the socks were clinging to feet and legs that hardly filled them in. I looked at the children that lay there, and they stared back, not at me, but at the ceiling. Instead of the childish mirth one would expect from the excited and curious eyes of kids faced with a camera, theirs were blank. At least, the expressions on their faces were foreign to me. I couldn't tell if they were happy or annoyed. They just lay there. In a screened-in room filled with laughter, crying and garbled sounds of children trying to communicate, four children stricken with cerebral palsy silently lay there, their heads supported by the special cradles that held their bodies, their legs and feet dangling too-large, colorful socks in a futile attempt to dress up their sedentary lives.

Nahirapan akong kunan sila ng litrato. One thing I love about my job is that I get to take photographs of different people--youth, children, mothers, fathers, board members, organizers, and the different personalities that color the development sphere. Children are special. They are visions of happy thoughts that enthrall you one moment, and then splat you with baby food or worse in the next. Their energy and camera-hungry-pogi-poses leave me staring out into black holes in the galactic cosmos at the end of the day, mind-numbed and tired. But you take delight at having partaken of their mirth, and will go back again and again to capture what can be shared. It is terribly wrong to see children this way. Instead of seeing wonder in their faces, you see unchanging expressions of expectant monotony. Instead of life and liveliness, you begin to see what each day is like for them--still and silent.

The Yellow Paperclip with Bright Purple Spots

2005-08-01T10:05:00.000+08:00

My dear tita moon-lover friend Kneekee (popularly known as Nikki) has a book! The Yellow Paperclip with Bright Purple Spots is this year's PBBY-Salanga winner. Her story chronicles the adventures of a unique little paperclip. The book is beatifully illustrated by May Ann Licudine, this year's PBBY-Alcala winner. It'll be launched next month at Powerbooks! Yiheee! Sikaaaaat! I'm so proud of you, Tita Kneekee! Congratulations!

Clarisse, you have a special mention here, as the flight attendant to whom our yellow paperclip (with bright purple spots) temporarily belonged to. Pati uniform mo, kuha! I'll get you a copy when it's launched. ;-) Yikeeeee.

The Present

2005-07-29T16:14:00.000+08:00

Before Expiration

I couldn't put it away.
Not in the back pages of a journal.
Maybe I can tie it onto the tail of a balloon,
and send it floating into the sky.
Seal it into an envelope,
and send it far, far away.

It would still come back.
Return to sender, it would say,
stamped in severe, red ink.

Return to sender, it would say.
There was no mailing address to begin with.
How should I know where it's headed?

But I want to put it away,
lest I see it
dry and die,
the leftover dredges
of consumed tea in a cup,
bitter to the taste.

When the Past Comes A-Knocking

2005-07-29T14:45:00.000+08:00

You are caught by surprise. I was more surprised by how I felt.

Free Filling

In the sameness
and smallness
of your eyes,
I see
the reflection of
everyone around us,
watching us
as we are about to speak.

Silence settles
and shushes
the murmurings in their minds.

Fearing the void
any idle tongue can fill,
I gather a handful of words,
and toss them into the air with a laugh.
They springkle
and tinkle
and drift to the floor.

Then the shimmer
and sentiment settle,
and all that is left
is the sound
of the shovel
scraping the ground.

Still Life

2005-04-14T13:59:00.000+08:00

The Photography Workshop at the International Student Festival in Ilmenau 2003 (ISFIT) had my Polish roommate Agata and I snapping away all over the sleepy university town.

(L-R) Wishies by the Fence; Self-Portrait in a Store Window, Downtown Ilmenau
These were scanned from film. There were too many participants in the workshop for the darkroom to accommodate, so we weren't able to print all of our shots.

(L-R) Manuel; Sidewalk Flowers and Drain

Margarita
This is one photograph I got to print. Unfortunately, it turned brown with time, as the fixer I used wasn't enough. What you see is from the negative. It's scratched. Tsk, tsk. Margarita is an Italian participant at the student festival. A very charming and affectionate lady.

Manuel's Guitar
It was black and shiny.

The festival's theme was Because the People Matter. Since this was a unique gathering of photographers from all around the world, I would've liked to continue the exchange of images through a website, one wherein we could still share photographs on different subjects, make statements and exchange criticism. Unfortunately, it never fell through.

Early Shots

2005-04-14T09:19:00.000+08:00

These are some of the first shots I took while studying Photography under Eli Africa at UPCFA (SY 2000-2001).

(L-R): Classroom doorway at the UP College of Fine Arts; Bathroom at an ancestral house in Vigan, Ilocos Sur
Sir Eli's method of teaching didn't dwell on the technical. He basically taught us how to use our cameras. Armed with the basic knowledge of the interplay of lighting, film rating, aperture and shutterspeed, he released us, with the one assignment of submitting 40 prints at the end of the semester. I never learned to use my Canon A-1's light meter until after that year. These shots were taken with gut feel on lighting. According to my dear professor, technical skills are secondary. What is important is the concept, the eye. Photography forces you to take notice of things people normally don't pay attention to.

(L-R) Potter's wheel at the Burnayan in Ilocos Sur; Stairs at the Light House in Ilocos Norte
These shots were taken summer of 2001. I still didn't rely on my light meter then. Angles and objects and ordinary things...

(L-R) Day Care Kids, Boy with what appears to be endangered cotton candy at the Holy Cross Memorial Park
I learned I like capturing moments rather than rehearsed shoots. I used only natural light then, mainly because I didn't have a flash. And even if I did have one, I didn't even know how to use a light meter...

Portrait, ancestral house in Ilocos Sur, summer 2001
Every photographer likes doing this, admit it. This was on a field trip for my Humanities class under Roselle Pineda. My classmates liked being included in almost every frame.

Lonely Mangrove, Ilocos Sur, summer 2001
Stormy weather makes for interesting shots.

Slaughterhouse, Ilocos Sur, 2000
Some images are better seen in black and white. This shot I developed and printed.

Sunrise Cat, 2001
The pet cat of my apartment floor. My apartment building then was named Sunrise (Hills Homes).

Pangarap at Hinaing, 2000
This was taken during one of the demonstrations leading to the EDSA uprising of 2001, at the Liwasang Bonifacio facing the Post Office in Manila.

Pray for Us Here Below, 2000
A view from below. This is the my parish church, St. James the Great. Film used is a special type, processed with color chemicals, but comes out in black and white/sepia.

Dawn from the Roof
The multicolored sky at the beginning of the day.

writing with light

And the Path Points To...

Because endings are beginnings.

Jinjie Belene Carlos

Entries for Philippine Speculative Fiction

First Summer Haiku

Rusty Poetry

blogging miles

Thank you, Jesus!

planning snapshots

Crem Crem

He rolled off the bed.

blogging for dear life

Asking the Right Questions

mutterings in the back row

wedding petals

pigs fly!

Untitled

submerged

notes from the wireless front

it's been a while

i need bigger eyes.

The Nose in Nostalgia

the start of another story

test

the pressure is on

say it with me

pelikula at pundaquit

woohoo!

doing it the fred flintstone way

silence and the sound

googlism

Doing my geisha walk in the rain

I'm the most dangerous kind of evil.

Snippets from Around the World

"Nid som1, alon in life"

Colombo

Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

"If I were to become a priest, I would be a Jesuit."

I'm not even a small fish

There Are No Heroes.

Can You See?

The hullabaloo about Easter eggs

Revolutionary Petunias

On turning 25 and other things

Shhhh.

Hopes and Hopes

Surreal

Breastmilk is still best for babies.

twenty minute verses

Illustrate, illustrate!

Brokeback to the Future!

Offering

Idea!ists, unite!

In Transit #1

New Year's Resolution

once grand

Either Or, Come What May

To All The Nadals Out There...

Team 52

in retrospect: my suicidal schedule

Mami moo-moo

Panalo si Buboy!

Mantra

Clarikitikitik en a Blue-Black Sheep

Sikat!

Daddy di do du

Closing Cycles

When you give a child a chainsaw...

Egg donations, anyone?

With the Authoress and the Akafella

*gasp*

Power Plays

What My Underwear Says About Me (daw)

Kulay ng Pangarap

Beybeh

I Miss the Tea-With-Milk at Kha's.

Sometimes Moon Moment

Otso-otso

I Like Being Sad

gasp