space filler

Dear God...

2008-08-14T18:56:00.003+08:00

I talked to Tatay yesterday and he told me that things are not getting better for him.

It was almost two years ago when we found out that he has cancer. Since then, we have been praying for healing and complete recovery. His doctor told him that he has a few months left and You have blessed him to be alive until now.

In those months of treatment and medications, You have taught us more about the meaning of family, of relationships and of life. You taught us that above all things, the love that binds us as a family is far greater than the collective achievements that we have as a family. You have showed us how you blessed our parents' vows with compassion amidst all the trials they have to go through. You have blessed us to bond together in places we never imagined of reaching. In your perfect timing, you gave us hope when it was needed most. You showered us with financial blessings to keep us afloat through all these. You have given my mother strength to go through all these things.

You made me realize that I am so blessed with my parents. You made me realize that I am so blessed with my father.

You have healed my father in so many ways. And you have healed this family too.

And I thank you. Thank you for each day that you have given to my dad. Thank you for my mother who stood by her "in sickness and in health" vow. Thank you for giving her strength and I pray that You continue to bless her steadfastness and fortitude.

Lord, I pray that you give my father resilience. Lord, soothe his body and comfort him in each day. And if indeed his time comes to meet You on that beautiful shore, I pray that You take him with You in peace and without pain.

In Jesus' name, Amen.

Ploning

2008-05-01T00:27:00.004+08:00

Quiet.

Pretty much like the islands of Cuyo, Ploning is one quiet movie. A story of a young man in search for his past pegged at a 30-year old spinster named Ploning, who in turn, has her own story to tell. Around Ploning, are stories of a cripple mother, a dying father, a city girl who tries to look for her life being due in giving one, a hermit wife left by her husband, a strong-willed mother who, just like salt melts down in the rain, and a young boy, with his fragile memory lapses, weaves the entire plot. All set in a picturesque island somewhere in the Sulu Sea where Taiwanese fishermen would often illegally fare. Just like Cuyo, Ploning is a visual feast. An excusable indulgence, I would say, how can you possibly not put postcard worthy scenes if your location is such a place?

Ploning, the character as portrayed by Judy Ann Santos parallels with the first scenes of the mysterious 'Malena'- beautiful and quiet, making everyone ask and later on, pass judgments. Admittedly, in as much as you want to think Ploning is mysterious, it is a bit difficult to rub Judy Ann Santos (the star) off the character. Yet her being such impales you to your seat to be more curious about the entire story. She is crisp and fresh and unpolluted. Eugene Domingo who portrayed the cripple mother to the young Digo, outshone everyone with her poignant comic timing. Very controlled at her finest moment though it became a bit indulgent at the very end of the scene. Still, she already mastered in giving one an emotional roller coaster ride. Another noteworthy actor is the young Cedric Amit. He exuded innocence with a bit of guilt. A character of perfect young boy, curious and clingy, Amit's presence was apt to be put side by side with the named actors in the movie. Meryl Soriano's Alma is understated and sympathetic while Ces Quesada (as Nieves) is as 'natural' as the island itself.

It is commendable that the movie employed Cuyun-on almost half the time. And mixing it with Tagalog is not distracting at all. Admittedly, a few of the actors fell short in mastering the language but generally, they succeeded in pinching the Cuyun-on/Kiniray-a/Hiligaynon speaking audience's heart. It was a bit disturbing though that Ilonggo was inserted while Meryl Soriano showed only a hint of the intonation amidst the trite 'guid' suffixed to almost all of her sentences.

Together with the language, the story on traditions and customs abound the island are scattered in the segmented plot. Keeping it just above the surface, the ati-ati, the baile, the can of lychee tell so much of the people in such locality. For me, this was the director's (Garcia) finest moments. To tell such story, one has to experience it at least once in his life. To capture it in film, one has to live it.

'Ploning' is a breath of fresh air. A quiet movie which is intelligent and a bit indulgent. Practically, what this industry needs nowadays.

Thank you...

2008-04-29T13:24:00.003+08:00

September of 2006 marked the start of trying times in our family. It happened when all spirits were high and things are going well then we found out that my father has hepa B and liver cancer. The news tore my mom apart. I can still remember that very morning my sister told me about it. I can still remember my mom breaking down at the corridor of St. Luke's. I have blogged it several times.

Amidst all that, we (my eldest sister most especially) sought all avenues and means to 'do something' about my dad's illness. While all these are happening, my mom, who is fervent in her faith, continued to sing her Psalms and brought her petitions to the Great Healer. We all did.

It was eighteen months ago. Eighteen months after his first doctor told him that he has an estimated six months left to live.

Last week, we celebrated my dad's 68th birthday.

I just can't help but sing my Psalms in silence. Fervently.

moving out---moving in

2008-03-24T00:05:00.001+08:00

The last week was short of a trauma for me. No amount of work/projects/rakets can compete with 'moving houses'.

Thankfully, there's Lyn-lyn, my new ward. She stayed with me until five in the morning just trying to arrange and clean everything that was left from my already edited household stuff. There's Zaki and the boys of my contractor to transfer my furniture pieces and appliances making use of the trolley that Ricci sold me half the price.

Thankfully, Nanay and Tatay, and Mama Son got dragged to aid my already ailing finances.

Here's a glimpse of the house. It is not done yet. My table is still not here and so is my drop-light. I still dream of a flat TV though the wall for it is already done. There is no turning back now...

Dining area. Still using my old table which will be converted to a study when the base of my dining table arrives.

The bedroom. The bed is a gift from my contractor. Headboard is made of scrap hardwood.

The living area with the toille paded wall. At the far end is my work station. And yes, it is a view to behold.

Foul

2008-02-29T23:05:00.004+08:00

It was last September when I opened an account with Banco de Oro, Megamall (one beside National Bookstore). It was one of those desperate times when I needed to buy dollars and BDO can sell me at least a thousand only if I have an account with them. It was a no brainer really since BDO is one of the most reputable banks in the country in terms of stability and customer service.

I was wrong.

They gave me a 'temporary' ATM card without my name in it. I was made to believe that I will get my card two weeks after. It was ok, I will be out of Manila for about a month. Then come December, I went to the branch to get my card- the one with my name on it. They told me that I did not apply for a replacement card so they have nothing to give me. The one who told me that I will get my ATM card after two weeks already resigned. So it was pointless for me to actually rant about it. Still, not being able to help myself, I told them that I was not informed of the procedure. If I was told earlier, then I could have applied for the new card way back September. Having said that, I signed the application form for the replacement card. And paid a hundred pesos for a piece of new plastic.

That was last December. This afternoon, I went back to BDO to get my card. Then there was this flushed face in front of me, same expression as the last time when I was applying. And after running to and fro, trying to talk to her boss without me hearing or seeing them, she came back telling me that my card is not with them anymore. It has lapsed its maturity period of sixty days.

Trying to be sunny about it, I asked her, "So, what do we do?"

She then answered me, "Kayo sir, kayo po ang bahala."

What the f.3.?!?

First, I have no idea about that maturity thing. I was told that I can get it after two weeks. I was never informed that it should be not later than sixty days.

Second, this is not the first time that I am confronted with this dilemma. It's deja vu! She then told me to re-apply and pay another hundred bucks. As if the damage is not yet enough!

Third, going to Megamall, No, parking in Megamall is no walk in the park. I have already told them that I don't go there often. I would, before, when I used to walk from Galleria to Mega but now that I drive, it's just too much hassle especially that there is this endless construction going on.

It was such a cloudy day that my sunny disposition led me out of the bank to actually vent the tempest out to my friend who referred me to that specific branch. He then told me that he can't do anything about it so he suggests that I'll just do what they said.

It was unacceptable.

I hurriedly went back inside the mall and was suddenly stopped by the guard saying that the bank is about to close. I told him that my passbook is still inside. He made me wait for fifteen minutes outside then the girl went out carrying my passbook, whining, "Ano na sir? Kayo po, anong balak niyo?"

It was a cloudy day. I told her, "Huwag mong ibalik sa akin ang problema, if you have informed me beforehand, this will not happen. Ikaw yung naka-usap ko before, and you exacty know how exasperated I was and now... Oh well, nevermind. I'll close my account next week."

Got my passbook and left.

"Idol Niya si Rizal"

2008-02-11T05:06:00.000+08:00

With due apologies, I am again reposting my sister's blog here (again, without her consent...)

photo from www.abs-cbnnews.com

For four days now, my husband and I had devoured the local news. As a result, as the events of this week unfolded, I became awashed not just with feelings of disgust (for the despicable Arroyo government), empathy (for Jun Lozada and family), and grief (for our beloved Philippines). On top of all these mixed emotions, nostalgia crept in, especially as I look at our 2-year old daughter.

I was younger than our little girl when martial law was declared. I did not have any recollection of the events, but my parents would remind me quite often that among the first phrases I said as a child was the slogan “Sa ikauunlad ng bayan, disiplina ang kailangan.”

What I remembered clearly though was how it was growing in NPA-infested Panay in the 70’s and 80’s. And how in the early 80’s I would often hear my father saying that Marcos was the number one recruiter of the NPA’s as by oppressing people, he (Marcos) had actually forced them (the people) to go the hills. I also remembered my mother packing things during those days - land titles, document, then, clothes. And how she was silently weeping. And not so silently whenever the song "Bayan Ko" was played. This was around those days after Ninoy was shot.

As my father seethed in anger over the political situation at that time, my mother sought refuge in prayer. She would spend day after day in church just to pray for the country. But she also prepared, that’s why she packed.

I would later learn that during those tumultuous days, the one option my parents had considered was going to the hills, as we were warned early on that my father will be re-assigned to an island because of his political views.

My eyes well up with tears as I recalled those days. Devoid of other options, what indeed will parents do instead?

As we watched Jun Lozada say the things he was saying, we feel for him and his family. For who indeed will want to be in the situation he is currently in? What husband/father would want to put his family in this type of a predicament? Hindi naman siguro dahil idol niya lang si Rizal?

Lozada had wanted to give something back to the country. Ugh! That had hit a nerve. Honestly, if I were on his shoes, I would just have left the country. But recalling what he had said, what would you have gained (by doing something cowardly) if you lose your soul? What indeed?

“Idol nga niya si Rizal”. May God hold men like these in His keeping.

And may the Lord heal our land.

Grateful

2007-11-20T03:33:00.000+08:00

My sister who is a doctor wrote this in another site. I couldn't help but copy and paste it here as I have exactly the same sentiments...

November 17th marked the first month of my father's first intake of 800 mg of brivanib alanate - a tyrosine kinase inhibitor that is not yet available commercially - in the hope that it will somehow stop or retard the progression of his liver cancer, the way another drug of a similar class - sorafenib - showed the much-touted promise in another clinical trial published 4 months ago.

Asymptomatic that he was/is, we chanced upon father's liver tumors first week of September last year. By the last week of the same month, we had the diagnosis of liver cancer confirmed by histopath/biopsy. This is not happy news, especially in the light of the treatment option given - none. Even then, I was already advised by colleagues (ophthalmologists) to look for clinical trials and enrol father in one.

Before he was discharged during the biopsy, the hepatologist had a change of heart. (I could only guess why.) She suggested radiofrequency ablation (RFA). Father was readmitted for the procedure. This time the admitting diagnosis was hepatocellular carcinoma, and he was for RFA and percutaneous ethanol injection (PIE). The prognosis though was still guarded. Both procedures work for tumors of a certain size only. And although, Papa was not symptomatic, I knew that his biggest tumor was already bigger than the cut-off.

Another round of RFA was suggested to be done 3 months after, but only when the intestines clear out of the way. I remembered asking the hepatologist if father needed an oncologic referral. The reply was in negative. I believed her. And so we waited for the intestines to clear out of my father's right lobe. They never did.

During one of this hepatologic consult, Papa asked his doctor his life expectancy in the light of his medical condition. Without batting an eyelash, the hepatologist told him "6 months". I could kick my father at that time, in asking that question of someone whose "people skills" need a lot of improvement.

I remembered the advice I got at the outset of this battle. Our pursuit of the unconventional brought us abroad, only to find our answer back home, specifically, while queueing at a bakeshop. This couldn't just be serendipity.

The most trying time came with the intake of brivanib, as like in any anti-VEGF, it caused my father's blood pressure to go sky high. His 800mg-dose also sent him to liver failure, Papa had to be admitted. But it was his high BP that almost crippled him.

All these have come to past now.

Two days ago, without his doctors' knowledge my father, with mother and Tim, hopped on a plane to go home (I could just imagine the number of strings my brother had to pull to get him a plane ticket). When they landed in Iloilo, I got a real chirpy phone call from him. He was so happy, you can almost feel his elation, it instantly erased my guilt in aiding him escape.

Today I'm just grateful.

Grateful that something is being done for his tumors; Grateful for his sassy, smart, sexy doctors; Grateful that they have the nerve to tell him, "Aba Dad, gusto niyo bang mabuhay o mamatay? Kasi kung gusto niyong mamatay, wala na tayong pag-usapan, wag na natin pahabain to."

Grateful for the family and friends who truly care for him. One suggested pranic healing, another went to Lourdes, France and included Papa in her intentions, still another wanted to give him holy water. Instead of saying "duh!" and be exasprated, I/we said "thank you". They do care for him.

But you see, the only one who can heal father is the Great Physician. Direct to Him, no go-betweens. The minute we lose focus of Christ as the center of our lives and everything that is happening, good or bad, things will not be right anymore. I'm grateful we have Him in our lives, and in Him we live, and move, and have our being. Cancer or no cancer.

'nice' journey to the woods...

2007-11-18T01:07:00.000+08:00

the cast of NVC Into the Woods (without Tommy Abuel)

photo from www.thebachelorgirl.com

Into the Woods is a two-dimensional musical of characters we were told when we were kids. Combining these characters in one story and giving them a bit of heart, then it unfolds and webs as they journey to the woods. And after having their wishes granted, major glitches surfaced. I first watched the recorded broadway musical when I was in college and kept a copy until now. The characters, or rather caricatures are so distinct from each other and each has their own agenda to fulfill. Watching the dvd was like reading a graphic novel until they entered the woods where everything became three dimensional.

Maybe it was a mistake that I got to watch the filmed stage version of Into the Woods before I got to watch the stage version of New Voice. Then again, who can actually resist Bernadette Peters? Lyn Sherman's version of the much coveted role of the Witch was a breath of fresh air. Although I sure do hope she does get a lot of it (air, I mean) before singing the difficult lines of Sondheim. One crisp singer would be Crisel Consunji as the hooded little girl. Im just not sure about the height though, she seemed taller than the baker's wife Menchu Lauchengco-Yulo, who in the other hand shone on the second act. Bits and units all cut and chopped perfectly.

Amazingly, this is one company of tall people, Cinderella is not cinder at all. Despite that fact, Cathy Azansa managed to be this wishful ingenue who grew 20 years older in the second act. Remarkable performances would be Juaqui Valdez who was able to put humanity in the two dimensional character Jack (as in Jack and the Beanstalk) and Tommy Abuel who on the other hand, sans the singing, remained to be as mysterious as his role's name yet truthful and most intense among the rest. Remarkable improvement is needed for the Grandmother who can do some exercise in enunciation as understanding her lines seated from the audience area is reduced to nil. Also, I am not sure if the very 'Filipino' (translated to-- Lucita Soriano) attack on the role of Jack's mother worked making the whole thing 3D. Generally, I will not call the the performance fantastic as it can still be pushed to the edge because you know that there is a wealth of talent in the cast.

A friend warned me about the set. The warning was apt. Minimal and austere, the woods became a printed tarp on a wall with doors. The play opened with this claustrophobic feeling that the actors might just bump into each other in the first scene. The thrill to the journey did not become as exciting as the stage did not change into this magical forest. But as I said, I was aptly warned. I was not disappointed. It was with the costumes that I was not warned. I was not sure if they are scrimping on budget or they just want to use what they already have in their closets. Unforgivably, the lights, however minimal with no special effects, were not seamlessly cued.

Into the Woods is a social satire equipped with splotches of wit. It brings one questioning about what was read to us and about our lives right now. It is a reaction to stories we have memorized (especially our generation) and telling the story after the 'everafter'. Exposing the gore and the uncouth with desires to point out the flaws of these children stories, and yes, about the flaws that we do have after we go out of the theatre. New Voice Company's Into the Woods is not free from flaws. In fact, there is quite a number of them that even none-theatre goers can see immediately. Yet, the musical is still worth seeing.

casting cares

2007-11-10T05:09:00.001+08:00

I was in Paris when my sister told me that my father got enrolled in a program which might be able to help him with his liver cancer. It is a clinical trial program conducted by this drug company in the US. We prayed for it to happen and it was an apt birthday gift for my mom.

My dad started to take the meds right away. Medicines that are still on its final testing stage before it goes out of the market with approved claims. Three days later, he went back to the hospital with his complaints. I really don't know the reasons but he was advised to stop taking it momentarily until his test results will be ok. It was yesterday when he started to take the tablets again, in smaller dosage. This, accompanied by a cocktail of tablets to counter the other effects. It was last night when he again felt ill and weak again.

I have known my dad to be this invincible principal of the elementary school where I attended. Robust and authoritative, everybody respected him. I feared him during those times. As I grew up, I have always been my mother's son. My two sisters look like him and I look like my mom. My going to college was his greatest test for me. And my not graduating college was his biggest disappointment. I have been told that I'm never like my sisters who are achievers. I don't have the letters after my name. And he would constantly remind me of that for several years. And for several years, I detested the fact. At the back of my mind, I would tell myself that the day will come when he will actually be proud of me.

It was last night that he told me that I should take care of my mom when he's gone. I told him that we are doing something about his illness so he better not think about it and just be well. He answered me that he wants to be out of the program as he may not be able to take the side effects of the meds. I was dumbfounded. I told my mom about it in front of my sister and my mom was just quiet. She tried to keep her emotions and went into their room. Midway going up the stairs, she bursted into tears. I know my hug was not enough to console her. As I pray for healing for my dad, and strength for my mom, I have to doubly pray for guidance for all of these.

He told me that I should take care of my mom. I know that he is proud of me as his son. Yet, I can only pray the set-up is different.

I'll continue on praying.

going home

2007-10-26T00:41:00.000+08:00

I was gone for 25 days. Almost totally abandoning every single work back home. I have not computed the total amount I have spent, I’m quite afraid of doing so. For 25 days, a lot of places were seen, been to, a lot of things were done. A lot of questions asked, a lot of answers, a lot of puzzles solved and a lot created.

From London to the south of France, to the old central Italy, to lower Germany, to the capital of the land below sea level and to the city of lights, one can reflect what we don’t have back home and yes, what we do have that they don’t anymore. As a friend would say, “Manila is like London a hundred years ago,” and another, “there are no fishes anymore in the mediterranean.”

Comes with development is the fact that something has to be lost. Comes with urbanization is the rape of what has been fertile and natural. Europe is a perfect example. But yes, the sensibility to preserve the salvageable (natural and most especially, man-made) is strongly felt and encouraged. It is with utmost efforts that these places or what is left of it, be preserved. Something that needs a lot of support back home.

One thing also that was most disturbing was the treatment of our kind abroad- treatment from the ones coming from the arian race and from our own kind. Yes, it is possible that a Filipino can actually go to such region just as a tourist if one perseveres and yes, it is possible that to some of us, it is still better to work in the country of our birth, regardless. It was in my train ride to Amsterdam coming from Munich that I strongly felt the discrimination. I was with a Korean whom I met in the train when we were stopped by border officials to check our passports. We were on our way to get coffee at the first class canteen. It took them ten seconds to check the Korean’s passport and mine for ten minutes and only after a series of questions, they gave me my passport. The inevitable question coming from the Korean asking what’s wrong right after was asked. I know the answer but it was very painful to explain. Brings me back to the questions asked in London, “Saang hospital ka?” “May balak kang mag-TNT dito no?” “Di talaga, nagbabakasyon ka lang?” My friend in Italy suffered the same, being a student in music. Stereotyped by stereotypes.

On the other side of things, I want to ask why am I born in my country? Having to carry the green passport with all the disadvantages that go with it. Why am I born to a country where my concept of money can actually be translated to just pence and pennies? Why am I born to a country which can boast of almost nothing to the field where I am working? And I actually don’t know the answer. Or maybe we can rephrase the questions into statements- I can be proud of my passport regardless. I can earn more than these people earning in pounds and euros if I try harder. I can work where I am most familiar with, with what we already have.

It is easy saying it actually. Well, its easier saying it now than before.

europe dyaris 6

2007-10-24T06:49:00.000+08:00

Paris.

Unlike London, Paris is more carefree and young. Unlike London, Paris is more fashionable in the middle of the cold fall. Unlike London, Paris speaks french and loving it. It was very hard the first few days until I got the hang of it. Eating in a restaurant tasting the so called 'french cuisine' is a challenge whether the waiter would actually understand me, more often than not, they did, much to my delight.

Walking the streets of Paris is like browsing through the pages of History of Western Architecture. Almost every single street in the city has a story to tell. Almost every corner is a monument standing that is hundreds of years old. And whatever carving or architectural detail we have in Manila combined, it will not match a single monument in this city. And we are just talking about the streets. Entering the Louvre is another story. You will not need books on art movements, just enter the Louvre. And it is true what they say, a day is not enough to tour the entire museum. And it is not the only museum in the city, and yes, not only the museums but also the cemeteries, about fifty percent of what you read is buried in this city. Ok I'll stop because I'm getting obvious that I'm actually overwhelmed.

I thought I will have the same feeling when I saw the Eiffel. In daylight, from afar, the Tour Eiffel looked like a paper weight. It becomes different when you see it at night. Now, I know why it is called the City of Lights.

It's my last night in Paris and I just finished checking-in online in BA.com. Haven't packed yet but that one will be fast. I was expecting I can do some shopping in the city of lights but to my dismay, I have been to other places where the same items are sold a lot cheaper (Manila, for example) I decided not to. Besides, I really don't have the money to splurge. I'm here in europe for the photos really, and that's about it. It was twenty five days of worthwhile experience. Went to museums, parks, the typical tourist attractions, bought post cards, ref magnets and yeah, ate the food where it is best served. Cheese and wine in Provence, ragu bolognese and pizza in Bologna, fresh milk in Amsterdam, cappuccino along the grand canal in Venice, beer in Munich, crepe in Paris (better if it was in Normandy though), fish and chips (eww!!) in London. The baguette and saucisson survived me during my train rides, and yeah I still miss rice. I miss lucky me, I miss the tinola of Bebing, I miss my family.

Glad that I'm going home to the Philippines tomorrow.

europe dyaris 5

2007-10-23T17:37:00.000+08:00

munich...

amsterdam

Munchen and Amsterdam

Im in my room in Paris and I can’t help but think about home. Im going back to Manila tomorrow. I’m way lagged behind this diary and there are just so many things to write about. It’s ten in the morning and I don’t have the drive to get out of my room. My last day in Paris- as of this trip is concerned.

After Bologna, I took the night train to Munich. Originally, to buy a Samsonite bag. Im going to Germany just to buy a Samsonite bag. But my cheap bag did not reach Germany. I bought the bag in Bologna. Luckily, when I went to Munich, they have the same price. I smiled to myself, at least I was not duped in Bologna.

Munich, the capital of Oktoberfest. I arrived there two days after the last day of the beer festival. It was pretty quiet. Just like the rest of Europe, it boasts of it’s old buildings. The picturesque riverbanks and on a far distance, the Alps. Not like the rest of Europe, this city is terribly chilly. Coming from the south, I was warned by my friend to be ready for it. I thought I was (even with my thermals on).

From Munich, I took the night train again to Amsterdam. Arrived in Amsterdam at about nine in the morning the following day. I met a couple of friends (whom I don’t think I will ever see) on the train.

First one was this English lady who escaped her German husband and went to Italy. She was on her way back to Munich to settle the legal papers for her children so they can have the money to go back to England. Next was this old lady on the train station who half the time I can barely understand and the third one was this Korean guy in the train. He was the only one who talked in english during that trip so we got along well the entire trip. It was in Amsterdam that he doesn’t want to let go of my hands when we said our good byes.

Amsterdam.

The sex capital of the world. The pot capital. The flower capital. The gay capital. The city of bikes. A lot has been attributed to this small city in the province of Holland. Surrounded by canals and lying below sea level, this city reminds me of the story we read in grade five - A leak in the Dike. Now, I got to understand why the leak should be stopped.

I found my hotel in Amsterdam fast. I took the taxi. It’s a charming B&B just outside the perimeter street on the central part of the city. I have to say, the owners are as charming as well.

Walking around the city gives you this feeling of being trampled by their leaning buildings. Now, unlike the rest of Europe, Amsterdam is more funky when it comes to interiors while their exteriors are of Housseman era. There are Museums everywhere you go, from Van Gogh to the Sex Museum.

Probably the next thing that they should make into a museum is their red light district. Mainly because of many of those in their windows are already of museum quality.

I was supped to leave Amsterdam 19th of October but because of of so many things, my train left me. I got stuck there for another night. And finally, after so many train stops, I got to Paris the following day.

europe dyaris 4

2007-10-23T05:26:00.000+08:00

the two towers

portico

Bologna.

I am still here in my room in Paris. My first night in the city of lights and my room indeed has one bare warm white power saver compact flourescent. My first night here was almost a disaster. I was supposed to arrive yesterday but because of the strike of the rail workers in France and the traffic in Amsterdam, I missed my train. I left Amsterdam this lunch and and after two train transfers (Antwerpen, Belgium and Lille, France) I finally reached Paris. Only to find out that my hotel cancelled my reservations because I was a no show yesterday. I tried to call them.

Pretty much unlike in Italy. The visit to Bologna was unplanned yet came out to be one of the most endearing. Rica was a friend way back in the musical Elias at Salome way back in 1996. A few year after that I never got a word from her only to find out that she was already in Italy in my friendster eleven years later. unlike most Filipinos in Italy, she is a student. To make it more unlikely, a student of music. And yes, she can pass for a tourist guide.

Bologna means nothing for me except for Bolognese. That spaghettini with a lot of tomato sauce and meat. Basically the one most popularly bastardized by a lot of us. It was that morning when we walked around the city that I found out that Bologna is one of the centers of education in Italy (if not the world). They have the first university that started in the year 300, a library with an extensive collection of manuscripts and records from the medieval era, fully modernized archival system and a lobby with glass flooring underneath of which is a museum of the pre-roman city ruins, and yes, Einstein launched his theories here and Guilelmo Marconi is from this city too. Bologna is also the city of Porticos, they invented this structure.

They say, this is one of the old Italian cities. I can’t help but agree with them. Especially after tasting the Ragu Bolognese prepared for me for my last dinner there.

europe dyaris 3

2007-10-23T04:59:00.000+08:00

grand canal at 6pm

venice...

I’m back in Paris. I should have written this a long time ago but did not have the time or the space (in the train) to do so. The last one was when I was on my way back to this city just to run (literally with my 600-peso bag with a 24 kilo load) to the other station to catch another train going to Venezia (forgive me for using their original names, you just have to so that you won’t get confused when you’re looking at train schedules).

My cousin Jinny told me to enjoy TGV because they are the best trains in Europe. She was right. The train I got to Venice was an experience. Being very tired did help. I was asleep the whole time and when I woke up, I was alone in the cabin of six and I can smell the mediterranean from the open window by the aisle of the train.

The plan was to meet Rica in Bologna but after much changes, we decided to meet in Venezia, deposit my bag, walk the whole day then catch the last train to Bologna for the night. Exactly what we did except that we caught the second to the last train.

Venice is not Italy. You can very well say it has it’s own architecture, it has its own culture, it has it’s own world. Its not even part of this world. From the gate of the station, you can see the grand canal. From there, you have the option to either walk, or take the public ferry or take the taxi boat. For the experience, you can hire the popular gondola with it’s legendary rate of 95 euros an hour. I was very tempted to try it but I was stopped by Rica saying it’s not worth it (imagine if you’re alone paying for it?). Well, almost everything in this group of small islands is expensive. Regular coffee is 4 euros 50- convert that into peso. Sans the tourist, hoards and hoards of tourists, Venezia is one place I can truly say -- BEAUTIFUL.

I waited for Rica for about fifteen minutes. An hour of walking and we found ourselves sipping coffee along the banks of the grand canal. Quite pricey for 4.50 euros a cup but the experience is priceless. Walking along the narrow streets of Venice is like being transported to some medieval flea market (translated to divisoria really, if you think about it) with murano glass scattered from all directions.

The structures are hybrid of European and upper African architecture. The mosaic work of the Basilica di San Marco (and yes, Mark, of the New Testament, is buried inside) is amazing. The piazza, the porticos around the piazza, the small alleys and the canals are picturesque. And yes, Venezia is all about it. It’s hideously commercialized and it will be pointless to spend the night there. By the time that we are about to leave, almost all of the shops are already closed. Maybe during the spring carnival where everybody is donning their venetian masks and revelry is all night long (as they say, it’s better than the Carnival in Rio de Janeiro).

Maybe I will come back just for that.

europe dyaris 2

2007-10-18T01:19:00.000+08:00

the houses near the Camargue market

bulls and cowboys during the fete

another village

jeannette's charming kitchen

Trying to read something that you can’t really understand is an exercise of intuition. Pictograms help. A lot of times, I would like to think that the international language really are illustrations (to refute my grade five music teacher).

From Rossy Charles de Gaulle, I took Air France Bus #4 because I read it somewhere that this bus will bring me to Gare de Lyon. It did. I was in the train station trying to figure out what to do with my Eurail Pass and when I finally had the courage to approach the ticket guy, I was told that I should go to other windows because he can’t validate my ticket. I went to the other side of the hall and went to a window. I had no clue that ‘firme’ means close yet I tried my luck anyway. The kind french woman in her 40’s (or 30’s?) validated my pass and gave me my ticket.

Apol picked me up from Gare de Montpellier at about midnight. There were students loitering around the station. I was already outside and she came from inside the station . We reached their place about thirty minutes later. Somehow, a hundred kilometres in this part of the world is not far at all.

I was given my trailer. It’s my first time to actually enter one. Apol and her husband live at the other trailer a few steps from mine. And I got excited to sleep in such.

The following morning was very relaxed. Just as I expected. As compared to the other country across the English Channel, France down south is relaxed and child like. Amidst the preserved architecture are windows and doors in high color. They spell fun in caps. By some pleasant coincidence, I arrived in Aigues Mortes just in time for their fete. “Pumunta akong France para mamista!” Now, spell fun in bold.

I am in my seat right now in a train en route to paris to get to my overnight train to Venice. From where I’m seated, chateaus and villages cling to hillsides amidst the vast fields.

Provence has this reputation back home of one of the most inspiring places to visit in Europe. Maybe because Van Gogh had his Sunflowers grow from this place. The region boasts of dry flat lands with communes older than the Philippine Republic. One particular area is the walled Aigues Mortes. Let’s talk about Intramuros. Make the walls lime (or was it sandstone?) and triple the height. Now, remove the moss, make the gates gothic, and add towers every one hundred meters. And yes, make the walls seamless and poke spear holes on the lower part and add teethlike finish on the upper part. I was told Intramuros is a fortress. I want to bring that person to Aigues Mortes and show him a fortress. Around the area is a landscape thats dry and raw. Pretty much like the people. Very simple and pure.

I was introduced to Jeanette, Apol’s mother-in-law, a very pleasant lady who brought us to this brunch with the entire town. She has this very pronounced sense of pride about her town and about Provence in general. She invited me to her house and almost every single piece has a story. Of course, to say that the house has some character is an understatement. I can’t really say that designers would automatically love her place but sure it can charm anybody’s innocent fantasy. But that's beside the point, the house wreaks of symbols and objects endemic to Provence and that alone is admirable. Such characteristic is almost extinct back home.

Jeannette is not alone. Apol brought me to this market in Camargue the products are screaming of culture- raw and pure. There is warmth in this community and even if you can’t understand what they are saying, you would know you are in good company.

Pierre brought me to the station this afternoon. Made sure I get my ticket before actually leaving me for their climb today that I was supposed to join. I am glad, I was in good company.

Europe dyaris... 1

2007-10-11T03:55:00.000+08:00

royal albert hall

near bond street

wicked!

It started with Apol telling me to visit her in Provence. Admittedly, I had a very vague idea where Provence is. They said, it is the provincial France, specifically located on the southern part. I contemplated on the idea, tried to do some math vis-a-vis my finances. It was impossible.

I told Apol, “Maybe next year...” not being sure of everything. Then I tried telling my friends about it. They got more excited more than I. It was when I got to be introduced to my travel agent a few months after that the plan became more concrete, at least the expenses. It was that time that I started doing feelers to my mom. Good thing that we, as a family started traveling together in and outside of the country.

You see, travel in my parents vocabulary when we were young is as vague as latin. It was never part of life. To actually think about it is totally absurd. My dad would often say, it is just a waste of money.

I hope to see the Eiffel from where I sit while writing this- First class TGV to Montpellier. Mont... what? I bought this Eurail pass from my agent before I left Manila. As advised by a friend whom I’m meeting when I go back to Paris before I fly back to Manila.

Way back in Manila, when I was still in UP (where I willingly flunked my French 10), I would see photos of paintings and architecture period styles and just wonder how they are built and made. Studying them and forcing yourself to actually appreciate and master each style with just pictures was doubly hard. I would only wish I can touch them or see them in real life so my memory won’t fail me.

It was last January that I told myself, I will not only visit Apol but make the most of the trip. After all, airfare to Europe is not cheap. The original plan was June. It was moved to August. I tried to make it August but the British Embassy did not allow me. They had my passport on hostage for two months making me almost lose hope. It was when my Schengen visa was given by the French Embassy that I decided to push thru with it regardless of my fluctuating finances.

As birthday gift, my aunt gave me a considerable amount for my pocket money. And my mom agreed to sponsor my airfare. With those on my sleeve, I’m ready to go. Except that I still have responsibilities to finish. And it reached the end of September for work to be done. To be honest, they are still not done but I don’t want to reschedule my ticket.

I arrived in London October 2 at six in the morning. The stories are true, London is cold and wet. My friend picked me up from Heathrow then we took the train to the nearest station where he lives. The initial sight of London did not disappoint me. Brick Victorian homes with remnants of Neo-classic adobe and the far too old Tudor. Then the train went underground.It was when we got off and took the stairs that I got awed by the city. The first thing I saw in central London was the Parliament, full in it’s Gothic revival grandeur. I almost bump into some Japanese tourists primarily because I can’t seem to remove my eyes from it. My friend’s place is just across the bridge over Thames. I told myself, “I’m the luckiest tourist in town!”

London. Aside from being cold and wet, and expensive!, the city boasts of the finer things in life- the height of urban living. It is a city that treasures it’s age while enjoying what modernism can give. The city that stands contented yet operating like a fully lubed clock.

The city of townhouses. In the central part particularly Westminster City is filled with multilevel thin houses built side by side with each other. On the ground level are mostly commercial establishments. If you look closer, There is either a gap between the pavements and the buildings (with rails) or the walkway is lined with glass blocks, just enough to provide natural light to the basement. Basements abode the city. Simply goes to show how old the place is. Maybe, once upon a time, the ground level was way lower than where it is now.

The train system is complicated. It carries the entire city from underneath. On the ground is a vast systematized routes for buses. Needless to say, you don’t really need a car to get you around the city. Taxi rides remain to be a luxury. And yes, who wouldn’t want to walk on old narrow cobblestone roads? With the cold weather, anybody from Manila would know what I mean.

One thing about the city that struck me was the existence of theatre as an industry. Shows are being watched by walk-ins and well appreciated. Tickets are sold everywhere, posters and streamers are all over the city. To be a stage actor in this city is actually a legitimate job. Maybe paying better than others. I was told that once upon a time, Manila was like that. Before the advent of the now deteriorating movie industry. If only for that reason, I would want to live in London. Now, stage plays in Manila are nothing but required field trips to high school students.

I watched four shows in London from the planned six. Not bad I thought, considering the ticket prices. Thanks to Rob who shouldered almost everything.

I reached Montpelier midnight as scheduled. I will be writing more about France soon.

2007-09-15T18:52:00.000+08:00

nangungulila ako

2007-09-08T19:28:00.000+08:00

matulin ang takbo ng mga sasakyan

singbilis ng tinatahak kong buhay

na minsa'y nagnais na guminhawa

magnamnam ng paligid

bumagal

sa radyo

patuloy na tumutugtog

ang kanta ng syudad,

ang pook kung saan ako nadala

ng aking mga kamay.

mabilis ang takbo ng buhay

natulak ng urbanindad

ang payak kong kaluluwa

nagnanais na bumalik sa tahimik kong bayan.

sa kandungan ng aking mga magulang.

Make-overdosed... con't.

2007-08-31T23:17:00.000+08:00

I woke-up this evening with a text message,

"Evryone was amazd s trnsfrmtn hngng opis ko dala me un mag... U wer rly a blssing 4 us..."

It was from Grace, the home-owner of RL's grand make-over winner. The same make-over that I was whining about a few weeks back. I called my boss after that. She asked me if indeed, the whole thing was worth it. I can't help but agree with her. It was worth it.

Admittedly, it took me some time to decode the message, but surely, it is making me smile right now.

Buy your copy of the september issue of Real Living Magazine and you'll see why.

Here's a preview...

the other blog...

2007-08-12T23:02:00.000+08:00

multiply.com

It was not so long ago when I got my account on that site. I totally forgot about it because I would rather doodle something here in blogspot.com. Somehow, I feel more at home with this site to write anything. I refuse to write a blog in friendster.com either primarily because the people there got to know me first before they got to read me. And there are just a lot of them in my list. Blogspot however gave me this false shroud of anonymity, no matter how false, it still is a shroud.

Anyway, it was my sister that reminded me of multiply dot com. She was creating an account and thinking of inviting me in her network when I was having dinner in their house. That did it. A few days later, it became a family reunion of sorts. My mother, of all people is part of my network. My mother to my nieces.

When the pictures were uploaded and posted, our network became a family album. Until the blogs came. It was then the very core of our relations are tackled and observed. Reading each blog and comments made me think what a complex family my mother has. Each has their own opinion on things. Each has the capacity to pierce but would rather use it to heal.

It was different when we were just kids. When all we care was to go to the beach as a group then walk through the nyugan (which is now gone and converted into a public market), tell Inggo to get us all the buko to quench everyone's craving, then spend the afternoons climbing sineguelas and mangga. Our only problem during that time was one of our aunts- she had the temper of a stereotyped spinster and by virtue of being single, she was our all time guardian, or better call that a security guard.

And now, we are actually as old as she was during that time. Each possessing a trait similar. Quite interesting and yes, the story has just started. I really don't know where this leads to.

this is not a movie review... ratatouille

2007-08-01T02:36:00.000+08:00

Admittedly, I am not a food junkie except maybe for it's function to the human body- to nourish (and yes, for work, when I'm styling edible materials for Yummy magazine...)

Having lunch or dinner can only be taken on a table if I am with somebody, or else it will just be one of those 'to go' meals I can eat inside a cab or while watching TV. I don't cook unless necessity calls for it. My kitchen is already converted into a stockroom.

It was this evening when we watched Ratatouille and of all creatures, it was a rat that made me re-think the purpose of the kitchen in my house. To know the taste and smell of each ingredient made me remember my dad trying to name each item added to the Binakol when we were eating in Iloilo some years ago. To know the flavor of each and trying to combine them to form one experience made me realize that more than just the food, it is the sensation that goes with it that makes the cook an artist, a master, a god.

It made me realize that preparing something to nourish the body is not just done for the sake of its purpose. It made me realize that the kitchen is one big studio to create an experience.

image from Disney

But Ratatouille is more than just that. One character that struck me most is Peter O'Toole's Anton Ego. In his critique voice over,

"In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgement. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and read. But the bitter truth we critics must face is that, in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risked something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new."

When I was in design school, I would always say, "I'm a better critic than a designer." It made me re-think on passing judgements on other people's work. Thank goodness, I have not earned the reputation of being such. Or have I?

blast from the past!

2007-07-28T04:04:00.000+08:00

Looking for two books that I borrowed from a friend a few years back, I stumbled upon an envelope filled with photos when I was still active in theatre many years and about forty pounds ago...

midsummer night's dream

university theatre, up diliman

role: robin goodfellow (a.k.a. the goblin puck)

The cast of Midsummer Night's Dream that almost became a nightmare of a show. Obviously it was an all-male cast following the tradition of elizabethan dramas. I just can't connect the fact that the direction and nuances were all modern.

all's well that ends well

romulo theatre, pcib, makati

role: second lord

Shown here with Mona Katigbak, this play was done in neo-classic fashion. The costumes were recycled from Merchant of Venice where I played the Prince of Aragon and Mona played Portia (yes, with the same costumes for both of us). Twelfth Night never came to past... We were supposed to play the twins.

the women/the we-men

guerrero theatre, up diliman

role:miriam vanities aarons-fowler

This is where everybody had fun in the midst of tyranny. Originally staged as a reunion for a group of girls who belonged to the same batch under Tony Mabesa, but the director later suggested to stage it in two versions- an all-female in english and an all-male in Filipino. My counterpart in the english version left before it's closing week run so I have to take her place in the all-female cast. It was bizarre as my co-actors were not taller than five feet six inches and I stood six feet three inches with my gold heels.

By the way, I never got to find the books... bog!

make-overdosed!

2007-07-24T03:06:00.000+08:00

Finally, it's done.

Some months ago, I told my editor if I can do the make-over for the September issue of Real Living and she gladly agreed. Came June, I was a bit hesitant of taking the project primarily because I am not sure of when I am leaving for my month-long vacation. While waiting for my visa (which by the way is taking toooo long and requires a a blog entry, can you imagine, I applied way before this whole make-over thing started! Whew!), I told our managing ed that maybe, I can do it.

It was two weeks of sleep and eating disorder, irritatingly huge acne, rashes, and high strung hands-on construction work. I got to introduce the monster in me to the carpenters that even the contractor tried to avoid seeing me until now. It took two of his assistants to pacify my head-tone-nagging-session with eight of his carpenters working on a 15-square meter space.

Now that it's done, I am not sure if I made the right choice. Maybe I did. Just for the reason that I helped in making a family smile can be enough reason. Or maybe, at least the carpenters has seen the worst in me now. After all, we will still be working together for a long time for other projects.

The issue will coming out last week of August so I am still not allowed to post the photos. As of now, I take liberty in posting how it looked like before...

Bad on not good enoughs...

2007-07-17T02:21:00.000+08:00

ikaw, alam mo ba kung ano ang pinasok mo?

As the song goes, "I did my best, but I guess my best wasn't good enough..."

And yes, I am not referring to relationships.

I have said before, that we sometimes are caught in a situation where we can't just escape pero kailangan panindigan na lang. A lot of times, instead of putting on arms to facilitate our inadequacies, we put on a vest for defense. In the process of doing such, have we actually asked ourselves - WHY?!

There are situations that require us to examine the reasons why we are actually there. There are responsibilities that are beyond our capabilities (or the lack of it) and before others get to ask if we can do it well (or at least, just finishing it), we ourselves should be our own devil's advocate.

In recent years, I have been my most active cynic. Religiously asking myself if I will be able to do the job well or not. And when I get my answers, ask the same questions all over again. Most often (in most recent times), I will get a different answer and I will eventually drop the job.

This is not true to a lot of people I know. Truth is, it is a very painful reality.

Accepting ones shortcomings is an easy task, especially if the person who has these (kakulangan) has accepted his (or should I say, hers?). It becomes a different story when you are aware of these shortcomings coming from the other end and that end is still moving heaven and earth trying to conceal it.

Sarap bigyan ng magic sing! At least, pamukpok para magising na...

standing on the cliff

2007-06-10T16:55:00.000+08:00

I was in a niagara streak yesterday-- anything that can cause tears makes a downpour. It was unstoppable and surreal and well, tiring. Trying to relax myself, I watched Independence Day on GMA 7, it was of no help. I was in tears the whole time. At the end of the night, I ended up looking like garfield.

One thing very disturbing about it is that in anything I see on TV, I ended up criticizing- the couch, the lamp, or whatever object there is. Come the advertisement, I would imagine designing the set for it on how to make it better. Then I would stop and take hold of whatever I have left for my old self and yes... cry.

My friends told me I need a break from work. Maybe I should. Admittedly, I need it but reality meaning my bills, rent, mortgage etcetera etcetera will not allow me to. To continue working for at least four more years is what's required of me to do. Now, I have said before quoting from Wicked, "There are bridges you cross you didn't know you cross until you cross." What is this bridge that I have just crossed?

On the other side of it, I sure want to just drop everything and be on recluse for at least a year. Go back to my parents' house and live as quietly as I can. But of course, that is totally going against every single grain of my character. I was never like that even at the lowest point of my life.

Maybe a break is what I just need. Break meaning I will be working for an equivalent of two months compressed to one so a can take the next month's off.

Now, that will bring me to a breakdown.

bionic eye... bionic man

2007-06-06T17:55:00.000+08:00

view from my new magnacraft telescope

When I was a kid, I had this wish of wanting to see more than what the others can see. Blame Superman's x-ray vision, it gave me the idea. This continued until now. Maybe its just plain voyeurism or something else. Or maybe the idea of being empowered just being able to see what others can't. Actually, maybe the idea of being ahead all the time. The desire to have an ace on your sleeve than just playing it fair and square.

"Hindi ako lalaban ng patas..." I would always declare.

If there is one thing about what playing chess has taught me, it's thinking at least three moves ahead your opponent. In life, I guess it will always be like that- thinking ahead of everybody else. Especially in the industry where I am. Life afterall is one big chessboard. Although a lot of my friends would call it- beauty contest.

And a few would call it- plain and simple- life. I wish I can be like that. Just calling it as it is. I'm getting tired. Yet, admitedly, it is fun a lot of times. I think I can still be part of the game...

"...kaya ko pa. Di ko naman sinabi na lalaban ako ng patas eh..."

yahoo messenger

2007-06-01T03:43:00.000+08:00

Had this conversation from some stranger in the net last night. I have no idea what I have been up to or maybe I was just doing a Blanch DuBois--- seeking comfort in the company of strangers...

(I'm zlickker in YM)

Read on...

csarvil
what are you up to??
zlickker
now?
nothin
csarvil
cool
zlickker
you?
csarvil
friends...... possible partner...
zlickker
oh ok...
have you been dating?
csarvil
lately no.....
zlickker
why so?
csarvil
the last time i went on a date.... walng ngyari......
you??
zlickker
dating
csarvil
cool
zlickker
for about 5 months now
csarvil
my dinadate ka na for 5 months??
zlickker
yep
csarvil
cool..... pero parang ang tgal naman ng dating period nyo....??
zlickker
wala lang... cant commit eh
the other person cant
csarvil
why??
zlickker
umm, ...with somebody else
csarvil
what are you doing???
waste of time..... waste of emotions....
better give it to someone else....
zlickker
... there are bridges you cross you did not know you cross until you cross...
im quite ok with the set-up now... quite...
its complicated as it is... and besides... i cant afford to give plenty of time for a relationship now... my work does not allow me to...
im sorry to disappoint you
csarvil
dissapoint me on what???? i mean its your choice....just be prepared to suffer whatever consequences that your choices might bring you at the end...
zlickker
im good... been to hell and back.
sigh
i sure can afford to step on fire with one foot again... and yeah.. too old for emotional dramas... sure there are other things more financially rewarding than just that....
sigh
damn.. i sure sound jaded
and yeah.. im not hurting the other party (i mean, the boyfriend). he is with his wife and kids...
csarvil
welll i guess you are really okay with the set up that you and your hopefully special someone have.....
zlickker
im not hoping really...

im not even sure if ill ever find that perfect one for me...
csarvil
how can you find that someone perfect for you??? you allow yourself to be stuck in a situation you know at the end you'll lose....
zlickker
its the point in my life that im pretty comfortable where i am (alone) and i have so many things to do and as long as im not inconvenienced, im ok.
not looking forward on how its going to end... im enjoying the moment as of now. tom will worry about itself
and yes... i only think about tomorrow when it comes to work... to which im really married to
csarvil
true filipino........BAHALA NA SYSTEM......
zlickker
all other attached to me except for work and family are but extra-marital affairs

csarvil
smiley
zlickker
im sorry... i know you disagree with me in so many ways.. and i cant understand why im pouring my heart to you right now... a stranger i dont even know...
please accept my apologies
csarvil
hahaha...... no need for apologies....
zlickker
smiley
cool

---end of conversation

Six Weird Things

2007-05-23T05:25:00.000+08:00

Ianne tagged me for this one... it's 5:30 AM and I just got home from a set-up for an exhibit in Greenbelt 3. And I can't help myself... So here it is...

*******

Tagged! This is what you are supposed to do. Cut and paste if you decide to participate in the tagging game.

Each player of this game starts off by giving six weird things about themselves. People who get tagged need to write in a blog of their own six weird things as well as state the rules clearly. In the end, you need to choose six people to be tagged and list their names.

After you do that, leave them each a comment letting them know you tagged them and to read your blog.

********

1. I am addicted to playing chess in my phone. And I hate losing yet I would impose a touch-move rule on myself all the time, half the time, I would have myself check-mated to hasten the game.

2. I don't eat cheese. I hate cheese. Of any kind... except mozarella on pizza occasionally (rarely).

3. My record in chatting in MIRC is 76 hours and 30 minutes of non-stop chatting without solid food and sleep. Thing is, it was in a cafe that charges sixty pesos an hour and the cafe was open for 24 hours a day.

4. You can leave me inside a homestore the whole afternoon and find me still lingering there closing time. The maximum time I would spend inside a clothes shop is 30 minutes.

5. I like to walk. Walking for me is one effective way in easing stress. When I was working in Budji, I would walk from Reposo to Rustan's in Ayala almost everyday. Thrice I have walked from Galleria to WackWack via Shaw.

6. My complete name is Gwyn Gunder Salazar Guanzon. I don't know what my parents were thinking when they gave me the name.

excited and scared...

2007-05-19T23:47:00.000+08:00

photo from oxfordplayhouse.com

I resigned from Summit Publishing last December. I resigned from the company yet not resigning from work really.

It has been five months that I have been working as consultant. Basically the same work as I have been doing when I was still an employee. The best thing about it is that I am not required to press my thumb before entering the office on that machine which has a british accent. And yes, I am not 'required' to go to the office every single working day of the week.

A month later after having such status, I became consultant of another magazine. My non-requirement of going to the office every single working day became moot. I now go to Summit not because of some time-keeping requirement but because I need to-- it's work.

And thinking that I am officially a non-employee, projects sprout from all sides. I have developed branches and yes, twigs. Admittedly, I got excited with what the future holds for me now. When I was an employee, I had this bubble around me and everybody had this notion that all I do is style for the magazine. The bubble stopped me from doing other things yet at the same time, protected me from doing things I don't want to do. I got excited with what the future holds for me... excited and scared. The bubble is not there anymore.

Yet I get to explore more things. Soon, I will be entering another realm in media. I can still continue interior decorating. I can still style for magazines. I wonder what quality time is left for me after all these.

"Excited and scared.." as Little Red Riding Hood puts it in Into the Woods. She continues with, "Isn't it nice to know a lot. And a little bit not!"

taken for granted...

2007-04-30T21:01:00.000+08:00

It was the time one of the aunties came from the states and all of the nephews and neices went to her house to pay their respects and expect some pasalubong. You get to follow the queue leading to the visiting aunt. When it was your turn to kiss, no single pasalubong was given to you.

It is your Citzen's Army Training Officers distribution of designations and positions. You are one of those who got the higher ten percentile in the training exam. You scanned the list. Found your name in the bottom part-- Color Officer. All of your friends became company commanders.

During college, you wanted to be part of an organization. You went through the usual process of application. Did everything the members required. Came induction, from the eight applicants left, you are one of the two who did not become full fledged members but was given another year of training as apprentice.

Professionally, you are doing okay in your job. Your colleagues respect your work. Came a memo from the Human Resource Department, they don't even know your exact gender.

You are seeing this person for quite sometime knowing fully well that you might just deserve somebody better whom you can call yours. And then both of you went out of town-- on separate flights and destinations. Upon returning to Manila, you got to miss the person terribly. While the vacation the other took became a week longer than yours, it got extended another week in another destination. And finally, the day came when both of you are here in Manila yet you can't meet each other because of some schedule glitch yet on your part, you have kept the entire night's schedule open... somehow.

Now, tell me, have you had similar incidents? Have you ever been taken for granted?

Thank you ...

2007-04-19T00:03:00.000+08:00

"When I die, gusto ko ganito ang posisyon ko ... " Ogie Juliano
It was one of our jokes before during Sanfo days. I got to see the Buddha a month before he passed away.
I did not have the courage to tell the family about it.

I was reading Dennis Marasigan's article in Inquirer on my dear friend Ogie Juliano and I can't help but break down to tears.

It has been exactly a week when his urn was put to rest at the Columbarium along Visayas Avenue beside Ma'am J's. And it has been a week that I have been trying hard to live as normal as I can- trying to catch up from the days I lost two weeks ago. As Carlo puts it, "I look a lot better now as compared to last week."

To a lot of people, Ogie is my 'Inay' in theatre. Well, he was my mentor and more than that, he was a dear friend.

It was when Ogie was staging Kangkong 1896 when we got really close. We started out as coffee friends in Sanfo along West Avenue. Then being the student that I was, he would almost always shoulder the bill after. Then he would treat me for buffet breakfast. Then he would give me different projects as his assistant in costume design. It was hard working for Ogie. He was the most demanding boss I ever had. I remembered being slapped more than once. He threw a mug at me more than once. Shouted at me countless times. And I cried to him shamelessly several times brought about by different reasons. At times, we would have arguments and I would end up walking out. And a few hours after that, he would page me to accompany him for dinner. And I can not refuse.

For how many instances that Ogie would whine about the loves of his life. Sing Bette Middler like there is no tomorrow. One memorable evening was during the eve of the opening of Elias at Salome, Ogie and I were drenched under the rain infront of the Faculty Center drunk in lambanog singing As Long as He Needs Me. For a time, when Ogie is around, Gwyn is there. It went on for a good three years.

Not only in costuming, he also taught me how to do stage make-up. He gave me my first major project in make-up design- the opening ceremonies of the UAAP. I designed one hundred and thirty faces and about thirty bodies. It was almost impossible but he told me I can do it. He also assigned me to style, design and execute sets for different productions. And for more than once, I told him I can't do it simply because I am not yet equipped with the knowledge and he just brushed it aside and looked at me and said "You can't say no to your mother!"

And yes, at the point of giving up, he will guide me on what to do. He was always there. He taught me to believe in myself and do the impossible (impossible meaning lack of budget.) And at the end of the day, he would congratulate me saying that he was so proud of me.

It was during his last days that we were not able to see each other as often as before. One of the last times I saw him, he scolded me for visiting him- I had a show to catch. It was then I told myself that he doesn't want to be seen sick. I knew him too be invincible and it was painful seeing him helpless. Much painful for him for us seeing him.

It has been a week since I last saw his urn making his last bow inside Guerrero Theatre. I wanted to kiss him that moment yet I can't. I rushed to the backstage and cry alone when they were bringing him out. I can't see him leave the place where he trained me.

It has been a week. I was not able to tell him how thankful I am as an apprentice and as a friend. How thankful for his teachings, for the company and for the unselfish love he gave.

Thank you Inay. Thank you.

movie quotes....

2007-04-14T02:54:00.000+08:00

I'm sorry Carl, after reading your blog I can't help but to try it.

And yes, the first one that appeared was this... how can I possibly resist?!?!

I have always depended on the kindness of Gwyn.

Which movie was this quote from?

and yes... this one too...

Nobody puts Gwyn in a corner.

Which movie was this quote from?

and finally..

All right, Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my Gwyn.

Which movie was this quote from?

requiem...

2007-04-11T21:38:00.000+08:00

Vaudeville. Bodabil.

That was the last show of Ogie.

It was Saturday evening when Harlene tried to call me. I was not able to take the call. Two minutes later I got three missed calls-from Ricci, Stella and an unknown number. I tried to call Harlene.

"Gwyn, wala na si inay..."

This was cut by sobs. For a few minutes, I missed the entire thing. Or maybe I was just in denial. Or both. I can't really tell. A few minutes later, Stella texted me that the body will be brought to Loyola crematorium. Harlene called me if I am going and I said, I will just go the following day. She again broke into sobs, "Ayaw mo na bang makita si inay?"

For the life of me, I really don't know how to answer it. Yes I want to see Ogie before the cremation. But I guess, I saw him already how he wanted me to see him. And definitely not on that table.

The whole time, the idea has not settled yet in my mind.

By ten, Stella texted me that the cremation was done already. Ricci called that he is picking me up to go to Loyola. We got there shorty after ten. Almost all of my 'siblings' were there. Jovy had me sit beside him and read the message of Alex Cortez. I was assigned to design the stage of Guerrero Theatre for the necrological service and tribute to be done Wednesday, four days after.

Come Monday, I went to Dulaang UP. It was Tony Mabesa who told me after the meeting, "Well, your mother is already dead, but your grandmother is still alive!" And it was decided, I'll take care of the stage after being the only design offspring of Ogie.

I went to Dangwa to talk to my florists that afternoon. With Wilan volunteering to be my driver for two days, we went to Divisoria the following day to buy fabric to be used as props. I arrived inside Guerrero at about three in the afternoon.

It was then when I found out that only the students were there. The lights and sounds people were crippled from working because of some protocol of the Dulaang UP system (or the lack of it, rather). It was a good thing that my Technical Director was very efficient that all of the curtains were hung before the first (and last) rehearsals at six in the evening. The blinking marquee to be flown onstage was raised right after the rehearsals at about eleven. That time, I told myself, I will only have the flowers to worry tomorrow.

Lloyd picked me from UP that night. We went to Loyola and saw a number of friends again.

It was this morning, Wednesday, that emotions got the better of me. While I was rushing things to be completely done, I was trying to organize my costume for the said show. This was done with intervals of tear bursts. It was then I realized that the whole thing is just surreal.

We are doing a full show with two days preparation. And the said show is for my 'mother'. His last show.

The mass started promptly one in the afternoon then the tribute after. It went on smoothly as possible. Technically, it was almost perfect. The backstage crew operated with precision and descipline. Yet, amongst the performers, no amount of concealer can cover grief.

It started with a very upbeat dance and song numbers just like how Mabesa wanted it-to be like a Vaudeville. Readings of letters of faculty members who are abroad. A zarzuela duet, speeches from theatre icons, a video of stills, a solo dance and a solo vocal, capped with a drag show. It was during the the finale that almost everybody broke into tears while watching us who are teary eyed trying so hard to be funny.

The curtain call shifted to the audience area where Ogie was put. Confetti of petals and a standing ovation.

It was then I fully realized that my mentor is gone already. The person who is responsible in putting me where I am now. In whom I thank my entire career for.

It was then I got to grasp that Ogie is dead. Though I am not sure if I have fully accepted it until now. I think I should. As if I still have other options...

I am listening to one of his CDs right now-At Last by Cindy Lauper... it is playing "On the Sunny Side of the Street."

For Ogie... 1961-2007

2007-04-08T11:28:00.000+08:00

I am reposting this entry...

Ogie passed away yesterday, April 7.

Let us start with my mentor in college.

Not a lot of people like this person really. He landed in the pages of a national daily because of some atrocious accusation of a student. Personally, the accusations are not far from happening but not to this accuser. I can tell, I was the one who replaced him when he walked out. Then again, nothing came out of it primarily because it was all hype. Apart from the trauma of being publicly tried, status quo remained, and my mentor continued on teaching in the university.

His name is Ogie Juliano. We first met when I enrolled in his class in acting 1. During that time, I was already part of the cast of the play being directed by his mentor- Tony Mabesa. So the pressure in his class was greater than a regular student would feel. He was directing another play also during that time that our class was required to audition to. You're only exempted when you are already part of other plays, exempli gratia, me. More pressure. I was his favorite example in class, being 'the Mabesa actor' and 'the one who refused to act under him'.

In the middle of the semester, we became really good friends. Though I'm not part of his play, after our rehearsals, I will go to his shows. Dinner everynight. Apparently, my status during that time was 'student' or make it- 'struggling student' err... 'struggling, starving student'. I was your all time free loader almost everynight. And when I get honorarium from the plays I acted in, I treat him for dinner. That usually is after every two months. Almost like the blue moon.

I eventually acted in his plays. But the more important thing that he thought me was not about acting. He took me as an apprentice on design. Specifically costuming. He was the one who taught me how a medieval cloak's cut would differ from that of the victorian's. How the cut of the skirts changed through centuries. He taught me that a panuelo is there to cover the breasts and not wearing a tapis is unbecoming of a lady during the turn of the century Manila.

"Wala naman ksi silang panty nun kaya eto na yung pantakip para di liparin ang palda." He further stressed, "Kaya yung mga bisaya na patadyong lang, bastos yun!"

His designs remained well studied and carefully crafted. A teacher with masters in theatre, he continues to study the details and admits that he has still a lot to learn. And each time he drafts a scheme, he explains why it is so. From colors, to cuts, to fringes, to accessories. Not a single detail left unexplained. There will always be a reason why each single thread is there in a single piece of costume. Most importantly, he taught me that I can only do that if (and only if) I put my heart on it. Treating it as a job will be a sin.

"My work is personal. That is how I operate. In no way one can make a good design if he doesn't put his heart into it."

I understand him now. Now that I'm on my own. I still falter a lot of times. Yet thankful, at least I know how to make it right.

do visit...

2007-04-05T04:06:00.000+08:00

before you scroll down, do visit my other blog---

DESIGN POLICE

thanks...

the count dracula in me...

2007-04-05T01:14:00.000+08:00

It has been a year since I started writing blogs. I remember the first entry was about the Holy Week. It has been a year that I have been pouring my cares fearlessly in the net.

It has been two years since I moved here in my unit. It was Holy Week when I signed the contract two years ago. And I have decided to stay here another year. Signed the new contract last week.

It has been a two weeks that I have not been to the gym. It has been two weeks that I have been nursing this cough and the fear of an impending fever. And I finally said enough, I have to take amox 500 to kill whatever virus that has been starting to infest my system. Though the other side of me says that the virus has another name-- overworking. Damn, what's the drug for that?

It has been twenty years since I graduated from elementary. I was forced to fly to Antique for the weekend to deliver a speech during the commencement exercises of my Alma Mater being their distiguished alumnus. Oh yes, I, myself was totally floored when my dad told me about it. The program started at eight in the morning and ended before lunch. It was nostalgic for me. I literally spent my formative years inside that school-- it was called Baybay Elementary School and later changed to Gov. Santos Capadocia Memorial School. I like the sound of it's former name-- Baybay meaning beach. Yes, the school is near the beach. It's the oldest elementary school in town and it's turning 100 next year.

It has been quite a while. And I'm smiling.

Shit happening

2007-03-22T11:17:00.000+08:00

Have you been in a situation where you can't help it but wish you shouldn't have been there in the first place? A friend aptly puts it, "Shit! napasubo ako dito."

Yeah, it feels shitty...

singing my body exhausted...

2007-03-17T23:11:00.000+08:00

After having straight five-weekday shoots for three weeks, my body said enough.

I almost fainted while walking to Paul's car last night. He decided to take me to his house instead. Upon reaching his place, I only got to change shorts and dozed off. I woke up this morning with a 38 degrees C temperature.

I went home after lunch. While having dinner last night, my neighbor called that my unit was flooded because my bidet gave-in. The bathroom mat did nothing but to clog the drain making the water flow on the living room to the hallway of the the sixth floor. I came home with a wet rug. I will fix all these tomorrow. I'm tired.

Maybe I should really take it slow.

Maybe I should.

Non-writer's angsts #3

2007-03-09T18:59:00.000+08:00

"May blog ka pala?!"

I received this greeting from three different people three days in a row now. Receiving such, I felt like how they sounded- pretty much surprised.

"Nagsusulat ka pala!"

From one of the three. I was quite puzzled of the comment. Yet flattered at the same time. It is funny how people would gauge you basing it on your usual work. Mine for example is styling-- tinkering with inanimate objects (good thing they don't complain), making them look good, arrange them for the camera and shoot. Then wrapping them back again. I guess, a lot in the place where I'm working see me as that. A mere stylist. And if they find out that you are doing something apart from what they see, they get surprised. Some, even bothered. I used to hear a friend telling me to focus and just do one thing and be good at it. She has a point. Yet in my case, doing a lot of things-- different things makes my life more chaotic and therefore more fun. Monotony after all, is the curse of the professional life.

"Galeng! Galing mo magsulat!"

I have to admit, this can make my day. I just hope the two did it not to flatter me. Yet even if they did, it will still make my day. Ok admittedly, I'm a love-sick-frustrated-writer. Shamelessly admitting the fact, I am greatly offended and my ego drops to the Marianas trench everytime I am being told na hindi ako marunong magsulat.

Marunong akong magsulat. Mali lang ang spelling. Mahina sa grammar.
Pero marunong akong magsulat. Hindi lang magaling.

amazing thailand...

2007-03-08T04:57:00.000+08:00

I will write about this next time... just too tired and sleepy.

Bangkok from the highway going to the airport

The amazing Bangkok Airport

Siam Design @ Siam Hotel and Spa podium floor and pool

Jim Thompson house. The lower photo was taken before my camera almost got confiscated for taking interior pictures of the house.

Safari

Lying Buddha. I did not expect that he would be that huge!!!

Golden Buddha (replica, the real one I did not bother to shoot)

The amazing part.. was actually not documented....

I love the nightlife...

2007-02-18T14:16:00.000+08:00

Gimmick.

After years of fun and bottles of alcohol. I have finally decided that if ever I will go out in Manila's nightlife, it will be to accompany some friends and just to see the current crowd painting the town. It will be rare, unlike before. It will be much sober, unlike before. It will be more relaxed, unlike before.

Manila's nightlife has gotten younger and younger. Or maybe I'm the one getting older. The crowd does have the same faces every weekend for about a year or two. Then it will have additional few younger faces after a few months. Music continuously evolves to a more dreamy and grotesque themes in mixed beats. And so is fashion- more eclectic. Although at some point, got boring. If you go out twice a year with six-month intervals, you will not be missing a thing.

Bars lives peak in a year and unless they renovate or add some additional features, go downhill and eventually close down. And the same crowd will transfer to another new venue and waste that place for the same span of time until another new bar opens.

I was not planning to go out last night. I have been wanting to stay at home and watch dvd while doing some drawings. Until Lloyd (who apparently is one party animal who is terribly bored partying in Manila) asked me to join him for dinner after going to the gym. We had dinner at SM North (my, reminds me of college years). Then another friend called-- Wilan is from San Fernando. Lloyd got excited and proposed that we go out and have fun-- in Angeles City. I have to call Paul, since we are supposed to see each other that night. Paul agreed. A few minutes later, we found ourselves in NLEX driving to San Fernando to pick-up Wilan to party in Angeles.

We hopped from one bar to another. Lloyd met a few friends who practically got us in to bars and places for free. Ended up eating the best sisig in the palengke at about four in the morning. Paul brought me home at about six.

The experience was different. We are thinking of going back there next week.

NON-writer's angsts... 2

2007-02-17T13:37:00.000+08:00

view from the lighthouse in cape bojeador

My editor told me that I can write well in my blog yet my articles are poorly written.

The last article I wrote for a magazine was a commentary on Philippine furniture design. A former officemate asked me write something on trends on design, how the business started and how it is doing now in the country. My diminutive writing ego was totally intimidated and told her that I can't do it. She told me to just scribble something and she will take care of it. I did. She had it published in their November issue. A number of friends got to read it on board Philippine Airlines and told me it was nice. It made my day. Rather days. Until now, I still receive text messages about it.

It is funny that after working in the magazine industry for almost five years now, styling over a hundred homes, doing countless set-ups, choosing products to feature (my, if only these stores know it everytime I enter their doors), it is rare that I will receive text messages about what I did considering the degree of difficulty of the set-up or home shoots. Not that I am begging for it, not that I'm needing it, but it sure boosts one's ego if you get one.

I have said before that I sure want to work in the magazines when I was still a student in design-- primarily because I have believed that I am a better critic than a designer. I sure entered the business and did something else-- exposing my work for critics. Yet writing something about somebody's work is still far from reach. I guess, it will never happen. But yes, I sure am contented where I am now. (In the industry I mean, in life, that's another thread.)

Writing on the other hand is one dream I have to put aside. It is accepting my limitations and moving forward to other avenues. Doing it from time to time in other magazines (and publications) feeds my whim (and fear).

It's funny because, in my home magazine, the last time I wrote something substantial was (aside from the bookazine) about three years ago- shopping flowers in Dangwa. Funnier, it was minimally edited.

sigh!

2007-02-12T16:31:00.000+08:00

photo from http://www.beyondtherainbow2oz.com/wicked-a-new-musical-in-pictures.html

"there are bridges you cross you didn't know until you cross..."

Glinda the Good, Wicked

The morning after...

2007-02-12T08:39:00.000+08:00

It was the term my aunt wrote as a salutation on a photo she sent to my grandmother.

Querida Mama,

And so I thought it was ill meant to have sent my grandmother such. Then my mother told me it means "Dear" or "Darling" or some term of endearment fit for somebody special.

Querido/Querida/Kerido/Kerida/Kerids/Kabit

How the word got its meaning now is another story. In fact, a story unkown to me. The origin of how it became a slang is something I have not heard of. Though how we take such word right now I know every single sigh and syllable of it. It takes one to know one, I guess.

It was supposed to be a one night stand. It went down to us seeing each other everyday and eventually got into holding each other's hands. As if it is the most private part. I pressumed that both of us are single since either of us showed no signs of being not. My mistake.

It was my turn to be brought to the other person's place. It was remarkably designed. Quite dated in choice of accessories and hues but nonetheless, it was impressive. On each console
stood the family photos. Except for one console- the foyer. It was the person I'm holding hands with embraced by some unfamiliar face.

I was told a few days before about the fact. I brushed it aside. Thinking I can handle it since the other party is not here. Or I can just forget about it. Until last night.

It wasn not only on the foyer console, worse, the bedside table.

I went home this morning to catch my eight in the morning shoot... inside the cab, I wrote this--

Uuwi na ako

Umaga na naman
Nakasisilaw ang pumapanhik
Na Araw
Binibigyang liwanag ang mga kanto't
Kalyeng masalimuot.

Uuwi na ako.
Sabi ko
Galing sa bahay mo. Maginaw.
Galing sa yakap na nailaan.

Umaga na naman.
Nakasisilaw ang katotohanan.
Ipinapahiwatig na ako'y
Nag-iisa.

Cursed!!!

2007-02-10T01:15:00.000+08:00

curse of the golden flower
a.k.a. -- ang sumpa ng ginintuang kepyas

The story was quite simple--

Everybody is preparing for a party. You have a mom from the upper class sleeping with the dad's eldest son from his first wife. The dad who is not from the nobility tries to poison his wife to madness so he can control her while banishing her son for ten years. The eldest son sleeps with the dad's pharmacist cum confidant's daughter who apparently is married to his so-called banished first wife. The mom hires a spy to investigate the meds given to her, who happened to be the same first-wife of the dad. Mom finds out. Conives with son to plot a coup against the dad. Eldest son finds out. Tells dad. Youngest envious son kills eldest brother to get attention of the dad. Dad kills youngest son. Coup fails. Son kills himself. The party continues.

Well, it is not that simple really - It is a story of a deranged family. Spiced with tens of thousands of cast, millions of beadwork, kilometres of carpet and an unlimited supply of potted chrysanthemums. Shot in a studio resembling the fabled forbidden city.

We came in about five minutes late and the first scene was the cancelled meeting of the empress with the emperor. It was Hero put to Last Emperor drenched in gold. The next few scenes splattered in shades of aqua, plum, red and more gold. As the whole visual assault is going on, you have breakers of black and gray with fantastic special effects ( I guess, break from all the colors but an assault as well). Then the inevitable battle that made Helm's Deep elementary and as if it is not enough, after everyone was killed, they cleaned the entire area, rolled a new carpet, bring new chrysanthemums and tada! fireworks and the festival pushed thru complete with a choir of thousands. Excess became an understatement.

Living in a country where the film industry thrives on austerity, such lavishness and impossibility is almost ridiculous. Keen attention to detail became a euphemism for
some pathological behavior. Considering that it is based on the latter part of the Tang Dynasty, the most ostentatious of all dynasties, much artistic license was put doubling the entire visual feast.

Come the credits, scored with some chinese pop song. You get out of the cinema saying "P#+@Ng I%@!!! Ano yun?!"

One wonders how the opening of the Beijing Olympics be next year considering that they have the same director.

DESIGN POLICE

2007-02-05T15:04:00.000+08:00

try visiting this.... http://style-observer.blogspot.com/

A friend has been asking me for the longest time to make a blog about design. Afterall, that is what I do (or at least pretend to do). And I would always contemplate about it and decide not to because I am not a writer. So how can I possibly make an essay about a certain tea-pot designed by some blond lashed genius who doesn't even know where Manila is or if ever, still calls the Republic of the Philippines - P.I.? Po*#-i*& sh*t!

On the other hand, on our private moments, we will always talk about the common sins prevalent inside our homes. And other sins involving design and decorating. Yet we can't find a public venue for it.

Ok, I have to write this disclaimer---

Whatever is written there is not meant to insult but to correct. It is not written to ridicule but to improve. And yes, if you commit a crime as defined in that blog, you will never go to jail!

Enjoy!

brain gender and hmmmm...

2007-02-05T02:14:00.000+08:00

Your Brain is 60% Female, 40% Male

Your brain is a healthy mix of male and female
You are both sensitive and savvy
Rational and reasonable, you tend to keep level headed
But you also tend to wear your heart on your sleeve

What Gender Is Your Brain?

portraits from ilocos

2007-02-02T13:42:00.000+08:00

Ocs Alvarez had me hold his old camera.. and now, im contemplating on changing careers.

... I need to go to workshop and yeah... buy a good camera.

northern exposure

2007-02-02T06:14:00.000+08:00

Just got home from Ilocos...

fried frosties at the old city

threads of abel

remedios' view

Paoay

windmills of Bangui
Bojeador watchman

loner in saud

Good As New Beginnings....

2007-01-14T00:48:00.000+08:00

The chair is white now, and there is a coffee table infront of the love seat.

It looked like a new carpet. Pristine white wool. I had it repaired by Triple A after almost two years of careless washing. Actually, it was delivered last November but I did not have the time to get it from my friend's unit until two days ago. The whole time, I was thinking of rolling it out on the floor or not since I will be moving out anyway.

After two years of living in this unit, I have finally decided to look for a bigger place. My shoes are too many already for the shoe rack I have installed when I came here. My dining table became a working desk. And my clothes can barely fit in the closet.

I moved here in haste almost two years ago. For reasons I can't enjoy remembering yet I intend not to forget. I signed the contract that faithful black saturday of 2005. Funny, because I had the place in all white.

Looking back, those two years have been very fruitful. Lots of mess I have created for myself, lots of successes that put me where I am now. Gained friends, maintained some, lost a few.

I have learned that in a lot of times, you have to just take the plunge sometimes and swim your way in when youre already there although there are these few trying times that you have to maintain both feet on sea and on shore. I have learned that while your work improves (or otherwise) you also change as a person. I have learned that the greatest work you can do is actually seeing it done by others who saw you do it. That is the time when you have to move on and move further.

I have learned that friendship can only exist if you view each other as equals. And just like any relationships, it can become a job. It is up to you if you want to work on it or not.

I have learned that one thing good about living is having a choice. The options can be limitless. It is up to us to decide which road to take. Comes with these choices are responsibilities. And as we grow, they tend to multiply too.

I have considered that I am not young anymore. And I have tried to accept that yes, science can help me now.

I'll be moving out soon from this place-- to a bigger place definitely. So far, I have one sure future roommate (Well, my other future roommate still has to decide). I will be bringing a lot of things out with me now. Unlike two years ago, I brought nothing. Yes, including the repaired white wool rug, I think I will still need to sweep the dirt off my feet under it.

p.s.
And yes, I would need a parking space soon...
This is going to be a perfect year!

breathtaking....

2006-12-14T03:39:00.000+08:00

climbing five stories after the 42nd floor surely is...

photo by ocs alvarez

Strange...

2006-12-09T03:55:00.000+08:00

A few weeks ago, I got to post that my dad has cancer. A few days after that, my uncle asked his children to have him checked because he was feeling ill also. That was after finding out Tatay's condition.

My uncle past away a day before we went to China. His was fast- lung cancer.

Just this afternoon, my cousin texted me that another uncle is in a critical condition in Iloilo after a bike accident. His left collarbone is broken.

Is this telling our family something?

Strange.

Lost in Translation

2006-12-03T01:11:00.000+08:00

Iya, the day after, outside the PRC Immigration

It was about seven in the evening when we got out of the theme park. Our tour guide was waiting for us under the lychee trees outside. We were told that there was no parking so we have to be there before the designated time for the coaster to pick us up. Among the group, only two families went inside the park. It was a good experience. My parents enjoyed it a lot, especially my mom. She even rode the camel just to have her picture taken near the pyramids.

Thirty minutes later, we were dropped near a busy market area. Supposedly to eat dinner. Only our family have actually paid for the dinner as part of the tour. The rest decided to eat at a more familiar fast food- Kentuky Fried Chicken. We entered this local (spell C-H-I-N-E-S-E) restaurant that can probably seat the capacity of Rizal Ballroom. There was a table prepared for us. Amidst fifty more tables already filled with people-- apparently who obviously know each other. It was a party.

That very moment when my niece started to cry, throwing her tantrums to everybody except her mom. About five minutes of crying, people started to stare at our table. It was the time when my sister's face turned pale as she was trying to get her daughters temperature. The baby has fever.

We called our tour guide and asked if she could possibly bring us to a pharmacy. And after a ten minute walk, I saw a more familiar store-- Watson's. We went to the counter and asked (with of guide interpreting) for paracetamol drops. We were led to a shelf of over the counter drugs. And yes, not a single box labled in english. Out of desperation, my sister carrying her baby and I browsed through the boxes one after the other trying to look for meds that we can somehow understand. It was after about forty boxes when we got to see -- 125ml acetaminophen. That was the first time I saw my sister smiled that night.

We went back to the restaurant and saw my parents already trying to eat what was served- a total of twelve courses, that includes the fabled abalone and crispy pigeon. I barely touched the food because I was busy explaining to the counter what an ice is. It took them about ten minutes to actually bring us a glass filled with ice.

My sister quickly gave her little girl a cold rub to somehow bring the temperature down. It took her about thirty minutes for the fever to subside. Enough time for the oldies to finish what they started.

I had tea that meal.

We arrived at the hotel with the baby already asleep. After making my parents settle in the room, I asked to be excused for about an hour. I went to the fifth floor restaurant named- Western Restaurant. It was Karen Carpenter singing as I sip my 28-Yuan brewed coffee.

So, this is how it's like when you're not in your country...

glad to be home..

2006-11-27T23:06:00.000+08:00

Just got home from China...

something is just not right in this photo...

or rather... photos.

more angst... bog!

2006-11-21T22:35:00.000+08:00

taken one afternoon in ucc, podium

Writing the previous entry was not easy for me. Aside from the fact that I am not a writer, I am not really sure if what I am doing is right or wrong. Write and wrong.

In the past weeks, I was plagued with existentialist's questions just like how I was about eight to ten years ago. It was before I got to finally decide to study interior design and shift gears.

It started with this close friend who told me that it will be hard for me to shine onstage as a performer because I am not cut for it. It was the time when I was doing plays for one of those air-conditioned theatre companies. It was a day job for me. We were having shows during weekends and rehearsing for another show weekdays. It was fun. When the current show closed, another opens. It was a mill of plays. For a theatre buff trying to become an actor (who actually studied it in the academic environment), it was a dreamjob. To my parents, it was a joke. To my once-close friend, it's a futile attempt to hone the craft.

It was an attempt to get out of the old system where you were born and trying other venues and see if it is going to work. It did. I did not. I shifted gears.

I decided to study design because I actually came to the conclusion that I should be doing something else aside from being onstage because I was convinced that I can't be the best amongst those who stand within the proscenium walls. As my dad would jokingly say about me-- 'jack of all trades, master of none.'

That same friend told me that I will never graduate on time (or was it never graduate at all?), knowing me very well. Two yeas later, I had my exhibit. In those two years, I have to let go of my 'dayjob' because I can't possibly mix acting ang studying interior design. My assignments and plates killed the actor in me.

As I recall, that was the time we were doing a lot of Shakespeare. And modesty aside, that core group of actors were the only ones who can actually muster iambic pentameter during that time. Sadly, even that priviledge and learned skill, I have to leave behind.

I became a struggling designer. An ideal one at that. After the exhibit, I was unemployed. I barely know how to act anymore. I became a professional job applicant. My afternoons were spent either in Araneta Center sending mails and application forms or at home hunting for work in the internet. This went on until I got accepted by a garment company to do their windows. My first 'job' was to become a visual artist for store displays. My excitement was short lived. I stayed there for two months. For the life of me, I simply can't swallow their system.

Then I met a friend who was my classmate a year before that and she recommended me to design firm where she is working. Luckily I got accepted. It was 'the' firm during that time. And I was introduced to the other side of the world that I was born to know. Keywords were: Sophistication, Extravagance and Discipline. I am not in any one of the three. Painfully, I got to accept that those are not just concepts but are day to day dictums of some people. I lasted there a couple of months. And I became unemployed again.

I tried different things that would actually generate income. Stage management, make-up, costuming, tried acting again. That was a difficult time. then a friend recommended me to take his place in a project that was for a magazine. I took the challenge enveloped in fear.

That was the start why I'm here.

The difference now is that I am not shifting gears. At least not voluntarily. In doing so, changes make you think. Changes stir the status quo. A lot of times, causing anxiety and the far off after effect- pain. Causing stress. I have learned to hate stress because it brings out the worst in me. I have learned to hate stress because I can not live without it either. I have learned to hate stress because, at the same time, it brings out the best in me.

Nursing that anxiety now.

My apologies.

of dirtroads and crossroads

2006-11-18T20:54:00.000+08:00

photo by Ocs Alvarez
shot at the old Summit Studio

I just finished drafting my resignation letter.

My boss told me it is just a formality as I am transferring positions to consultancy (basically almost the same work, different title) yet somehow it has it's effect on me--

Very poignant but very liberating.

I was consultant for a year of the magazine. It happened for obvious reasons which I am not about to discuss. During that time, I never felt I was working on consult. It felt like the burden of the entire magazine was on my back. So I continued to work until I got to miss my thirteenth month pay so I decided to become an employee again. Practically no change of work and yeah, the load is still there. I have to admit, it was not as heavy as before when the new Art Director came in. For the first time, I felt like a Stylist and not as the over-all visualist (in which case was often vetoed anyway).

Now, I am not the one feeling that... being vetoed , I mean.
Uh-hum!!

I started working for the magazine as a contributor. It was a test run to find out if I have the constitution for the job. I can still remember my supposedly first official pre-production meeting with the EIC. It was at Cafe Breizh/Crepe Bretonne at eight in the evening one faithful Black Saturday as scheduled the week before. She begged off thirty minutes before the meeting. They shot two houses in the island that day. My first assignment was styling locks and jalousies. (How can you possibly style a dead bolt?!?) Please, no violent reactions! It was that time that I was this eager beaver trying out everything that I think I want to do under the sun. The second job was styling wine glass tags.

photo by Ocs Alvarez
shot at the late Kish
crafts by bel lejano
glasses from rustan's

Then I was given my first house to style. The call was nine-thirty Monday morning. It was raining elephants during that time. Impoverished and eager, I took the bus, braving the rain and went to Galleria to make it to the call time. Then I called the one in charge of the shoot and asked where we can meet, she advised me to enter the mall and go directly to the office. Mall opens at ten. I tried four gates until I eventually told the guard that I am going to McDonalds. I did not go to McDonalds. I don't have that much cash (from my sister) for breakfast. When I got to the office, I found myself arranging the trip going to the venue because the shoot producer was not there yet. We eventually got to the house at about half-hour past ten. The producer arrived quarter past eleven.

After that shoot, I was summoned by the EIC for a meeting and gave me an offer. An offer that I was not able to resist. I was about to enter as an employee middle of the month but was moved to the first day of the following month because I had problems with my medical exams results. I underwent medication and eventually got in as planned.

I fell in love with the job. It was the best thing that happened to me in the third decade of my life. I was warned by some friends about my boss' temperament but eventually I got to prove them wrong. She became my mentor and friend. My eagerness was aptly fed and the whole time, it never felt like work.

Things got to change when she resigned (it was more of 'retired' actually). My buddy transferred to another magazine and I became consultant. It was one year of, admittedly, crisis for me. The thought of leaving yet not having enough good options lingered.

photo by Bahaghari MFI
shot at Greenbelt

I once heard that you have three reasons why you are in a theatre production: the play/role, the director, the pay. Stay if you have at least two. It goes the same in an office. I only have one during that time yet I stayed. Somehow, the job became my life. In the same way, I can not imagine myself looking at a product without imagining it on a set-up to be laid out on a page. It became oxygen. Polluted though.

After a year, another change of EICs and I got reinstated as an employee again. Though the set-up this time is very different. When I got to enter, I was the 'youngest' employee. Everybody during that time came-in before me. This time, I became the 'eldest' where everybody came after me. Especially after our Art Director transferred to another magazine, leaving me as the only original staff member.

I became the Style Editor. I have an associate who apparently doesn't report to me (let's talk about office system and hierarchy). There is nothing I can do about it either, my new boss adheres to such practice. The funny part about it is when things fall apart, I am being called to do 'damage control' about something that I am clueless of, primarily because I was not the one who was consulted for such project. Part of the job description I suppose.

This went on until I told my boss enough. Discussed with her the root of the problem and hopefully something can be done about it. Well, something was done about it. Little and pallative. At least there is something being done.

Amidst all these, the love for the job and the magazine never faded. Every month, there is always a new issue and new things to do. Often, I am like a headless chicken running from one home store to another to look for products to feature and to complete my set-ups.

The best thing that happened was when my new boss hired an Editorial Assistant. In the past, before a shoot, I am all-over Metro Manila pulling out things that by the time I'm already setting them up for a shoot, I barely have the energy for it. And as I have observed my work, this had a great effect on the photos. Right now, she takes charge of pulling-out and I'm focused more in styling (now, thats my job description). I have said before that I fell in love with the job, now I can say, "I love my job!"

photo by Ocs Alvarez
shot at Porto Gualberto
tulip chair from pablo

I can't really complain about my work. There is nothing to complain about the job.

Yet we do have priorities. Some call it moving on, some call it greener pastures. I honestly don't have those. It's more of choosing one over the other. In both pastures, not much grows. It's not between the devil and the deep blue sea either, let's just say, it's a crossroad- the point where three highways meet.

I just hope the field between the highways is not that vast because I do intend to cross from time to time.

apparently my last photo as a member of the staff since our
supposed staff shoot was cancelled
photo by Ocs Alvarez

shot at Varsity Hills

back..

2006-11-16T11:47:00.000+08:00

sana di na ko mawala....

Manila SHAME

2006-10-21T20:58:00.000+08:00

The first time I went to Manila FAME was about five years ago. A friend of mine who was an exporter invited me to view the trade show. It was one of the most breathtaking experiences I had. The year after that, I got to design one of the booths. It was located somewhere in the middle of the World Trade Center under banners with "Hall of Fame" silk screened on it.

It was when I told myself that someday, I'm going to have a booth here.

The displays were the best the Philippines can offer. For a pathological design fan, it was better than prozac. Breathtaking.

Years passed by, the best the Philippines can offer never got to change. Woven abaca, resin and more resin, Capiz shells dyed in many colors, wires and more indigenous materials. The only thing that changed was the attitude of a lot of the exhibitors. They became more abrasive, more snooty and yes, cargante.

One was even quoted, "Sosyal kami eh!" And I thought I will only hear those words said jokingly. It leaves a bad taste in the mouth when said in full conviction. It can actually make one puke.

I had my first hand taste of bad attitude from one of the exhibitors saying that they can only manufacture locally if the minimum order is $5,000. Funny because their product is customized wire letters. If you intend to order from them with that minimum, how about Anna Karenina? I bet it will not even reach $5,000.00. The most hilarious part is when you look at their card, their shack is located at Aurora Blvd. And I got to check, it's a hole in a wall talyer which poses as a world class manufacturer.

When I was asked by a friend how was the CITEM show--

"the products are frustrating and the exhibitors-- disgusting!"

Well, some were nice... too bad.

p.s.
And yeah, no desires of participating here in the future. I'm sure there will be other venues...

designer angst #4

2006-10-04T17:58:00.000+08:00

I submitted this to my ed some months ago and I think she forgot about it. I guess, I just have to post it here...

the cost of interior design

Way back in the early eighties, the word Interior Design sounded Yiddish. The practice itself is ridiculous considering that all of you are taught to do crafts and home decorating at home and in practical arts class. I can still remember how my grandmother decorated their house whenever there is a family reunion and maintained it the whole year for the reason that she can not live in an ugly cluttered house. She made her rugs, sewn her curtains and beddings, and woven solihiya on her ambassador chair. To her, it is part of life. To a lot of them in the province, including my mom, it is homemaking.

It, being basic in family life particularly with women has waned in the recent years. Homemaking developed an area of practice that is more specific, more learned and more technical called Interior Design. For others, it is a more specialized area of Architecture until it became an independent field of its own kayaking between interior architecture and home decorating.

Everybody dreams of a beautiful home. A lot would try to do it on their own, taking to heart how their Lolas would do it during the age of propriety. Some would hire a designer to do it for them. Yet some just sat down and remain dreamy believing that it is one of life’s luxuries.

What was basic before can not be a luxury in life.

It is just a pity because a lot of us think it is. Having a beautiful home is like having a beautiful dress during Sundays. And no fashion editor in any magazine will tell you that dressing well means having a lot of money to buy nice clothes. In the same way, having a beautiful home does not come with a high tag price. It doesn’t follow. What is important is your personality to be expressed in a place where you will be spending most of your life in.

Ironically, since the practice became a profession and what was homemaking before became an industry, much was developed in it as a trade and less was contributed as a craft. The rules of marketing and commercialism were injected into it that its main purpose- to provide a beautiful home, was almost forgotten. Now, we have stores and industry movers whose prime motivation is to espouse the idea that having a handsome living room is exclusive to those who can afford to buy their products. And yes, successfully manipulating the market to engender the idea that what they sell are the standards for beauty. Nothing is wrong with basic marketing strategy, that is until, a lot of those who can’t afford these “packaged beauty” actually ends up subscribing to the idea.

Interior Design as a practice and as any product comes with a price. Just like your Sunday dress, it might be more expensive than the ones you wear everyday. But unlike that dress, this designed space can envelope you seven days of the week. It is still an option if you want it expensive or not. And just like your Sunday dress, it is your option whether to pay a premium for a name or not. In any case, isn’t it always better to look for quality instead of confining yourself only to the label? Does questions like, “is your sofa base plywood or spring? Are your dining chairs in perfect proportion and ergonomics? Is the paint of your console not chipping out?” become more important.

Quality does not always mean higher price. Quality means good design and craftsmanship put to heart. It does not alienate people regardless of their status in society. It does not seek exclusivity. When Charles Eames designed the Molded Fiberglass Chair in 1949, it was with a consciousness that the design can be mass-produced and therefore be for everybody. Our airports can attest to that. When Verner Panton designed the monoblock, he may not realize that the technology behind it gave birth to the cheapest furniture genre to date but sure that design was marketed indiscriminately. These are two fathers of design whose main purpose was to give back to society, without regard to social standing, whatever talent was given to them. Not surprisingly, their names are still alive after their death. Ironically, their chairs cost much these days, It has developed a new title- collector’s items. Understandably enough, such designs became icons of furniture pieces now.

What is disturbing are the pieces now sold which serves as proof of it becoming a classic is still debatable. Yet sold at a higher cost for the reason of maintaining a certain market and desires to remain in that closed circle. It is excusable if the production cost of these pieces is exorbitant. Though one would ask, why make such pieces if you need a lot of money just producing it? Some will find it ridiculous. Others will call it passion. Still, others will just blindly buy. And yes, there will still those who will dream of owning one but can’t afford it. This very attitude keeps those who promote this kind of marketing alive. Worse, even if what they sell or claim to be standards of a handsome living room do not at all posses the quality they promise.

Interior design as an art and as a science however young, has gone a long way in our society, It has also become a business, a laissez faire and quite sadly, a status symbol. Since the profession became available for everybody, there are those who maintained a few too be their own exclusive consumption. And since a lot of them are movers in the industry, they made it the standard and the point of reference for beauty. It is this very Louise XVI French Empire against the Beidermier of the poor attitude that sums them up. No wonder why that same King Louise became the last of France.

We forget the fact that a beautiful home starts where it ends- the home. Our mothers taught us what is good and what is bad, what is proper and what is not, what is beautiful and what is ugly. I grew up in the province, I remember my Lola teaching me how to weave solihiya. We practiced in nylon and when we get to do it right, she will give us uway to do the seat of the chair. I remember my mom doing embroidery work on our pillow cases and bed covers. It is through these things we get to practice our eye to distinguish what suits us and what can’t. It is basic. It is priceless.

Of birthdays, corridors and trojan horses

2006-09-28T02:50:00.000+08:00

I turned thirty-two last Saturday. My parents arrived that day. Shortcut to having paella at Mario's and after bringing them home, I decided to go out to Malate after midnight. Went home at about six in the morning of Sunday.

Sunday was a working day for me. Tried to finish my Tuesday presentation to a client but ended up at about five in the morning of Monday. It was Sunday when my dad got admitted to St. Luke's for his kidney treatment and and another biopsy for Monday. The week before that, they found a lump on his liver through his CT scan. The liver specialist suggested a biopsy to be sure of her diagnosis.

I woke up nine in the morning of Monday. Thirty minutes later, I got a text message from my sister that the results of his biopsy is out.

"I got the results frm lab- bad- his cancer marker's sky high and pa has hep b"

Trying to collect my senses, I called my sister and asked her how bad it is and all she told me was to go to St. Luke's that very moment. I called my ed that I can't go to the event we are scheduled to go that morning. A hour later, I was in St. Luke's.

My sister and my bother-in-law were outside the room trying to discuss what was going on. The only thing I can remember was our father has about forty percent of living another year. By that time, I am still trying to grasp the entire situation. I got inside the room and my mom was trying so hard to compose herself yet obviously teary eyed. My dad was asleep. I went out of the room, the two are still there. It was that time when my sister told me that there is nothing that we can do. My father has cancer.

It was that very moment, everything that my sister was saying peirced through me and I just found myself sobbing along the corridors of the surgical section of the hospital. No amount of medical advancements can cure my dad. His doctor suggested that we rather leave the cancer untouched to at least give him a quality life... or whatever that is left of it. I got to understand fully the meaning of Noli Me Tangere. To complicate things, he has hepatitis B. I was trying to argue that our dad looked perfectly alright so how can he be that ill? My sister just said that he has a trojan horse inside him waiting for that perfect opportunity.

It was that time when I was about to do an auto shutdown when my mom came out of the room. She did not say a word but just embraced me as I brokedown in tears. It was the time when the world stopped-- at least to our family.

We all know that one way or another, we are bound to die. Yet it makes a whole lot of difference when death is being served in front of you and you are only given this much time to eat it. It was that same night when my sister decided to tell my dad the real score about his illness. My dad just smiled and accepted it as it is then called his closest relatives to have themselves checked. It was the longest night of my life.

The following morning, I woke up finding my parents talking. Then my dad dropped the bomb at me, "If I die next year, are you going to stay with your mom?" He said.

Before I get to answer it, my mom said that I shouldn't. She said I have a life here and staying with her will be unfair for me. She then said, I can always fly to Antique once a month. My dad just smiled at me short of saying that I should take care of my mom.

I went to my shoot that day. Dazed and tired, I finished the home shoot in two hours and a half. Went to the office after that then finished all requirements for two articles. Went home at about five in the afternoon then met with a cliet at about seven. By nine, I was back in the hospital. I found my father rather cranky with sprouts of laughter. His cousin visited him bringing a cancer patient who was diagnosed to have a year left to live some five years ago.

Somehow, hope springs eternal.

They went out of the hospital today. They are supposed to by flying home tomorrow but decided to postpone it till Saturday because of the typhoon.

I turned thirty two last Saturday. It feels like ten years ago.

designer angst #1 re-post

2006-08-29T12:02:00.000+08:00

I wanted to write #4 but I guess this one is still apt to what I feel now...

our september issue... when make-overs are not made for photo ops but for real people!

I have been wanting to write this for the magazine but I can't find a section where it can fit.

Since I started working here three years ago, the question whether the interior design industry can be brought to the masses a viable cause or not remains a question. One of the reasons why I stayed in this magazine until now is primarily because of this. Real Living started with the cover line-- Live Well, Spend Smart. If we dissect that line, it does not automatically mean - have a beautiful house, yet limiting your budget to 1,500 pesos for a sofa. Spending smart can still mean buying a tulip chair knowing for a fact that it has a resale value, for 23,000 pesos. Yet, at first glance, 'Live Well, Spend Smart' can actually mean having a beautiful home on a shoestring budget. It is with this first-impression-on-the-cover-line that has been my guide in composing a lot of my visuals for Real Living.

After three years, somehow, we got the message across, especially to a lot furniture makers and exporters. We are not a high-end magazine. Yet we make beautiful homes. It is with this sincerity that we became number one in our genre. Screw modesty.

Yet every time this is being brought up, I can't help but wish sometimes that "sana, high-end kami, mas mabilis sana ang mga pull-outs at x-deals." Before I got here, I was working as interior designer of one of the highest paid pedigreed designers in the country. An average budget for a three-bedroom condominium unit can go up to eight million excluding my boss' fees. I was doing visual merchandising for their store, which actually serves coffee or tea to its clients while checking the furniture pieces on display. A single vase is equivalent to the cup of coffee, plus the cup and saucer, plus the beans, plus espresso maker. Some have even prices that can include the entire modular kitchen where your espresso maker can be found. In other words, what is sold there, what is discussed, I will never get to afford. And so is my kind-- the working class.

Where I'm coming from, this notion is true to a lot of people. Interior design is one industry for the rich. Does it follow that a beautiful home is exclusive to the rich too? Of course we say that it doesn’t follow. Because you can actually do it yourself. You don’t have to hire a designer. That is why the magazine is there. That is why there are magazines. Now, of course this doesn't apply to the first question. Maybe a bit, but not quite.

Yet working in the magazines surely made the dilemma more apparent. Especially when you see products that are well crafted with perfect proportion priced exorbitantly. Much worse, you meet the maker of these products (furniture, for example) short of telling you in your face that you can not feature them because it does not fit your market range or simply because they don't manufacture for the local market-- spell third world. It gets more frustrating because here you are, getting invited to these shows, seeing these pieces yet your lenses are clipped but instead you get to settle to what is available in their laminate form proudly Xiamen made in the malls.

If not laminates, we have Malaysian rubber wood, or maybe some wood, which used to be crates now converted to a dinner table. Sofas made of ply boards that can last only for three years. While the products that we consider quality, proudly Philippine made are not available in the Philippines. If it is, they are too expensive. I'd settle for the latter, at least it is sold here. If you dig deeper, these products don't really cost much export wise (they have to still compete with China after all) but when sold here, their prices are doubled. This is one thing I cannot understand. It is a conscious effort to alienate your products to a vast majority of your people. It is with this attitude that makes interior design an industry only for the rich. Quality interior design.

I attended a symposium months ago and a demi-god of a designer was invited to speak. He was wearing this pink suit saying that design is for everybody yet you can not approach him easily because you have to pass thru a battalion of local designers who are harbingers of the exact opposite idea he espouses.

Interior design is indeed for everybody. It only becomes elitist when mixed with the word industry. It is not for free either, as everything else, it comes with a price. It only becomes elitist because of the conscious effort done by a lot of members in its core for it to be such.

While the worldwide trend is moving towards tapping the greater market (which is the middle class), we are living in feudal times here in this country. Where the monarchs are trying so hard to keep their fancies exclusively theirs not knowing the peasants outside already crossed the moat. The greater question here, do the peasants outside care? Do they really want to enter? It is also with this question that I am still with the magazine. Indeed, there is a growing number of people who are more conscious in making their homes more beautiful now. But is the number sufficient to at least fuel the materials and means of opening the market?

I’m still with the magazine. And I still stand for the cause.

I have been wanting to write this for the magazine but I can't find a section where it can fit. As I said before, I am not writer, but sure there are other ways of airing this one. Photos perhaps?

designer angst #3

2006-08-21T04:26:00.000+08:00

estimate the cost for this space?

It was not so long ago when I told myself that I will not accept projects for less than a million. Now, I am starting to do one that I quoted for 500,000 and the owner told me that she can only afford three hundred.

The number one reason why I said that, was primarily because of the work load. Apparently, homes of a lesser budget means more work. Meaning, sourcing like you're looking for a needle on a shag rug. Usually, low-end suppliers will not give designers swatches and samples. In order for a cheap tile to be approved by the client, it's either bringing the client to the store or buying a piece for approval. Fabric can only come from elpo in divisoria and lights and faucets, from binondo. You don't leisurely visit these places on a regular day. It's an event going to Ylaya and Ongpin.

Secondly, the lesser the budget, the smaller my fee since it usually is percentage of the budget. I do need the money. Apparently, a lot of people still don't understand the whole idea that it is actually a job. A design proposal does not at all mean just a couple of drawings, a swatchboard and a discussion over a cup of coffee for three hours. Designers would actually spend sleepless nights trying to form a concept for the given space. Together with the laying out of the plan, is solving each problem the floor, the ceiling, the walls and every single detail the interiors give. In each proposal, much work is done. And when the drawings are done already, half of the work of the designer is finished. Apparently, less than half of the fee is being paid at this time.

Together with laying out the floor plan, is a lingering reminder that the budget is is only up to this. It is very frustrating to design when you know for a fact that the space has the potential to be really beautiful and each space can be of function when you are restricted by the budget-- or the lack of it.

I have been very honest to my clients for the past years. I would tell them initially how much they need to finish the house and most of the time they say that they can only afford sixty percent of the estimate. It has been very hard trying to keep everything not to go over that given sixty percent. Maybe next time, I'll jack up the price to double. Sixty percent of that will not be that bad as a working budget. Then again, what does it say about me?

So far, I rarely take photos of the finished product (as defined by the client) primarily because for me it is not yet done. Yet their pocket says it is. Though I doubt it very much myself if indeed it is their pocket (sounds pretty much like f#*k-it) thats speaking. It was not their main priority. Then, I would feel depressed because it is to me.

Yet I am doing another one with exact same story. My fee is secondary to the whole thing. I want my client to have a beautiful home. I just hope she will understand my predicament. Maybe I should tell her my story.

hating byes...

2006-08-09T00:00:00.000+08:00

i'm beginning to miss her as she is twelve hours away now...

Growing up in the province has its advantages and well, yeah... disadvantages. Since Antique is a shoreline province, you can actually serve the best the sea can offer. Living as if nobody would actually need a refrigerator (only for ice and ice cold coca-cola, I guess), where mineral water is not bottled but overflowing, where carbon monoxide is one compound you can only find in chemistry class and days and nights seem longer than as they are now. Barriotic, provincial and bucolic. The very reasons why it is called bakasyunan. I longed for every summer vacation when my cousins from Manila and Iloilo would come and stay there for a couple of days. And each time they leave, I hated every single moment of it.

I grew up having summers where I felt I was always left behind. Growing up in the province taught me to hate hearing the word 'good-bye'.

Taken from 'vaya con Dios' which literally means go with God. That is the best wish you can give for somebody who is leaving-To go with Him. It's funny, it is supposed to be addressed to the one who is leaving, yet it is more painful to hear when youre the one left behind.

When I moved here, I would still hear the word from time to time. Sem-breaks, christmas vacations, summer... The best thing to do all the time is to go home ahead so that you will be the one who is going to say the word and not them to you.

Tuesday of last week, my sister said it to me. She left for the US to study her masters. Trying to pull myself together, I went back to the car quite intact with no liquid part of me dripping. While inside the car, my other sister blurted, "Three months from now, you're gonna be back here for us."

That's when I cried foul. I will be ill well-wishing them goodbye by November. I saw flashes of my chilhood pictures as we pass by EDSA. I saw myself dreading the fact of being left. It was a long sigh when I came to my senses that it is the inevitable. My sister and her family will be gone for good before the year ends. The other one went ahead a few minutes ago...

Growing up in the tropical third world has its advantages and well, yeah... disadvantages.

uno, dos, tres (nagoyo ni carlo)

2006-08-07T02:34:00.001+08:00

Uno, Dos, Tres
(from Carlo)

3 People Who Make Me Laugh:
Uno: college friend ricci chan
Dos: college friend lloyd
Tres: theatre friend gilleth

3 Things I Love:
Uno: designing
Dos: commenting
Tres: sleeping

3 Things I Hate:
Uno: ill manners
Dos: euphemisms
Tres: hypocrisy

3 Things On My Desk (at home):
Uno: my i-book
Dos: cigarette, ashtray and lighter
Tres: ostrich feathers i plucked from one in pampanga

3 Things I Am Doing Right Now:
Uno: encoding
Dos: crying
Tres: smoking

3 Things I Want To Do Before I Die:
Uno: become extremely wealthy (yung nakakapandiring yaman!)
Dos: fly a plane
Tres: tour the world

3 Things I Can Do:
Uno: eat anything (as long as i have my virlix)
Dos: move my ear without using my hand
Tres: sit by the beach all day

3 Ways to Describe My Personality:
Uno: crazy
Dos: funny
Tres: intimidating (i refuse to believe this until now!)

3 Things People Might Not Know About Me:
Uno: my first dream is to fly a plane
Dos: i love playing chess
Tres: im a son of a preacher

3 Things I Think You Should Listen To:
Uno: your mom
Dos: your instincts
Tres: bette middler!

3 Things I Don't Think You Should Listen To Ever:
Uno: a preacher claiming that they are the only one true church
Dos: your alarm clock
Tres: korina sanches

3 of My Absolute Favorite Foods:
Uno: the late holland sausage fried rice
Dos: my father's ginataang tambo (bamboo shoots with prawns/crabs in coco milk)
Tres: batchoy and puto

3 Things I'd Like to Learn:
Uno: fly a plane
Dos: how to make a walk thru design presentations
Tres: capoeira

3 Beverages I Drink Regularly:
Uno: coffee
Dos: coffee
Tres: coffee

3 Shows I Watched When I Was A Child:
Uno: man from atlantis
Dos: looney tunes
Tres: wonder woman

3 People I Tag to Do This Crap
sige na nga, lahat!

prologue to soaps

2006-08-06T18:03:00.000+08:00

the creek across wackwack

I came from a very huge family in Antique. I remember my mother trying to make our family tree from the Abiera-Salazar side and it never looked like a tree when it was laid out. It was a fifteen-page family forest. And that was just half of my mother's family starting from my great great grandfather.

My closest friends would know our story. For lack of topic, I would start the litany of my mother's family's stories and we will end up until the wee hours of the morning. Theirs can give Isabel Allende a run for her money.

Our nuclear family is becoming interesting everyday as well. My parents as the quiet couple, make it Lucita Soriano and Chinggoy Alonzo living in a bario and my two sisters as the struggling to succeed Sharon Cuneta and Maricel Soriano. My baby brother as the young Mulach. With my father's siblings as Bella Floreses, Odette Khans and Max Alvarados (mind you, they are twice the size of both girls individually). And as days go by, the soap gets more complicated and at times hilarious and absurd. Each charcter has their own stories continually playing. A lot of times, way tangent to the main plot yet goes back to it sooner or later which is still-- the family.

A lot of us are living in soap operas and a lot of times, ours is more exciting than what we see on TV. Then we find ourselves in situations and crises and coping with those does not necessarily require musical scoring (just like Lamangan's masterpieces) yet as we do hear the music in our minds. The drama behind each scene is something that we either want to avoid or milk. I really don't know if I do want to milk mine now. But sure I hear the music.

Lani singing I'm Losing You from Baz Lhurmann's Something for Everybody.

Real Living August

2006-08-02T03:24:00.000+08:00

trabaho muna...thanks carlo for the photo

As they say in the ad-- JUST DO IT!!!

Do-It-Yourself tips... stylish homes... shopping without waiting for the cab... make-overs and more!

Coming from the bestselling decor magazine in the country!

Grab your copies now!

tara na... palabas ng bansa

2006-07-26T05:00:00.001+08:00

photo by Raymond Saldana (used without permission)

When I was in my younger years in Baybay Elementary School in San Jose de Buenavista, Antique, our kasaysayan teacher would always say that our country is rich in so many ways- natural resources, skilled manpower and so on. Saying it as if all of us can actually understand what she meant. None of us did. Instead, it gave us such illusion that we are afterall a great nation.

A few years later in the mid-eighties when I get to somehow picture the state of the nation when I get to see my father cursing the television set everytime Marcos would appear. I actually thought at one point that he will throw his coffee mug at our Radiowealth black and white TV. We are a mess as a country. After eighty six, everytime there is an election, it's a fiesta of new hope. Promises are laid and a new beginning is near. A few months after the election, the fiesta continues to the streets, clamoring for change wanting yet another beginning.

My father has always been a patriot. I grew up hearing him say that I should love this country because this is the only one I can actually claim to be mine. That I should never settle being a third class citizen anywhere else. It was last year when he asked me if I want to work and stay abroad, some asian country perhaps. My other sister is leaving the country two weeks from now. She says she going to study there for two years and if she can find a job after, probably will stay there for good. And the other one, this November, together with her family. They are going to the US as migrants.

It is indeed an illusion what my grade three teacher discussed. Though there is a part of me that still believe that it is not so. As my father resigns to the whole situation, I begin to ask myself what really is in store for all of us if indeed we stay? As a lot of our peers left already, will we be lagged behind?

Before I got to answer my question, I chanced upon this video---

2006-07-26T05:00:00.000+08:00

---promoting what is here in the Philippines. Guess how many of them already opted to settle abroad?

that sweet thing...

2006-07-23T07:32:00.000+08:00

inseparable...

My sister and her family lives in this two-bedroom apartment somewhere in the better side of Quezon City. I used to live there, until my sister got engaged and I felt the strong need (for myself and not for anybody else) to live on my own so I moved out. My sister noticed that I was already out of the house months later I found a place of my own. Anyway, the master bedroom is what they occupy and the other bedroom has always been left vacant for visitors (e.g. family members meaning us). Both bedrooms are on the upper floor, typical of two bedroom apartments.

My father occupied the other bedroom when he arrived here two weeks ago. Until he went under the knife and eventually stayed in the hospital for about a week. A day before he got out of the hospital, my mom arrived. As they both can not bear not seeing each other for quite a long time, she decided to come here last Thursday. From the airport, she went directly to my father's room and a few hours later, my dad decided to actually stand and help himself in the toilet. It was amazing. Too amazing that his doctor agreed that he can actually go home the following day.

Since the two bedrooms are on the second floor, we decided to transfer the single bed in the living room for my dad so he won't be bothered of going up and down the stairs. My mom decided to sleep on the couch. Still not feeling too near to my father, she asked for a futton so she can sleep on the floor just beside the bed.

It was her last night here last night. She flew back to Iloilo this morning. my dad would have wanted to fly with her if only his doctors allowed him to. We all decided to cramp ourselves in the living room with my other sister on the couch and me on the sleeping bag beside my mom. Nobody wanted to sleep at the other room uptairs. As it was almost midnight, my dad started to doze off, my mom still half awake, tried to listen to our talk until she eventually fell asleep. The whole time, holding my father's hand.

It was the sweetest thing I ever saw in ages.

My new job

2006-07-18T10:43:00.000+08:00

sorry, no photos for this one....

Just came from the hospital today. I have exactly two hours of sleep and about three ten-minute power naps interrupted by apparitions of white ladies of different sizes and shapes. I just had my breakfast too- basically what is supposed to be the breakfast of the patient. Im feeling full yet lightheaded. Wanting to go yet doesn't have the strength to lift a finger.

Last night was a whole new experience for me. Something that maybe I should teach myself to get used to. It's being able to take care of the person you love.

My dad went out of the operating room yesterday. In full mental faculties, he was wheeled to his room with at least three plastic tubes attached to his body. He just had three major operations. "I did not realize that things are going to be like this!" He laments when he reached his bed. He is not allowed to sit much more to stand. Full bed rest afterall should not be taken figuratively. There is this strange tube attached to him on both sides that serves as a running water that goes thru his bladder and out. We were advised to make sure that it should be not pinkish because that redder it becomes, the more he's gonna stay in bed. To the point of paranoia, he would ask almost every twenty minutes if its redish or not. I was almost tepmted to lie, but what's the point? He is going to see it anyway. Only once, that it was not pinkish.

The first two hours was excruciating for me. Yet I have to make sure that I appear alright in front of him or else what help can I give? Serving water, calling the nurses, feeding him with food and lozenges, putting the bedpan, taking the bedpan out, cleaning, making sure that his running water is replaced, changing the channel for him, heating food at the pantry and when he falls asleep, try to to make coffee for myself and puffing a cigarette outside of the building (I wish he's not on the fourth floor).

I'll be getting an hour sleep and I have to be back there. I unnoficially on-leave now from work. And I'm beginning to love my new job.

On fighting...

2006-07-15T00:01:00.000+08:00

My hero...

The late Prof. Araceli Juliano would define life as a constant struggle against atrophy. That was 15 years ago, during our class in Nat. Sci. II (Biology). It was the first question she asked on our first day of class. A lot gave so profound meanings about life. She ended all answers with that precise definition. So blunt yet so true. Several years later, she succumbed in defeat in that struggle.

Everything is prone to deteriorate. Unfortunately, that includes us. To rot is our destination. Eventually. And as we live everyday, we tend to improve, fix, and do damage control to whatever part of us that is bruised, fearing the very fact that things can actually get worse. Yet the Annie in us continues to sing that tomorrow, there will be sun. It is with this optimism that we actually triumph. Winning continuously until we wear out.

I got to accompany my dad last Friday to the hospital for his biopsy. And in doing so, there were a lot of things I got to know and understand-- aside from the meaning of biopsy. When I was growing up, I saw him as the invincible Tatay. It was a different person I saw last Friday, someone vulnerable, someone more human and ironically, someone more alive as his battle becomes more visible. My sister told me that he has problems with his prostate- very common with males of that age. Yet no one in the family would actually label it as cancer. I remembered when my aunt had a brain tumour, in front of her; it was never called a tumour but just a bukol. Matter of semantics, small thing that can actually have great effects on the person who is the main hero in the fight for life.

My dad entered the operating room this morning. Same operating room where my aunt entered three years ago. Auntie is now in the province, helping my mom while my dad is here.
No traces of that so-called bukol.

I had this experience of shedding my defences yesterday to reinforce his. A bag of blood. Right now, I still have that feeling of unbearable lightness. I was told to drink a lot of liquid to regain what I lost. The Annie in me sings that song now. And I know, knowing my dad, I don't have to wait for tomorrow for the sun to rise.

Real Living July

2006-07-06T09:37:00.000+08:00

who says you can't have a beautiful home even if you're poor?!?!

get your copies now!!!

people i admire most #3

2006-07-02T16:18:00.000+08:00

zaturnnah in bora?

I got to know this person when I was just a struggling stage actor. We are about to do a play that will be produced by a group of people in one channel in mIRC. It was supposed to be about AIDS consciousness and all that. We were supposed to be lovers in the show. He would invite me to his place during that time to read one of his written works. I would call him in the wee hours of the morning if it's ok to sleep in his place. A month before the opening night, I backed-out.

I would hear his name from common friends from time to time. I would almost have one friend wherever he works. And I would always wonder how he has been. Ours is a very small world. Until I started working in Galleria and actually have my therapeutic walk around Ortigas center, by some cosmic coincidence, I would see him at least once almost every week. Like a long lost friend, we would exchange pleasantries and eventually share tables. Like long lost friends, we would update ourselves of what happened to each of us and where we are now. And the night that started with pleasantries would end up nostalgic and would always be pleasant.

Until I got to hear about him from some people I know who are not our common friends. That's when I realized that I already have to attach the prefix- The to his name. He created this comic superhero and actually published the first book himself. The graphic novel became a hit amongst a select number of people until a publisher noticed it and had it mass produced and sold it mainstream. The superhero became an icon. And so is this long lost friend.

In one of our co-incidental coffee meetings, I asked him if he is working full time in a company now. He told me that he is looking for a job. Bingo! We have an opening almost perfect for him. I told my boss about it, and she was hesitant because The friend is too big already for the job. And I told her he is perfect and settling for somebody else is indeed just settling. He applied for the job, and he was not really the favorite of the higher-up during that time. But with sheer talent and nothing else, he was the best candidate.

It was his first day in the office that our bond was sealed. And the two dimensional Carlo I knew from before unfolded and indeed became more than just a long lost friend. We would see each other almost every single working day. Our coffee meetings bacame more of a habit than co-incidental. We don't exchange pleasantries anymore and things are not always pleasant. We would have disagreements and arguments and precisely because of these, we understand each other better. I got to know that his passion about what he does is overwhelming and contagious. The same passion that moved him to create icons and in a way, himself. The same passion that drives him to be great. The same passion that gives him the courage to try new things in life.

He would always tell me that he is not brave enough to try new things. And I would always refute him. He afterall, is alone in the field where he chose to put himself. And not a lot of people can do that. Not a lot of people can stay that way.

Probably, the thing I admire most about him is believing in his work. Something that I lack. It is fighting for something and not caring if you are alone in the fight. It is having the courage to stand alone and work your way until people will believe and walk with you. It is creating a path for yourself and not just taking the main highway.

But the best thing about him is he still keep his feet on the ground. Firmly standing not knowing that his place under the sun has indeed reached hectares yet he would move by square meters. I would always kid about making him my 'claim to fame' in front of him (boy, i don't think I can do that with him not around). And will always wonder what's on his mind everytime I say that--

In mine, it's actually pushing an issue he has yet to realize...

on kids and flying

2006-06-25T19:34:00.000+08:00

Pre-Script
As I am writing this, I still haven't decided whether to actually post it or not. A friend once told me that having a blog is making your life open for public view and scrutiny. Good thing that I am living in anonymity (as I still firmly believe that my name has no recall) as compared to that friend (apparently living as an icon already). So far, I think this will be the most private entry in this blog and hopefully, the last.

my parents' most recent picture... in their mid-sixties

I have said before that I am going back to my province for good. That turn of events has bothered me for the longest time until I decided to write my parents a letter.

abridged and edited....

Dear Tatay and Nanay,

It has been a long time since I have written you anything of this kind actually. Don't worry Tay, my writing skills never developed really. I am still not as good as my sisters' when it comes to command in the english language. I'm sorry, when you said that when I was still in highschool, it got stuck to me. That probably became my driving force to strive to actually work in the print media. Until now, it has been my source of insecurity. I shouldn't have said this anymore, it's just that, I have to let it out as to prove a point and to free myself from this burden. At the end of the day, with no pun intended, I would like to thank you for that. I would have never reached this far if not for that statement.

When you summoned me to go back to the province and take care of whatever we have there, it opened so many questions to my very existence. Suddenly, I have to look at myself in the mirror. Suddenly, I have to examine myself and evaluate what have I done already and where I have gone. Questions I have been trying to avoid for a long time.

As I constantly sail through life, I wanted to believe that I have held my mast quite firmly and point it to the direction where I want to go. While this is happening, correct me if I'm wrong, you have always thought that all that I have is a sailboat and I do need a ship to sail through life. Admittedly, you have a point in thinking that way. I don't have an M.D. or an Ll.B. that goes with my name. I can't blame you for thinking that way. You have brought me up to a community where decent living would mean having a respectable family by means of living honestly, sending your children to decent schools and eventually earn a number of titles that can be posted in one of your walls. A decent source of income would mean having a business of your own, be a bank or a government employee or work abroad. I am neither in any of these.

Then there is this fact- I don't really have a choice but to go back there. My two sisters have packed their bags and will move abroad in the next few months. Nobody is going to be available but me as I opted to stay in the country. Before I even got to ask myself, "Why me?" The answer was there already, "because there's no one else." My little brother is too little.

As it is in my nature not saying no when asked, you already have my answer. I will go back there next year. When I came here 15 years ago. I barely know what I really like to do. I went on, studying as expected. There were glitches along the way. Major glitches actually that broke your heart. Then I told myself, I should shape up and move to the direction that I really like. And this is where I am now. It's not exactly the position that I wanted to be in but who says life is not full of compromises? Still I can say that I am in a better position than a lot of my peers. I'm in a job that gives me the freedom to express myself and earning from it. It allows me to do a lot of other things that makes me whole as a person. The best part of this job really is, though financially, all it does is to keep me afloat, it builds my name. The thing that I was trying to build for the past eight years when I started to finally walk the straight path. Finally, I can say, I do have a career.

Many a time I would complain that I am tired. But I have accepted the fact that life is really a rat race. I moved slow at the start of the game, and yes, I am still moving slow now but going somewhere. Tay, remember when we had that argument when I was in highschool? Life is a series of stairs and ladders with pedestals in between. Only one can fit in each pedestal, if I decide to stay and not move up, I'll end up being kicked and fall. I have been climbing for the past 8 years.

Reality here is: yes, I am financially unstable but coping, and I am doing something about it; yes, my career is going somewhere; and no, my career is maybe not in your list of stable careers but ours is flourishing.

Four years ago, 2 years after I graduated from PSID, I have to almost sell myself just to get a project. Right now, I have to say No to some because I will be killing myself if I accept all of it. Modesty aside, among my batch in PSID, I am basically one of the very few who ended in a better position in the world of design. I hit two birds in one stone- interior design is basically posting your name everywhere so that it will have a recall and working in the magazine is basically doing it. Its just now that I am starting to actually reap what I have worked for in the past eight years.

Now, why am I saying this? Since I already gave you an answer. Going home and settling in Antique would actually putting all of these aside and live a new life. What I have worked for for eight years will eventually be forgotten. You can always say that I can still accept projects here and there. The reality behind it is I will only have those projects if I am visible here. So I take it that these projects will eventually trickle down to nil because I won't be visible. That is how the market goes.

The other side of it, it has been almost two years that I am actually enjoying my independence. Its almost two years that I am actually going home to my house. I grew up trying to adjust to the rules of other people-- being the youngest (or used to be). It's just now that I can actually feel that I am on my own. in a lot of times, I would be in dire need of help but I tried to solve it on my own and a lot of times too, I did. And it made me feel better... and complete. Of course, when I get there, things will go back to what they were when I was a kid. I live in your house, so I must abide with your rules. This freedom I will lose in exchange for a wealthier life. It's actually a tough decision.

My other fear is that, since I am a novice in the field where you are putting me, what if I fail? What if end up a failure in managing that business? I won't really know what to do. Where will I be? Going back to Manila and start at the bottom again? Knowing very well that it is not really the thing that I wanted to do. But in this age, only a few of us only get to do what they really want. I can say I am lucky right now.

As of now. I am just pouring my cares because you are my parents and somehow, you would know where I am coming from. I am sorry if this letter will make you feel bad but I have to say my peace somehow...

I love you both.

your son,
Toto

Three days later, I receive this e-mail from my mom.

abridged and edited....

Dearest Toto,

I  just got your email to us.  Even though you have agreed to be with us in the province to take over the business after two years as you told me, (we)  I don't really demand for you to stay here nor impose to you to be with us. Where you are happy it will be okay for us.  If you want to be in Manila to continue your present work go ahead wara kami Anak nagadili kanimo (we are not stopping you do do so). Indi pagdibdiba (don't take it too hard) when I told you to come home to be with us.  Your Pops and I are very proud of you and will always be.  WE know you have already found yourself. We only want you to be with us once in a while, if not always.  Ikaw lang ang nabilin kanamon (You're the only one left to us here). But you can go ahead with your plans for your future indi kami mamalabag kanimo (we will not hinder you). I print your letter for your Pops to read, he told me to let you know he is very proud of you!!!  Forget the past nalobong ron to (that was long buried) what you are now is a different person.  Don't worry we are enjoying our business! Remember we love you our dear children and will always be proud of you.  We dont want to compare you to your sisters because you are different from them. You are not like them nor they will be like you, you are your self as you will be to me and to your Pops.

We love you anak!

Nanay & Tatay

After an hour, she called. She told me that she's sorry for imposing those things. She panicked that her two daughters are leaving the country and I, too will be next. It was a good talk, I felt like I lost twenty pounds.

Moments later, I wondered how is it being parents- watching your kids grow-up, trying to tell them which path to make, being hurt when they choose the ones you hardly know, seeing them go. Amidst all that, you are trying to struggle against old age.

I remember when I was young, there was this baby sparrow on a broken nest which landed on our backyard after the storm. The other baby sparrows died already and he was the one left. Already covered with feathers, this one can barely fly, much more to find his food. I took him inside the house and build a psuedo nest. Fed him everyday with cooked rice and fruit bits or whatever is left during meals until finally he got to learn how to fly. Every meal time, he would pester me for food. After feeding him, he would fly back and forth inside the house. Until such time he would find his own food in the kitchen. Sometimes, the food was not intended for him but for us, before mealtime. That is when I realized I have to let him fly outside our screened windows.

It was hard letting him go.

I can only imagine how my parents feel right now.

Guess, I just gained back the twenty pounds.

designer's angst #2

2006-06-22T23:50:00.000+08:00

not my project! hehehhe

I am about to close this contract with a client. The job that is left is purely styling and accessorizing.

A friend once told me that the work of an interior designer includes entering a very delicate area called privacy. He is right. How can you possibly design a bedroom without knowing what your client's bedroom activities? Technically, you very well can, but don't expect the bedroom to be personalized. How much more for a bathroom?

When I was not living alone, I would often be out till the its too late you can call it early. By the time I get home, I go straight to bed. The following day, by the time I get up, I go straight to the bath and dress-up and leave. I would spend a lot in coffee shops and bars. Now that I'm living on my own. In a house that I decorated, I rather go home right after work. A home is a sanctuary for a lot of us. Having someone plan it for you is entrusting your future activities to that person you get to pay. That is where privacy gets in the way.

Usually, the getting-to-know-the-client is the main agenda of the first meeting. You ask them about what type of interiors they like, then the types that they don't like. Little by little, you gain their confidence. By the fourth or fifth meeting, they will tell you why they want a house that will look like what you have discussed. And on the seventh meeting, they will tell you that they have problems with their marriage, or their in-laws or that their son has ADD. These things are small details that can somehow be one of the major factors in the design. Then they become your friends.

With friendship, comes the almost pro bono fee. But you get to empathize with a lot of them so with them, you dream of a beautiful house. A beautiful home. While your pocket suffers. And then they will ask you from fabric down to birthday gifts for their inaanak. From seven in the morning to one in the morning. Yet, being friends, it is ok. While your pocket suffers. And as the contract goes on, their pocket suffers too. As a designer friend, you go to great lengths to look for the cheapest material to get the look that is in the design. As a friend, short-changing your clients is unthinkable.

It is with this passion that most houses are completed. It is with being a designer and a friend, mountains are moved and storms are calmed. The professionalism in such relationship is often blurred. Where breaking privacy is not a hindrance but a means to make everybody happy.

I'm styling this house of a friend tomorrow. I am actually excited to see it finished and done. Another project ending. Another reason for me to smile and celebrate.

While my pocket suffers.

i love the nightlife, i used to boogy!

2006-06-19T04:02:00.000+08:00

I was first introduced to Malate when I was 18. The senior members UP Tropa ETC brought me first to Penguin then Library then Cafe Adriatico. It was called an exposure trip. Weeks later, we went to Quiapo. We arrived there at about eleven in the evening, went to a bar (sleazy is too clean a term), ate lugaw in front of the church then rode the jeep to Luneta and waited for the sunrise there.

After that, I experienced a lot of sunrises before going to bed. It was not Malate that I got exposed to but to "going outs," gimmicks, ganap, lakad, rampa, "one for the road," and basically the life that would start when the sun sets. Talk about the 80's movie.

Far from the 80's movie, Manila by Night, mine was not that rugged and gritty. After Malate, during the the last days of the artsy fartsy of Insomia, Blue, and the three old faithfulls, came Makati. Glorietta 3 had Friday's and Hard Rock Cafe. There was the occasional Euphoria and Mars. Other crowds would prefer the much quieter Greenhills (S Tower and Music Hall) during the hey days of band shows. During weeknights, there was the College of Law Malcolm Hall and CSWCD (tip: buy manong guard three bottles of red horse and you can drink there all night).

True to climbing the social ladder, came Giraffe, Studebaker, Fashion Cafe and Zu. It was the time when my weekends start Thursday and end up Sunday morning at North Park. Weeknights became Sam's Diner then later, Sanfo Cafe.

Amidst all these, I was not doing anything. Pretending to study yet not so. Having odd jobs here and there eventually becoming a professional bum. Yet lived very eventfull life from sundown to dawn. The stories of each night end just before sunrise. And so goes my life, living for every single line of those stories- segmented and episodic. It did not carry a single thread that can continue for the next day. It became true with my jobs during that time. They were jobs yet I couldn't be too sure if I am actually developing a career. I was into plays, events and internet shops.

Then I decided that I will study design. Hoping that I will actually find my place under the sun. And actually stay there. As this was happening, the bars I mentioned earlier, one by one, closed down. And new ones opened. The birth of coffee shops, from the classic figaro to the (according to a friend-) newest pick-up non-alcoholic fast-coffee place popularized by Rustans-Starbucks brought sober nights to new heights.

Now, you have Greenbelt 2 and 3, two malls that majorly sells night life (I hope Alicia Bridges can actually see it to give "I love the Nightlife" a deeper meaning). The other side of Makati is the used-to-be-military-base converted into a hub where socialites and social climbers (whew! my kind!) meet. The other conversion is the Power Plant, named after what it really was. Then you have the isolated bars in the middle of somewhere scattered. Malate become more segregated, you have Nakpil area with school-allowance-money-buying-power, the Remedios Circle are with the last breath of the artsy fartsy Malate and you have the vibrant Orosa, plagued with queers and the moneyed... well, queers.

I barely go out these days. But yeah, somehow, I like to keep myself updated.

The difference now is that I am still in design and yes, I still see the sunrise now, though not from those places but my home.

taking my leave...

2006-06-10T21:20:00.000+08:00

I wish I can just fly away...

I would often hear the line "I'll take my leave" in english movies in the sixties. For me it's the most proper way of saying good-bye.

As I became a member of the working class a.k.a. employee, when one says "I'll take my leave", it means he is going to be gone for awhile but definitely going to return some time. I have worked for a little more than three years in the company where I am at and (aside from the yearly Christmas break) this is my first time to actually formally file a leave.

I told my boss that I was planning to be on leave for one month soon. Apparently, I am only allowed six days. That started last Tuesday and will end Friday. The wednesday of which I was required to work because of a shoot which I, apparently was only informed the day before the leave took effect. Trying to maximize the said 'vacation', I slept until the wee hours of the afternoon telling myself not to worry of the next day's work because I am 'on leave'.

I am going back to work Tuesday. Thank goodness that Monday is a holiday. I got too preoccupied with the idea that I'm on vacation, I hardly had the time to actually enjoy it. Amidst all that, I was reminded all the time that we do have a deadline. Today is Saturday and I will be working for a project tomorrow. The said vacation was actually two days of sleeping and frantic work for the coming weeks. Somehow, I am just glad my face does show that I have rested.

At the end of it, I hope I can actually say the phrase as they say it in the movies.

of rags on carpets

2006-05-30T04:01:00.000+08:00

no black suits for security guards, no, it was not like this...

I went to a red carpet premiere of a movie early this evening.

I heard that a red carpet could be laid down only for important visitors. My first real life encounter with such was during the concert of Dionne Warwick at the PICC. Her dressing room was in a mobile outside so a red carpet was laid on the street crossing to the backstage of the plenary hall. Nobody asked why. She deserves it anyway.

It was my first time to go to such a preview of a movie. The carpet was stretched from the main hall of the mall going to the gates of the cinema, lined with steel fences on both sides. Apparently, out of six cinemas, this one was shown at the farthest from the hall. Upon entry, you walk on the red carpet in the middle of prying eyes on both sides outside the fence-this about fifty meters. Thank goodness, I'm totally covered with anonymity. We quickly got to our seats. Thanks to the resounding name of Carlo, we were seated somewhere in the balcony. Near, yet too far from the maddening crowd.

Seated near us are various members from the industry, the press, writers, rooters, and from the not so near, actors. It's interesting how people handle the whole situation. How they put characters on their places (and I don't mean the seats). In which, the word hierarchy became more apparent and the handlers of power became more obvious if not abusive. All these while a cult of fans are starting to pile up in the loge area. When the main actors of the movie started trickling in, the cult had its priest screech their names with indiscernible phrases. Each for one popular actor as if in an interval of a trance.

Then the customary national anthem and a short program with a raffle of home wares. This was ended by the flight of a number of shirts thrown to the swarming fans that caused a neglectable commotion. Then finally the movie. The movie was about this mom having three sons, each representing a breed of gay of today. There were funny moments, yes, dull ones, brilliant humor, brilliant acting and acts that fall short of comments. It was obvious that the attempt was there, much more obvious was the indulgence of directing the movie to entrap the restless loge. It was an entertaining movie, to say the least. Though much more novel to me was the experience. I guess I was entertained more by the ones who watched it.

Before the credits scrolled up, both the balcony and the loge started to stand, hurrying their way to the gate going out missing the "curtain call" for the movie. By that time, I can barely read who actually were behind the show as everybody was standing in front of me- members of the industry, press, writers, rooters and all.

Going out of the cinema was another feat as there were lit vultures guarding the exits ready to interview people. We sneaked our way out and I saw the rolled red carpet on one side of the hall. And I wonder, it shouldn't have been laid in the first place.

designer angsts #1

2006-05-28T03:01:00.000+08:00

sunrise or sunset?

photo by glenn of men's health magazine

people i admire most... #2

2006-05-27T23:35:00.000+08:00

stole this picture from her blog

She called for a pre-production meeting at eight in the evening, Good Friday of 2003. And I said yes. An hour before the meeting, she cancelled because she got tired from the day's work. I heard they shot two houses that day.

It was after office hours, it was a holiday, and yes we were in Boracay Island.

I was introduced to her about a week before that. I told my friend (who is her friend also) that I am very interested in any position in her magazine. I was styling for some shoots (major shoots! ugh!) in another magazine during that time. She told me that we would try it out first for a month before deciding if I really am ready for the job. I agreed. Three weeks later, she called me saying that I have to decide whether I want to be with the group or not. The magazine that she started became my home until now-Real Living.

She was my first editor-in-chief. My mother in the publishing business. And in everything in our little nook in the office, she meant business. Everything ran within a system. In their proper order until all of us became a team. In which the system she imposed became second nature.

She taught me how to prance around the industry, made me understand how things should be done, taught me to be firm during rough times and patient when being tried. She taught me how to say 'No' to protect myself. She made me realize that amidst everything, I am working to better myself too.

Yet outside of work, her kind of fun is most surprising. Surely, she got to know the meaning of fun early in life and continued to spell it with much wisdom and openness. Bring her almost anywhere, even those places she never got to enter, and give her five minutes to acclimatise and you can leave her alone painting the entire club red. Upon driving home, no amount of alcohol can wash sense off her.

No nonsense boss commanding respect all the time (to a lot, fear), one of the few (and I mean it!) girls I find sexy, gifted with wit and humor spiced with intelligent sarcasm and zestful about life. An amazing woman, peculiar a lot of times. She pretty much resembled her name - Apol, as sweet and sumptuous yet spelled so barok.

It was when she left a year later after she hired me that I realized the most important thing she taught me- believing myself.

"Ikaw lang ang stylist na iniwan ko sa shoot!"

That's my claim to fame.

Jeryc

2006-05-27T03:31:00.003+08:00

two bald guys waiting for the haired ones

photo by heidi pascual

I had dinner with a group of friends today. It was a despedida party for an officemate who is leaving at the end of the month. It was the same group that went to a trip on some island in Cebu before. Surely, an island can bind people well somehow.

I arrived terribly late as when they are on their way there, I was still grasping for excuses to take my leave from another friend who's house we are going to feature about seven kilometres away.

The sisig rice was spiced with laughter as we discussed events about what our speculations on how things (and people) pushed him to resign. The humor was not as sweet as the bottomless ice tea yet just right sawsawan for the inasal, I don't have to make one for my pecho. Grilling people is one specialty. Funny, the conversation flowed as segmented as Pulp Fiction and pretty much unlike how these people would write an article. Then again, at the end, you get the real picture, a full course meal topped with bibingka for dessert. I decided not to take a bite from the diminutive bibingka. Not much praises either from the ones who did. Just like how the story unfolded at the end of the night. Quite a combination of flavors- schemes, deceit, ambition leading to a unavoidable tragic end.

I was on my way out of the restaurant when I actually realize that the whole thing, humorously discussed, was very poignant. And in times like these people are tried. No winners nor losers, regardless of the outcome, it is how you take that very end that determines what type of person you are.

I will sure miss this friend.

people i admire most...

2006-05-25T00:11:00.000+08:00

While having coffee with Carlo this afternoon, I told him that I wanted to write something about the people I admire most.

"Naku, marami-rami yun!" he said with a sheepish smile.

Admittedly, I can spend days just enumerating them. Let's edit it to- "the people I admire most who I've actually met." Or how about if we still cut the number by making it- "the people that I admire most who I've met and changed my life"?

This is better.

My, why do I feel like I'm writing the title for my thesis?!?

Of course I wanted to start it with my parents but lets just say... "the people theat I admire most who I've met and changed my life who are not related to me in blood"

Damn long title!

Let us start with my mentor in college.

Not a lot of people like this person really. He landed in the pages of a national daily because of some atrocious accusation of a student. Personally, the accusations are not far from happening but not to this accuser. I can tell, I was the one who replaced him when he walked out. Then again, nothing came out of it primarily because it was all hype. Apart from the trauma of being publicly tried, status quo remained, and my mentor continued on teaching in the university.

His name is Ogie Juliano. We first met when I enrolled in his class in acting 1. During that time, I was already part of the cast of the play being directed by his mentor- Tony Mabesa. So the pressure in his class was greater than a regular student would feel. He was directing another play also during that time that our class was required to audition to. You're only exempted when you are already part of other plays, exempli gratia, me. More pressure. I was his favorite example in class, being 'the Mabesa actor' and 'the one who refused to act under him'.

In the middle of the semester, we became really good friends. Though I'm not part of his play, after our rehearsals, I will go to his shows. Dinner everynight. Apparently, my status during that time was 'student' or make it- 'struggling student' err... 'struggling, starving student'. I was your all time free loader almost everynight. And when I get honorarium from the plays I acted in, I treat him for dinner. That usually is after every two months. Almost like the blue moon.

I eventually acted in his plays. But the more important thing that he thought me was not about acting. He took me as an apprentice on design. Specifically costuming. He was the one who taught me how a medieval cloak's cut would differ from that of the victorian's. How the cut of the skirts changed through centuries. He taught me that a panuelo is there to cover the breasts and not wearing a tapis is unbecoming of a lady during the turn of the century Manila.

"Wala naman ksi silang panty nun kaya eto na yung pantakip para di liparin ang palda." He further stressed, "Kaya yung mga bisaya na patadyong lang, bastos yun!"

His designs remained well studied and carefully crafted. A teacher with masters in theatre, he continues to study the details and admits that he has still a lot to learn. And each time he drafts a scheme, he explains why it is so. From colors, to cuts, to fringes, to accessories. Not a single detail left unexplained. There will always be a reason why each single thread is there in a single piece of costume. Most importantly, he taught me that I can only do that if (and only if) I put my heart on it. Treating it as a job will be a sin.

"My work is personal. That is how I operate. In no way one can make a good design if he doesn't put his heart into it."

I understand him now. Now that I'm on my own. I still falter a lot of times. Yet thankful, at least I know how to make it right.

action star

2006-05-24T01:15:00.000+08:00

Holding the clutch, I tried to step on the second gear while making the turn. I was on my way to the beach, thinking that its November 1, nobody will be there. I didn't make it to the beach. It was with that turn that my rear gear slid on a not-so-big rock on the paved dirt road about twenty meters away from our house.

While I was trying to collect my thoughts with my body totally not holding on to something, suspended in mid-air, all I can remember was two seconds of flight and I landed hand first, then elbows, waist, thighs, knees and feet. Of all places, on a poor imitation of the lunar surface. Then I felt the manibela on my inner left leg.

Upon landing, the first thing on my mind was-- "Is there anybody in the vicinity?" I quickly got up, grabbed my scooter and decided to go back home. By some stroke of badluck, nobody was there. Not even the ward. I was standing there at the gate of our house, yes, along the road, with my dusty bike for a good five minutes until I noticed people on tricycles passing by staring at me. I thought I was so popular that they have to actually slow down just to look. Oh yes, stare they did, but not because I'm famous. Before I get to check myself, I saw blood on the driveway by our gate. Coming from the direction where I am standing. Then I saw my once beige shorts turned dark wine on the left thigh. And I felt my fingers dripping.

It was at that time I felt dizzy and decided to sit. A good ten minutes and I saw my parents' car. I rushed to the bathroom and decided to take a shower and clean myself. Clean meaning, pulling every single gravel that got embedded to the upper layer of the skin. The bathroom floor turned pink. Exactly the pink I wanted for the accent wall of one of my clients. Too bad I was not able to document the color because I got too preoccupied with too much gravel on my hands and legs.

It was after the betadine that I found out that I can barely walk. It was damn painful. And in a matter of less than five seconds, I limped for about a month. The bike was sold while I was still limping.

I still have the scars on my legs now. No amount of contractubex gel was able to remove it. Yet when I went home recently, I actually thought my scars are gone already, at least to my parents, for they were so excited to give me another gift...

want to ride my bike?

NON-writer's angsts...

2006-05-21T01:08:00.000+08:00

my table

When I was in high school, I would be compared to my two siblings a lot of times. Both of them became editors-in-chief of the school paper while I only got to pass the qualifying exam when I was in fourth year already. My father once told me that I am not as good in the English language as my sisters.

I got to be at peace with the idea when I was already in college. The joke was, "I'm an English patient." My tenses are so bad I shiver everytime I submit a paper. I have a mentor-friend who would always correct me when I talk. From grammar to pronunciation to diction. Thank goodness, we don't write each other!

I still have those common mistakes until now. And my ego and my being an 'english patient' became best of friends. To protect my ego, I would always say I'm bad at it. Accepting the truth afterall, is always the best defense.

Ironically, among us siblings, I landed in the print media industry. Editorial department. Something is amiss in the state of Denmark!

Of course, it doesn't really follow if the information given is up to there only. Apparently, in the world of commercial writers (with due apologies and no pun intended) there is that need for non-writers like myself. We call ourselves part of the Art Department. Yet, since the said industry is in the third world, there are only seven of you in the magazine. You often don't have the choice but to write. At least the captions.

Everytime I click the Word icon in my computer, the memories in highshool appear on screen. And again, the best friend of my ego will come to the rescue. I guess, if you can't do it, be defensive about it... And in making the defense, I know I'm hurting myself. I have not done anything to cure it anyway. Though one time, my (former) boss told me that I can actually write, it fueled my desire to totally remove the 'english patient' armor and work to improve my writing skills. The desire was short lived. My boss resigned. And the one who replaced her never gave me a (serious) writing job.

As of now, I have this blog to contend myself with. As my present boss declared to the whole company that I am not a writer at all, I guess, my armors will be with me all the time.

Real Living May

2006-05-19T06:06:00.000+08:00

Available in bookstores and magazine stands. A shelter coffee table book that costs way way less than you expected... it's less than 200 pesos... o, walang aangal!

its siksik, liglig at nag-uumapaw ng info on decorating and home improvement tips. BILI NA!!! Now na!

Bago mawala sa magazine stands... grab your copy of real living may issue now...

thanks for the images carlo

Friends?

2006-05-18T01:38:00.000+08:00

"I think we are better off as friends."

I heard that line this morning. Funny because suddenly, the word 'friend' had a new meaning to me.

When I was a kid, friendship is one of the best (if not the best) things one can have. It determines how your childhood will be and eventually define you as an adult. Friendship is one of the most important things when one is in highschool. It can be your WD40 or your 3M step stopper. While in college, it evolved into brotherhood or sisterhood (in most cases).

Kapatid, ate, sis, bro, dude, tsong, teh, terrr, kaps, pare, mare, kuya, daddy, mamy, papa, mama, dear, darling, dahlin, sweety... the list is endless. We call our friends different names and calling them by their legal first names would be uncouth and rude. They became too familiar that we can not even call them by their first names. One thing, we will always be there for them.

"I think we are better off as friends."

It sounded like friendship means settling for something less becasue you can't be something more. Or, it sounded like, "from now on, we will not see each other as often..." eventually becoming "oh, its been so long. How are you?"

This morning, friendship sounded like some euphemism of something you dont really like. Although, on the contrary, from my end, it was the logical ideal.

How to set the sea on fire!

2006-05-12T23:12:00.000+08:00

carlo and coni when we were stranded at the iloilo airport... thanks to cebu pacific!

In one of our coffee breaks (spell break as loooong break), Carlo and I would kid around settling to our respective home provinces eventually when we are in our fortys. He in Palawan and I in Antique. Since the two provinces are almost directly facing each other, divided by the vast Sulo Sea, we promised ourselves that we will visit each other from time to time.

Rather, the best solution- to buy an island somewhere in the Cuyo group of islands which is located in the central part of Sulo Sea and eventually meet midway. Considering that both of us would have our own (to climb further the social ladder) yachts. Or make it supercat para mas mabilis.

The plan is that we will meet at least once a year there.

"Uhmm (galing sa ilong), Carlo, nabobore ako. Magkita tayo in three hours."

On our way there, we would sit at the deck of the ship, arms stretched forming a V. In each arm, holding thirty yards of light orange fabric, make it gina silk or tafetta (kung walang budget). From afar, its like setting the sea on fire.

We will do this everytime until it becomes an event in the quiet, quaint peaceful islands of Cuyo. We will invite more friends to do the same. Until it becomes a fleet everytime.

And when it becomes a yearly event, Carlo will not just be known for Zsa Zsa Zaturnah...

survey...

2006-05-09T13:59:00.000+08:00

would you settle here?

this is just it... on a daily basis.
not much people in here.

quo vadis

2006-05-09T00:27:00.000+08:00

Of course, I'm plagued by existentialists questions now after I get to talk to my mom.

Where am I really going? What's the next ten years going to be? Do I really have to change my outlook? My appearance? My behaviour? My lifestyle? Or, how about if we make it two? What is the immediate course of action?

Looking at my home, I realized that I have acquired quite a number of things. I used to put all my worldly goods in a bag everytime I transfer homes. Right now, I would need a crate.

It's only now that I realize that my life before can actually be put in a bag. It's less complicated. I'm beginning to ask myself if indeed it was better then.

My contract here will be until March of 2007. That's almost a year from now. And I really don't know how to go about it.

Yes, I really don't know how to go about the whole thing...

I really don't.

antique does not look that bad really afterall.
i can always view the sunset every afternoon
sigh!

changes

2006-05-06T20:00:00.000+08:00

Working for five straight days has eaten me up.

Working for three projects, one day job, one consultancy (night-)work has always been exciting until things change, people grow old, and in the middle of that, I forgot my parents' anniversary. The last time it happened was 11 years ago. When I was in a 'place where the two highways meet'. I chose the path going to the right. And right now, I just realize that it can be very busy and difficult.

Eleven years ago, I had all the time in the world to do the things that I like. Yet, I did not know where to go. I know my path now, yet I don't have much time to do what I love. Of course, there are a lot of other reasons why I can't. Not only-- time. Yet, it is the most that I need now.

I called my mother awhile ago to apologize for not being able to greet them. We had a good talk. She told me that my dad and her had a date during their anniversary. They talked about being a couple for thirty six long years. How they started and how they are now.

Things changed. People grow older.

Thursday, 8pm to 1230am-
styling Michi Calica's Bridal and Home

Then she asked me to remind my sister about their senior citizen card. And pushing alongside with being senior citizens, she asked me to go home for good because they are growing old. To take care of the family business. And everything that they manage. I asked for a year or two extension. "It is ok," she said. "Do whatever you like there first. But time will come that we really need your presence here."

I used to be the youngest in our family. I have two sisters. One is a doctor, married with one kid, and the other, a lawyer, married to her job. That leaves me to be the one who is the most practical candidate to settle in San Jose. How I wish it is California, but no. San Jose de Buenavista, Antique. Our youngest is a three year old boy, feisty and unmindful of the things around him. I promised my parents that I will take care of him when he grows to be a lad. They got him in their sixties. Quite the right age to become grandparents. He is part of the 'other things' my mom wanted me to take care of.

Our youngest, Tim
I have stayed here in Manila for half of my life. It has been a rough ride yet quite enjoyable. So many things learned, unlearned a few and still learning a lot. Gained a lot of friends, lost some, gaining more. Exciting, I should say. Stressful, no doubt as my hairline can prove it. I fell in love with the place, fell in love with the people. Fell a lot of times. I got to accept that life is really as it is.

Right now, I have a day job, three active projects, two dormant ones, two consultancy work and amidst all that, sprouts of quick and easy money diminutive projects that pay big bucks. I live alone just like how i pictured life eleven years ago, minus the hectic schedule.

I'm still ok.

Until I got to talk to my mom. I don't have to make a decision because it has been done already. I have thought about it few years back. I just don't know when. Two years.

"Do whatever you like there first. But time will come that we really need your presence here."

I guess, it will be very soon.

The time that I feared most has come to past.

tuesday lunch

2006-05-02T11:34:00.000+08:00

My cleaning lady arrived about eleven today. If there is one person who knows me since I moved here in my place, her name must be Lyn-lyn.

She worked as a waitress for a friend's restaurant a few years back. Then the restaurant changed management and she was not able to cope with the change. She ended up in the laundry shop downstairs. Talk about parallel movement (if there is such!). It's to my advantage actually. Now I can have somebody clean my house whom I can actually trust. She takes care of my house, my clothes and my bills. The best part is, not only me, also my friends' and some stranger's.

We would sometimes talk about a lot of things. A lot of times, about other people.

When I was a kid, Tatay would always tell me that only idiots talk about other people. Idiot or no idiot, it's highly entertaining! Thats my once-a-month dose of tsismis. Something to look forward to every month.

The whole talk is spiced with her life story as well. I found out that she's receiving minimum wage downstairs and she has to do house cleaning to somehow beef up her salary. To be able to pay for additional bills. At one time she would ask for assistance and she has always been consistent in paying back on time.

She supports her family. Thank God she's single. Yet on the funny side, she would go out on dates. Or rather, she cherishes the fact that she actually has a boyfriend. They would go out from time to time. And everytime she tells her story, her eyes brightens.

She would complain on how she was scolded. When one client losts his/her shirt or bra, or brief, or towel or rug or whatever. And lose part of their salary to pay for it. She would gripe why her boss only sees her and not the other employees. And she would always reiterate that she's very careful with her work. "Mahirap maghanap ngayon ng trabaho. Mabuti nga ako, may tinatanggap kada buwan." she says.

You can actually say that she knows what she's saying. She has been with me for more than two years now. I can't complain.

It's almost lunch. I have my dentist appointment at one. I'm supposed to be in the office by now. I barely have that drive to move. Still have a lot to complete and finish.

Not much I can say for myself really...

lifts from livejournal

2006-05-02T03:58:00.000+08:00

since this site looks better, i'm moving everything here....

Apr. 27th, 2006 02:15 am
half alive

It's quarter past two in the morning and I'm tired, and exhausted. I arrived in Manila about one in the afternoon and it feels like I never left at all. Maybe I shouldn't have in the first place. Now, work is piling up and things are becoming that monster that I was so scared when I was a kid.

I can still remember my chronic nightmare when I was a child. There was this giant hiding somewhere by the banana plants at the back of our old house. then he will enter the house though the kitchen and haunt me in my room. I will hide under my study desk and eventually wake-up. and things will be fine as I would tranfer to my parents' bed. He would always come back when I sleep the nights after. Until I would think of ways to get back at him... the only difference is that I am already awake when I get to device a scheme.

The bogeyman is back again... There are some nights that I am just afraid that I would just stay in my room. Trying to device a plan how to get back...

The whole time... I'm fully awake.

Apr. 24th, 2006 05:41 pm
i want to take a break!

It was a quiet day at the beach this afternoon. Sipping my coffee infront of Cafe Breizh (read: B-r-a-z... B-r-e-z, damn, i don't know how to type the icon!). It's a Monday afternoon and I decided not to go to work. Rather go to my detour point everytime I go home (to Antique [read: an-ti-ke, not an-tik or anything that is associated with old, ancient, of value... oh yes... land here is so cheap too] which will always be home for me).

It was a fast drive from our house in San Jose. Left at about quarter past five and by eight, my paerents, aunt and I found ourselves a hearty breakfast in Caticlan. I reached Boracay at about nine. Oh yes, I was wide awake already considering that when I am in Manila, I would still be in bed by that time. Had lunch with some friends which ended just now. Damn! It's almost six. It was already four in the afternoon and we were just halfway with dessert. If only things can really be slow, life would have been more fun.

Only now that we dispersed. Walking along the beach front pathway, I remembered Mel. This is where we first met. The thought gave me that melancholy smile. It was not so long ago. Yet things have turned so fast. A lot of things changed. I am not jobless anymore. Not like the first time we saw each other. My time has been at the mercy of my job for the last three years. Unlike before.

I wanted to drop everything off until tomorrow and not mind work. I was wrong. The first text I got today when I opened my phone was about work. The first person I talked to on the phone was my managing editor. I am here in this internet cafe to check my e-mails becuse my client wanted me to design something for them. It is Monday after all.

I have been longing for a break for the past three years. To enjoy one morning not worrying about anything. No deadlines, no pressures, no calls from anybody asking if I'm free the following day. Bottomline is, I still can not afford it. It's very painful to admit but I still can't afford it.

Having a vacation right now is a very expensive endeavor. Since you are given a limited time (five days or so), you tend to maximize it and go to places you have never been, do all the things you have been wanting to do ever since and yes, ending up more tired as compared to the regular days working. And the word 'rest' had a different meaning. Add to that, you're penniless.

Something is wrong somewhere.

It's sunset outside, I guess, that, I should somehow enjoy...

And as I was walking down the pathway, I remebered Mel. He doesn't have to work anymore.

Apr. 21st, 2006 05:04 am
for mel

The day started quite well yesterday. I had one of the most wonderful and productive meetings in my life with Michi C. The best thing about it, I never expected it to be like that. The work she's offering is something that I would actually agree doing for free. Of course, we are talking about metaphors! err, rather hyperboles. But one thing sure, it is something that I will enjoy greatly.

After the meeting, I ended up walking New Manila contemplating happy thoughts. I have two more meetings for the day. One at three, and the other at eight. It was lunch. Then a client called. She asked if we can move the meeting at five in the afternoon instead of three because she can not make it at an earlier time. I later found ot that she has to go to the salon to have her hair done by that time. I agreed thinking that I still have enough time to make it to the eight in the evening meeting.

Strolling down Gilmore, Hemady, I called my sister, wishfull that she's home. Several minutes later, found myself having tinola (boy, havent tasted this one for a loooong time) with her in Horseshoe. In the middle of the meal, sometime between the leg and pepper leaves with rice soaked in broth, my boss texted me. It was a forwarded message from the UP College of Home Economics asking everyone to pray for somebody who was found dead in his car along Commonwealth Avenue. It was a familiar name- Mel Vergel DeDios. Too familiar.

Mel and I met in Boracay some years ago. One of those nights by the very seductive beach of my second home. WE became friends since then. He followed me as I changed partners down to me changing jobs and addresses. I remembered, I needed a place to used for my shoot and he opened his unit to be my venue. This was followed by the launch of our business also done in his place. He maintained his doors unlocked everytime I need a place and his arms open everytime I need a hug. Or both. And even more.

I remembered one Christmas eve, he called me and said life is not important anymore and there is no purpose in living another day because the reason why he is still there left him. Little did I know, he was telling me this while clenching a bottle full of dormicum. He woke up the following day bearing my curses at him the night before and also the hang-over of an overdosage of sleeping tablets. Then he called me that afternoon saying that his adoptive children are actually enough reason why he is still alive. And I saw his eyes actually disappear as I imagined him smile.

Months later, I called him if he can make the wedding dress of my sister given a two-week allowance. Of course, of course with a very friendly tag price. Thai silk with illusion tulle bargained. I wanted my sister wear something haute made. Mel was the right person to approach. There were some glitches along the way, but the entire product was perfect. Made perfect as worn by a bride. It was one of the most beautiful weddings I have witnessed, which started at five thirty in the morning actually.

I wanted to see more of his work so I would always remind him to invite me to his shows which, apparently, I never did go to. If I am not too busy, I will only remember two hours after the show. I guess, I will never get to see any of his shows again.

He was found dead in his car yesterday morning. Hands and feet tied with cable wire. Neck strangled with the same material. The very material that I hate when used as clothesline. I was told that there were signs of the head being severed. I honestly don't know what caused the death but somehow I got the picture that it was violent. Something that is so far from the image of Mel in my mind. Gentle and kind. Soft spoken and generous. Genuine and loving.

It was lunchtime when my day stopped.

I went through the motions in catatonia and forgot that the hours are are actually passing. It's another day outside, the sun is about to rise yet I feel like yesterday never ended.

Apr. 19th, 2006 11:44 pm
another day

The smoke of a burning cigarette filled the austere space of Mocha Blends...

Oh no, I'm no Pete Lacaba or Nick Juaquin. By saying that, I was just worried that my clothes will smell like cigarette ashtrays the moment I leave this coffee place. No allusions nor metaphors.

I used to joke about the smoking area of the Manila Domestic Airport Terminal 1 primarily because you need not light a stick of Marlboro to get enough nicotine for that addictive rush. By the moment you enter the room, just inhale deeply and all the nicotine you need will envelope not only your lungs but your entirety. Little did I know that it is foretelling of the future of smoking areas in Metro Manila. Now, almost all coffee shops, bars, restaurants (if indeed they have one indoors) and videoke places have a similar smoking area as in terminal one.

The old faithful still lives. The same old, cramp, purely utilitarian carbon monoxide chamber still provides nicotine shots to it's avid patrons. Admittedly, I'm one. I will be there the day after tomorrow. Though i don't know if I will still be lighting a stick... Damn, of course I will! I am not talking about metaphors right? I may have the nicotine by just inhaling but not the rush!

Apr. 19th, 2006 01:34 am
sleep

Just finished bench press on the rubber ball. How can you possibly call it bench press if you're on a ball? Ball presses? I have been following my fitness instructor/friend/e-i-c men's health philippines advice regarding keeping fit. Since I am not a born gym goer, then he told me to bring the gym at home. So far, it has been working. Honestly, I don't know for how long. I hope it is going to be for life. I really don't want to stop and watch other guys in envy everytime I go to boracay. Sigh!

I'm actually sleepy now.

Still have to drink my protien...

Apr. 18th, 2006 11:45 pm
i am what i am

Just finished downloading a disco remix album. Accidentally, my favorite "To Deserve You" by B. Middler is there. I have been looking for this song since my mentor had me hear it back in 96. It was from the album Bette of Roses. The song somehow reminded me of how I should take it whenever I like somebody. This was ten years ago.

And now I found the dance remix from the soundtarck of Q as F. On the bottom part of the album is "I am what I am", another remix. It brings me to the current situation where I am in. I am seeing this person who I am beginning to be really fond of. Almost perfect as I would expect a partner. Yeah, there are some glitches, punches, shortcomings... in other words... the picture of the ideal is not there. Then again, who am I to complain? Nobody will fit the picture anyway. I made it so ideal so I can still say that my standards are so high in everything. Though ideally, these ideal standards are not set in stone. I am not that crazy to actually follow them. I just need a peg.

Pegs usually are tearsheets that approximates the picture that you are going to do. That's how we do it in the magazines. In my three years (or more) in the industry, I barely use tearsheets for my shoots. Ironically, I would have pegs for something serious-- a partner perhaps. Ok, a lover.

So there this person is. Almost like the peg but not quite. Yet I am perffectly ok with itl. It might work... this time. Until, my peg asks me to be perfect. I smoke, I spend hours in the net, I go out with friends, I work, I can be idle, I can be super-sensitive, I can be a fairy (make it Titania maybe), I can be a bore, I can me a mascot, I can be a lot of things that I like to do and become. Operative phrase-- I like to be and become. Stress on I LIKE. now, I'm being asked to delete my account in a site (which I did by the way) and stop smoking. Then I asked, what if I won't do it, what's going to happen?

"You will be at a disadvantage."

Now, I can't understand this really. Am I on the rubber-acrylic track oval? Is this a 40 kilometer marathon? Or maybe a decathlon?

I reinstated my account. I still smoke. And yeah, nobody puts me to a disadvantage. Only myself. Only if I choose to...

As the song continues to play now, it makes me realize a lot of things. I have gone far enough to deserve somebody. I just hope this person will reflect on the song that I heard ten years ago for I am singing a different song now.

Apr. 17th, 2006 10:24 pm
back to work

Its Monday again. Admittedly, I hated the holy week (last week) here in Manila. If only the malls are open Thursday and Friday, it could have been perfect. It made me desperate last Thursday and hopeless the following day. While all my other friends are out of sight.

Holy week spelled as va-ca-tion or out-of-town seems to have gained popularity in this ever frantic world of the working class. Next to Christmas, it is the longest break from work one can ever get. Next to Christmas, it is the most expensive time of the year too. To a lot, planning starts right away after Christmas. To a lot, it has to be somewhere far-- translated as-- BEACH. The only beach in Manila is somewhere along the shores of Manila Bay-- YUCK!

So I was left alone last holy week. Thank God for Carlo and Lloyd who provided me company the whole time. Oh, I was not alone really... yet I feel so alone. I don't know why. I could have slept the entire weeken but I just couldn't. Anxiety maybe. Longing for something. Or maybe someone. Or maybe myself. Thats the effect of vacation for me. Spelled as Holy Week.

As of now, it has to take the back seat again. It's Monday. Got to work again.

Apr. 14th, 2006 02:00 am
to miss

The sound my old electric fan makes reminds me of my old room in cubao. Peach. Of all color, it was a combination of peach and orange. At least it's not peach and apple or violet or citron, rather, it's orange.

I had a liking for orange when I was studying in PSID. Next to my favorite color (scarlet) which I can barely use for interiors, orange was the next best thing. Until now, after practicing for about five years, I still haven't used the color. Maybe, I never will.

One, orange being a secondary pure color makes it hard to adjust to other elements inside the room. Two, You can hardly mix it with other interiors other than Asian (which is so mid nineties). Greek or medieval maybe, but then again, to a lot, greek is synonymous to blue. And three, it's not 'sophisticated'. As my old boss (stress on the old!) would always require us in our interiors.

Sophistication, on the other hand, is one word that I was not properly introduced to. I was made to believe that the simpler the life you have, the lesser are your problems. The lesser your problems, the better. Yet, when I got into this business of 'interior design', things changed... Let's make it more complicated for it to become sophisticated. The simple supper becomes dinner. From the spoon and fork partnership, it becomes a corporation of silvers having their plenary session everytime you eat. A blanket is not enough because you have to put a duvet or a foot blanket. Oh, don't forget the comforter, pillow and mattress protect, throw pillows for display (but never use them) etc. etc. etc. Do not forget to tuck them properly to achieve that hotel look. I'm guilty as hell...

Right now, I'm back with getting used to just the blanket. And I used the throw pillows as guard pillows against the wall so I won't hurt my elbow when I wrestle with the bogeyman. And yeah, I hear my electric fan. The very same electric fan I had before.

Thank God, my room is white with faint grayed lavender horizontal stripes. Ummmm, I know there is a much simpler color name for that....

Apr. 13th, 2006 10:11 pm
April 13 holy thursday

I went out today only to find out that everything is close. Even Megamall. I mean, what is happening?!?! SM should be open today. It's just Thursday! SM should be open everyday! Its SM!

I was in the cab a while ago with Carlo V. and we literally scoured the entire Metro Manila (Shaw- Podium-Megamall-Greenbelt-Landmark-Glorietta-Powerplant-Eastwood). Apparently, only McDonalds in Eastwood was open. I still cant get over the fact that they are actually closed.

If we base it on the Catholic belief that one should not work or do anything because Christ is dead, then it should be tomorrow. In fact, in the entire Christian history, nothing is so special during the Thursday before the crucifixion because they did nothing that day but eat dinner-- which of course was popularized by DaVinci as the Last Supper. And only after three in the afternoon of the Friday that one should stop working. This halt will go on until the sunrise of Easter. For only then, Christ rose from the dead.

Now, everybody stops working Thursday till Friday. Everything goes back to normal Saturday. Duh!?!

I get to ask myself, what do we observe really?

By the way, thanks to this holiday... I got to make this account for lack of anything else to do..

come hither

2006-05-02T03:30:00.000+08:00

Ang natatanging superhiro ng buhay ko... The Carlo Vergara introduced me to this site. Well, to the world of blogs. I have never made a diary in my life. I guess, it's a conscious effort not to record what has happened in my life before. I am better heard than read after all..

By the way, Carlo's comment on this photo is the title... I strongly doubt if it works.