First Day Blues

How was the first day of school?

I had my own episode of first day blues. My professor and I have radically opposing world-views. He has a nice sense of humor though and I guess that will help me survive the course. I hope all seven of us get through the class.

I repaired to the Vanguard gym to relieve the stress that I was anticipating. I learned that I would have only one hour to myself there, in between the sessions of the Karate Club and Aikido Club. And that hour was high noon.

Good luck to all the students! Despite everything, we'll have to make the most of the year. Good luck to Teacher Nikki on her first day to teach in her new school. Tough luck kiddos, she's not nervous anymore but very much excited!

As I expected, three hours of class will dump me with a whole week's worth of work. The Asian experience is thoroughly exciting but I have a lot of catching up to do in terms of economics and political science. More of the net time would have to be devoted to study. Well, that was my excuse for installing the modem anyway. I told them that half a year ago and I only get to prove it now.

There's this one thing I dug up. Did you know that out of the Philippines' 7,100 islands, only around 1,000 are inhabited?

High tide or low tide?

Araw ng Kalayaan

Isang makahulugang Araw ng Kalayaan sa lahat ng Pinoy! Maraming debate tungkol sa karapat-dapat na petsa para dakilain ang kasarinlan ng bansa. At sa ilalim nuon nananlaytay ang mga paninindigan tungkol sa kasarinlan at kalayaan mismo. Saan nga ba nagmula ito? Regalo lang ba ito ng mga Kano pagkatapos ng pagpapaubaya ng mga Kastila?

Nararamdaman ba ito sa lahat ng antas ng lipunan? Totoo ba ito para sa lahat ng kasarian, lahi, at relihiyon? Para sa lahat ng edad at propesyon? Para sa lahat ng nagtatanong at nanapantaha? Mayroon ba sa ating hindi alipin?

Gaano ito kakongkreto? Pwede ba itong bawiin ng mga nagbigay, kung ibinigay man? Pwede ba itong nakawin ng ibang tao, bansa, ng mga diktador, mga nanunungkulang magnanakaw, mga pwersa ng merkado, mga ispekulador, o mga abusadong amo sa ibang bansa?

Maaari ba natin itong ibigay o itakwil? Kapalit halimbawa ng pasaporte, ng kaisipang hollywood, ng pagtakas sa buhay sa kolonyang penal, o kapalit ng isa pang almusal? Kapalit ng edukasyon ng mga bata kaya? Para sila na lang ang lumaya?

Okey lang sa akin ang kalayaan. Iba talaga ang maging sarili at magkaroon ng kasarinlan na titingalain, isang pagiging sarili na hindi babastusin ninuman, maging ng mga nagmamay-ari nito. Maganda ito, matayog, at karapat-dapat na ipagbunyi.

Sana nga lang mayroon tayo nito.

"I will try to tell you a short story. Once when I was a little boy in that village where I was born, I dreamed that we could remake this world into a paradise. In such a world, there would be no darkness, no ignorance, no brutality to man by another man. In such a world there would be no inhumanity, no indignity, no poverty. In such a world there would be no deception, no ugliness, no terror. In such a world there would be mutual assistance, mutual cooperation, mutual love (and mutual existence between Christians and Muslims). This is the dream which has sustained me down the terrible years, and it is with me still; only it is more lucid now, more terrifying in its vastness. I would like to give you a glimpse of this dream some day."

Carlos Bulosan

Outside the Bedroom

Seen anything good lately?



Well I have. The day after the dinner with team angas and the drinking session with Jol, I met Monica at the MRT station to see her off to Cavite.

She wanted to treat me to a movie first though. After I blushed a couple of times, we decided on "Death to Smoochy". It's off the playlist, so I chose "In the Bedroom" instead.

The film was a very meticulous adaptation of Andre Dubus' "Killings". The details count. Metaphor, poetry, and music play integral parts in the whole effort. But these elements are always used in context and never seem contrived. It is very interesting, for example, how Todd Field and his crew managed to get away with using lines from Longfellow's "My Lost Youth":

There are things of which I may not speak;
There are dreams that cannot die;
There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,
And bring a pallor into the cheek,
And a mist before the eye.
And the words of that fatal song
Come over me like a chill:
"A boy's will is the wind's will
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

In high drama such as this, one would expect something like this to come into play in a eulogy, maybe during a rainy black umbrella burial. But we hear it in a poker game. And the effect is intensely somber. And you'll never guess where the title comes from. I won't spoil it for you but it's not in the bedroom. Or at least, not entirely.

I forgot how much I missed Monica and I would share insights and interpretations of the movies we watched during the college days. That is, until we fell into such a conversation over Hen Lin's siomai. She remarked on the impressive use of fade-to-black and the thrifty use of background music. I noted how that is entirely in keeping with Ruth's statement of how grief feels like the "rests" in music where the silences are so loud.

The musicality of the entire piece is explained there. Ruth (Sissy Spacek) is a choir teacher and so her metaphors are appropriate. The pieces rehearsed by her choir form the musical cemterpiece of the film. Her character was supposed to be, at times, the tense homemaker, the prying mother, the vacuous mourner, the scalding wife, and the silently determined justice-seeker. She plays it all so naturally. So seamlessly that she, in effect, becomes the eye to her husband's storm.

Marisa Tomei looked perfectly harassed. Still, her effortless grace especially as Natalie, single mother and youthful lover, lends credibility to the affections she draws from Frank (Nick Stahl). Tom Wilkinson does a great job being benign and sensitive as Matt Fowler. It is particularly important for the ending. He must make up for the focus that the character originally had in the book ("Killings" was written entirely in the point-of-view of Doc Fowler).

I hope I get to see this film again. I want to see the imagery of Field's frames again and how it works with the rest of the film. I understand how it can seem dreary and boring to some people but I feel the pace was justified. It's probably a no-no to see this movie after a long day. It's a good suggestion for any film to avoid jumping in somewhere in the middle, but with "In the Bedroom", it's a necessity.



Seen anything good lately?

Old Friends

Jol's back from Bangkok. Astrid's up next I guess. Maybe we'll have another night together soon with Monica, Jessel, Arlyn, and Nathan. Another rainy night maybe?

I met with old friends yesterday night, my orgmates back from the Sandigan days. It was spontaneous, something afforded by the triple luxury of time, money, and circumstance that I was temporarily blessed with.

I was on the way to UP with Mae (my not-so-kid-sister) to get my endorsement. I sent messages and feelers to folks on the way there, knowing Carol was cooking something up at the UP CHE Pilot Plant. I thought I could get Bamz, Jerico, Alisher, Eugene, and other shady characters together. They were tied up in their own respective ways. But I went on to have dinner with Pauline, Irish, Blue, Ivy, and Michelle! Happy day!

There was fine selection of cuisine at the Podium. That banana leaf curry place had this interesting idea of appropriating the rural banana leaf plate into the high urban dining scene. Reminded me of the stuff we've lost and try our darnedest to regain.

Voltaire's cynic foil in Candide, Martin, said something about how having supper with fallen kings was inconsequential. It was the fare that mattered. I think meeting the luminaries of your past makes the meal—no matter how delectable—secondary.

We had coffee a few steps away at the less-fussed-about Cafe Breton. We had light-hearted conversation and good, heavy laughter. We were young people with our duties, concerns, little sorrows, our own bouts with hollowness, and anxieties. Yes, maybe, we can't change the world anymore, but it's not the time to stop trying right? We're just glad to have a break, have some eyes looking back at us and say how fatter or thinner we got. Or how the ladies are blooming with the blush of mayflowers and how the guys haven't stopped being such wiseasses.

We compared adventures and photos. And without showing-off, I think. We were all already a bit envious that everybody was spending time somewhere else, but it was refreshing to know that we're all moving forward, even with varying paces, paths, and plans. We were just a year or two out of the now seemingly sterile university. Outside those anemic walls... we have all faced the stuff we used to talk about, these pressures and conflicts that were then only stuff of speculation.

These hours we shared were just a moment in our clocks, a flash of color in the mundane, a dash of spice in the routine meals of our daily lives. There are some meals you consume in a matter of minutes, but the aftertaste will last a lifetime.

Ivy sent an SMS when everybody was home. She said these were the times when she missed Sandigan the most, that is, our org and greatest common factor. Michelle sent her own message: "saya no? i had a gud tym din. it's gud to hav anchors amidst tides."

Scholar

The first time I tasted Lu Hsun's verse, prose, and scholarship, I knew I was reading a man of worth. His virtue has always been a simplicity that never sounded either simple-minded or fake. Try this one on, for size:

"Animals act according to their nature, and whether right or wrong never try to justify their actions. Maggots may not be clean, but neither do they claim to be immaculate. The way vultures and beasts prey on weaker creatures may be dubbed cruel, but they have never hoisted the banners of 'justice' and 'right' to make their victims admire and praise them right up to the time they are devoured."
Lu Hsun
Dogs, Cats, and Mice

I should keep this before me as a caveat as I become a student of culture again. I am happy although I anticipate the renewed burden of words and meanings. I think it was the author Forsythe who said that the desk is the most dangerous place to view the world from. Blood, sweat, and tears seem more liquid there. Right and wrong are decided by check marks and red side notes. Labels seem to do no harm. Ideologies seem no different from idylls.

The wounds wrought by the pen are hard to read. I am out to either emulate or dishonor the traditions I have chosen. I will be one with the people rendered faceless by the books that bury their brows . And later buried by the garbage spewed forth by diploma mills and media machines.

My path is set. For now, life will become moot and academic.

Balawbalaw

My links page is up. Please help me check if the links work. I have some mental sketches there too. But for now, my main concern is the recollection of my stomach!

"It is not unusual for kings to be dethroned; and as for our having had the honour to sup with six of them, it is a mere trifle, unworthy of note. What does it matter with whom one sups, so long as the fare is good?"
Martin from Voltaire's Candide

I have always loved Quisao, my province in Rizal, despite all the trifles and crises we have faced there. I particularly like the cuisine there. I like how even the simplest food preparations taste so good. I like how I eat heartily and unhurriedly, sometimes with bare hands. When I was young, we even sat on the bench with a knee up in the same fashion as my grandfather.

The barangay itself was named after food. Quisao was named after kisa, a mixture of rice and corn that served as the standard full meal in times of hardship. With some labor or barter, the sweet kisa would be flavored with some salt or dried fish harvested from Laguna de Bay. When rice was scarce, the farmers would devote the fields to corn. Corn in our parts is usually white and sweet with kernels sticky when cooked, the variety perfect for grilling and thick corn soup.

My cousin, Kuya Rolly (aka Ate Chona), does at least three things best, hair and make-up, gossip and story-telling, and cooking. Or maybe that's five? But I can never really do good math with my mouth full. Especially with what he serves.

For the dinner, he made charbroiled eggplants. The talong was skinned and ground to a sweet, tasty pulp. For added taste, we had the choice of a vinegar preparation or balawbalaw. The vinegar had quartered onions and some sugar.

The balaw-balaw is a sauce and like most condiments in our country, it is in itself, a viand fit for rice. It is made of a small species of shrimp called yapyap ground with boiled rice to make it thick. After it is salted, it is left in a special container for months. Thus it is also called buro in other parts, "buro" being our general term for "pickled." Also, in other parts, they use anchovies.

In Angono, Rizal, there is a restaurant named after it. The Balaw-balaw is a town landmark famed for its mix of strange cuisine (bayawak, snails, and the like) and Angono art. But I love my Quisao balawbalaw more than the Angono variety because it has some coconut milk. That makes it kin to another gata and small shrimp dish, the inulang. But that's sweet stuff for another full article.

The thing I love next to eating is talking about eating. So please forgive, yet again, another long entry. Now, I'm full. Have a hearty meal!

The Fire Trees of Rizal Roads

The trip to my province in Quisao was essentially a grim errand. When I got there, I was angry that the Godfather postponed the face-off. It's not fair, really, because we're losing time and money going back and forth at his leisure. A thousand forms of retribution swam yet again in the stream of consciousness. But I had better things to do. Besides, if I'll be playing on the side of the angels, I must follow their rules, however damn noble, impractical, and tasteless these usually seem.

On the way there though, I saw fire trees aflame with their red blossoms. They were emaciated along the dusty byways of Tanay and adjacent towns. Yet, even that way, they were lovely, dignified like the determination of the downtrodden. They were so beautiful that I forgot to curse my errand. My own haste began to peeve me. They were so grounded, so earthy, as loud as anything red on green. But they have their silent quality as they sway to the breeze and the rush of PUJs, tricycles, and busses. In the way that something that mourns is always both deafening and soundless.

I grew to love even the heat that oppressed me then because it was the character of the very season that brought the fire blooms forth. The fire trees here are different from those I see in UP, in that path I walk from the Faculty Center to the Post Office.

But the flowers there will have their time if my designs bear some fruit. For now, there is the postponement, work, some editorial jobs I got on the side, and some meetings I have set-up with people I sorely miss.

And the memory of the petals I espied, fortunately once more, in the morning I made my way back home.