mufflers, headers

not a scratch on these babies
not in vain
all-out

Ang Kalsada

ni Octavio Paz
aking salin

Isang mahaba at tahimik na kalsada.
Naglakad ako sa kaitiman at nadapa ako at bumagsak
at tumindig, at bulag akong naglakad, ang aking mga paa’y
umaapak sa mga tahimik na bato at tuyot na dahon.
May kung sino sa likuran ang umaapak din sa mga bato, dahon:
kapag binabagalan ko, binabagalan din niya;
kapag tumatakbo ako, tumatakbo rin siya. Paglingon ko: walang tao.
Karimlan ang lahat, at kawalan ng pinto.
Paikot-ikot sa mga sulok na ito
na walang patumanggang nanunumbalik sa kalsada
kung saan walang naghihintay, walang sumusunod sa akin,
kung saan hinahabol ko ang isang taong nadadapa
at tumitindig at nagwiwika tuwing ako’y nakikita: walang tao.

scaffold

may I do it?
first of all, a sad piece of
a piece of
she was 27 years old, young like
are you among women / your will be done
the willingness to use other people

there’s only a very small
but women can see things
rejection, the risk of being taken
a question for which there is no answer

there is a worldly compassion which is useless
those who are discarded are crying
museums of young people who have everything but not knowing
—the architects of a renewed and 
silence: you lack only one thing
see caravaggio’s picture of him
beg

do I think I need nothing?
there is a phrase that consoles me

Annotation 2: Bautista’s “Flights”

Now that we’ve set up the contest between the reality TV genre and that of the short story [1] [2], we can deal with some specifics.

In the story, the behind-the-scenes is foregrounded, the show “Ang Munting Hiling” represented by the male crew rather than its metropolitan female host we see in “Wish Ko Lang”. After the first phone call, Brian Justimbaste meets two crewmen “with backpacks, a tripod, and each had a camera slung on their shoulders. They looked like they had two bottles of Red Horse on their way here.” It would turn out that they had each downed three.

The character is a nobody even in his own eyes but not a nobody in the sense that usually interests reality TV (ex: rural folk, or from the slums, a has-been who has drifted from the limelight to do someone else’s laundry, the sick or elderly, etc). Brian does seem to share something with the usual reality TV subject matter: estrangement from family. There’s only one mention of it in the story, when a crewman goes to the fridge and sees a frame on or near it:

“This your son?” he asked, his fingers touching the silver frame.

“That one’s me during my elementary recognition.”

We cannot automatically assume the presence of family in the photo. The father almost certainly isn’t on the frame, else the crewman would not have made the mistake (unless they look entirely alike, which is a possibility made possible by the visual gaps offered by written narrative). Maybe the mother’s in the frame. Maybe a parent, or other family member, took the shot. It’s also possible that they were all absent here, the photograph taken by the official photographer (cued, as it sometimes happens, by a small pinned ribbon on the Barong). The presence of this photograph (holding as it does these possibilities) could either be nostalgia for family or commemoration of its absence.

No activity from family members, and no mention. Even if the show did mention it, Brian does not when he recaps the show in the last paragraph. In this sense, the first person perspective serves the perfect lens: we get to see what Brian frames in and leaves out, how he chooses to see his life.

Choice figures also when the protagonist’s problem (what qualifies him for the show) is finally discussed:

He discussed everything about the trip this coming Sunday. They would feature me, Brian Justimbaste, 23, single, currently employed at San Gabriel Press, as someone who almost committed suicide. He said these in between sips of his coffee. 

I understand that this creates drama, which in turn would create sympathy from the viewers.

“Then we’ll be showing reenactments about the aforementioned suicide—may I ask which way would you prefer, if—”

“Drowning. I’ve always wanted to drown in a bathtub . . .”

Other than the form of suicide, or suicide in itself, the other choice here is whether or not to broadcast the “drama” at all, a choice to be made—with different though paired set of motives—by the program and its protagonist.

       ______________________________
[1] Bautista, Kevin Moses E. “Flights.” The Sunday Times Magazine. 22 Jan 2012: B4.
[2] Annotation 1.

Rue

Say of Paris that one day you grew tired of walking.
The meters calling up the bags to visit, not to come

over as friends. A Cesar whistled to be stoned
there, was forgiven for sentiment, re

marked, membered. Minded a pat
square between the blades. As if you’d have flicked my

Marcelo a cigarette, spitting as you do at your gutters

to groom the mice.
Surrender the most obstinate of our traits.

Annotation 1: Bautista’s “Flights”

The quiet life of 23-year old Brian Justimbaste takes a curious turn when the crew of a reality TV show “Ang Munting Hiling” comes knocking on his door [1]. We are escorted to view the ugly and fascinating technicalities of human desire or, perhaps in this case, the mysterious the diminishment of it.

“Ang Munting Hiling” seems to have been patterned after shows such as “Wish Ko Lang,” a reality TV show that has been airing since 2012 [2] [3]. According to GMA: “Wish Ko Lang is the first wish-granting program on Philippine television, featuring inspiring stories of ordinary Filipinos as they struggle to overcome extraordinary situations.” Perhaps cuing a contest of narrative forms, Bautista does not begin the story of Brian with his extraordinary situation.

My knees ached from the long walk. All I saw was an uprooted tree. No sight of anybody walking. No traffic lights. I lit a cigarette from the stove. I didn’t open the cans of beer I bought from the convenience store. I dreamed of having a sweaty day from a mountain hike, a camp with five tents and a bonfire. Instead I watched a TV show about wish-fulfillment. The entire show ran and I didn’t notice myself trimming my fingernails. 

Three considerations to keep in mind while reading this story are the following: (a) the cue feelings formula of reality television, (b) this first paragraph of the story where Brian watches the show, and (c) towards the end where Brian depicts the finished product of his own 60 minutes of fame. The bulk of the story, however, is about the process Brian undergoes to become the topic of the show.

Two related mysteries here are the specifics of Brian’s “drama” and his motives for nominating himself to the show. Consider the paragraph following the nail clippings:

That night I lay on the sofa and preoccupied myself with the sound of cats scavenging my garbage bin outside. This made me write to the show, Ang Munting Hiling.

There is nothing extraordinary here, at least nothing reality TV would consider story-worthy. No extreme circumstance, no pressing need. Perhaps Brian considered that lack as itself profound, a matter of urgency. It could also be that the “This” here refers to what can’t be said, and was therefore left out. “Flights” itself would go into this only after three pages into the four-page story, allying itself to its protagonist preferred narrative pace rather than following the genre of reality television.

       ______________________________
[1] Bautista, Kevin Moses E. “Flights.” The Sunday Times Magazine. 22 Jan 2012: B4.
[2] Wish Ko Lang. GMA Network and Wikipedia. Accessed 15 Jan 2015.
[3] Reality television. Wikipedia. Accessed 16 Jan 2015.

Minutes

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—Malaking bagay na mailagay sa minutes ito. Happy Sunday!
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—available eight thirty to eleven
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—Awaiting the prudence of the group. I thought it had already been explained. If there's to be a meeting, I hope it'll be official and definitive.
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—Baka masama ang loob kaso pinaghintay.
—*kasi
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—Andito na siya . . . hinihintay ang 10 minutes, prep, ganyan. Pwede nating i-live tweet ang okasyong ito.
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—ok po. after lunch
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—Grades aren't defensible in my view.
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—Late bloomer, maybe. I don't think even the post-grade grades will cut it (TOR 2 of 3).
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—Good AM. Are we still considering the CHED-type super-GE proposals active? (Ex. Ethics, Critical Perspectives in Communication, Filipino GE, etc.)?
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—Are these proposals still working on the assumption that we'll teach in the interdisciplinary mode, each course taught by teachers from different colleges? Can't we entertain the possibility of keeping the non-super non-champion GE framework? I can imagine courses like "Critical Perspectives in Communication" and "Workplace Communication" taught (perhaps more effectively) by our faculty. We to ours, they to theirs.
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—tomorrow am pls, thanks
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—Trying to look for possible candidates . . .
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—Parang okay naman po ang lineup na yan. Available pa sana, kahit isa.
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—ok w 1pm
—Have been thinking about yesterday. The prof makes the right point, and not merely the anti-large class sort of lip service we get from admin (and other closet proponents). However, this method is extreme, and I find nothing admirable in compromising so many just to make a point. It's playing with lives. Proponents of indiscriminate application of large class take the blame for putting us in positions like this, making a culture out of it, playing with many more lives in the process.
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