Life In A Bag

One of my favorite exercises at LFS was in Kevin Hull's directing class. It was called "Life In A Bag." Armed with a DV camera, we were sent out with the mission to get strangers to spill out the contents of their bags and in so doing, spill intimate details about themselves. After a brief orientation on how to work our video and sound equipment, my partner Mike and I immediately scoured the cobble streets of Covent Garden on the hunt for potential subjects.

Both Mike and I confessed to not being good at approaching strangers. We spent our first thirty minutes just standing around and occasionally stalking people who looked kind enough to indulge us in our unusual request. Suffice it to say we were unsuccessful in our first few attempts. We finally scored when we met a kind looking 50-year old man resting in St. Paul's Church's lovely courtyard (the Actors' Church situated right across the Covent Garden Market). The man had an impressive looking SLR and was quick to volunteer that he was a photography enthusiast. He was obviously a tourist and had a heavy backpack with him. Imagining the wealth of information he'd share with us, Mike convinced the old man to grant us an interview. I volunteered to operate the camera since it was Mike who sealed the deal.

It went well, that interview, though it wasn't as good as we would've wanted. James Nash, the photographer tourist, did answer our questions, but he was clearly reticent. Soon, we said our goodbyes. The gracious old man handed us his card as he bid us farewell, and it was only then that Mike and I found out that he was actually a reverend.

When my turn came, Mike and I have wandered into Trafalgar Square. We were certain we'd find a willing subject for me amongst the hundreds of people who frequent the spot over which the London National Gallery imposingly looms.

It was there that I approached a beautiful middle-aged woman named Yena. Her features easily gave her away as Latin American, but I didn't immediately assume that she was a tourist. Not even when she spoke English with a bit of difficulty. This was London after all, melting pot of all melting pots. I introduced myself as a film student and showed her my ID. After a few more pleas, she agreed to be interviewed. Mike quickly set up the camera as I started getting acquainted with her.


I found out that Yena was from Colombia. She is here in London pursuing her Master’s Degree. Like me. She went straight to emptying her bag, perhaps hoping to get the interview done with. She fished out a bottle of water, a hair brush, an emptied sandwich bag, and a map – for navigating London's most popular spots. She only arrived the Sunday before and wanted to see the sites before her classes started in two weeks. She disclosed that she's here on a scholarship from the school where she worked as a librarian.

I enjoyed talking to Yena, learning more and more about her as she fished more and more from her bag. A book by her favorite author. Yena said not many people in her country read which is why she valued her books and never left home without one. Prior to becoming a librarian, she taught preschool kids before and even authored a textbook. A UK sim card. For calling her 23-year old son, her only child, who was studying Biology back in their home country. I found out that she’s divorced from her husband, and that she’s excited about her future. While she’s anxious about her stay here in London, she looked forward to being appointed as the library’s Director when she finishes her MA.

I felt a genuine connection with Yena. In Yena and her son, I saw my mom and myself. Just them two in the family now, where a minimum would usually be three. I also felt Yena and I were on the same boat: Students toiling to have better prospects for their careers. Strangers on a foreign land struggling to settle in their new home.

Yena telling me that she had two more things to show me, after I wrapped our interview and gave her my thanks.
A pocket mirror... and chapstick. My embarassing response? "To keep the men interested, I suppose?"

It’s been almost four months since then when something happened that made me recollect that class exercise and my encounter with Yena. This incident made me think about how I would've fared had the tables been switched on me, wondered how accurately my life reflected from the contents of my bag.

Here in London, I alternately use two bags. The first is a rust-colored Piquadro rucksack my mom sent me from Italy. It's quite big, with four zipped compartments, more than enough room for all my trinkets. The first and largest one can fit books, notebooks and legal-sized school documents. It also has a padded slot for my 15-inch laptop. I use the second compartment for my laptop's accessories, like the power supply. The third, I use to keep my umbrella, scarf, gloves, and when shooting, an extra shirt. The fourth one is for things I need quick access to - chocolate bars, handkerchiefs, and my Moleskine London City notebook.

That bag is obviously quite heavy, so I usually bring my other bag. A green Belfast mailbag with a huge zip-up compartment and two buttoned pockets in the front. In it I'm able to keep the following things I never leave home without:

• My school notebook, which doubles as my all-around idea notebook;
• Since I'm in the middle of a school term, I also bring with me my first-term notebook so I could review my notes from the the previous term;
• School documents (scripts, readings, and equipment manuals);
• A 100+ GB portable external hard drive where I save copies of documents I've worked on my laptop (which I usually leave in my flat) so I can print them in school when needed. This hard drive also happens to be where I save my entire iTunes library;
• My 80 GB iPod, the JBL earphones I recently bought for maximum enjoyment of my music, and the attachable voice recorder I use when I need a quick way to chronicle my ideas;
• My favorite Ray-Ban sunglasses (friends know how I'm never without them - the night owl that I am);
• A Bridge umbrella;
• A book. Nowadays, it's a Guy de Maupassant book I have yet to start (since I just emerged from a novel);
• A scarf;
• A Parker pen;
• A bottle of water;
• A lip protectant;
• My house keys - the front door's and my room's;
• And of course, my wallet, containing my credit cards, debit card, postal ID, London Met ID, discount cards, ATM receipts, and usually, about £20 cash.

That's admittedly a lot of stuff for someone to bring around with him everyday. I’m actually more used to traveling light in the Philippines. The difference is I also have my car there, which is where I’d leave most of these things. As such, when I alight, I only have my wallet and iPod with me. Being a commuter here, I have no choice but to dump all of those in one bag.

Had I been approached by people who wanted to go through the contents of my bag, it would be apparent that I'm a student and that my life in London revolved around my studies. From my full iPod, they'd probably deduce my love for music, and from my book, that I liked reading. They'd know that I'm not originally from London since I kept as proof of identification a Postal ID issued in the Philippines (with details like my birthday, birth place, occupation, height, weight, and even my distinguishing mark - 'mole on left eyebrow') instead of a UK-issued driver's license. If they browsed through my notebook, it's possible for them to infer my background as a writer since I've scribbled down on it dozens of random ideas. And if they looked hard enough, they'd find where exactly in London I lived since my address is also written somewhere in that notebook.

So yeah, it's fair to say that my bag reflected my life here in London. In fact, you might even say that my bag is my life.

I realized that when I lost my bag three weeks ago.

Nep and I were on a spree for winter clothes in Oxford and Regent Street. As we were crossing Regent Street to get from Top Shop to the Gap, I felt light, like I was missing something. We had already been to Selfridges then, so I had with me a number of paper bags containing our loot. I checked the bags I was carrying and was assured that I had all of them. At the Gap, I was excited to find some really nice winter coats that fit me perfectly. When I was about to pay at the counter, I realized that I WAS missing something. I didn't have my green mailbag with me anymore. It had the regular contents of my bag, with the addition of a knitted headgear and £40 more than the cash I usually kept in my wallet. I don't usually bring that much money here in London as I always transacted with my debit card anyway, but we just finished shooting the week before and that money was left over from the petty cash I had to have handy.

I believe I manage well during crises. Even then, when I lost my bag, I was considerably fine. But the more I thought about it, the more I felt depressed. I could afford to lose everything except my notebooks. I was also worried about my house keys and the fact that my address was in my notebook. And that somewhere in the bag I had ID's containing personal information. This is London after all - where crime is rampant and identity theft is common.

I chose not to not to tell people from home, particularly my mom. I didn't want them to worry (plus I was avoiding a scolding considering they remind me to take care of my things without fail). Instead, I emailed my friends and made fervent requests to pray for me and the bag's miraculous return. I even had specific requests for them to 'not let up' and continue praying - hopeful and faithful that while it may not be returned soon, it could still be returned, however late.

The following day, I went back to the store to follow up. No bag. Three days after, I called the store to inquire again. No bag. They said I was welcome to visit or call again to check, but the fact is lost items were usually handed in by the end of the day. Beyond two days, there was little chance of its return. So I decided to simply continue praying while starting to let go. Inspired by my friend's wise advise, I started praying for the bag's return and the important things in it. I wasn't hoping to get all of it back, as long as I got the ones I truly valued, which were my notebook and my hard drive). If He wills it. In my pleas I started adding that if it wasn't meant to happen, then I pray He grants me the grace and strength to let go.

It was hard, but life had to move on. I've to carry on, find a new bag, and in it, rebuild what I lost from the other one.

***

Five days after, just when I've given my bag up for lost, I got a surprise call from the person who found my bag. She was a staff member in the shop where I left it. They've been waiting for me to come back for it and was avoiding to open it until I did. Soon as I could, I came down to the shop and thanked the girl profusely. When I checked my bag on my train ride back to the school, everything was still there. Not a single page from my notebook missing, not a pound from my wallet. I was incredulous. Our prayers were granted.

Life, and my bag, is back. Just as it had been before this ordeal.