Anong Bastos Sa Pagsuot Ng Flag? (A Response)

This is a actually a response to Rey's post in his blog, "Anong Bastos sa Pagsuot ng Flag?" I started to compose a reply, but like Norms, felt embarrassed that its length made it look more like a post on its own. So I decided to publish my reply here.

(Of course, among friends like Rey and the people who responded in his blog, we know better than to think that this constitutes picking a fight - as other people are inclined to intuit. I guess it is simply a natural consequence of keeping an opinionated company like the one I have).

Going back to the object that inspired Rey's post, lemme just say: I love that jacket. The one Adidas released a few months back, brainchild of a Filipino designer working in the Adidas HQ (in Germany I think). Nandito pa lang ako sa UK, nabalitaan ko na tungkol dyan sa Internet. Nagpabili nga ako para ipadala sa kin dito, pero ubos na sya nang magpatanong ako.

Having said that, I must say, I agree with the law (the Philippine Flag Code). I know that tailoring the flag into a shirt or a jacket does not necessarily constitute disrespect. The tricky part, however, is knowing the clear, definite line that tells us when we've gone too far. Kumbaga, when do you start to say that it is? Disrespectful already, that is?

I'd also be wary in arguing under the banner of "freedom of expression." I think we all agree that the flag deserves no less than utmost respect. I find it a bit incongruous if we are to defend our manner of 'expression' as a form of respect, as in the case of that jacket. Being asked to preserve the proper form and depiction of the flag is not the same as preventing someone from expressing his respect for it. One might even say that adhering to the prescribed formalities constitutes part of that deference.

Whereas on the flip side, abrogating that law could eventually allow for underwear and swim suits to be adorned with three stars and the sun, and that might be in bad taste. Some of our Kabayan might even take offense in it. (Liberal naman ang panlasa ko sa ganyang bagay, pero kahit ako, medyo mababastusan kung magkaron ng Pinoy counterpart yung Union Jack swimming trunks).

Moreso with the National Anthem. I think enough argument against the amount of liberty we previously gave to the singing of "Lupang Hinirang" can be found in the tragedy that Jennifer Bautista was.

I can perfectly see why Rey thinks the way he does (after all, I'm still bummed that I didn't get to buy that jacket. At kung meron ako non at hinuli ako ng pulis... I'd argue the same thing - that I am not wearing it as a sign of disrespect. Quite the contrary). But should none of my points fly, I guess I'd be content making my case by saying that I'm simply a stickler for traditions. I believe there are things that must not be compromised in favor the human spirit's predilections.

Balikbayan (Unang Yugto)

My bursting-at-the seams summer holiday-slash-Pinas homecoming (depending on which side of the globe you'd like to see it), last 22 August to 04 September 2008. Celebrating momentous occasions and touching base with the important people in my life :) Best to let the photographs speak for themselves.

Rest, Manong!

I first met Manong Gilbert Perez while working on the script of the Piolo-Regine movie. Carmi, Van and I were co-writing with Emman to flesh out a story he conceptualized. I liked working with Manong, and truth be told, I was kind of awestruck whenever we met with him. His reputation precedes him. Besides, it felt to me like a huge privilege to work with an established director like him while I was just breaking into the movie industry.

Manong was quite easy to work with, though the whole process wasn't exactly devoid of bumps. In the end, that script was passed over for another story. Eventually, our team was dropped from that project altogether. About a year or so later, the Piolo-Regine project became "Paano Kita Iibigin."

The next time I met Manong was when I was brought in to help out in "Supah Papalicious." While our previous encounter sailed smoothly enough, writing for this movie was more turbulent. Coming in late in the project, smack in the middle of production, my participation was naturally wrought with problems, creative and otherwise. It culminated in a rather painful misunderstanding. The worst part of it was that though it involved me and Manong, it didn't really happen between us. Suffice it to say that he felt bad about things I did, and I felt bad about how he reacted, but we never discussed it between us. It was a huge issue for me, but the other people involved in the Vhong-Makisig movie thought that it wasn't as big as I'm imagining it to be. Maybe that truly was the case. Manong, after all, is known to be as temperamental as he was talented. Perhaps its the Catholic virtue of guilt nagging at me, but I still hoped to eventually get the chance to talk to him.

Today, I learned that Manong has passed away a few nights ago.

I feel bad that I was never given the chance to clear things with him. To tell him that despite the unfortunate circumstances, I still deem it a privilege to work have worked with him.


In his passing, he joins Galo Ador, Jr., another genius of a writer with whom I wrote Agent X44. Another loss in ABS's roster of talents.

















Rest in peace, Manong!

Springtime In London

A very close friend of mine recently emailed to our barkada egroup to say that she's safely arrived in Perth and is well on her way to starting her post-grad studies. Like me, she was a bit rushed into her move to Australia. Unlike me, however, she's had this trip planned months ahead. As I've said before, my plan to go to London to study did not take proper shape until three weeks before the start of the summer term at the LFS. Jean was rushed because she just underwent an operation and had only three weeks to rest and recuperate before she finally flew to the land down under.

I was encouraged by Jean's email to finally write about my great London adventure. I've been itching to compose a journal of my experiences here but never really got around to doing it. Firstly because I've been really busy with school. The LFS's twelve-week terms (semesters if sa Peyups) is considerably more brisk than the pace I'm accustomed. Secondly, I'm still sort of adjusting to my new lifestyle. Last and most notably, I don't really know how to go about recounting my story thus far.

Jean and I, we're obviously on the same boat, so I know how tough and exciting and sad it can be. Based on her stories, I realize London's not far different from Perth. Jean complains about the cold weather there right now. When I arrived in London, it was spring about to turn to summer. I too was jolted by the temperature. When I was de-planing, I had my thick parka hanging on to my camera case (which, together with my usual red travel luggage, consisted my hand carry stuff) and the Chinese flight attendant told me to put it on because it was 10 degrees outside (Celsius, evidently). It was that cold the evening I arrived, but the next few days, I was lucky to experience a good run of bright, warm, sunny days.

I was excited to be in London for the first time. Every minute I spent there thrilled me more. At the arrival hall waiting for me was Nep, my guardian angel here in the UK. It was such a great, comforting feeling to see a familiar face after a 16-hour flight. It was even more special since it's been more than two years since we last saw each other. Though we were great friends in college, we didn't manage to keep in touch as much as we wanted to, and before I knew it, she's relocated to the UK to study.

Nep and I took the tube from Heathrow to the station near what was to be my home in London. That station was Paddington, which sounds familiar as it is where one can find the famous Platform 9 and 3-quarters. I made a quick stop at a Sainsbury, which like Tesco, M&S, and Waitrose, is a chain of supermarkets/convenience stores you find everywhere here, as ubiquitous as the 7-11's, Ministops, SM Hypermarts, and Rustan Fresh Supermarkets back home. I make an effort to note this because these stores were to be credited for my continued survival in the coming weeks, thanks to their microwaveable, on-the-go meals. We then hopped on one of those famous black London cabs and was soon settling into my new flat (pictures in my previous entry "Of Flats, Filipinos & Friends"). Nep was kind enough to give me a house-warming-cum-welcome gift - a new set of beddings. She helped me put on my new sheets and left soon after cause had work the next day.

And then I was alone.

After all that exciting flurry, the reality of what my life in London was going to be took form. Cold, cramped, lonely.

I woke up at 7AM the following day cause I wanted to have enough time searching through the streets of Central London for my school. It was already May 1 by then, which meant that I was already a few days late for my school's summer term. Classes started on April 28, the Monday before. See, all my previous attempts to get help from the school's admin for assistance prior to my departure yielded nothing. As such, I had no idea how to get to my school exactly. I don't think they even knew I was coming that day, or if I was coming at all. I could only rely on an address and my Moleskine city journal's London map.

Luckily, LFS was just one bus ride away. I got there at 9PM, a full hour before our classes were to start. I was buzzed in by the front house manager and was soon talking to our School Secretary. She handed me the school's handbook, told me about an out-of-school class later that afternoon, and then she introduced me to the other members of my term. That consisted my official welcome.

There were 14 people in our term. I was the fifteenth (and one week later, another student joined us). They were mostly Westerners, so it was quite intimidating to be coming in this late. Had this happened at the beginning of the term, when we were all newcomers and were thus on the same footing, I wouldn't have felt that awkward. Coming in late meant that they already knew each other and worse, they've already started forming their little cliques. God knows what a challenge it is to anyone, penetrating those damn cliques. Suddenly, it felt like kindergarten all over again.

So that went on for a few weeks. I truly hated it, being the only southeast Asian in the group. Not knowing, seeing any Filipino in school. Having to endure not being called during attendance because I was too embarrassed to call attention to myself. I didn't eat and sleep enough, and I didn't have friends and family to talk to at least. Worst, I was well too aware of the things I had to give up just so I can be miserable and cold halfway around the world.

It all got sorted out in the end of course. I now revel in being the only southeast Asian in the group. I think I even enjoy being the only Filipino most people in LFS know. And yes, I'm now listed in every professor's attendance list. I eat normally now and no longer crave for 12 hours of sleep. I'm friends with all my batchmates and the old, reliable ones I have back home are just a phone call away. The truth is, it's not really as bad as I make it sound. For one, I could've arrived here in winter and that would've frozen not only my confidence but my balls as well. But it truly was a struggle to get to the contented, fulfilled state I'm in right now. Maybe it's tied to the seasons? It is summer now, after all. Perhaps things had to take its natural course. I guess it was unreasonable for me to expect things to just fall into place. Like the chilly spring that needed a little getting used to, I warmed up to the people, the city, and my new life. And like the weather, it eventually warmed up to me.

Independence Day

Since the time it started to matter, most people have always thought I was independent. Perhaps it was an inevitable conclusion my friends arrived at considering my personal circumstances.

I was born in Lipa, but in my toddler years, we lived in Cubao, Quezon City. (Perhaps that's the reason why I was drawn to QC later in life). When I was around 4, we moved to San Pedro, Laguna, a suburb at the perimeter of Metro Manila. My mom left to work in Italy when I was only a year old, while my dad ventured into a small enterprise selling ready to wear clothes (RTW). He even named the business after me, which is the reason why as a child, my dad's friends had taken to calling me "Raz Marketing." ("Aba, ang laki na ni Raz Marketing a!" "Ano, Raz Marketing, ilan taon ka na?"...). The business flourished and dad was encouraged to open another one - a small vulcanizing shop that later expanded to selling tires as well. That's where our tire business got its name - Port Area Tire Center.

Both my parents found successes in their ventures, but it also meant their only child was growing up mainly in the company of helpers and immediate relatives. I usually got to see my dad early in the morning before going to school and on weekends. My mom, on the other hand, flew back from Italy on a yearly basis - either in May, for her birthday on May 2, or in December, for a sweep of my birthday, Christmas, New Year, their wedding anniversary on January 10, and my dad's birthday on January 12.

My dad eventually moved his business to Muntinlupa which was much closer to our house in San Pedro. When I was 8, he ran for an elective post in his hometown in Cavinti, Laguna. (I remember joining the campaign sortie, tricked by my dad's friends into shouting, "Vote Allan de la Torre! Walang asawa, walang anak!"). He was elected municipal councilor. That meant he didn't only have the business to run in Muntinlupa, he had to go back to Cavinti every Friday for the sessions with the Municipal Council.

That setup lasted till my early teen-age years as my dad eventually ran for Mayor and won. In high school, I went home to my aunt and a helper.

In junior year, my father died. My mom started going home more often than she did before - around twice a year. Not long after that, I left home for college. I rented a condo in Katipunan. Our home in Muntinlupa was left to the care of the helpers, until eventually, they were let go for practical purposes.

The solitary nature of my living condition led most people to think I was a fine example of how it was to be independent. It was flattering to some extent. It accorded me confidence that seemed to go hand in hand with independence.

The truth is I've always doubted whether I was really being independent or if I was just faking it. After all, I was never really without any kind of support. Even when I was living in QC by myself, I didn't have to do my own laundry, even if laundromats already proliferated then. I never had to go pay my own bills. I had regular visits from people from home. I never suffered the burden of financing my own lifestyle. Even though I did my own share of cleaning the condo, driving my self to school, going out and occasionally cooking (microwaving) my own meals, I was, in fact, still dependent on my mom and my home support group.

Even when I started working, that setup remained the same. Even when I moved into my very own house, that was still the case.

It really wasn't until I moved here to London that I felt really independent. I do everything here myself, and there's no one to run to when I need help. Even if I needed it, here in London, I can't really depend on anyone. I do have a few friends here, but they too struggle to keep the gears of their daily lives well oiled, and I'm too aware of that to add my concerns onto their plates.

Here, I feel what it's like to spend my own money and not have it replenished by benefactors. I feel what it's like to be sick and not have anyone to call so they can bring me medicine. I feel what it's like to come home without any food to eat, and have no choice but to sleep hungry or go out again to buy something from the nearest grocery. Here, I get to know what it's like to live by myself, and just live with it.

I can't help but give myself credit for how well I'm able to handle it all. I guess I really had no reason to doubt myself before. If there one thing my personal circumstances taught me, it was how to be emotionally tough to survive this chapter in my life. Nep, my friend who moved here two years before me, said that she cried herself out in her first month. I'm proud to say that despite feeling the urge numerous times, I haven't shed a tear. I've managed to stave off any bubbling miasma of depression or despair.

I realize there are two ways one can be independent. I'm finally learning how it is to be independent in the practical sense. Now I can proudly and confidently own up to the virtue, considering I've been independent in the other sense all my life.

***

Maligayang araw ng kalayaan, Pilipinas!

The Butanding Experience

This trip to Bicol was one of my last out of town trips before I left for London. We were originally aiming to get all the Manila-based Council members to go, but Concep was also going to Legaspi the following weekend and Jean found out that she was already dilated despite only being 7 months along (she’s given birth to a baby boy last June 5 – Council’s first baby!). In the end, it was just me, Alexa and Joni who went.

We decided to fly in to Legaspi instead of taking a 12-hour bus ride. We arrived early Saturday and was met by Joni's sister Joan and brother-in-law Neil at Bicol's pride, Bigg's. After breakfast, we took a quick side-trip to Cagsawa. That was really for Alexa who was the only one who hasn't been there. Unfortunately, we only got to see the majestic Mayon for a few minutes as clouds quickly covered it up. (Malas kasi si Alexa - everytime nililingon nya yung Mayon, natatakpan). What's most striking though is how much the surrounding areas have changed. Upon getting there, we were greeted by kids who hawked pictures of both the Cagsawa ruins from decades before, when more of the buried church's tower was intact, as well as pictures of the devastation caused by the typhoon Milenyo. It’s tragic how badly affected the area was, but it’s amazing, almost miraculous, how the flash floods from Mayon seemed to avoid the Cagsawa ruin itself.

We went to Tiwi right after our quick detour and had lunch at Joni’s house. After a quick nap, we cooled down with the famous DJ’s halo-halo. Our agenda for the afternoon was Corangon Island off the coast of Tiwi. It was a small sand bar (smaller than the white beach sand bar of Camiguin, in fact) at the point where the tides seem to converge from different directions, which I suspected was the reason why that sand bar existed in the middle of the sea even though it was considerably far from the mainland shore.

The local government of Tiwi is very protective of the sand bar that they actually prohibit visits to Corangon. We were lucky to be with Joni’s mom and sister who were well-connected in Tiwi. After asking permission from the baranggay council, we spent the rest of the afternoon on Corangon. It didn’t have any structure at all so we had to bring our own umbrella and picnic mats, plus our afternoon merienda (snacks) of course. We had a great time despite the searing heat of the summer sun. The beach was lovely, and from the island, we had a beautiful view of the Mayon (well, beautiful if not for Alexa’s malas, which kept the volcano hidden behind clouds all day).

Later that afternoon, we attended Mass in Tiwi (which meant that I heard it in Bicolano). After which, I drove the Mosatallas’ family car to Tabaco to have dinner in a local videoke bar/restaurant with Lex and Joni. We retired at around 10PM only to wake up three hours later for our Donsol trip. We had to leave really early since the butandings were in the province of Sorsogon, while Tiwi was actually in Albay.

Chauffeured by Joni’s cousin Kuya Jake, we made it to the Butanding Visitors’ Center in Baranggay Dancalan at 7AM. Joni’s Bicolana alindog failed to get the registration fee waived, but we didn’t mind. Though there were only three of us to split the cost, we gladly forked out around P4000 for the registration and the boat and equipment rental. We were that confident every cent would be worth it. After all, our primary agenda was to see the butandings.

The outrigger boat took us to the middle of the ocean as our BIOman (Butanding Interaction Officer) ran us through a quick orientation. His most important reminder: Don’t panic! After drilling that in our heads, we put on our floater vests and were no sooner on the lookout for the whale sharks.

Within ten minutes of being at sea, our Bioman rallied us to the edge of the boat for what was to be our first encounter. At his signal, the four of us jumped off the boat at the same time, submerged our masked faces underwater and frantically scanned the dark depths for the gentle giants.

And there it was… our first butanding.

He was swimming in our direction a couple of feet below us. It was a magnificent sight, and it was an incredible feeling to be in its presence. Interestingly, like John Rae said of his experience, I wasn’t scared, which was what I expected to be. Instead, I felt I overwhelmed and in awe of… it. Or perhaps, overwhelmed and in awe of the moment - that we were swimming along side this extraordinary creature. The butanding was massive, yet unbelievably gentle. It was about 8 to 9 meters, our Bioman later told us. It was huge enough to gobble us up, but we excitedly swam with it, matching its pace and swimming right on top of it for a few minutes.

The butandings may frequent Donsol, but tourists are not always assured of an encounter. Our Bioman told us how some tourists spend all day at sea and go home without seeing a single one. So even though the interaction officers aim for exclusive encounters for every boat, they sometimes resort to sharing a butanding to ensure that all the tourists go home satisfied.

That’s what made that encounter truly special. Not only was it our first, it was also the only time in the trip when we had a butanding all to ourselves. Our next encounters were all shared with the other foreign and local tourists.

I remember in 2003, when I first visited Donsol, there used to be this life-sized replica of a whale shark at the Butanding Visitors’ Center. I didn’t quite trust its accuracy, thinking it was probably an impressionistic version thought up by the locals. The spray-painted patterns on the butanding model made it look, well, artificial. Our Bioman eventually told us that aside from the size, these patterns were how they distinguished one butanding from the other. In reality, the patterns on the butanding pretty much looked as it did on the model, though the real-life butanding looked so much better of course. With its imposing size and contrastingly mild demeanor, it just felt surreal to be in the water with them. I think my exact sound bite was, “unreal.” Something about the silence while swimming with a butanding underwater made it seem like a solemn affair.

On our third encounter, I decided to take off my life vest so I could swim freely. That was perhaps my best encounter, as I was able to swim with the butanding for what felt like forever (which in reality was probably only around 10 minutes). Our Bioman, Alexa, Joni, and I started out swimming with the other tourists, and by the end of it, I was by myself. I would’ve gone on tirelessly had the butanding not decided to swim deeper and out of sight. It was calming swimming with the butanding. It didn’t even occur to me how far from the boat I was, and how deep the water was.

Since the whale sharks swam so close to us, we had to resist the urge to just reach out and touch them. We truly were tempted, but we never attempted. At the end part of our 7th encounter, our Bioman gave us a treat. He took Alexa and Joni’s hand and made them touch our 7th butanding. Syempre, I followed suit :) (For those going there, I wouldn't advise you do the same though...)

Our 8th encounter was the biggest butanding we met, I think. More than 12 meters, our Bioman said. In total, we had 10 encounters in three and a half hours, which was pretty good. Exceptional even, our Bioman said. Despite having 10 encounters, however, we actually met just nine butandings. Our last two encounters were with the same butanding called “Lambing.” He seemed to be the most comfortable in swimming with humans. He swam undauntedly and really close to the surface. So close that we had to struggle to avoid kicking him. I was afraid that if I kicked one of them, they’d hate us humans and migrate to Australia, denying us Pinoys of the privilege of swimming with them. (Our Bioman said that there are also sightings in Australia, but tourists there can’t swim with them. They only get to see the whale sharks from helicopters).

I think the only time I ever felt scared was on our last encounter, when we jumped right in front of Lambing. That would’ve been okay since that already happened a few times before. What made that 10th encounter different was Lambing was feeding on planktons at the time, and so he had his huge mouth wide open, and swimming toward us. I had to let go of Lex as I scrambled to steer clear of its path. Luckily, he didn’t suck us in. I can’t imagine what would’ve happened if we didn’t get out of the way. Certainly his mouth was big enough to swallow my feeble body. I actually wondered if he would’ve choked on me if that happened.

We enjoyed the butandings so much that we decided to stay in Donsol instead of heading back to Legaspi. We found a reasonably priced homestay lodging along the main road. There we met some European backpackers and lunched and dined on home cooked meals. Later in the afternoon, we went for a walk around town. Donsol was busy preparing for the Butanding Festival the following week. There was in fact a basketball tournament and carnival (read: perya) rides and games at the town plaza. We sampled those in the evening, after we went firefly watching in the river.

That whole Bicol trip was special. Swimming with the butandings, in particular, was just magical. Profound. Priceless. Miss Maya and Sid Lucero said something similar when swam with the whale sharks during the filming of Donsol (directed by my friend Adolf). You can’t help but be humbled by how a creature this great could be so gentle. I’m glad I insisted on going to Donsol before leaving the Philippines. I kept telling Alexa and Joni that we had to go there soon, afraid that Mount Isarog & Mayon’s eruptions would affect the biodiversity in that area and drive away these welcome visitors. I would’ve tragically regretted it if that happened without me ever experiencing how it was like to swim with the butanding.

Of Flats, Filipinos & Friends

It's been a month since I moved to London, and thankfully, things are just fine. As with any uprooting, foremost on my agenda was to find a dwelling place. I was fortunate to have a place I could call my own waiting for me when I arrived in London. Thanks to Nep, my close friend and orgmate from college, I didn’t have to bunk in with friends or friends of friends and spend my first few days going around town looking for a place to rent. Two days before my scheduled arrival, Nep secured for me this small flat that came with a bed, a telly (TV if I were writing this back in Manila), a closet, a desk, a bedside table, and a personal sink. Despite the cramped size, I loved my new flat, and for a fair number of reasons.

For starters, the rent is cheap. See, the whole city of London is divided into six different zones. The higher the zone is in ordinal number, the more expensive the real estate and rental prices. Imagine the whole Metro Manila being one city, and Makati being Zone 1. Mandaluyong & QC would then be Zone 2. Manila & San Juan Zone 3, Taguig & Pasay Zone 4, etc… They even distinguish travel from one Zone to the other, such that travel within Zone 1 is more expensive than travel within and between the other Zones. My house, which is number 86 in Bravington Road, is in Zone 2. It's right smack at the point where Shirland Road meets Bravington Road to form a 'T'. Even if that puts me in a considerably posh location, I only pay £85 for rent. (By the way, that’s £85 a week!). That’s expensive in Manila standards, yes, but here in London, that’s almost a steal.

Since I live in Zone 2, my house is not that far away from my school. From my house, there is a bus stop about four blocks away from which I can take the number 6. It would take me all the way to Strand St at Westminster, and from where I get off, it’s just a 10-minute walk to my school. LFS is located in the corner of Shelton and Langley in Covent Garden, right at the heart of Zone 1. The forty-five minute bus ride would make it seem far, but it’s really the traffic and number of bus stops that makes it so. And considering that it’s just one bus ride, I’d say that’s still pretty convenient.

Another great thing about my house’s location is that it’s also just one bus ride away from Notting Hill Gate and High Street Kensington – which I like comparing to Timog and Morato in QC. When I’m in the mood for fast food, a movie, or just lazing around, I walk three blocks from my house and take the number 28 bus to go to either place.

Just like New York, Hong Kong, Singapore and other highly urbanized cities, most Londoners commute around town using the train system. Here, they call it the Tube (MRT at LRT sa aten). At times when I’m running late for class, I swap number 6 for 28 and alight at Notting Hill so I can take the tube. It’s a more complicated way of getting to school, but it’s faster since there are frequent trips and the Covent Garden tube station is just one street corner away from LFS.



























I already said that my room is small, and I’m not being modest. It’s probably less than 10 square meters. Like I also said, the bed's provided already (dapat lang!). There's also a small desk by the foot of the bed, but because the space is so cramped, I can't really put the chair there and use the damn table as intended. I use it for charging my laptop and keeping all the other school stuff, since there are shelves above it rin naman. I also used that small spot for my shoes.



















There's a small window by the bed, right above the bedside table, which has a decent enough view of the outside. Good thing there's a tree outside so there's some foliage and color adding to the view. I think my neighbor's a pre-school or children's center of sorts, but I haven't seen any kids since I arrived. There's also a small sink inside, so I can do minor dish washing and hygiene rituals without having to go out of my room.

Nevertheless, I consider myself lucky to afford a room all to myself. I am able to enjoy enough privacy, even if I have to go out of my room to use the communal kitchen (with its communal fridge and freezer) and share the shower and toilet with some of the other tenants. But I don't mind that - especially since the shower and toilet is just outside my door. So it's like I own it, nakikigamit lang yung iba, hehe. The only thing I can really complain about is not having enough closet space for my clothes and shoes.
























The best part about the house is that some Filipinos are renting the other rooms. In fact, the house’s caretaker/landlady, Tita Josie, is also Pinoy. I didn’t think this would matter in choosing where I would live, but now I can’t imagine living in a place where I didn’t have any Kabayan. It’s refreshing and uplifting to run into someone and greet them with words that roll of my tongue more organically. Quite a number of times, I’ve even benefited received free meals from them, even though they know nothing about me other than I’m also Pinoy. Just this afternoon nga, Tita Josie took me to this birthday party she was invited to. Nakakatouch, though essentially nag-gate crash ako. I enjoyed it immensely even if I was the only non-Ilocano there (which meant I understood nothing of their conversations).

Actually, maraming Pinoy sa London. Sobrang dami, but I still haven't found me friends like the ones I have back home.

The Cruelty of Writing Part 1: Turning Tables

Up until the morning of April 28, Monday last week, I wasn’t sure if my plan to go overseas was pushing through. I was initially intending to leave earlier, but all the effort I put in informing Star about my schedule so we could accommodate both my personal plans and the production timetable for the John-Lloyd-Sarah project was rendered futile (and quite expected, really).

Since September of last year when I submitted the third draft of this script and its development eventually put on hold, I’ve been asking for the management’s feedback so I could start working on the new draft. When the project was yet again greenlighted in March, I already had plans to leave for Europe. I told them about that, trying my best not to sigh in frustration and ask why they’re only making me work on the revisions now, six months after I submitted the last draft. When we had our feedback meeting, it was almost a little over a full month from April 28. I was hoping to write more than one draft so no more significant revisions would be required. Despite the little time we had left, all sorts of delays came to play, including more than 2 weeks of our time wasted on developing an entirely new story which was ultimately chucked for my old one. In the end, I was given only two weeks to write one new draft.

Naturally, the writing got in the way of my preparations for my trip. I guess it was wishful thinking on my part for my bosses and colleagues to take that into consideration. I had to juggle writing and running last-minute errands like shopping for supplies, settling my personal accounts like my home cable, mobile phone, and internet.

I finally submitted the fourth draft of that script on Saturday, April 26. (One good thing that came out of all the setbacks was it allowed me to attend my good friend Duke’s wedding in Batulao/Tagaytay.)

People in the office wanted to meet with me the following Tuesday, April 29, so I can personally hear from them the management’s feedback on that fourth draft. I told them I’d try my best to make it, but it was unlikely that I’d make it.

By Monday evening, I told them that it was really not possible for me to go to Star anymore. They asked why, and I texted that it was because I was scheduled to fly out of Manila then. The following day, Tuesday, I managed to have my flight moved to Wednesday morning instead. I told Star about this, but also said that despite the change in schedule, I still won’t be able to meet with them since I’ll be needing the free time to fix things for my departure. They called me that same day to ask if I could instead write my “vision” and “theme” for the script so they could use it for the Creative Meeting on Friday. I explained it to them over the phone, but they still insisted that I write “in my own words” what my vision and theme was.

Now let me just say that I don’t really know what else I have to do to spell out what my vision for the story is. I don’t discount that I may not be successful in making the script reflect our intentions, but that’s a different matter all together. But to ask me for my ‘vision’ and ‘theme’? How insulting is that!? (And as one friend of mine pointed out, how lazy!) The script has been submitted for their perusal. At the very first page of this new draft, I even intro’d the script with a statement of its theme, a blurb of sorts, stating what I intended to be the movie’s theme. And need I mention that we’ve been meeting and discussing this project since last year? Haven’t we discussed the characters, the story, the theme, and the intentions in so many words? Then again, I guess insulting the writer is something they don’t really care about.

The worst part about this whole incident is I wasn’t able to submit this “vision-slash-theme” by Friday. I landed on Heathrow Wednesday evening, and the following day, I already attended classes. I hadn’t settled in properly. I didn’t have my own phone line yet, so I only relied on my roaming. I received a call from Star but I was commuting at that time and didn’t realized it was them until I got home. Besides, I was already refraining from using my roaming cause I’m close to exceeding my phone account’s credit limit. If I got my account frozen, I’d be helpless out here. I eventually got my phone’s WAP working and checked my email from there. I saw an email from Star asking how I was and reminding me of the “vision” I owed them. It was already past the deadline by then, so all I was able to do was apologize and explain why I couldn’t submit it on time.

I’ve been feeling guilty about my failure to submit that “vision” and “theme.” Yet as if self-flagellation wasn’t enough, I got this email from Star saying they understand my situation, but at the same time said that my failure to submit my “vision” had “a lot of repercussions on the project timetable.” They reminded me that we still needed to grind by May 8. Because of that, I’d have to settle once and for all whether I can still commit to doing the revisions from where I am now and correspond via email, or if I’d consent to bringing in a new writer to the project. They even gave an ultimatum: If they did not hear from me by Sunday, 11PM Manila, they’d be forced to bring in a new writer. All those were boldfaced, italicized and underlined – now if that wasn’t a threat, I don’t know what is.

I only got to read that email Sunday, 9PM UK time. That was 4AM, Manila time.

I swear, this job of writing for movies (for Star? I don’t really know how much I can generalize) can be really cruel.

That evening before I left, I already brought up the issue of bringing a new writer. I volunteered to discuss it with them since their calls were usually only about the deadlines. Since I anticipated that my hectic schedule, the distance, time difference, and practical difficulty of my situation could possibly compromise my commitments to the project, I told them that even if I don’t want to, I know that it would be more convenient for the project to bring in a new writer.

Of course, I expressed my apprehension despite indirectly agreeing to that recourse. After all, this material, this story, this script, has been mine entirely. I researched it, pitched, developed, wrote the script, reworked the story, re-researched, rewrote the script, got it approved… all by myself. I got little to no help doing all that – of couse, by this, I don’t mean to discount the help from our director, the CA and my boss – I say this in the context of not having any co-writer. But yeah, no help in all four drafts of the script that got us to this stage when the management has finally committed to making the movie. And again, I stress that even when the project was put on hold in September last year, I insisted on getting the feedback from the management so I could start revising it, or at least mull over how I’d go about doing that. I think it’s just natural and justified that I expect and hope to retain ownership after all that.

However, I’m now left with no choice but to relinquish the fruit of my labor. Not only that. Despite trying my best to be worth my salt writing for this and all the other movie projects I’ve been involved with, it now seems like it’s my own fault!

And here I thought my effort in avoiding this situation would prevent the tables from getting turned on me. I thought wrong. What makes it more depressing is this would’ve been a milestone for me as it was to be my first solo credit. Still, I’ve been easing myself into foregoing that career high point for later. Especially since recently, my boss unabashedly declared sans apology that writers are usually the first casualties in binds like this. I suppose it was foolish to expect my concern to take precedence over other concerns in the project. Plus I do admit to having my share of deficiencies. But to be made to feel like I screwed myself over is just going too far. After all the diligence and dedication I invested in my work and this project in particular, this is what I get?

How’s that for cruelty.

Blonde Moment

In the earlier Finals episode of this season's American Idol, the contestants had to recount their most embarrassing moments. When I heard Ramiele's, which involved going up to her crush’s home to give him her picture and getting laughed at, I was in stitches (I think that's when I first liked her, cause she had both the voice and personality - now if only she chose better songs...).

That made me stop and think of what answer I'd give if asked the same question. I couldn't think of one. Not because I didn't have any, but because most of the most humiliating scenes in my life happened when I was young. I'm now able to reminisce about them, share them with my friends, laugh at myself, and chalk it up to the things that made my childhood and puberty interesting and fun. Nevertheless, I was inspired to rummage through my cobwebbed memory so I'd be ready with an answer when asked for my very own embarrassing moment.

Still I couldn't find any. But soon after watching that episode, I was given one.

Last March 2, which was a Sunday, my good comrade Chrissie and I went to Makati to take the TOEFL. As usual when I'm scheduled to do something important the following day, I wasn't able to get proper sleep the night before. The test required us to be in De La Costa by 8AM, and at 4AM that Sunday, I was just about to go to sleep. Rather than run the risk of oversleeping and wasting my precious 6G's because of tardiness. Obviously, this part of the story is intended to lay the predicate that I was sleepless that day.

(I'm not sure which details I have the liberty to discuss, so I'll try to be as vague as possible without sacrificing content).

There was a short orientation before the internet-based exam proper. We were basically told that there were to be 4 parts, that we were to bring NOTHING inside the exam room, that the whole exam is timed, and that we were to follow instructions that would be flashed on the screen. We were also to be provided pencils and scratch paper, which we could be replenished upon request (they were to take and shred the used up paper).

I was called in before Chrissie was (we were called in successively and not at the same time, so we started at different times). They took a picture of me for the records and made me log my name and the time. We were to log in and out every time we left the exam room.

The first part of the exam proper tested our reading skills. Naturally, we were asked to read a passage for this. I read the article and tried to remember all the details for the exam part later. After finishing the article, I saw that there was a lot of time left. So I re-read the article. I noticed the scratch paper they provided and started taking down notes for to help me in the question and answer part later. I took little time doing this so there were still a few minutes left. I remembered seeing a Korean girl waiting with us in the anteroom, so I thought it was just fair that they allotted more time than necessary. After all, this was an internationally standardized test, and English-speaking Filipinos obviously had an advantage. We couldn't expect all examinees to be quick readers like me!

After taking down notes, I still had a few minutes left. I slouched on my seat, relaxed and stared at the monitor while I waited for the questions.

The clock counted down to zero, and then a message appeared:

"Your time for answering the questions is over."

If the exam moderators were to review the CCTV footage, they would've seen the stunned, horrified look that accompanied the sudden upright jerk of my body as I sat up straight and mouthed,

"What questions!?!?!!"

Only then did I realize that I wasn't fast or advanced. I was just being stupid. The Korean girl who spoke little English probably sailed through the first part of the reading exam while I was to score a big, fat zero.

I was embarrassed, though since everyone was busy answering the exams, no one could possibly have seen me idling around, tapping my fingers on the desk as I stared at the computer. Aside from the moderators, that is. They were probably snickering and wondering why I refused to answer the test but were restricted from approaching me to offer a friendly coax or say, "The exam won't answer itself, Sir. You have to do your part."

I did not dare request a do over or ask them if I there's any way they can invalidate that first part so I can salvage my test score, though I was very much tempted to approach them and explain what happened. I figured, if they thought I was pulling their leg, all I had to do is make them look at their records to see that I had NO ANSWER whatsoever and argue, "Who in their right mind would leave their TOEFL exam answer sheet blank!? Tanga na lang ang gagawa non, no!"

I realized I'd be answering my own question and admitting my stupidity in one fell swoop, so I kept silent and continued the exam instead. This was a four/five hour exam, mind you, and I was only at the first part. When the second part of the reading exam started and the second article came on, that's the only time I noticed this little button at the upper right corner of the screen labeled "next." ("Ahhh... pipindutin ko pala dapat yon.") When I pressed the button, the first question came on, and guess what? The article that we were required to read was still there, and was never taken off the screen. There was no need to memorize details or take down notes for that part pala. (Anakngteteng.)

Naturally, the incident dampened my spirit for the rest of the exam. I felt tremendous pressure to ace all the remaining parts and the other exams. Still, even with that motivation, I felt like this was a hopeless campaign.

Sabi nga, be careful what you ask for. Finally, I have a new embarrassing moment to recount. It was more like a blonde moment, some people would say, but I see it as the worst possible kind of embarrassment - the one that embarrasses you even when no one else witnessed it.

I'm only able to recount this now because I feel redeemed. Kumbaga, may pambawi na.

I just got my TOEFL scores last week.

It goes like this kasi: They score you for each exam: reading, listening, speaking and writing. Your scaled score falls within certain levels: HIGH, INTERMEDIATE or LOW for the reading and listening parts; GOOD, FAIR, LIMITED, or WEAK for the speaking and writing parts.

The levels of my Listening, Speaking and Writing skills were all good. Naturally, the clincher was the Reading exam score. When I looked at my score, it was... (drumroll...) High Level!

I didn't know kung matatawa ako o maiiyak sa tuwa. It wasn't like I was precluded from taking the exam all over again if I failed it, but I just felt anxious over the prospect of my ego taking a beating and coughing up 6 thousand bucks for it all over again.

Syempre, my scaled score in reading was the lowest in the HIGH range. I guess it was too much to ask to be in the upper range, but I still couldn't believe it. Either my indomitable spirit carried me through and yielded me enough points to compensate for my big fat ZERO on the first part of the Reading exam, or the test moderators previewed the CCTV tapes of the exam proper and commiserated after seeing in my face what I can only imagine as the definitive look of shock.

High School Life (Happy First Decade!)

Back in 2006, I was inspired to list down some indelible memories from childhood and high school. I enjoyed blogging that (They Try To Tell Us We're Toyang...). I realized this time is more fitting, since we just recently celebrated our 10th anniversary since graduating from De La Salle Zobel. I was reminded of it after seeing pictures from the batch reunion (which I missed). A late celebration, actually, cause we were officially 10 last year, 2007.

So anyway, I remembered some other high school memories and decided to list them down again. I hope to remember more in the coming days :)

1. Speedo gym bags. Doc Martens. Girbaud Stone-washed pants. Tag Heuer Watches. Ilan sa mga nausong mahal na bagay nung high school ako. I can’t believe naki-uso ako at namilit sa magulang ko na bilhan ako ng lahat ng yan. To my credit, lahat yan buhay at nagagamit ko pa (with the exception pala of my Doc Martens’ shoes, na after 13 years, last year, ay nag-rot na ang leather). The investment is paying off.
   
   
2. We had to memorize the English and Metric systems for our Earth Science class. To help us, our teacher made us listen to and memorize this song called “English To Metric Conversion Song.” I think she even made us sing in front of the class, in groups or one by one ata, to make sure that we really did memorize it.
   
   It was quite effective! I remember during exams, most of us would be singing it in hushed voices or in our heads. Until now, naaalala ko pa yung first two lines ng second stanza… pero hanggang dun lang. Pero alam ko pa ang tono!
   
   “Just multiply inches by two-point-five-four, and then you’ll get centimeters
   The feet multiplied by point-three-O-five, will give you equivalent meters…”
   
   Thanks to John Rae, who sang the whole song to me during our Sinulog vacation, nakumpleto ko na ang lyrics nito :)
   
   
3. During our foundation week celebrations, laging merong perya rides na hina-hire ang school namin. Nung fourth year kami, kung saan most of the Student Council officers ay galing sa class namin, nagka-trahedya.
   
   Yung caterpillar na open maging sa grade school kids, nag-malfunction. It went out of control, making the operator panic and leave the ride, causing it to derail and throwing the kids out of their seats. In fact, there was one casualty. The young girl died. The incident made it to primetime news even. That was our school. After that, ilang school din ang nagbawal nang mag-rides during their school fairs. (And an arts building was presently erected and named after the young girl).
   
   
4. I think I found UPCAT the most difficult. Dahil right minus wrong daw, unlike the quarterly exams in high school, hindi ako nagtangkang punuan at hulaan yung unshaded items na hindi ko natapos.
   
   Ateneo had the most difficult Math exam. Ang DLSU naman, may essay pa. I think the essay during my time was about Bonifacio or something.
   
   
5. Come graduation time, nagsisimula nang maghingian ng write-ups ang mga tao sa isa’t isa. Ang nakagawian na simula pa noon ay ang mag-pass-around ng cattleya fillers at doon mo pasusulatin ang ka-close mo ng write up nila for you, which was in part an excuse to boost our adolescent egos. Ang format, tipong ganito:
   
   “Raz… Raz de la Torre… Paborito ni Mr. Elloso… Madalas naiiwan sa Gate 3… Cebu/Bohol memories!…” And so on and so forth.
   
   Lahat ng tao, ganyan ang format. Ewan ba kung bakit walang ni isang matino at coherent paragraph na write up.
   
   
6. When we were in first year, isa sa mga nauso in our class was to write novels. It was our childish attempts at writing literature. I remember trying to write a suspense/horror story. Pero among those written, pinaka-hit yung pornographic story written by DA (na Dr. Roberto Emilio Datiles na ngayon). I think it was a hit not only because it was risqué, but because the characters were all based on people in the class.
   
   
7. Naturally, Intrams ang isa sa favorite events ko in the year. My favorite sports were volleyball and track and field. I remember, madalas kami maging finalist in the inter-class volleyball game, and a few times, kame yung overall champs sa track and field.
   
   
8. Another favorite event was the cheering competition. Intrams ulet. My batch was champion when were Juniors. In our Senior year, we were only second place. I can vividly remember, yung opening ng routine that year was danced to the tune of Superman’s overture. And there was this huge “S” sign that served as background. I thought that was a kick-ass performance from our cheer dancers, and honestly thought we were robbed of a victory.
   
   
9. Isang important aspect ng local school culture ay kung saang gate ka nagpapasundo pag dismissal. I think the coolest people waited sa back gate, sa Gate 3. Shempre, dun din kasi ako, hehe…
   
   I loved hanging out sa Gate 3 even if it was a long walk to the canteen (where we usually had afterschool hours merienda bonbons, funwiches, and black gulaman).
   
   
10. Ang class adviser namin nung Seniors kame ay si Mrs. Telen (who now acts as the Alumni liaison). She was also the Physics Lecture teacher. She’s really brilliant and all, but being her advisory class, I must say, wala ako masyadong natutunan sa kanya. Kasi naman, homeroom spilled over to her class, and homeroom concerns became top of the agenda.
    
    Sa lahat ng homeroom concerns, ang madalas on top of the agenda ay ang Cup Collecting. This was an activity she assigned to the whole batch. Basically, what we did was collect plastic Coke cups. It was stacked on top of each other, and then measured and then converted to points, and the points were added to our Physics grade, I think.
    
    It was a normal thing to see Senior students (the boys in barong pa) going around the canteen collecting used cups from tables. Weird talaga.
    
    
11. Another high school tradition (which I think during our generation, ended in our batch) was the INITIATION. Ang principle is this: The Seniors are paired off with a Freshman and they initiate the younger counterpart. The Seniors get to bid on the Freshmen they like, and for the rest, they get assigned.
    
    The two batches’ lunch and recess schedules were synched so that the Seniors would get a chance to bully the Freshmen, who are required to act as their slaves. I was lucky mabait yung “master” ko. She basically made me sit to hang out with them, occasionally asking me to buy her lunch (with her money shempre). That was for one whole week, which culminated in a big parade on the fifth day. All the freshmen were made to wear costumes. My master made me dress up as a mummy. Simple lang, kung tutuusin, not that expensive pa, pero di pala ganon kadali.
    
    Buti na lang, gumana ang creativity ko. Instead of using rolls of tissue paper, which was too weak to use for the whole day, I opted for the paper used in cash registries. So I walked around as a mummy, tapos natago ko pa yung mukha ko (so it wasn’t as embarrassing!).
    
    When as Seniors, it was our turn to initiate the Freshman na, nakakainis cause the School admin realized it wasn’t a genial practice to prey on the innocent Freshmen. So Initiation became a kapatiran activity, nawala na yung aspect ng pambubully. I became good friends with my “neophyte” and her barkada. Nakakafrustrate lang kase di kami nakaganti!
    
    
12. The closer we got to graduating from High School, the more courageous we were in traveling and gimmicking out of town.
    
    For Jacky’s debut, we decided to do an overnight stay in our island in Cavinti, Laguna. It was fun cause we all slept in one room, with electricity provided by a generator lang. Later in the evening syempre, we shut the generator off, and we wore ourselves out to sleep by exchanging stories and scaring ourselves with the big bugs.
    
    That same summer, I spent a weekend vacation naman sa Baguio resthouse ni Janis. Then we followed it up by another trip to our house in Cavinti. Both occasions, Janis and I were with her brother and our classmates Kristine and Rose.
    
    
13. If the Seniors and Juniors had the JS Prom, the younger ones had the FS Night (Freshmen-Sophomore Night). It was smaller in scale of course. It was held in the school gymnasium lang.
    
    I remember going both times. Pero ang mas naalala ko was this incident where Paul, our valedictorian, danced like he just discovered music, at sa sobrang excitement ay tumilapon yung takong ng shiny leather shoes nya.
    
    
14. Aside from passing notes, my classmates and I communicated with each other from across the room using the sign language. Not the complicated type ha, letter by letter. Kaya until now, alam ko pa how to sign all 26 letters of the alphabet.
    
    
15. Mr. Lozada, our Vice Principal then, usually talked at our Wednesday general assemblies. When we were in Grade School, he warmed up the audience by asking us to sing, “If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands…”
    
    Ewan ko ba kay Mr. Lozada, perhaps we were perpetually young in his eyes, pero even in HS, he made us sing that. So kahit disi-sais na kame, we’re singing, “If you’re happy and you know it stomp your feet…” (Sabay padyak ng paa sa concrete floor ng gym).
    
    
16. One of the classic scenes sa class namin: Habang pinapagalitan kami ng mortal nemesis namin sa Faculty na si Mr. Elloso, nakita nya si Clems (na Atty. Jill na ngayon) na nangingiti. Naturally, he was pissed. So he asks her,
    
    MR. ELLOSO: Ms. Sabitsana, ba’t ka tumatawa?
    CLEMS: Wala po.
    MR. ELLOSO: Alam mo ba kung saan napupunta ang mga taong tumatawa ng walang dahilan?
    CLEMS: (barely audible) “Sa mental?”
    
    Buti na lang di narinig ni Mr. Elloso.
    
    
17. Our Work Ed classes were either all boys or all girls, where two classes were merged. Our teacher naman there was named Mr. Pacheco. He was a small, very quiet man na Fil-Chinese. Because he was too kind, us guys took his class for granted. That was the time na either sobrang ingay namin, or we did other things instead of listening to his lectures.
    
    Isang beses, sobrang nagalit si Mr. Pacheco. There was one guy from the other class na sobrang gulo at ingay. Sa sobrang puno ni Mr. Pacheco, he threw a chalk at the guy. Pulang pula na ang maputla nyang mukha sa galit. Nice statement sana, kaso, di tumama yung chalk sa target nya.
    
    
18. For P.E., our teacher Mr. Satorre taught us dances. Ang pinakanaa-alala ko, Chacha.
    
    He’d go, “one-two-cha-cha-cha. One-two-pose!”
    
    Kala namin nung una, strike a pose, cause when he demonstrates it, he stops. Yun pala, hinto. Pose. PAUSE!
    
    
19. Mang Bravo was one of the most popular personalities in our school. He was the messenger. He’d usually knock on our front door to hand a note for the teacher to read out loud.
    
    One time during our Freshman year, Mang Bravo arrived during our Math class and handed our Math teacher, Mrs. Apostol, a note. On her way to get the note, she slipped. Parang sa cartoon, she literally flew up and landed on her butt. At that time, I was slouched on my seat, tipong ang nakikita ko lang e yung ulo ng classmate ko in front of me, then the blackboard. Nagulat ako cause Mrs. Apostol suddenly disappeared from my line of sight.
    
    Out of courtesy, the class held their giggles in.
    
    Buti na lang her fall was cushioned by her butt. So she stood up, and pointed at the slippery spot. “Ah, eh… basa. Basa diyan.”
    
    Uhmmm… yeah, we can see that.
    
    
20. Most of the people in our class, I was classmates with for four straight years. I entered the class kasi when we were Freshman.
    
    We did have a pseudo-classmate from another class, however, by virtue of her undying love for our valedictorian Paul. May isang beses, during our field trip, she even rode on our bus instead of her class’. Itago na lang natin sya sa intials na JA.
    
    Later in the day, the guys in the class started calling Paul “tokwa.” Out of curiosity, someone finally asked. “Ba’t ba tokwa si Paul?”
    
    Then Emir says, “Kasi may baboy na siya.”
    
    And everyone burst into laughter.
    
    (JRae, thanks for reminding me of this. Hilarious! And mean.)

Ahhh.... high school life. Ten years! Those were the days ;)