Behind the Clouds

The Song is Ended

2009-07-06T23:08:00.004+08:00

June 2008 - I sometimes just listen to songs on my iPod, seated in a comfortable chair with a chilled Baltika 3 close to hand. A decent enough way to enjoy the time away from home in a place with nothing in English on TV except for BBC News.

3 years ago, I was in a car with 3 other friends, Philip, his wife Anna, and Martin. We were driving back to Manila after a holiday at a country house in a nearby province.

We were listening to music , mostly tunes from the 90’s, the time when we were in college.

I started feeling wave of sadness and melancholy for some reason. Odd, since the music, Weeezer, Liz Phair, and all, weren’t normally the songs to bring such feelings on.

Then it got to me. 3 of us in the car, Philip, Martin, and I, used to play basketball, a game of 5 per side, together quite a bit when we were at the university. And we played so often with 1 particular person, Albert.

Albert was really into what was classed then as alternative music. I remember sharing tapes with him. He was the only guy amongh my friends who could identify each particular band I’d listen to, and he knew of lots more besides. He was with me in the car once and heard the song Pretty D. In the ensuing conversation, I learned that Tanya Donelly was formerly the lead singer of Belly, and that I'd be doign myself a disservice not to watch her play the guitar.

Albert passed away in 2004, years prior to that trip back to Manila. Martin, Philip, and high went to high school together, and even when we went to separate universities or even after, we moved on to work or, in his case, medical school, we always got together. To drink, to play ball, or just to hang out.

He was one of the smartest among us, Albert was. And quite well rounded. A fairly decent athlete, he could’ve gotten into a varsity team back in high school, only he forgot his gear at home the day of the try outs.

And he was a musician as well. He was the lead for a band, back in our college years. They played ska, guitars, drums and brass, literally a trumpet. A good enough band that they managed to cut an album. He complained at the time they should’ve gotten more airplay only their manager didn’t give enough into the required payola. Oh well.

I remember hanging out at Club Dredd, a couple of times, at its old location in Timog and the later one on Edsa, with him and to watch him and his band perform. The place was the venue for serious local rock and alternative music, the t-shirt and jeans variety. A tribute to true artistic endeavor, named for something only a genuine comic geek would know. The place that played cuts from Chicago and Kalapana, with lovelorn groups of college girls and the singer in black leather pants, was way across town.

He went on to medical school. We all expected him to get through the boards and be a fine doctor, though that wasn’t how things turned out.

When met up once where he related that he got his girlfriend pregnant and that her family didn’t want anything to do with him, and didn’t want him to have anything do to with her or his coming baby. I remember thinking and maybe saying at the time that things could change and even work out in time.

He failed to pass the boards and decided to go to the US to get some room while studying for the next scheduled exam. It was quite a surprise, him not passing. He was sure to get it the next time around.

He passed away in the US. Encephalitis, I heard. Some complication related to hepatitis he caught while we were in high school. I remembered visiting him at home then, about 10 years before that car trip. Hepatitis is contagious enough that we couldn’t actually see him then. We had to dial into the phone in the room he was confined in. He was a bit put off that I only visited him then, weeks after he came down with it. Well, what can you do?

I remembered all that then, in that car on the way to Manila. I just smiled and waited for Martin to play the next song. I really wished he wouldn’t sing along to it. I mean, I got those albums because I liked the way the artists sang it.

A year later, it occurred to me that out there is a child who knows nothing of the father. I like to think that the child would wonder and seek to know. I like to think that all of us would be there to then tell of Albert, one of the smartest of us, who played good basketball, led a good band, and was quite all right with the ladies.

I would like to have told him that Jenny Lewis is as cute a redhead as Tori Amos, and that Katie O isn’t bad at all on stage.

The Other End

2009-07-06T23:06:00.001+08:00

April 2008 - I’m into my first weekend in my new job posting, in Yuzhno-Sakhalinsk, Sakhalin Island, Russia. It just occurred to me that in less than a year, I’ve managed to get assigned from one end of the Eurasian continental mass, Aberdeen, Scotland, United Kingdom, to the other. Well, there are at least a couple of things in common - the temperature and people who can’t really speak English.

Like one of my colleagues from the UK described, any if he traveled and farther from home he’d be on his way back.

This is quite the frontier boom town.

The local population is a real mix. There are Caucasian Russians, North Asian Russians, and Japanese and Koreans. Part of Sakhalin Island was held by Japan from the Russo- Japanese war around the start of the 20th century to end of the 2nd World War, when Russian troops successfully captured the island. Korean men were brought over to build infrastructure, and women to entertain the troops. It’s not uncommon to see couples or groups of obviously different ethnic backgrounds, but who all speak Russian.

Then there are the oil industry workers and their families. As one New York Times articles said, the English accents one could hear span the globe from Alaska to Western Australia. I’d certainly add the Philippines to that list, as I noticed on my flight over that most of the Asians were Filipinos.

The buildings are mostly square low rise concrete blocks. No real marvel of architecture, but with less than 9 months in a year available for shipment or construction, it’s a feat to have any multi-storey buildings at all.

The café fare - battered fried fish, battered fried chicken breasts, beef goulash or beef stroganoff, which I can’t tell the differences. All are served with mushrooms or pickled vegetable sides. There’s rice, mashed potatoes, and grechka, steamed barley with slices of meat and onions.

Tea time can be with slices of bread with various cheeses, from creamy cheddars to smoky polish varieties.

The soups are really varied and flavorful. There is borsht, which they describe as the best soup in the world. Beef with herbs and sliced vegetables in a tomato base, topped with a dollop of cream. There’s rusolnik, gorokhavi, and korcho, taken with a couple of slices of fresh, dark grain bread.

There are also meat pies, minced beef, or mushrooms and onions, stuffed inside a chiffon cake and sprinkled with sesame seeds.

Their sweet cakes, chiffon topped with slices of fresh fruits and sprinkled with finely powdered sugar.

It’s certainly a big country, as one of my colleagues remarked. A local replied with a straight face, “You think so?” He went on to explain that with Kalinigrad on the Baltic Sea and Chukotka by the Barents Straight, Russia spans 10 time zones. Technically, Chukotka should be on the same time zone as Alaska, GMT-12, but to keep themselves sane, they sensibly opted to keep it at GMT+12.

Their media is quite varied. There’s MTV Sakhalin, with dubbed versions of Scrubs (Klinika), Pimp My Ride, and Cribs. There are local reality shows, like Dom (House), on it’s third season. There are your formula sitcoms and dramas like Papa Doshkii (Daddy’s Girls) and Ranielka. Unfortunately for me, with my extremely basic skills, the dialogue is lost on me. The girls are cute though. What I admire about the shows is that the bright and humorous lives are just behind the walls of the dark grey apartment blocks.

While on the street the people can seem so dour, in a comfortable group, their sense of humor does come out to shine.

“The weather’s usually good on a weekday, when you’re stuck at work and can’t do anything to enjoy it. Then it turns bad Friday night to early Monday,” a local colleague said. He added “Though that may be so you don’t feel to bad when you come in to work on the weekend.”

Multinational

2007-12-11T08:03:00.000+08:00

One of my favorite things about multinational assignments is, well, its very definition - the opportunity to work with people from different places. That leads to a rare treat that I hardly ever get to enjoy back home, insulting one another nationality.

- While at work
Scotsman - I can't understand this. It seems to be written by a Filipino.
Filipino - I heard that Scots learn to read at a later age than most.
Englishman - Yeah, like 40.

- Discussing that rare treat for the economy class traveller
American - I've never been upgraded to business class.
Englishman - That's because they know you're an American, and can't appreciate it.

- After getting into an accident and coming to work with a bandage on my face
Scotsman - I don't know much about Filipinos. Aren't you all on boats?
Englishman - I'd be careful, he fights. Look at him.
Filipino - Yeah, when the immigration officer denied my application for asylum, I took exception.
Scotsman - Well, if you gave (the Englishman) over there as a reference, I'm not surprised they denied you. You should feel fortunate that they didn't lock you up.

To be fair though, that last comment is close to the truth for 2 of my British colleagues.

One Scot just returned from a Caribbean cruise, and he mentioned that the majority of the crew were Filipinos, and seemed to be well appreciated and tipped by the other vacationers.

The Englishman related that his first work experience with Filipinos was while working with a supply boat company in Nigeria. Part of his duties was to go out and inspect the various boats, mostly with Filipino crews. On one trip, he found a chiller filled with beer and he straightaway informed the crew that it was against regulations to drink on board. The crew chief replied with a straight face that no, they don't drink on board. He smiled and asked the Englishman if he would care to have one. Carry on the, the Englishman said. He said to me that the Filipinos stood out for making him feel so welcome.

I treasure these moments and stories, that make one feel more unique and less alone all at the same time.

Away Again

2007-07-01T03:49:00.000+08:00

This is the first of the couple dozen weekends I can look forward to in Aberdeen, the location of my latest job assignment. This posting is so far the most distant from the land where I was born, a tropical place of palm trees, heat, and humidity.

Aberdeen is in the northeast of Scotland, on the coast facing the North Sea. A summer here means overcast skies and almost certain rain, with perhaps a few hours of direct sunlight.

Woods, low hills, and farms with sheep and cattle surround the city.

Aberdeen is renowned as the granite city of Scotland, and it obligingly looks the part, from the road of King Street, close where I stay, to the bar and restaurant haven of Belmont Street.

The square at Castlegate

Marischal College, the second largest granite building in the world.

Shops and pubs fill the listed buildings of Belmont Street

The similar hues of the streets, structures, and sky certainly aren’t the most immediately enchanting.

As with any place, once must take a closer look to appreciate the different textures and to find the vibrancy in the people themselves and in the things they chose to have around them.

Union Street and the surrounding area form the main retail district.

As one may expect in England, and apparently farther north as well, there are many gardens, public and private.

The people of Aberdeen supported the Scotish resistance against the English, led by Scotland's greatest hero, William Wallace. This statue of the man, overlooking the Union Terrace Gardens, below, presents a more fashionable figure than the woolly and wild-haired character played by Mel Gibson.

The Gordon Highlander museum presents the history of a distinguished military unit that was formed for the Napoleanic Wars and has served the Kingdom for the next 200 years.

The people of Aberdeen may be more fortunate than most to be able to live with so much of their history around them.

And I can’t help but appreciate a place that puts so much thought into their drinking establishments

If one must admit to anything illicit, it may as well be this one.

There are other adventures and attractions throughout Scotland, even other than a plate of haggis, neeps, and taties, and I hope to visit them in time.

Other pictures are located here

There is a Season

2007-02-27T15:32:00.000+08:00

The mid-term election season in the Philippines is this May and the topic once again turns to the supposed dearth of inspiring or even qualified candidates for the Philippine Senate and other offices. This tri-annual exercise of wailing and gnashing of teeth normally revolves around the following themes:

Nationally known but unqualified candidates
Traditional politicians and their relatives
Political turncoats.

The common conclusions after griping about any or all of these points are:

The country is destined to be run by fools who were voted in by imbeciles
The elections are a waste of time for any thinking individual because they are dominated by unthinking ones
One should leave the country for somewhere else, preferably where they appreciate critical thinking.

I can understand those conclusions from someone who was not able to receive a quality life in the Philippines, like access to housing, food, education, employment, media such as TV and newspapers, and so on. To get those reactions from someone who went to the same or a similar university to where I graduated from is simply embarrassing.

The university I attended was comparatively heavy on liberal arts courses, such as theology, philosophy, and history. The focus was on providing the students with the tools for critical thinking, to equip them not only with knowledge but also with a reasoned faith. The university was also the third most expensive in the country, increasing the likelihood that the best learning resources – cable TV, personal computers, internet connections, trips to other provinces or other countries – were available to the students.

For one to come to the conclusions listed above is to forget all about history and political theory, critical reflection and reasoning.

To avoid limiting officials to members of a particular class, our constitution requires pretty much only citizenship, residency, and literacy to qualify for an elected position. It's simply insensible to bitch about traditional politicians and actors at the same time, since that would imply espousing two opposing ideas.

Besides, what makes Manny Pacquiao, one who worked his way through national and international ranks to become one of the best and most profitable in his profession, any less eligible than a lawyer or a doctor? And we’re hardly unique, with the USA’s former actors (Arnold Schwarzenegger), wrestlers (Jesse Ventura), and, yes, basketball players (Bill Bradley). A notable example is Italy’s Ilona Staller, a former porn star.

Any reasonable evaluation of our previous elected officials would have to be done on their actions once they assumed office. For example, Ferdinand Marcos graduated from the prestigious University of the Philippines College of Law and topped the bar exam.

The essence of politics and governance, especially in a democracy, is to compromise between diverse and in many cases, opposing, interests. These interests may be any or a combination of class, sex, ideology, religion, or region. Shifting alliances and goals are an indivisible part of this activity, especially over decades. This was true with Manuel Quezon, Sergio Osmena, and Jose Laurel, who plotted with and against one another constantly and yet they are all accounted as among our greatest leaders. This twisting and turning are certainly true and no less valid in our own time, if one cares to note the careers of Jose De Venecia, Juan Ponce Enrile, and Blas Ople.

Furthermore, the unending dominance of political families tends to decrease or is absent in economically progressive areas. Compare Surigao del Norte, with brothers for governor and congressman, and Dinagat, with the related governor, congressman, and mayor of the capital. In Batangas, the governor, four congressmen, and mayors of the three chartered cities don't share any last names.

Perceived performance is also a factor. Closer to home, in the 2004 elections for the mayoralty of Quezon City, the first term incumbent, Sonny Belmonte, crushed the previous mayor, Mel Mathay. This was attributed to the difference in the city's delivered services and collected revenues during Belmonte's first term and Mathay's prior three terms. The same is said for the Fernando's dominance of Marikina City.

Why should we think that the pace of improvement is unacceptably slow? Elections are aptly described as a political exercise. PE is a worthy subject if only to teach us there is incremental progress after numerous and regular repetition. What can you expect if you go to the gym once every three years? We’ve been at it only since 1945, and we’ve had our limits on our membership between 1972 and 1986. Put it another way, Americans has been at it every four years since 1789, and they’d be the first to say that they don’t always get it right.

What is sad is that all this information is available for us to see and we have been instructed of how to use this information to come up with reasoned conclusions. What gives us the right to deplore the decisions and abilities of our less affluent and educated countrymen when we ourselves, with all our access to knowledge and opportunity, so easily retreat to mourning and weeping in our valley of tears?

Mirrors

2006-12-14T21:12:00.000+08:00

An article in the Philippine Star about a new columnist reminded of the first time I reacted to a newspaper article, one in the Philippine Daily Inquirer. This was the first and so far the only time I sent a letter to an editor. This was a year and a half ago and I still feel as strongly about the issue then as I do now.

The memory put even more of a spotlight on something I’ve always felt strongly for, writing. Writing was always something I could escape into. To do it the way I wanted took so much of me, took all of my focus, that I had no time or feeling to spare for anything but the act itself. And it was something I once could do well and easily.

One of my friends mentioned once that the act of creation is the only sure way to see one’s self. While that can be interpreted in so many different ways, I do take it to mean that what I choose to write, that which I put myself into, will turn out to be an image of the person that I am.

That thought makes it so tempting to only write of things that are inspirational and true, where there is nothing unresolved. It seems so much nobler to describe the human as to what it could be, to always seek our better angels. It’s far less attractive to write of ignorance and confusion, anger and prejudice, indecision and regret. The result can be fearsome to behold, because that would be myself at my worst, and with no idea how to move beyond that.

But then I’d be a writer, and honest with myself. And that’s a good a start as any.

Entitlement

2006-12-04T23:51:00.000+08:00

This was the first and only newspaper article I thought enough to react to. I was working out of the country at the time and I was a fairly frequent Philippine Airlines customer. Reading it the first time it was published wasn't something I relished, but seeing it featured on the main page of the newspaper's website for weeks irritated me enough that I sent this letter to the editor.

This is regarding your article on why you'll never fly with PAL again.

I very much agree with you that there is simply no excuse for shabby and impolite treatment accorded to you by the customer service representative. You gave instructions that were executed on your departing flight and simply botched on your return. You have every right to expect that this error would be rectified. That this error was not rectified does deserve your anger.

But I disagree that the airline and all the people behind it deserve the words you have written in your article.

Over the last nine months I've taken five round trips with Philippine Airlines, two domestic and three international. Out of the ten flights, I've had two delays, one for forty five minutes, and another for three hours. Not a good record at first glance.

But in the same time period, I've also taken three round trips with Singapore Airlines. I had one flight delay for forty five minutes also.

Two out of ten and one out of six aren't too far part, I believe.

I also believe that to relating the customer service representative who did not extend any service to the diligence of the aircraft maintenance technicians is a bit of a stretch. If we ignore the guidelines imposed by international regulators and insurers, there still is PAL's current safety record.

And I've never had a problem with the PAL flight attendants or even ticket office personnel. If there is indeed a culture of rudeness and uncaring pervading the entire organization, I haven't seen it.

That Lucio Tan is a controversial figure doesn't need any elaboration here. But it is also true that in the mid-nineties, he alone was the one who took up the gauntlet of turning PAL from a government corporation to a profitable private enterprise. He did that with no previous experience in the airline industry. The airline just managed to achieve profitability in an environment that includes everything from the 1997 Asian crisis, the 2001 September 11 attack, and the current oil price crunch. That management feat deserves a bit of praise.

PAL is not the cheapest airline. Nor can it claim to have the best service. The airline does have its third world inconveniences, as you put it. And you certainly don't have to live with it.

But I choose to live with PAL. I see it as another image of our third world country. And I think that PAL is better than it once was. I hope to see our country reflect the same improvement.

My opinion hasn't changed with a year and a half gone. This is the first time I've read of PAL's own reaction to Mr. Esposo's article, and his further writings on the subject. I have heard the same stories of PAL flight attendants giving substandard service to passengers seen as overseas domestic workers. Such behavior is inexcuseable.

But I've never seen that happen on the flights I have taken. And since I've never seen it, I feel that I can conclude that to generalize the entire organization is also wrong. And even if such ill manners from flight attendants towards maids are commonplace, then I see the cause less from the company and more from the kind of people that we are. How many well-educated overseas professionals disdain the thought of a Sunday in Singapore's Lucky Plaza mall or Hong Kong's Central district?

We all have been slighted or wronged one way or another. One valid option is to look somewhere else for the right that we want. Equally valid to to see what we have and work it out from there.

Growing Up

2006-11-28T01:43:00.000+08:00

I and a lot of my friends couldn’t call ourselves Sunday Catholics. There are more than a few of us who don’t attend to Mass on Sundays or, if we do, it’s to accompany one we care about.

That there are a number of us is odd considering that we grew up in a Catholic institution, with First Friday Masses and Theology classes up to our last semester in college. We were taught the doctrine, history, and philosophy of our faith. Now, quite a few do not participate in the more basic sacraments. A few of my friends even thought of being priests. Now, let’s just say that none of them currently lead a life of even single blessedness.

The reasons we give to profess this contrast vary, from simple rebellion from what we were to a lack of belief in organized religion.

My own reason is simple. It’s just that I don’t get as much out of attending Mass as I think I once did. I feel no inspiration on rambling sermons on topics that have no close relation to me, no sense of community with the pews full of strangers. When I do go, I pretty much just give thanks, for the life I lead and those I have with me. But I can and do just give thanks on my own time, in my own way, and not necessarily on a Sunday.

It occurred to me that I was simply spoiled in my younger years. The Mass was celebrated by members of an order that strives for intelligence and eloquence. The messages are clear and concise, sometimes dramatic and sometimes amusing. And the message was always to a select crowd, grade school kids, high school kids, or even just a single class. Close ages, a narrow demographic, all male, and we all knew on another, some for over a decade.

Those years have long come and gone for me, and I have trouble finding motivation to attend a Mass in the real world, with the masses of people unknown to me, with a priest who tries to speak to all of us but can’t seem to reach me personally.

I can continue to do what I have, to simply remember the days when I attended Mass in the way it was meant to be celebrated, with a community, priest and parishioners, of people familiar with one another and similar hopes and dreams.

Or I can do what one does when one is in the real world, grow up. I know that, now, things aren’t always handed to me at regular intervals. A lot of the time, I have to look for and work to shape things into the way that I want or need. So I know I can find my community, I can find the sense of doing things in the way they are meant to, and reap the joy of having done so.

I just have to.

Growing Up

2006-07-20T23:40:00.000+08:00

We were talking last Saturday about Ramon Salvosa, a person we went to grade school together with and who recently passed away. I don’t remember him myself, though my other friends do.

An article by Juan Mercado in the July 13, 2006 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer, entitled “Bullies with Diplomas”, explained that he suffered a deep depression from intense teasing and bullying back in the 7th grade. This was back in 1988-1989, and he reportedly carried it with him since. Naturally, the article contained statements of regret of not helping Ramon enough to deal with the bullying, or that he should have been taught instead to fight back.

This brought up the relationship my friends and I have with one another. We’ve known each other, on and off, for decades. A couple of the guys I was with that evening, one I first met in 1981, and the other in 1984.

We didn’t always get along. Some guys were picked on. Some others did the picking. Some, like me, just kept out of the way and managed to avoid helping or hindering either.

One of the guys present last night knew he was one of those who liked to tease others. Even back in the mid-80’s. He likes doing it now. During the discussion, he did get a bit defensive about his. Naturally, as any group of children would have, we ganged up on him and told him that no, he wasn’t funny at all, that he made life terrible for everyone around. All exaggerations really, but it was amusing to see his wife slap him around for being a bully.

I know I myself can be cruel. I recently found out that a couple of colleagues of mine got really upset with me for some remarks I made. And I always thought that I was being nice to these two.

My friends and I aren't always so nice to one another. We pick on one another even now.

We accept it though, now, as part of who we are individually and together. We don’t have to like everything about one another. And, we don’t have to pretend we do. If we can criticize each other and still be funny, well, that isn’t too childish at all.

Metronome

2006-05-23T23:03:00.000+08:00

One of the things I really appreciated this year was the reemergence of the local rock scene.

For the past five years, there seemed to be little to match the half-decade brilliance of groups like The Eraserheads, Color it Red, Tropical Depression, The Youth, and Hungry Young Poets (HYP). Less-renowned groups such as Pu3ska, Fatal Posporos, and Tungaw were simply less known, but no less lovely to listen to.

At the start of the millennium, truly impressive and original acts were few or far from the limelight. Other than the now ubiquitous Parokya ni Edgar, only the HYP’s Barbie Almalbis, Sandwhich, and Radioactive Sago Project come to my mind.

The ascendance of acoustic solo artists such as Paolo Santos and Jimmy Bondoc was a bit of a low point for me. While I can appreciate the hard work they put into their craft, dead-on covers of John Meyer and Daniel Beddingfield just don’t do it for me. I can’t see how covers could match such works as This Guy’s In Love With You Pare or Gusto Ko Ng Baboy.

Then, starting a couple of years ago, things started to swing back. M.Y.M.P.’s acoustic Bob Marley cover also came with a slick and catchy Torpe. Kitchie Nadal, whatever one may think of her currently astronomical popularity, only got there because she dazzled viewers on stage and listeners on air with her raw and evocative music.

Right now, the airplay of local rock music getting right up there. Getting home tired from work is well complemented by the Itchyworms’ plaintive “Gusto ko magpakalasing…”. Getting up the next day is made easier by Up Dharma Down’s non-committal “Sige na lang kaya…”. And there are others.

I certainly hope this continues. Our music is as good as any, and it deserves our support as much as we deserve its beauty and spirit.

Wreath

2006-05-14T00:57:00.000+08:00

When I went back home last December, my dad told me of a fire that gutted some squatter shanties under the highway bridge on the way to my home. The blaze was intense enough that there was a possibility that the damaged section might have to be torn down and replaced. Signs were put up prohibiting trucks with over four wheels to cross, to minimize the load on the damaged structure.

The ideas of that bridge being unavailable to the thousands of vehicles that cross it everyday and my having to pass through alternative routes simply staggered me. I remember what my life was like without that bridge, over 12 years ago. A temporary future of having to live without it and with half to a full hour of travel time added to my day was not something I relished. I certainly had no appreciation of the squatters, whose homes were the source of the damage to the bridge.

Over the next few months, I settled into a weekly routine of gassing up my car at a Shell station on my way home, a few minutes before getting to the bridge. Aside from gas, every now and then I buy a couple of sampaguita wreaths from a fellow who hawks them there at the station.

Now it’s May, and I noticed that the sign disallowing heavy vehicles from crossing the bridge has been removed. I took it to mean that the repair work had been done and, thankfully, the bridge didn’t need to be closed.

Once again, I dropped by the Shell station to fill up prior to going home. As I got another pair of sampaguita wreaths, the guy thanked me and told me that whenever he gets to sell all his wreaths, he gets to buy stuff. I replied that that was great. He went on to say that last Sunday, he managed to get a blanket. He added that he used to live under the bridge and implied that he lost everything in the fire. He smiled once more in thanks as he walked off.

Credit

2006-03-10T00:05:00.000+08:00

I was going to Makati yesterday morning and found myself in unusually slow traffic along EDSA. What I thought to be a 45-minute trip doubled into 90.

I only found the reason when I got home later that day. The evening news reported that a sidewalk vendor climbed up the MRT bridge at Guadalupe to bring attention to himself. The power to the train tracks was cut to secure the safety of the vendor as well as the rescue workers who had to go up and get him. He eventually went down and the train resumed operations at 10 am.

It can be safely assumed that the disruption of train services along one of the city’s main avenues had an adverse effect on the train riders, as well as the road-bound car and bus riders. I certainly felt an effect, and so did several upset commuters interviewed on TV, one who narrated how she was stuck at the North Avenue MRT station for hours.

The event did appear in this morning’s newspapers, though as short items deep in the Metro sections1.

Coincidentally, the headlines of both papers included the latest event related to last February’s stampede at the ULTRA2. That event was certainly severe, involving 72 people killed and more injured, one of the country’s largest media conglomerates, as well as the local government authorities.

But are the reported reactions to both events also coincidental? Both involved government authorities, a large corporation, and lives of thousands of ordinary people.

One was resolved without injury or death, though with inconvenience to the commuters passing through EDSA between 7 and 10 am. The other can simply be described as tragic, with debate in the air about what could have been forecasted and planned, what should have been done during, and who’s responsible.

One was relegated to a two column short, with barely any comment. The other served as a supposed symbol of our country’s rotten core, declaimed upon by politicians, churchmen, and civic groups.

Is it that we expect responsible behavior from corporations and government and do not even recognize it when it is displayed in uncommon situations? Should publicly lauded taxi drivers who return wallets be insulted then, since it would seem that honesty is not expected from them?

Or is it that what we choose to see and react to, the media and the ordinary bystander included, is determined only by what we require? Something wrong gives everyone else a chance to proclaim their right.

Something right gives nothing but the sense and inspiration that things can be right. And that does not seem to be what we are looking for.

1. MRT service stops as protester takes case to top, page 17, Philippine Daily Inquirer; Vendor climbs MRT bridge in Guadalupe, page 15, Philippine Star. 9 March 2006

2. NBI recommends criminal raps vs 17 in ULTRA stampede, Philippine Daily Inquirer; Charo, Willie, Eusebio face raps for Ultra stampede, Philippine Star. 9 March 2006

Land of Smiles

2005-08-08T23:29:00.000+08:00

I once remarked on the grace and charm of the Thai women, a remark that got me in a bit of trouble.

After three months in country, my opinion of the local women hasn’t changed, and I find that my opinion has long been shared by the local men as well.

I had dinner once with one of my more senior colleagues, and a couple of his Thai female friends. Both ladies were in their fifties, divorced, working, with children in school or already in workforce.

One of my other friends described one of his co-workers, a lady our own age, from a well-off family, well-educated, and quite well-built, who just filed for divorce from her husband.

The common thread among those three women was a husband who just couldn’t seem to be one, who had one or more current relationships with other women, or who just simply packed up and ran off with someone else.

It’s a story you can hear just about everywhere, from the girl who clerks the convenience store nearby, to the waitress in my favorite bar. I heard it often enough that I thought to find a couple of interesting facts:

The national divorce rate hovers around 50%, and, as earlier implied, either spouse can file for divorce.
Only in 1937 was it declared illegal for a man to have more than one wife on record. I phrased that statement in that particular manner because the Thai are said to never really have had native words, and hence concepts, that distinguish polygamous and monogamous relationships.

There is a local, if archaic, tradition that a man who maintains multiple relationships is said to be successful and prosperous. That concept is certainly not unheard of in the Philippines.

I can only imagine what relationships in Thailand can be like prior to marriage.

While I admit these things don’t paint the most complimentary picture of Thai males, or of men everywhere, I have been told that Thai females may have their own colors to show.

For having an affair, the more contemporary term is gig. People in a relationship may opt on occasion to step out of the normal bounds and have a gig with another party. It may be one time, or a ten year, multiple-entry arrangement. And women may be just as likely to have one as the men.

While these may be more attributed to the present Thai youth, I imagine that the former husbands of those older ladies had to run away with someone, all those years ago.

Before one gets the mistaken impression that all Thai relationships are one national merry-go-round, I would like to point out that I have met Thais who do have faithful and meaningful relationships with their partners.

But all of the things above did surprise me at first. My initial impression of Thailand was of religious devotion and adherence to tradition, as indicated by all the intricate temples and the pervasive and deep respect for the Royal Family.

This just shows all that can be hidden behind a smile.

Real Beauty

2005-08-08T21:32:00.000+08:00

Bangkok is a city of slim young people. It can be a real task to find a person under 40 with a paunch.

I first thought that it had something to do with their diet or eating habits, like a predominance of vegetables or spices.

My first month living and working here completely dispelled those notions.

At the Chatuchak weekend market, there are stalls that sell whole deep-fried pig skin, a golden brown hide, from hind legs to snout. I’ve been told that it’s a delicacy common to Chang Mai in the north.

At almost every street corner, there are vendors selling freshly fried or grilled food off a cart. At midday or the late afternoon, locals gather around to pick from barbecued pork, squid, or sausage, deep fried fish balls, and chicken or pork with noodles.

And at work, just about everyone has some snack or two or three lying around their desk or tucked into some drawer. These aren’t celery sticks with vinaigrette, but chips, sweets, or pastries. And they would be eaten. Late in the day, workspaces would have used saucers and forks placed on the side, with a few crumbs sprinkled around.

As for the spices, the local cuisine at its most fiery just matches that of Indonesia. After six months in Jakarta, I failed to notice any widespread outbreak of anorexia.

One of Scott Garceau’s more famous X-Pat Files articles mentions that Filipinos love to eat. Well, the Thais don’t seem to love it any less.

Which brings us to the mystery of where all those calories and saturated fats go? I use the same restroom as they do, and I don’t hear anyone tossing into the toilets. Apparently, they are a not culture of bulimics.

And to top it all off, the results of a consumer survey commissioned by Unilever indicated that 47% of Thai women thought they were overweight. That only way that statistic would make sense to me was if the 53% that thought they weighed correctly were the Bangkok residents, while the 47% was remaining Thai population.

That statistic does show up in the local expression of Unilever’s worldwide campaign for real beauty.

Originally, I thought that this was the ideal promoted by Unilever, until I was informed that the tagline read as two options: Flat? or Flattering?

Even then, their other posters did reflect what seems to be average size, or lack of, of the typical Bangkok female.

My female friends who in Manila would normally fit into medium clothes sizes are handed large or even extra large outfits.

Even the men are not exempt. In the clothing stores that cater to young Thai males, pants in sizes over 32 inches are unusual. The uniforms of the local police are quite fitted, as are the military dress of the ROTC cadets.

Perhaps it’s all the European visitors.

Or perhaps I should just leave well enough alone and just recognize that some designs are not meant to be deconstructed, but just accepted.

Form and Function

2005-07-21T00:40:00.000+08:00

I love playing sports, though I’d never consider myself truly athletic. I have friends who just need to watch a particular move being done once to be able to do it themselves. This could be a volleyball spike, a tennis serve, or a basketball baseline drop-step pivot and lay-in. I myself take a while before I can consistently get the result I want.

This terribly frustrating waste of time, also known as the Philippine political crisis of the moment, is certainly one reason to escape to sports. What did get my attention is what is now proposed as the acceptable solution, changing our country’s constitution to allow for a parliamentary form of government.

On the surface, there is nothing wrong with the form of government. What I do find wrong is in how it is paraded about as the true solution to our nation’s ills, so much so that our country’s sitting president wishes to leave it as a legacy.

The first of the parliamentary government’s much touted advantages is the selection process of the chief executive.

This process involves only the members of parliament, which ensures that the chief, the prime minister, as well as those participating, are all capable representatives of nation. Popularity with the dumb and ignorant masses will no longer be the foremost criteria.

Corollary to this is the speed and efficiency at which chief executives can be placed and replaced. There is no need to wait for six years to replace an ineffectual one.

It’s not like our previous performance in selecting a president was all that bad.

We, the people, have only been playing at the independent republic game since 1945. From then until 1986, all the presidents have been professional politicians. Some were better than others, until one emerged who stood out from all the rest, Ferdinand Marcos. His academic and political achievements were truly stellar, and arguably surpassed any previous president.

In Marcos’ two decades as the leader of our nation, however, the image of the politician was so blackened and tainted that the next two presidents were a housewife and a professional soldier.

The next one was Joseph Estrada, who possessed both overwhelming popularity as an actor as well as two decades of experience in government. His term was cut short with charges of directly accepting bribes and pocketing government revenues, supported by various witnesses and documents. These charges, and the evidence supporting them, are unmatched for any Philippine president.

The next election pitted another massively popular actor, though with no experience at all in government service, against the incumbent president, a career politician. Unproved allegations of massive electoral fraud aside, the nation selected the politician, Gloria Arroyo.

I believe that we, as a nation, have managed to apply critical thinking in selecting our chief executive. When we, selfish elites and ignorant masses included, did have to choose between popularity and experience, we went with experience.

Other advantages will be from a unicameral legislature elected locally.

This means that instead of bills getting tossed between a Senate and a Congress, proposed legislation will be discussed and passed into law by a single body, a parliament.

Each member of the parliament will be elected by the registered voters of a particular congressional district. Even with a manual vote count, elections would now be concluded in days, the present time it takes to declare winners of congressional elections.

I see this as so inappropriate, as such an about-face for us, on so many levels.

My first objection is fairly straightforward. Even with the ever-present investigations in aid of legislation, our elected representatives can deliberate and pass legislation within a year from it being filed. A more recent, if controversial, example is the Expanded Value Added Tax. While this has proven to be more of an exception, that it can be done shows that there really isn’t any critical delay caused by the system of legislation itself.

My succeeding objections are more subtle, but involve issues that deeply affect our long-term performance as a nation.

The present requirement for a national election for the president and members of the senate guarantees that, every three years, would-be leaders of our country actually have to show awareness of all parts of the country.

Prospective national leaders would be disinclined to think of the country simply because it would not be necessary to win the hearts and minds of all far-flung regions. It would not be necessary to visit them or even know their names. Once the parliamentary elections are done, only the elected representatives need any convincing. And it can all be done in the urban comfort of the capital, the imperial Manila.

The national elections are also the time that we all come together and participate in something that directly affects the entire nation. In parliamentary elections, representatives are elected by region or district. Voters would be less inclined to have an idea of the nation as a whole, since our actions would affect only our individual locality, not the entire country.

When a Manila magazine condescendingly refers to people from Cebu as new to the big city, I don’t believe that this is the time to give people one less reason to think beyond their immediate vicinity.

My final objection is that switching away from this would take away our personal right to directly elect and participate in selecting the chief executive and the senior legislators. This is a right we have always had since our country’s independence.

For our impoverished countrymen, this clearly means the loss of one right.

For our elite, their access to the wealth and resources required for winning elections would allow some influence on selecting the chief executive. What they would lose is one true sense of the environment in which we live. This is the sense that all votes are equal, even if the environment, the distribution of wealth and resources, is inequitable. Insulation from the realities of our landscape results in less-informed decisions. Continually successful and lasting organizations, as those controlled by the elite, demand the opposite.

In short, I see this move for a parliamentary system as a solution to a problem we don’t have and a source for even worse issues going forward. One doesn’t improve performance by changing the rules of the game. So I’d rather we just continue playing the game we’re already in, and just improve the normal way, with practice and experience.

In the News

2005-07-06T00:03:00.000+08:00

I love reading the newspapers, anywhere I am. Over the past year, however, I found myself preferring one newspaper over another. Among the reasons for my change in preference is the method of reporting.

The recent events in the Philippines have provided a fertile ground for news reporting. All the best and the worst seem to be filled with passionate intensity, and we can read all that in the papers.

Take this excerpt from the Philippine Daily Inquirer on June 30, 2005.

President 'exiles' her husband
By Christine O. Avendaño
Inquirer News Service

The President did not say when or where her husband would go or how long he would be away. But she said that as a wife, she was "grateful" to him for making such a "sacrifice" to allow her to go about serving best the nation.

Ms Arroyo blamed her political enemies for deriding her husband, even on his
contributions to his pet projects such as health care and sports development, in
order to "distract" her from implementing her reform agenda.

Quotation marks around statements normally signify exact references from an information source. In this case, it would be the President of the Philippines. In modern composition, placing quotation marks around words is one tool to indicate a sense of irony or insincerity. It’s not uncommon to see conversations where one party raises both hands and hooks two pairs of fingers downward while speaking a word or a phrase.

An example is a question on whether this “journalist” trying to “report” the news “accurately”?

Take this version of the event from the Philippine Star

Mike A goes into exile
By Aurea Calica
The Philippine Star

"For my children and granddaughters, missing their doting father and grandfather
is their small contribution to rebuilding our society. As a wife, I’m grateful
to my husband for his sacrifice. My family will miss him terribly, and I ask for
you to help pray that we remain strong as a family," the Chief Executive said.

She did not say where the First Gentleman would be relocating or how long he would be staying abroad.

Mrs. Arroyo said her husband "will leave to remove these distractions and doubts from our people," comparing him to a "Caesar’s wife" who must not only be incorruptible but also appear to be incorruptible.

She complained that her husband’s "contributions to health care and sports development have been the object of pillory, especially by my political enemies, who have been trying to distract me from fulfilling my reform agenda as president."

This above is a more conventional use of quotation marks, quoting complete lines from the subject’s statement. Of course, even this can be subject to misinterpretation depending on the narrative the quoted statement is placed alongside with. There’s always the common complaint about things being taken out of context. But entire statements can more often convey more accurate and precise meaning than a single word.

Once can also be unduly influenced by the adjectives, or the repeated use of related adjectives, in a narrative. Again, we can take samples from the recent headlines.

Susan ready to replace GMA
By Christina Mendez
The Philippine Star 06/30/2005

An angry Susan Roces yesterday declared her readiness to lead the country and
replace President Arroyo if she decides to step down from office.

Roces also rejected Mrs. Arroyo’s apology to the nation and demanded her resignation,
calling it "the most honorable thing to do."

Angry Poe widow calls on Arroyo to resign
Susan Roces ready to join protest rallies
By Fe B. Zamora
Inquirer News Service
Editor's Note: Published on page A1 of the June 30, 2005 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer

A combative Susan Roces yesterday demanded President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo's
immediate resignation, saying it would be the "most honorable thing" the latter
could do.

"The gravest thing that you (Ms Arroyo) have done is that you have stolen the presidency, not once, but twice," Roces said in a fighting speech at a press conference in the historic Club Filipino in Greenhills, San Juan.

In the second excerpt, we can find the similar words angry, combative, and fighting. The first is in the title line and the next two are in each paragraph. It should be safe to assume that the writer intended to make a point.

My own point is that I prefer my news to be delivered straight and unembellished.

Without picking any political stand, I truly dislike texts identified as news reports that indicate a certain slant in the item being reported.

My reason is simple. I prefer to form my own opinion, so I’d like the event to be reported clearly and simply.

I do understand that a journalist has to distill a particular event into a form that fits neatly and concisely in a few columns. I wouldn’t want a newspaper filled with interview transcripts. Admittedly, a newspaper that prints the transcripts of the phone conversations could probably assure itself of the sale of a few copies.

But I do prefer a newspaper that ensures that its balanced news is clearly and only that, and not mixed up with its people's views.

Strokes

2005-06-05T13:37:00.000+08:00

A friend of mine and I were walking along one of the side streets of Sukhumvit Road in Bangkok. We were looking for a quiet place to drink. Admittedly, the area was more renowned as a haven for tourists looking for a good time and not for its tranquility. We walked past bars with girls clutching at our arms, asking us to come in. One petite little thing almost managed to pull my friend of his feet, which led to suspicions that it wasn’t a petite little girl holding on to him.

We walked a bit faster after that until we found a relatively quiet establishment. There were a couple of girls sitting outside, minding their own business. No bright neon, no raucous calls of welcome, just a simple sign hung over a brown wooden door. A smaller sign on the door indicated it was a private club. We entered nonetheless.

As we entered, we were greeted with the proprietor of the establishment with a smile and a question, “First time here?”

We nodded and said yes. He motioned us to come over. He handed us a black leather menu booklet and said “Here’s what we do here.”

Once we started reading the menu, it was immediately apparent that food and beverages were not among the house specialties.

The opening lines read “One man, two women. 3000 baht.”

After that were some simple statements on the do’s and don’ts. Other details related that members were entitled to better rates and priority to the rooms and girls, but non-members were more that welcome.

The closing lines were “We do not normally serve alcohol. First timers may have a drink. This establishment is not for drinking. It is for pleasure.”

As we looked up at him, his smile broadened and he began to add more detail. “One man,” he started, raising his right hand with one finger extended up and then pointed at each of us. “Two women,” raising his left had with two fingers extended. While it did seem to be clearly spelled out in the menu, I can only suspect that previous first timers may have expressed some disbelief. Or upon perusing the menu, might have gotten greedy and wanted more.

He went on. “All our women are lesbian bisexuals. They come with vibrators and,” gesturing around his waist, “strap-on dildos.”

As he said that, I wondered where all that equipment was supposed to go. I stopped that train fairly quickly, as the thoughts made tracks into places I never figured were meant for tools.

He must have noticed something in our faces, however, and he said “Now you see why we’re so famous.”

I couldn’t help but smile at that.

Encouraged, he pointed at one half of the counter opposite the bar. “The girls on that side take one,” hand to his mouth, “two,” hand to his crotch, “and three,” hand to his backside. He pointed to the other half of the counter and went on “The girls on that side take one,” hand to his mouth, “and two only,” hand to his crotch. He crossed his hands in a negating gesture and finished with a motion to his backside and a wagging finger “Not three.”

With the printed documentation and the personal instructions, I must really assume that he has had trouble with people not complying with the procedures. At that point, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see diagrams and multilingual warning labels.

He closed his spiel with “Just tell the girls what you want and they will do it. And if for any good reason you aren’t satisfied, it’s free,” spreading his arms wide in welcome.

I did feel that his engaging greeting deserved a courteous response, but I could only come up with “We’ve heard a bit about this place, but this is more than we thought to expect.” The last half was certainly true, and my friend, while at a loss for words, nodded in agreement.

He nodded appreciatively and waved at a pair of free seats, “Please just wait for a few moments while the rest of the girls come back from their earlier appointment.”

My friend and I exchanged glances and he answered “We’ll just go outside and have some beers next door.”

The proprietor graciously smiled and replied “Of course, please take your time.”

My friend and did go to just go to the bar next door for a couple of beers. We didn’t go back to the club. We even went on to another place for some late night seafood. Several times during the evening, we just shook our heads and laughed. Whatever that place was others, for us it was an affirmation that by one standard at least, we were nice guys.

Barnyard

2005-05-30T00:27:00.000+08:00

How is it that my undershirts are so spotlessly white whenever I take one from the closet? They certainly aren’t always that way when I take them off after a long day in a humid climate.

The answer to that is something I usually can't ask my friends. A lot of them fall into two out of these three categories: unmarried, living with their parents, employ domestic help. Due to these things, the question on clean laundry would most likely draw blank looks.

There is no social custom to live independently in the Philippines. Filipinos don’t have to move out and find their own place once they hit 18, as American mass media seems to indicate as prevalent in their society. The Filipino income level isn’t even the dominant factor. While certainly living at home is a real cash saver, many still live with their parents even if they can afford not to. It’s not unusual for the families of married children to live in the same household as one of the couple’s parents, as long as they can all fit within the walls.

An interesting consequence is that a lot of Filipinos remain unacquainted with the worries of running a household until later in life. With the relatively low cost of labor, a significant number, not even only the wealthy, can hire people to take care of those worries for them.

It is only now that I, after a year of living away from home, can come up with some items that I would always want in my home.

Olive oil
The question of the best cooking oil is perhaps one of the most debatable. There are professional lobbyists in the US slugging it out for corn, canola, and palm oil producers. It’s olive oil for me. I love the flavor it imparts to meats and sauces and it’s expensive enough that I’d have to avoid fried foods. It’s even socially acceptable to go for the extra virgin.

Caldereta or Nilaga
Whenever I need to prepare a meal from scratch, any of these two dishes would be at the top of the list. The first reason for this is that my culinary skills are quite limited, and the list of dishes doesn’t go far past those two. The second is that they’re a great balance between ease of preparation and nutrition.

Imagine, all one has to do is:
Sear the meat.
Boil and let simmer.
Cut up the vegetables then go on with your life for the next couple of hours.
Go back and toss in the vegetables.
Get the table ready. Turn off the stove and serve.

As a bonus, these dishes even taste better each time they’re reheated.

Dental floss and mouthwash
There is always something in there. Try flossing everyday for a week and you’ll see.

All-fabric bleach and stain remover
When I first started living away from home, I never failed to visit my folks on the weekends and likewise never failed to drop off the clothes that I have given up on getting spotless. Now that I’m in another country, that is unfortunately no longer a realistic option.

Thanks to the marvel of the Internet, The International Guild of Professional Butlers, and others, I am now wiser in the ways of laundry. I always thought my deodorant had something to do with it.

I’m sure that when I truly have my own place, without administrative services or landlords who I can bug about the lack of hot water, I’ll be able to think up other things that should make up my home.

Brand

2005-05-04T02:38:00.000+08:00

As I was having a tasty dimsum lunch with some friends from the office, one, John, mentioned that the TV news was so agonizingly irritating those days. At the time, it was the nonstop live coverage of the Pope John Paul II’s funeral. A few weeks back, it was the courtroom, press room, and bedside battling of the Terry Schiavo case. The first was dead and the second was just about. Couldn’t the world news move on?

At that point, James, one of my more sensitive companions, looked up and around, and mentioned that if there was something certain draw a bolt or three of vengeful lightning, it was the lack of sympathy around the table.

Two thousand people died on Nias island, near Sumatra, during the earthquake a week back, the day after Easter, John pointed out. Tens of thousands more were in dire straits, from that disaster and the one that hit the day after Christmas. That was where his sympathies lay.

This discussion didn’t go much further, though we all did agree that the news stories were unlikely to change in the coming week as well. There’s the papal election to look forward to.

What did go a bit further a day or two after was a discussion on our beliefs. Ash and I were in our work area as John dropped by, and the subject of religion came up.

John, an Englishman who also grew up some years in America, Australia, Belgium, and Canada, described himself as agnostic. He didn’t reject any belief or religion, correctly pointing out that atheists have to believe in religion first before disavowing it. He just hasn’t answered for himself the question of the existence an all-encompassing benign force.

I said that for myself, I chose to believe that that force does exist, that it makes sense for me for that force to exist.

Ash, an American of Egyptian descent, and a Muslim, was not always comfortable discussing religion. As the saying goes, you’re sure to offend someone.

I myself find it fascinating and enriching, especially with those not of my background, nationality, or belief.

John added that if there was one religion he does find attractive, it is Buddhism. He admires the simplicity and individuality of the concept of oneness, of accepting your place within the myriad facets of the universe and seeking balance and perfection. He went on and said that he never found Christianity as he knew it to be at all attractive. The churches he grew up with as a child all seemed so dark, cold, imposing, and uncomforting.

A church in Bergen, Norway

This was not the first such description I’ve had of the typical European churches. I have a friend who spent some time in Bergen, Norway. His words and images of plain stone, black iron, and ravens in the graveyard hardly overflow with warmth.

One of the temples in Ayuthaya, Thailand

I can compare those to the monuments to Buddha I’ve seen in Ayuthaya, Thailand. The vision of graceful structures reaching for the heavens, at once so solidly rooted to the ground while part of the sky, is for me a complete architectural expression of spirituality, devotion, and life. Ayuthaya was once a city filled with such monuments. I can only imagine those others I still hope to see, Borubodur in Indonesia and Ankor Wat in Cambodia.

I do hope to see the Vatican someday too, of course.

And that brings us to the second point. The Roman Catholic institution is quite singular among the major religions of the world today, in terms of history, scope, and structure. This is taken as a matter of course in the Philippines, where the presence and influence of the Roman Catholic Church abounds.

The country has no legal divorce, and is said to be one of only two such countries in the world. Men and women may put marriage asunder in other places, but not in the Philippines. And that was an ideal upheld by most of the people, an ideal natural and just. I myself may not completely agree, but it was something that was certainly willing to live with.

To people of other countries that I’ve talked to, that a marriage contract cannot be dissolved is a thing almost alien and unimaginable. The way it was described to me, a marital relationship is nurtured and sustained alongside the ever-present option that it may be ended.

That this particular subject can be so absorbing simply stresses the reality that with their overarching presence, Christian institutions, Roman Catholicism foremost among them, can easily seem so distant from Christian ideals. A recent example is the distance between the finely-attired princes of the church gathered in Vatican City and the desperate, huddled survivors on Nias, Indonesia. This problem isn’t limited to Christianity, of course, as the current reputation of Islam in the non-Islamic parts of the world can attest.

With the potential disparity between an institution’s interpretations of an ideal from an individual’s, I can understand why a person would choose a faith that gives more emphasis to the individual. Faith, after all, does begin there. I met a Swede who did convert to Buddhism. I have friends who have opted to leave Roman Catholicism for Protestantism.

There are also those who had never really considered themselves as part of any religious institution and up till the present have not chosen any particular faith at all. Instead, like John and a few others I’ve met, profess to believe in and abide by a set of values.

I do call myself a Roman Catholic, though I admittedly do not believe in or perform all the required doctrines and rituals. And though I do have my own personal disagreements with certain things in the Roman Catholic institution, I don’t feel any need to give up believing in it, either for a more straightforward form of Christianity, another religion, or for a set of simple values.

This may seem to be a fairly naïve belief, considering that, like many people from the Philippines, I was born into this institution. I was raised and schooled on it and in it. I’d like to think that now, after discussing this with others with different beliefs, that I have some awareness of the available options. I know I can just take the institution and all it entails as a gift, or I can opt to trade it in for something simpler, or something else entirely.

I already do agree with the basic values that the Roman Catholic institution is founded upon. I think they’re fairly close to the values professed by my friends with a different or even no particular religion.

While I do appreciate the comparatively simpler nature of other faiths, I choose to see the Roman Catholic institution as more than a gift. I see it as a true treasure steeped with history, philosophy, literature, and, at least according to the type of Catholicism I was instructed and believe in, free will.

Of course, the institution, throughout its history, was not always represented ideally, intelligently, or even morally. The Protestant Reformation did start form the excesses and abuses of the Catholic Church. In the Philippines, a recent example was when a Catholic bishop named the accidental death of thirty-odd children as God’s punishment for government-sponsored family planning education. That particular pronouncement would not have been called enlightened even in the time of the Reformation.

Ideals interpreted through human limitations unfortunately won’t always be ideal. But through its history, the Catholic Church has itself reformed, grown, adjusted, and accommodate. The ideals can shine through. At its best, the institution itself can be a breathtaking and brilliant monument.

This is 15-Minutes: The Mightier Pen

2005-04-14T20:47:00.000+08:00

A friend of mine wrote about writing stories based on our friends. The catch is that it has to be written in fifteen minutes or less. Why not?

For this one, the rules followed were:
The basic plot was thought of beforehand.
Spelling and basic grammar was corrected after.
No rephrasing or rewording.

Fred awoke to the needles of morning light piercing into his eyelids. He took a deep breath and groaned out his futile denial of the day’s arrival.

He sat up on the bed and reached for his pack of cigarettes on the window sill. He lit up, took a long drag, and watched the smoke snake its way through his exhausted vision.

He felt so tired. What time did he go to bed, he unsuccessfully tried to
recall. It wasn’t like he was out all night. Not last night at any rate. He just dropped of his girlfriend Shannon at her place then went on home.

He had a deadline to meet today with his editor. The old man was waiting for a chapter on mysterious deaths. Fred just wrote something about a couple found dead after watching a complete Star Trek series. One of his friends, Chris, a real Trekie, just got a batch of DVDs. So Fred just wrote off that.

He winced as his phone rang. He felt numb shortly after. Chris and his wife were found barely alive in their den, almost dead from asphyxiation.

The cigarette dropped to the floor unnoticed.

Not at all original, but I think I'll do this more often.

A Child's Eyes

2005-04-13T19:12:00.000+08:00

Last weekend, I went to a mall close to my apartment. I meant to just get lunch and a haircut but I found myself in a small music store. This store is one of a rare breed here. Bins full of pirated music and movies crowd the floors of a mall just next door. It's no wonder at all that stores selling original music get crowded out.

The ones that do survive are quite selective in their merchandise. They can't hope to break even on sales of original Avril Lavigne and Jennifer Lopez albums.

I was in no hurry, so I decided to stay and look over all the albums they had for sale. It was a small store, with only a couple of small racks for CDs. It was then that I noticed something odd about how the items were arranged.

Elvis, Eminem, and Enya.

George Thorogood, Fleetwood Mac, and Hoobastank.

The other rack was for live recordings. I noticed some of Peter Frampton albums mingled with a couple from Portishead.

Yes, they were all arranged alphabetically by artist.

There were more that a few that I wasn't familiar with. But for the ones I was familiar with, I knew that in their own time and in their own niche, they stood out.

It was truly amazing to see them all together. It's not a sight I would have seen if the store had a larger collection and, consequently, its items were arranged by genre.

I managed to pick out what I wanted, Joni Mitchell's Hits and Paul Simon's Graceland.

I may just go back for George Thorogood and Pink Floyd.

Cast

2005-04-06T18:36:00.000+08:00

A nationally stereotypical scene at a bar with an international crowd could go this way.

A group of friends are sitting around a table, trading tales over mugs of cold beer.

It's the Australian's turn, and he starts out with One time, my mates and I went out drinking.... The word pints, plural and never ever singular, and the statement We're not sure how we got there, really. would be somewhere in the story. Possibly more than once.

The Italian, just back from the men's room after fixing his hair, finds himself without a seat. It had been taken without a word by the Chinese guy over in the next table.

The Englishman checks his watch and decides it's time to get a curry. He calls over the Filipino waiter.

The American asks for a cheeseburger and is apologetically told that this establishment does not have cheeseburgers in its menu. Aggravated by the Indonesians chain-smoking behind him, he bitterly questions the place's legitimacy and decency.

The Egyptian didn't make it to the bar. He got delayed getting out of the airport due to some very thorough questioning by Immigration.

The friends pile into a cab later in the evening. Thankfully, one of them manages to give intelligible, if alcohol-tinged, directions to the Indian driver.

No thinking individual should stand by stereotypes. On the other side, it's easy enough to see how they can be sustained. Just try keeping up with Aussies in any bar in all the world or watching the Italian national soccer team during the World Cup qualifiers. And there's always Lucky Plaza.

I've managed not to have been recognized as a Filipino. I was in a suit and tie and I wasn't serving the drinks and appetizers. The ideal would be if we can be equally known for manning desks and cleaning toilets, with both diligence and dignity.

Well, there is no reason to abandon all hope. It was fish and chips before curry, and convicts before alcoholics.

Interesting Stories 1

2005-04-05T23:08:00.000+08:00

One of the more unique dazed and confused stories I've heard:

A friend of mine used to work with a mining company. They had a project in a remote location in Laos, fairly close to the Thai border.

While their living conditions were comfortable, the only available comforts that didn't involve driving several dozen kilometers through dense vegetation were what could be had in the camp. After-work activities settled into a routine of gathering together with his mates and applying generous volumes of alcohol to numb their sense of boredom.

One evening, one of the guys whipped out a batch of cookies. These were goodies he baked himself, and liberally laced with weed he likewise hand-picked.

My friend decided to play safe and only consumed half a cookie. Within the half hour, he thought it prudent to lock himself in his room. He spent the rest of the evening trying to convince himself that all those shifting colors and sliding movements weren't all that bad.

He managed to stagger out into the fresh air the next morning. He spied the camp medic, one of his companions the previous evening, hooking himself up to a bag of IV fluid. It was an effective way to quickly rid yourself of a hangover.

As it turned out, the two of them got off comparatively lightly. A bit later in the day, they watched as another of their companions shuffled back into camp, half-dressed but fully-packed. He thought, the previous night, that the bad men were attacking and out to get all of them. His immediate thought was of escape. He awoke in the sunshine, alone and out in the jungle, with a backpack worth of canned beans and tools.

Spirit

2005-03-15T21:54:00.000+08:00

One of the most pleasing stories I've read lately was of the Frieder brothers. They were Jewish-Americans who ran a cigar factory up till the outbreak of World War II. They managed to arrange for the migration of about 1400 fellow Jews from Nazi-controlled Germany and Austria. This is a familiar story and theme.

I admit to growing up not thinking highly of my homeland’s own story. I could attribute it to a number of reasons. For example, I believe it would have been difficult for even the most dedicated and motivated teachers to substitute pride and accomplishment for the fear and discontent of the early 1980s . There was the material we had to learn from, books printed on recycled paper, filled with mostly dry and completely un-dramatic text. Pictures were seldom available.

Against a backdrop of slick, lavishly illustrated encyclopedias and magazines featuring America, Europe, Japan, and others, the stories of my country seem to easily fade into a drab and monochromatic echo of sorrow and loss.

I like to think that I did manage to avoid the sense of hopelessness and self-loathing that seems to come too easily when my country’s own history is concerned. The things that help are stories like that of the Frieder brothers.

The Frieder factory was in Manila, and the migration was with the knowledge and consent of the President, Manuel Quezon.

A whole lot has been written about the motives and roles of the players of that story. Certainly, the focus changes with each of the different accounts.

What remains constant is that at one point in our history, we performed an act for no real gain. We performed an act for a group not of our race or religion because, among others, such things didn’t really matter to us.

This was a time when the wealthier countries, the United States included, refused such acts, simply because those things did matter.

I would have liked knowing these things when I was younger.

But I am glad to know of these things now. I am glad to know now of our stories, filled with independence, maturity, and unique generosity.

2005-03-15T19:49:00.000+08:00

Singapore's Chinatown

Scents

2005-03-12T21:51:00.000+08:00

I spent an hour in my Singapore hotel room trying to figure out where to go. It was my first time there, and I only had a day. The only information I had were from the brochures and maps I picked up at Changi airport.

One of the brochures had a quote from Rudyard Kipling on "The first condition of understanding a foreign country is to smell it."

I found that to be an odd quote, because no scent stood out from the airport to my hotel room.

Anyway, the brochures I picked up seemed to focus on three areas, shopping, restaurant and bar locations, and man-made parks. But I was going to be there for only a day, and I was looking for a uniquely Singaporean experience. I feel that malls and bars aren't the places for that experience.

I settled on going to Chinatown and eating at one of the areas featured in the guide book. There were a couple of spots on the map marked as places of interest, so I was looking forward to seeing a few things right after eating.

Sure enough, the place was teeming with locals. Well, with Chinese, anyway. I thought that boded well.

I queued up at a busy stall and got myself something popular, sliced fish with noodles. Simple, but certainly hot, fresh, and fairly filling fare. I washed that down with a local specialty tea and milk cocktail, teh tarik. It was wonderfully refreshing.
While eating, I spotted one of the places of interest marked on my guide map. It was a building right across the street, with a sign that read Urban Development Authority.

I found, to my interest, that there was a small museum. To my disappointment, it was closed.

Oh well, there was another place of interest close by, only a block away. I walked for ten minutes to only find that the only thing of interest was a complex of restaurants and bars.

I gave up at that point.

I just hopped back on the train and met up with a friend and his family. I spent the rest of the afternoon up to the early evening hanging out at their place. That I truly enjoyed.

I spent less than twenty-four hours there, but I can't help coming to the conclusion that the only truly interesting thing there may be the people. I didn't get to converse to any while I was there, so I'm just guessing.

These were the people who were tossed out of the Malaysian Federation. These people, the Singaporeans, managed to make quite a living for themselves. In their own little island with no resources but a harbor and willing people, they built one of the wealthiest economies in the region, both in terms of national product and per person.

The spirit behind that was probably dirty, sweaty, and smelly. The spirit behind that deserves a memorial other than the antiseptic Orchard Road corner Patterson.

Love Is All Around

2005-02-10T21:34:00.000+08:00

The reactions from people who hear it for the first time range from morbid curiosity to outright disgust. The stories start out with teller asking questions like "You mean no one's told you what they do? You really have no idea?"

I'm talking about the Korban, the ceremony performed during the holiest of Islamic holidays, the Eid'l Adha or Hari Raya Haj.

The ritual involves an animal, traditionally a sheep, but goats and cows are fine. A few guys hold the animal steady. Another guy goes up to it, gives it a drink of water, and then slits its throat.

This is the point where the storyteller would get reactions like "Really?", "Wow!", "Sick!" And the narration would go on because, as the teller might say, "Wait, there's more."

The scope of this ritual can be quite amazing. This ritual isn't just one animal sacrificed in a mosque for all the attending worshipers. Each fellow, or each family, as much as possible, should perform the ritual. In predominantly Muslim communities, in the days prior to the holiday, it wouldn't be unusual to find virtually herds of goats tied or penned around apartment buildings or houses. Communities with more stringent regulations on storing livestock, such as Singapore, import the animals just in time for the holiday instead.

On the day of the ritual itself, in the right neighborhood, you could see the streets darkened and dimmed with blood. Butchers would be going around, cutting up the freshly-slain carcasses. The skins are hung up on lines or walls to dry.

“Barbarians.”

Not an uncommon reaction, one might imagine. What holy festival must be celebrated with such evident and widespread death? What enlightenment can be found here?

The story can stop at this point. The deepest reactions have been drawn out from the audience. What else does one need to know about such a religion?

What needs to be known is that the ritual is to commemorate a story of self-sacrifice.

“Really? Sounds like that story of Abraham about to sacrifice his son.” This is what the ritual is all about.

The flesh from the animal is to be given away to the needy. The butchers go around and neatly and properly apportion the meat.

In places where Islam is less dominant, such as the US, an acceptable practice is to go to a slaughterhouse and buy some fresh meat. That gets to be given away as well.

Even with these details, it may not be easy to get past the gore. The blood can leave too black a mark. But perhaps that is the intention. Such stark portrayal of sacrificing a part of ourselves for something greater, and to give a part of ourselves to those who need it, is not meant to be forgotten.

Our Food

2005-01-15T20:48:00.000+08:00

When talking with people from other countries, I've noticed that one thing consistent was that they've not come across a Filipino restaurant, or if they have, it was one patronized only by Filipinos, and they've only eaten there because a Filipino invited them over.

This is a contrast to the Philippines, which has popular American, Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Thai, and Persian restaurant chains. There are even more nations represented by specialty establishments. I've come to the conclusion that eating something new is higher on the Pinoy priority list than sharing with others the things we eat.

If I were to open a restaurant in another country, or have a stranger try out food that I think is quite Filipino, these are my choices.

Appetizers

Chicharon – We can go with the wonderfully meaty chicharon Cebu, or chicharon bituka or bulaklak, which impart such a unique texture to the palate

Sisig - Crunchy and succulent all at once

Kinilaw - With an island country, take your pick from tanigue, swordfish, tuna, or even sea urchin. You can even toss in bits of kambing or inihaw na baboy.

Mushrooms, lited, or squid a la pobre - The garlic-laden gravy hissing and steaming on a hot plate

Entrés

Adobo - Regular or tostado. For places with sensitivities to pork, e.g. Jakarta, Rhiyad, etc., kambing is a more than capable alternative for baboy

Caldereta - Lean chunks of beef or goat stewed to tender perfection in a rich sauce filled with chorizo de Bilbao, potatos, and bell peppers

Nilaga or bulalo – Our esteemed food critic Jet may not favor consommés or the like, but there is more than a bit of charm to the beef's subtle flavor, peppered, with a hint of onion and ginger

Tinola - Even more delicious with a native chicken

Bangus, squid, or tilapia - Charcoal-grilled and stuffed with chopped onions, tomatos, and ginger

Sinigang - The sour sampaloc is such an amazing complement to fresh bangus, hipon, or baboy
Kare-kare – I don’t really like bagoong myself, so I can’t properly appreciate this dish, but with its tasty peanut sauce and chunks of beef and lamang loob, I just can’t leave it off the list.

Vegetables

Pinakbet
Monggo guisado with bits of tinapa
Laing

Side dishes

Taba ng talangka
Enseladang mangga
Itlog na maalat with kamatis

Dessert

Puto bungbong
Bibingka
Buko pandan
Panyo-panyo pastries from Bacolod

Leche flan and halo-halo are fine, but they aren’t particularly unique.

Alcoholic beverages

San Miguel - Pale Pilsen, Light, Cerveza Negra. If only they still made Premium.

Tanduay - Superior or the recently introduced Premium

I'm sure there are a lot of local liquors out there that can be recommended, the drinks in clay jars that stay in the earth and are only dug up on special occassions, but I haven't been fortunate enough to try any.

I have tried good lambanog, but it just lacks the refinement for more formal social gatherings.

Grounded

2005-01-04T23:22:00.000+08:00

The subject came up on our first week in Jakarta. "You know," my colleague said, "I just haven't gotten a sense of the local beauty."

He was an American of Egyptian descent. He spent almost all of his professional life in the Middle East. North America, the Middle East, Western Europe, this guy has been around and has seen all sorts of attractive women.

And now, Southeast Asia.

My own travels are nowhere near as extensive. But because of where I grew up and the few foreign countries that I have seen, I like to think that I too have had the pleasure of seeing different kinds of pretty girls, in different places.

Before I left Manila, I was told not to expect much in the way of good-looking females. Even female friends who had been to Jakarta said that. The few beauties that were there were reportedly hidden away like precious valuables.

After three days in country, I was starting to think that they were all right. That I shouldn't expect and the ones worth seeing were well and truly kept out of sight.

Then the subject came up. Apparently, I wasn't the only one getting concerned.

We've both recently been to Bangkok, so that's where we got to start talking. We both agreed that the Thai capital was a virtual confectionary for the eye-candy connoisseur

While comparing, he said that it looks like Indonesian women seem to have more personality. We both paused and looked at each other for a bit. "We've been here too long."

I said that we should plan a trip together to Bangkok, just for a weekend. We may need a refresher on how pretty girls are supposed to look like.

The locals don’t have any problem becoming attracted to one another, I imagine. There are over 200 million of them.

I guess people in this place were not meant for us to look or leer at. Good for them, maybe.

And perhaps it’ll turn out to be good for us as well. At the very least, it’s another thing to look forward to when going back home.

What Filipinos Do

2004-12-12T22:58:00.000+08:00

I have a friend who's been in Singapore for over four years now. He met his wife there. They now have a son.

He thinks of coming back to the Philippines. No mystery about that, I suppose. He left family and friends. He left home.

But he still is in Singapore with his wife and son.

I find his situation personally relevant because I just recently opted to take a job overseas. At best, I’d have several weeks out of Manila at a time, then one or two weeks in. If I have to stay in the country where I’m employed for an extended period, then I just plan to do this for a couple of years. Then return home.

I’m sure he had similar plans.

"The longer I stay away, the more it makes sense not to come back. It's what Filipinos do."
"It seems so sensible to stay, especially when you see another country making the most of what it has, as compared to ours, which seems to waste most of everything."
"Most people either just look after their own, to hell with everyone else, or just leave."

These are the things he said to me when we last talked.

I didn't disagree. I have in my own mind the country that I want for myself and my family. I’m sure my friend does as well. I’m sure our wishes are quite common, efficient government, security and safety, and gainful employment. Many countries would call these rights. And in many countries other than ours, you can expect that these will be accorded to you.

I suppose that it’s easy to assume that not enough people have the same desire for such a country. It seems that that more than enough see it as a place where you just look out for yourself.

My only reply to my friend was that we have to earn our country. I see this as the only logical and practical way of looking at this.

If one wants something, then only way to get it is to work for it. It was a concept that he readily understood. After all, he went to Singapore to be able to pursue the things that he wanted.

It occurred to me then that a desire for a better country is not the same as a desire for a better Philippines.

I myself want a better Philippines. I’d like to think that I could and would work for it.

I can't imagine that it will be given to me as a gift. Even if it were given, without the experience of building it, we would not have the skills to maintain and protect it. To paraphrase a quote from a president and from a poet, we'll never get to run it like heaven without the memory of running it like hell.

Too many already choose not to do it. So many just leave or just look out for themselves.

I can't do it by myself and I don’t expect to. There are many others who do want a better Philippines. I’ve met and know more than a few.

So I just plan to do my own time abroad and make some cash. Then return to make my life and my home in the land where I was born.

Terminal

2004-08-21T16:54:00.000+08:00

I’m in the airport waiting to board my plane to Bangkok. I was just trying to doze off then I found myself being kept awake by an American seated behind me, having a conversation with someone next to him.

He said that he was on his way to Bangkok, that he took a trip every year. He wanted to go to Manila but was advised against it due to security concerns. Then he mentioned that everyone hates Americans, that he doesn’t understand it. He says he’s a nice guy, doesn’t hate anything himself. He’s a teacher who just takes a big trip every year.

It occured to me that the people who hated them probably didn’t have much to love in life. I suppose if you don’t have much to have or love yourself, then it would be easy to hate those who do.

Americans.

I remembered the Burnhams who were kidnapped by the Abu Sayaff three years ago. They were missionaries who were trying to provide for Filipinos what the Philippines itself could not, some education, probably some respect and attention. Then they were the ones kidnapped and killed, made into symbols of hatred against Americans.

I don’t know of any other nation that sends missionaries here so much as the US. I’m not sure whether that’s because we were a former colony or whether as a country, the US is the one with the most people willing to go out and help out where they’re needed. If the second were true, that would be the greatest irony that I can see. The seemingly most hated nation is the one who’s own people cares for others the most. And the caring is shown in its most basic and personal form. They’ll leave their own country to go to yours.

After a while, I found myself getting surrounded by more and more Americans. They’re missionaries on their way to Thailand and Laos. It seems that they’re off on some outreach program to visit schools and orphanages. When their whole group got together, they sat around and started to recite verses and prayed.

These are the people killed in the name of God.

First Day

2004-07-24T23:43:00.000+08:00

Today was my first full Saturday in my apartment. No going home to my family's place. Just spent the day in my own.

It's been a few years since I lived away from home, mainly due to job assignments. This is the first time I've done it not because of work, but just because I could.

I thought that all I'd do at my family's place would be to lay in bed, read, or watch TV.
And I could do all that in my apartment.

That did get to me, the thought that it's not where you are, but what you do. Or what you don't.