saturday misadventures in Albay

Before I even write about the surreal joy (and dangers) of butanding (whale shark) watching in Donsol, I'd first like to write down about our crazy Saturday adventure in Albay. I need to, just so I do not feel like such a loser. Maybe it's the modern-day trick of the tikbalang, who knows. I'd just like to laugh at myself and Jan for what we had to endure yesterday.

It was one of those rare occasions when I go to a place with no plan at all. What was just clear was we do all the fun stuff in Donsol on Friday, then on Saturday Jerry and Ninin will leave Jan and I to our own devices since they have to fly back to Manila.

Friday evening, we were still undecided whether we stay in Donsol, transfer to Pilar or go back to Legaspi. The weather has been uncooperative since we had our awesome interaction with the butandings. Somebody up there was switching the rain faucet on and off for the rest of the day and nothing indicated that Saturday would be any different.

Jerry suggested that we might like to give Daraga a chance since Mayon was there in the first place. Plus, there was also the Daraga church which had a special place in JVPs hearts since its doors had JVP crosses (Jerusalem cross) carved on it. I thought, why not? I have always meant to do that anyway.

Saturday morning, we were on the van on the way to Legaspi. The weather was still unsure whether it wanted to be drizzly, rainy or simply cloudy. I fell asleep on the trip only to be awoken by "Daraga na." Huh? Uh? Huh? Uh, okay? Jan and I got off the van as Je and Nin sped off to catch their flight. The rain was strong. We stood in front of a paint shop. My mental faculties were hardly awake. A tricycle driver was asking us if we wanted a ride. We did, except I did not know where we wanted to go. Finally we asked the driver if he knew of a clean and affordable place to stay for the night. He said he knew exactly where to take us.

He finally dropped us at a place that looked doubtful from the moment we went down from the trike. I could not remember the name except it had the words "inn" and "24 hours." Those words always smell fishy when associated with a "hotel." I mean kelan ba hindi 24 hours ang hotel?! We took a look at the rooms anyway (aircon at P450 and non-air for P300++). Cheap, yes. Clean, yes. Like, no.

We decided to look for other places. We asked the dude at the counter if he can show us the way to the mall. He pointed to the right direction and told us it was walking distance. Experience has now taught me never to trust a guy who you took business away from to give you right information. Yes, it would have been a 20-minute walking distance on a good day. But if you were carrying several kilos of clothes and contraptions on a rainy day... Let me just say, we never got to the mall.

I told Jan that we should just proceed to Daraga Church instead and figure our plan from there. Might as well have a bit of sight seeing already. It was at a trike stop that we decided this. Again, an ever vigilant trike driver offered to take us to the Church for P30. I was in doubt of this price and said... "baka naman yan sinisingil niyo sa amin dahil di kami tagadito." He answered, "twenty pesos kada isa nga dun kasi pataas." I still doubted his price but I was tired, my back hurt from the bag and I just needed to be somewhere.

Putsa. We were already at the foot of the church before we rode the trike. It would have been a five-minute hike up. This was actually the only time that I was annoyed and almost ready to burst with road rage. I told the driver, "kasama ba dyan pababa?" Of course, he was not answering. Jan, being the nice guy that he is, just said that I let it go. (No I have not, to be honest).

The church would have had a spectacular view of Mayon on a sunny day. But since it was not, this was all we saw.

If you look hard enough, you might see the faint outline of our majestic mountain. Use your imagination, go ahead.

It would have been all okay if the church turned out what I expected it to be. I thought it would look like this. But no!

Somebody had the stupid idea to make it look like a plaster of paris model of Daraga Church! The photo actually looks better than the actual monstrosity we saw. I'm sure it is still unfinished. But the very thought of painting over the beautiful stone finish of an old church just makes me question the taste of whoever thought of that brilliant idea. Calling on the Bishop of that Diocese!!! Some lessons on basic appreciation of architecture for your people, please. Sigh.

I had to make do with the JVP cross on the doors, which really, wasn't all the impressive either.

I went inside the church to look at its nooks and crannies for other hidden JVP crosses, but I can't seem to find any more than what I already saw.

I just had to make it fun for my self taking photos of what I thought was interesting. Below is a photo of my favorite part of the church.
When I couldn't find anything to amuse me anymore, I dragged Jan so we could grab something to eat. However, the rains just got stronger with winds driving the drops at 45 degree angles. We had to wait for thirty minutes before we can get out of Daraga Church.

It was still drizzling a bit when we finally left the church. We decided to eat at the Bigg's we passed by on the way. It was just fitting since 1) when in Bicol, Bigg's is it and 2) Jan worked for Bigg's as graphic designer before.

Bigg's was probably the best thing that happened to us that day. The crew were polite and very professional and the restaurant was clean. We also had the chance to catch up on the news since they had newspapers to read for those who were waiting for their orders.

The food was good. Not just because we were really hungry. Jan ordered pork cordon bleu. It tasted good but my favorite was the baked potato. Mmmmm....

I ordered the baby back ribs which was also good. The meat was tender and easy to chew. The vegetables was crunchy and slathered with the right amount of butter.

It was at this point that Jerry texted us that their flight was cancelled and they decided to take the bus to Manila instead. Let us just say that this part of their adventure somehow influenced ours.

After our meal, we finally decided to go to Legaspi City and look for an accommodation there instead. I was able to research something about Tanchulling Hotel, which had good reviews. I told Jan, at least we know one hotel we can stay in Legaspi.

So off we went. We realized that Daraga was really near Legaspi, so I took note of possible places we could go back to once we settled in Legaspi. We went down at LCC Mall and asked for directions going to Pacific Mall which is supposed to be near Tanchulling. As we searched for the hotel, we found a hostel across Pacific Mall called SedCen. I was attracted to the place because it was supposed to be a cooperative. I took a look but there was no receptionist. I peeped into the rooms and saw it was clean and comfortable though the comfort rooms were common. I would not have minded it at all. Too bad there was no one to entertain us.

We decided to resume our search for Tanchulling. After finally finding it, I wanted to curse the hell out of whoever reviewed the hotel. I had a feeling that the dude might be related to the owner. The place was creepy and dark, much like the stuff in Filipino horror movies. Our room was at the very end of the second floor, right next to a fire exit with an axe (The Shining anyone?). The walls and the ceiling were of plywood that was curling probably from exposure to moisture. The bed was creaky and the mattress was so thin. Our lights were not working so we wanted to call the front desk. Hep, the phone was not working either. Jan suggested that we take our money back and just look for another hotel. Thankfully, they let us cancel our transaction.

Off we went again to look at Dreams Hotel recommended by the guard at Pacific Mall recommended to Jan. It was as bad as Tanchulling, only smaller. I was surprised that I was still not annoyed at this point. There we were at two in the afternoon, with heavy bags in tow, no place to sleep in a place we have never been to. I would usually have blown my top by then.

Anyway, Jan and I decided to give SedCen Hostel another try. Jan went up again and still found no person there. There was a souvenir goods at the ground floor, which seemed to be the same company as SedCen so we decided to ask the staff there. We were informed that they only had work on Mondays to Fridays, but she was kind enough to get in touch with the manager to explain our predicament. After her call, she asked us to wait because the person would come and see what he can do for us.

We decided to stay at their coffee shop and take advantage of the free wifi. We were still full, so I decided to order their strawberry smoothie. Jan ordered the same. The lady at the counter was very nice and friendly. The smoothie was awesome too!

Taking advantage of the wifi, we decided to look on the web for other hotels we can stay in. After an hour's worth of searching, we were down to Legaspi Tourist Inn and Casablanca Hotel. Initially, it was a stark difference in price. What we saw was LTI was P900 for standard rooms while Casablanca was P1700. I was torn. If the weather stays as bad as it was, then it would be best to stay in a nice, cozy place where we could just hang out. If the weather gets better, then the room would not matter. But the way the rains continued, I was inclined to get a room in Casablanca Hotel. After calls made, LTI turned out to cost P1,200. We finally decided to go to Casablanca Hotel, especially after being informed by the staff that SedCen was booked for the night.

We paid for our smoothie and was about to get a ride to Casablanca when I suddenly remembered something. Jan and I saw a Jessie Mendez overnight spa for couples which cost P1,500 for the night which was inclusive of massages for two pax. I told him we should check it out before we proceed to Casablanca since it was just across SedCen anyway.

As we were walking I thought of something again. I asked Jan if we should just go home to Manila instead. Jan said we should check the weather report for Sunday. When we checked, the weather will stay the way it was which meant we will not be able to do any going around the city as we initially planned.

So here was how our train of thought went:

1. Je and Nin's Cebu Pacific flight was cancelled in this weather. We were riding the tin can plane of Zestair. The likelihood of that being cancelled was quite high. If that happens on a Sunday, we will be forced to take a ten hour bus ride home and go to work on Monday looking like zombies.

2. If we stay in Legaspi, we will be spending on the hotel as well as food and transportation. Plus if our flight gets cancelled, then that would be another expense. So if we go home right then and there, we just spend on the bus. Never mind throwing away an P870 plane fare for the two of us.

Yup, going back to Manila was the best thing to do with that situation. It was after all, five in the afternoon. We would not have maximized our hotel stay anyway. There was really no point any more.

The great thing about it was, I still got to have my sili ice cream from 1st Colonial Grill! I went to the mall to withdraw and saw the restaurant. I ordered one scoop and wow, it was no kidding anghang ice cream but since it was made of milk, it kinda balances off. I actually liked it. Jan appreciated it as well but would probably still order chocolate next time we are there. :P

At 6:30 in the evening, Jan and I were on board the Cagsawa Royal Elite bus to Cubao. We arrived at 4:45 in the morning in Manila. Happy to back but actually a bit glad to have had a bit of crazy adventure in a strange place. :P

the brave fukushima workers: i want to remember

Last March 11, the world witnessed what you would usually think just happens in the movies. Japan was hit by a powerful 9.0 (initially indicated as 8.9) magnitude earthquake. The country is the best prepared when it comes to disaster preparedness, but the tsunami that followed was so huge was just no stopping it.

Watching it happen on live television was like a scene from a movie. On CNN and BBC, you could see the water from the beach slowly receding to be followed by a huge wall of water (ten meters to be precise) raging towards the coastal city of Sendai. It looked slower from aerial view but I can imagine how fast it must be when seen from the ground! The tsunami just uprooted not just trees, but entire houses from their very spot. One house was even seen in the Pacific Ocean!

It was a horror to see. To know how frail even the most advanced man-made technology is against the wrath of nature. To see houses and cars being swept away by a huge mass of water, knowing that in a few or a lot of them are people. I only pray that it does not happen again to any country.

To make matters worse, the tsunami affected several nuclear reactors in Fukushima which is now a major cause of alarm as the possibility of a meltdown increases every day. Nobody wants another Chernobyl. And so, while the rest of the people of Fukushima has evacuated the city, some workers of the nuclear power plant chose to stay behind to do everything they can to make sure the situation does not go from bad to worse.

The situation is like a scene from Armageddon. A clear suicide mission. Kamikaze. Running your plane through the enemy would be more merciful. A quick heroic death and it's all over. But these workers are martyrs. They are at risk for dying from explosions, that's clear. What is much worse, once they get the situation under control (I believe it!), who knows what can happen to these people. Most probable is the slow death of cancer. Possibly isolation from loved-ones. Either one is not something you would like brave souls should receive after saving a population. Yet they are still there, fully aware of the risks and still whole-hearted in their valiance.

I want to remember what bravery is like because it may not be something I will have the chance to exercise or if the situation comes, I may take the coward's way. I want to remember these people. They are nameless and faceless to me. I have read a few names, a couple of stories and the short snippets are already heartbreaking.

I want to remember because through them I have seen nobility and it is beautiful.

some weird daily random thoughts...

"bilbil. di na kayang tunawin ng willpower tulad nung bente-kwatro ako."

"shucks gusto ko ng coffee cappucino ng starbucks! hindi na. mahal. may 3 in 1 naman sa mini-stop."

"shucks, gusto ko ng istarbaks. sige go. minsan lang naman."

"ayus. araw-araw sila nag sa starbucks."

"shucks. look at all these condo buildings being built. does the metro have enough water supply to sustain everyone?"

"gutom na ako."

"shucks. how do i pay my taxes?"

"aw. what a cute dog."

"lekat na mga singit yan e. here i am and all these other people trying to put some semblance of order and there they are, the singits, still putting self ahead. hateful people."

"my boss is so pretty."

"my poor rockports."

"i'm lucky with jan. :)"

"gutom na ako."

"lekat na mga billboard yan. talaga bang pangangalandakan nila si jake cuenca and his pink underwear. di ako market ng board na yan. hmph."

"bagal maglakad nito."

"gutom na naman ako."

"hay buhay"

senior year by jerrold tarog

When I first saw the ad for Senior Year in the newspaper, I thought it was a 2D animated feature. I thought, unless it was going to be treated with Japanese manga crazy storytelling, it will not work.

It was a relief to discover, during my meanderings in SM Megamall, that the movie was actually live action. Seeing Ramon Bautista as the PE teacher piqued my interest and strengthened my resolve to watch it.

I'm glad I did.

Despite the fact that I come from an all-girls school, I could relate to the movie on so many levels. My experience of HS co-education was a teacher. What I saw in the movie was a mix of both my experience as student and as teacher.

The story of Senior Year is not really a singular one. Neither does it have the usual beginning, middle and end. The movie is like what high school is all about. Little stories of different people that hardly form a whole. Little stories that matter to each one living it. Little stories, just like our own recollection of high school would be.

I enjoyed the hodge-podge of high school characters in the movie. Somewhat stereotypical but representative of the kinds of students you usually encounter. The nerd, the wannabe, the sosyalera, the playboy, the sexually confused, the tsismosa, the angas. Take your pick. Yet despite the "classification," they each share their complexity. Falling in love. Apprehending the future. Holding on to friendships.

The teachers were also interesting to watch. I particularly related with Che Ramos' character, The idealistic teacher who saw her position as an opportunity for the change, the chance to make a difference, if only in the life of one student. I dream to be her someday.

Senior Year is a simple, quiet movie about high school. Its simplicity is what makes it worth watching.

To any one who were ever subject to the four walls of learning, to any one who feared the future, to any one who went through confusion, watching Senior Year would be a recollection.

To those who are where they are right now and realized how different one turned out from what one expected or hoped to be, to those who look at themselves and realize how much they have turned out to be a surprise, pleasant or not, watching Senior Year would be a reflection on a past reality.

Go and watch it at your nearest SM Cinema. It's definitely much more worth than your money that Who's That Girl. Especially since we got free Selecta ice cream on the way in. :P

And oh, Ramon Bautista? Not much minutes in the movie but what little exposure he had, I was giggling like crazy. Not even sure if it was because the scene was funny or it was because Le Bautista was in it. :P

See the trailer here.

the perks of being a wallflower

You can say the book came to me serendepitiously. I was at National Bookstore at Ever Gotesco Ortigas looking for fantasy books to purchase when I found the book on the new arrivals table. I've heard about it before but never really gave it much attention. But there it was, with a nice cover and a blurb putting it alongside JD Salinger's "The Catcher in the Rye." Being a fan of coming of age stories, I decided to get it.

I was introduced to Charlie, the first person narrator of the story. I flipped page after page, getting involved with him and his friends. I read on and on and find myself loving Charlie. Charlie must be one of the most sincere and most beautiful persons I have come across.

Despite joining along the many crazy things American teen-agers do, illegal even, Charlie shows that young people are more three dimensional that they are often portrayed to be. He shows how young people are blessed with their own kind of wisdom, the kind filled with wonder and intuition. The very things that make Charlie beautiful to me.

As for the Catcher in the Rye comparison, I would hardly say so. I'd say the similarity ends with having a young teenage boy who smokes and drinks as a protagonist. Charlie hardly has the angst of Holden Caulfield.

"I feel infinite." A powerline from Charlie that captures what every teenager feels upon discovering freedom and independence. That feeling of looking up at the vast sky and being sucked into its vastness and sensing every bit of the world.

"Ang ganda." It's beautiful. A phrase I often throw around about books. But it has been a while since I FELT a book, a character to be beautiful.

The Perks of Being a Wallflower is beautiful because it is simple and quiet and real. And with the crazy noise surrounding the world, we need more books like this.

random thoughts

there is this thirst within me in which i seek to have a deeper experience of Lent for this year. i am doubtful of my capacity for self-reflection. evidence to which is how little i have blogged for the past year. blogging has always been space for thoughts, no matter how mundane or philosophical. and to not have much chronicled makes me feel that i have not done much. which, on the contrary, is not the case since life can get interesting on some occasions.

today is ash wednesday, the beginning of Lent. a perfect and opportune time to once again reflect on how one has lived his Christianity. i am uncertain how i have practiced it, though i am certain there is much to improve. and yet, while persons on the pulpit would challenge us to go beyond sinfulness and work towards divinity... i also find comfort in the fact in my humanity. there is nothing to be shameful in being human but i sometimes think, the best part of it is realizing our potential for divinity and not achieving divinity itself.

going back to blogging, i do find it a pity that i do not have the same passion for writing as i did before. especially when i look back at old entries and find myself occasionally sensible, more often silly. which is nothing to be embarrassed about. like i said, there is much to be joyful about in realizing one's humanity. i look back and see myself beautiful in my joy, beautiful in my sadness, beautiful in my faults. not a vain kind of beauty but rather an understanding of my frailty and trying to overcome it. and despite my constant struggle for spirituality, i sense that much of my beauty is having faith that i am loved by someone greater.

Van Gogh is Bipolar: A dining experience

Yesterday morning, out of nowhere, I asked Jan, "date mo ako, beh!" I wasn't really expecting a yes since he still has some work to finish so imagine my delight when he said, "Sige. Van Gogh is Bipolar?" I said yes immediately.

You see, since I have read about Van Gogh is Bipolar in the Inquirer around June or July, I have always wanted to try it out. The chef and owner, Jetro, sounded like an interesting person. He is bipolar like Van Gogh, but instead of having his condition own him, he owned it. The meals of VGIB, named after famous bipolar people, were created to make those who partake to have a better mood afterwards. How can you not want to try out a restaurant like that?

Since then, I have been trying to eat there but it has been difficult finding the chance. When a good friend arrived from New York, I was able to convince the gang to try out the restaurant. After finding it on FB, I sent a message to Jetro if we can have reservations. He replied that he was in Europe at that time and the restaurant was closed for the time being. It was a bit of a disappointment but the way he responded to my message was very polite and quite charming. I was doubly determined to try it out.

You are greeted with this sign. "Here we celebrate our imperfections, embrace flaws and accept weaknesses." I honestly feel good and liberated already!

So yesterday, November 13 (our 29th month to be married incidentally), we dressed up to have our dinner at VGIB.

Parking was a bit of difficult. It took us around 15 minutes to finally find a spot. When we finally proceeded to the restaurant, it was quite full. Another couple were 10 seconds ahead of us and were able to take the last make-shift table. I was certain that the guy who met us was Jetro, who adorned an apron with Michaelangelo's David on Italian flag colors and a military hat. He said he can prepare another table by the stairs. We told him we don't mind waiting for a good table and he said, "that's better!" He informed us we can have our tea while we wait.

For that night it was a set meal, Mozart's Meal for the Day, which was P555/head. Part of the set was tea. In VGIB, a diner makes his own tea.

Feel free which pot you would like to steep your tea of choice.

There are instructions on how to make your own tea. Quite easy and straightforward and actually fun to do!

You can choose from six variants of happy tea.

The tea area was quite charming. There were containers for the different tea as well as one for muscovado sugar. An Erlenmayer flask contained the Palawan wild honey. If you look closely you can see a bottle of Jagermeister (I do not think that is part of the tea experience.:P) Jan and I wanted to try the Spanish Plum but it already ran out so we had Avocado tea instead.

I put our share of honey in a mini-wine glass and took a couple of small clear mugs to drink our tea from. Jetro prepared a mini-table where we were waiting and placed a candle for an additional touch of ambiance. The tea was good. I quite enjoyed its taste, its warmth and its uniqueness.

After a while, one of Jetro's assistant's brought over our Courtney Love potion. It was calamansi juice with honey and pomelo bits. It was a bit sweet for my taste but was still refreshing.

After a while, we got our Virginia Woolf's Tear. It was turkey soup (not so much turkey) which had bits of banana chips in it. I didn't expect that. At first, I thought it was a piece of turkey, but after tasting it, it has to be banana chips. It was initially weird, but after a while, it all made sense. It was an interesting soup and the chips added to the whimsy of the experience.

Our makeshift table with our tea, drink and soup. Even if we were by the door and the stairs, it was still enjoyable to just be there at the restaurant.

We probably waited for 30 minutes but since we had tea and soup, we hardly realized it. Finally some diners left and we took our seat inside. As Jan and I waited for our food, I did a bit of exploring. It was not a big place but there were a lot of interesting knick-knacks and decor to look at.
There were a bunch of old alarm clocks and a mini-bust of Van Gogh. Not clear in the picture is a Starry, starry night tea pot.

There was also this old leather travel suit case covered with stickers. The globe added a nice touch.

This clock reminded me a bit of Paris though the welcome sign is in English. :P

There is again the lamp with the teapot selection. I think after the VGIB experience, I would like to steep my tea in a pot as well. It's just more charming that way. :P

I was unable to take a photo of the toilet but it was probably the most whimsical and/or artistic part of the place. The washing area was in black light so it was mostly dark with glowing drawings all around. The toilet area itself also had its share of knick-knacks but the best part was a post it containing a marriage proposal. I wonder if the girl ever said yes. I would. It would be fun to be proposed to in VGIB toilet. :P

The blackboard has instructions on how to dine in VGIB. The message from the front door is repeated in the board. Celebrate food, celebrate the self!

We actually did not place any order with Jetro. Neither did we have any idea what the meal would be. I came for the dining experience more than the food itself. And so far, it has been a quiet adventure. Our main course was finally served - Francesco Scavullo honey-glazed chicken with organic pasta.

The way to eat the pasta was to wrap it in cabbage and dip it in either the salty or sweet sauce. Jetro came by and told us that cabbage was the best food to relieve one of depression. Information that will be good to know should another moment of blah happen.

Afterwards, we were served our dessert -- water buffalo ice cream with walnut and crushed Oreo toppings. It was yum!

My favorite part of the night was dining in a top hat. It was like being invited to the Mad Hatter's party in Alice in Wonderland. Thankfully, there was no dormouse in any of the teapots. The hat rack had several hats diner can choose from. Jan and I had the most fun playing around with them!

To be honest, the food is really just one of the elements of Van Gogh is Bipolar dining experience. There would be better food out there, for sure. But what makes VGIB worth going and coming back to is the that feeling that you are being served with passion, with dreams and maybe even love. To eat there is to celebrate, to be whimsical and to have fun.

After eating at Van Gogh is Bipolar, I was quite full. Not just in the tummy but all over. :)

* * * * *

Van Gogh is Bipolar

Address: 154 Maginahawa St., Sikatuna Village, Quezon City

Contact details: 09228243052

it's just a phone...

It was six thirty in the evening. Jan and I were standing on my dad's resting place in Loyola Memorial. The cemetery had no lights but the night sky was bright enough to be reassuring. I tried to embrace the serenity of such a place. I just had a rough afternoon after discovering that my phone was nowhere I thought it would be. Just to be sure, Jan drove me for almost an hour back to the cemetery to check if I might have left it there. It seems I did not.

I stood there on dad's grave, frustrated and burdened. Damn phone.

I looked back to January 2000 where I was a young teacher living in rural Bukidnon. I just lost P3,000 which I was certain was just kept in my filofax which I left in my room. I knew someone from the house has stolen it. The landlady thought it was her relatives who stayed in the boarding house for a few days. Two years after, I would discover it was his youngest son who was then eleven.

It was a bit strange how the landlady was all riled up, while I just kept calm. At that time (and even now), P3,000 was a lot. It was almost an entire month's salary as a teacher. It was eight month's worth of savings which I hoped to use for a post-JVP year trip. Yet I could not feel bad about it. I told my landlady, "there are more important things than money. It's okay."

I meant it. Because a month before that, I found out my dad had cancer...

Today, while the whole phone fiasco was going on, my brother received a text from my cousin that my uncle was in the hospital and was not in good shape. My shoulders stooped a little lower after hearing that news... And then I thought of Divine... In my head, I was pleading to God for my Uncle, for Divine...

While we were on our way to the cemetery, I was reading "Anne of the Island." I was already at the part where Ruby Gillis, just barely twenty, passed away. She has been struggling with "consumption" (what it means, I do not know) the entire summer, yet she refused to believe death was coming for her. One day, she talked to Anne Shirley and told her she was afraid that heaven would not be like what she was used to, she told Anne that she wanted to live, to get married and to have children... But it was after her admission of her fears that she peacefully left the world in her sleep...

Divine would be around 27 I think. Divine with her happy grin... Divine, who loved Mindoro as much as I did... Dear, wonderful Divine. When I saw her last, she was very thin, refused to eat and attached to a dextrose but still wore that happy-to-see you smile... Divine got her wish to return to Zamboanga and continue her healing there. Now, she has asked for her oxygen removed because it has become painful...

Darn that tumor.

Jan and I went to mass after the cemetery... I was still burdened with uncertainty over the state of my phone. We were a few minutes early for mass so I had time to kneel and talk to God. I prayed for Divine. I prayed for my Uncle.

When my dad was already in the hospital for more than a week, I did not know what to pray for anymore. Should I ask for his healing or should I ask for his peace? Can they not go together? My father was suffering. My mother, in her own way, was going through her own pain. So were all of us children and those who loved my father dearly. When my dad was still conscious, he kept telling us that he was happy to share in the Lord's suffering. For him it was an honor to be given that burden. He was at peace that he has sent all of us to school and that we can take care of ourselves already. I did not know what to pray for but I asked God to do his will and to give my father the peace that he sought...

The last few days, the entire JVP community has been united by Divine's condition. To hear the news that she has been given a few weeks was difficult to digest. It gnawed on me at random moments... I want to storm the heaven with prayers for miracles. To ask heaven to heal Divine's physical body. I fear to speak out about my fears lest they come true...

Yet I also know there is a gift in all this. I've learned that from my father. Like I said, I saw Divine last with her grin wide as it always has been. The JVP community was there to support her. That day, she had more than thirty guests wanting to extend their support and love. How can you not smile? Yes, there is a gift in this. There is gift in knowing that it will soon end... the suffering, the pain. There is a chance to look back and remember how you lived, how you loved. There is gift in looking back at mistakes and forgiving yourself and throwing away regrets. There is a gift in having people you love show how much they care for you, how much your presence have marked them. There may be some regrets too... a place not visited, words, not spoken, a dream not fulfilled... but in the end... you can look at your heart and know that it is good. And everything else becomes insignificant and you can embrace your peace.

I am still being selfish about my Uncle. I do know his state, I do not know what he seeks. I do know those of us who love him want to be with him as long as we can. I am bargaining for his physical healing but I am also asking God to give what is best for my Uncle. All shall be well.

What has my phone got to do with all this? After all the frustration and irritation at myself and at the situation, I just had to remember, it is just a phone. Replaceable and merely a thing. There are more important things...

Dear Anne Frank...

Dear Anne,

It's a pity that I did not discover you when I was much younger. You see, I have been so keen on reading about fantasy and magic and super powers that I barely give much thought to stories of real people. I thought, how could someone's life be more fascinating that pyromancers or wizards or superheroes, which goes to show I really don't know much.

You could say it was your affiliation with the Netherlands that made me read your diary. Ever since I lived there for fifteen months, falling in love with its people and the country, I can't help but want to associate myself with things related to Holland. You were one of them.

L, who loved your book, asked me if I wanted to come with her to your house in Amsterdam. I went with her for lack of anything better to do. I also figured I could brush up a bit of my history.

We arrived at your house. It was quite ordinary... a home I would not have expected to have anything happen much. But like I said, I really don't know any thing. As we walked past the photos of you and your family, I felt goose bumps. The same kind of goosebumps I felt when I went to the Jewish Cemetery in Prague. The same kind of goosebumps I felt when I saw pictures of people who suffered in the hands of the Nazis. The same kind of goosebumps I felt when I saw drawings of young children who spent time in camp before being gassed. Those are the moments I was like your mother, "Thank you, Lord, that I did not experience that kind of misery."

After a visit of your home, I vowed to read your book. It was actually tempting to get a copy from the museum store that was packaged like your red and white diary. But I did not have the 30 euros to spare...

Yesterday, I was finally able to read your story....

Anne, you are an amazing young woman. So full of life and intelligence. So full of wisdom. I am amazed at how you were able to survive those 24 months without going outside. Moreso, without hitting any one of your miserable companions. But you were always self-conscious, aware that you are writing out of anger or spite. Something people could hardly be aware of in the best of circumstances.

Despite being locked up, you experienced life to the fullest. I find myself kilig with the developments between you and Peter. And I find myself proud that you are not easily swayed by your feelings. You know your limits. Something that young girls nowadays can learn from you as well.

Despite being young, you have been given wisdom that people my age need to pick up. You see your faults... you accept who you are, yet at the same time strive to be better. You are young, full of dreams, self-aware.

You truly have the gift of writing. And I am glad you got your wish to be immortalized.

Your story is definitely something that people should know about. Yes, people should know about the difficulties of the war. It is something that should not happen again. But there are countless of other more violent, more disturbing films and books about that. No, your story is not just about the war itself. Your story is about every girl or even boy out there struggling to discover who they are as they slowly make their way out of childhood and into adulthood. Your story is about every person who struggles to deal with people every day. Your story is about every individual who finds themselves trapped one way or the other.

I despair that you were so close to freedom and yet you were not able to get it. It was unfortunate that someone felt the need for money more than the need to protect. And yet, as I read the epilogue... your little story (which is not so little) have influenced more people that you will ever know. You have given catharsis to some, inspiration to many. Despite having lost you, people found themselves through you.

Indeed, Anne, you are a wonderful girl. You are a gift to the world. When I have a child of my own, I will encourage them to read what you have to say. I hope they will learn to have their own voice from you.

Thank you, dear Anne Frank, for being so honest to Kitty. Because of your honesty, the world may just be a little better.

Yours, Anj

Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl

One would think that a classic like this would be read by a girl like me much earlier in life. I've always known that this book was a classic along with Hellen Keller and Anne of Green Gables, but no, I have not ready any of the three before. It's only now that I am actually reading Anne Frank!

It would not have landed on my reading list if not for the fact that a friend from ISS asked if I wanted to go with her to the Anne Frank Museum in Amsterdam. I never thought for a second that the her story actually occurred in the Netherlands! Since I did not have much to do anymore since it was my last few days in the Netherlands, I gladly joined her to the Museum.

As we were walking around Anne Frank Huis, I felt that the experience would have been much more meaningful if I have read her book. The house looked like an ordinary house. Names and notes that were posted by pictures or desks meant little to me, though I could still feel some goosebumps thinking that the people who lived in that house suffered terribly from the war.

After the trip, I promised myself to read the book. And now, I am halfway through the diary with just a few hours on it.

If I did not know that this book was actually a diary, I would have thought that this was just a wonderfully crafted tale of a young Jewish girl stuck with her family and strangers in a hidden house. Yet we all know that it is a story that happened. Truth is indeed stranger, and immensely more fascinating... and tragic, than fiction.

It's a bit funny that I am reading the book at a time that I am quarantined from the world, unable to go out and see people lest I spread my virus. Yet my predicament is barely anything compared to the madness that must have been Anne Frank's life.

I have not come to the ending yet but I already feel a bit of pain and sadness at the thought that this brilliant girl will come to a tragic end. How I wish somebody would discover who ratted them out to the Nazis. For what? Maybe to channel the anger I feel with everyone else who has read the book. Maybe so the Frank's can have a certain sense of justice, I don't know.

I wiki-ed a bit about Anne Frank and discovered that her last entry was August 1, 1944. August 1 is my birthday. Manuel Quezon died that day in the US. In 2009, Corazon Aquino passed away from cancer. My birthday does not seem to bode well with famous people.

Every pause I have from reading the book, I am thankful to have lived in a time of freedom. Indeed we rally and fight against constant injustice, corruption and greed. But what we experience now can never compare to what happened during the time of World War II.

I am glad that time is over.

Pacific Rims

If I heard of the title before I read the book, I would not have thought basketball in the Philippines. I'd probably think of the various calderas in the "Ring of Fire" before thinking hoops.

The book is by Rafe Bartholomew, a Fulbright scholar who decided to do his research on Philippine basketball. Being a hoops lover himself, the he heard about rumors of our obsession with basketball. What could be more intriguing than a country of short people hopelessly devoted to a game that height was a major requirement? Of course, he had to come and see for himself.

I am not a basketball lover. I am a Ateneo basketball fan. My love for the sport begins and ends with the UAAP, fueled by my love for my college alma mater. I do not care much for PBA, though I did try to follow it after seeing the 2002 Championship team finding in different teams. But it was just not the same.

So why did I read the book?

It began with this video.

Adorable ain't he? Clearly fully American yet he speaks better Tagalog than most people who has lived in the Philippines for ages! This guy definitely wanted to know basketball in the Philippine context that he learned the language to have a better gauge of it. He has more love for our country than some of our population.

But it was still not enough for me to shell out P900 for a hardbound copy. I would have waited for a paperback copy or borrowed from someone who had the book.

What finally encouraged me was an article from Michael Tan, one of my favorite Inquirer columnists, about the book. He included some snippets of the book in his article which piqued my interest: the carnival side of the sport where there was a game of gay men vs. midgets to entertain people, the relation of circumcision with the sport and finally, the lack of academic research on the sport. The last one did it for me. No, I have not turned nerd all of a sudden. But it was indeed interesting to discover that despite our undying obsession for it, no one has really written about it in an academic perspective.

* * * * *

I'm finally done with the book. I thought I would turn Alaska Aces afterwards because it contained a lot about his sojourn with the basketball team. He talked at length about Roe Ellis and Willie Miller, their lives and how they played ball. We become privy to their 2007 championship (which was an unexpected bonus for Rafe). It was like watching "Coach Carter" or some basketball movie. The underdogs working their way up for the happy ending of winning the trophy.

But what was more interesting was how he was able to incorporate Philippine culture through a basketball lens. Rich kids vs. servants, sneakers vs. tsinelas. It was about the income gap. It was about our ingrained politically-incorrect nature. It was about our ability to laugh even at the most miserable of occasions. It was about Philippine politics. It was about our "agency" (ah, such an ISS word) within a system that did know how to be fair.

It is an engaging book, with Rafe as a participant observer. He was both insider and outsider. A lover of basketball and yet a foreigner researching on local ball. He was both knowledgeable of the subject matter as well as one in a journey of discovery.

After closing the pages, I had the most interesting reaction... "wouldn't it be fun to go back studying again?" Gasp! It must have been how he has been able to make his research enjoyable yet still meaningful and full of discoveries that made me think that.

Anyway, this book is for Alaska fans, basketball fanatics and anyone interested in Philippine culture. National Bookstore is on sale until August 22 so you get 20% if you buy before that. What's more he's coming for a slew of book signings the coming week so that's an extra bonus!

August 21, 5PM at National Bookstore Cubao.

August 24, 6PM at Powerbooks Greenbelt3

August 25, 6PM at Fully Booked Fort Bonifacio

August 28, 5 PM at National Bookstore Ayala Mall

Meet Orange

She's my Panasonic Lumix ZS3.

I know, I know. I already have Dixie, my Nikon D40x. And I love Dixie to bits. We've seen the world together, how can I not?

But then there are things I want that Dixie can not provide. Like video function. And easy to handle. Low maintenance. Something I can stuff in a small bag.

It was a tough ride. I considered getting a waterproof camera and almost did. But considering that I do not go on intense field work nor go to the beach as often as I used to, an additional 10K felt ridiculous for something that I want to use often.

In the end, after researching camera reviews, I found myself falling in love with the Lumix ZS3, which was considered one of the best cameras of 2009.

Looking forward to more moments taken with Dixie and Orange this 2010. :)

a new day

Today the Philippines welcomed a new president.

Today the Philippines breathed a sigh of relief as it gets rid of a president whose legitimacy has always been in question.

Today the Philippines hopes that this man, the son of a martyr and a former president, will restore, at the very least, trust in the system.

While I did not vote for this man, I accept his overwhelming mandate. I embrace the hope he gives to people. I accept the challenge he has launched during his speech.

Let's all work together, shall we?

Toy Story 3

When I was a little kid, I only had a few toys. My favorite was a rag doll which my dad gave me and I would have brought it with me wherever I go whatever age I get if it did not disappear from me. I suspect my unsentimental mother dropped it in a donation box along with our old clothes. Sigh. I was not even asked my permission but I console myself with the thought it was making some other child happy.

I had a crazy belief that things came to life when my back was turned. Whenever I would go out of my room, I'd do a quick turn back and see if the toys would be caught moving. But they were faster than my own reflexes.

So it was great to have had a movie like Toy Story in 1995 to assure me that I was not the only person in the world who believed toys had their own lives apart from those times they are played with.

Toy Story 3, 15 years after the first one was released, tells the story of how the toys are coping with Andy finally leaving for college. Pixar does its magic again! They successfully closed the story of whimsical bunch of memorable characters leaving the audience with bittersweet feelings that most of us experience during crossroads in our lives.

TS3 is more Woody's story. His loyalty and love for Andy is limitless. But all the characters, no matter how short their lines or roles, make their indelible mark to the viewer. Buzz accidentally discovers a new side of himself which everyone would enjoy watching. Jessie's cynicism is understandable having experienced Emily. Bull's Eye is as loyal as Woody. The Potato Heads, are funny and lovable, individually or together. Mr. Potato Head goes into hilarious transitions, all for the family. T-Rex and Hamm and Slinky Dog continue to complement and enhance their toy family. Of course, the aliens fixated with the Claw. Hilarious! Even if you just met the new characters, you feel for them. Whether good or not so. Watch out for the Shakespearian Hedgehog and a cameo by Totoro (from Japanese animation).

It was a wonderful way to end Toy Story. The movie made me despair and eventually relieved. I was thinking during those scary moments, "how can they get through this?" while gripping Jan's hands tightly. And after that, you just have to give it to Woody to think of something to make things all right again.

I am still breathless from remembering the movie. I'm not sure if I can watch it some time soon. If I was just the only person in the cinema I would be sobbing. I don't know if I can deal with overwhelming emotions that TS3 coaxes out of its viewers so soon after.

Sigh. It is a beautiful movie. A must see for those who loved their toys like family. You can be assured that your toys loved you back too. :)

APO Hiking Society

As Barney Stinson would say, "Legen... wait for it... ARY!!!"

The APO as a group has been longer than I have been alive. That means all my life I have been entertained by their songs and performances. Heck! I made sure I get to watch "Sa Linggo nAPO sila" when it was still showing in Channel 2. I always enjoyed their "Knock Three Times" segment. I still believe it is far superior in entertainment quality than "ASAP." But that could just me being biased. "'Sang Linggo nAPO sila" was harder to follow since it was daily but I did look forward to Saturdays. It is a much better family fanfare show than "MTB" or "Wowowee" I tell you. No gyrating girls needed.

photo taken from Amazon.com

I have always loved the group. I find myself feeling in love when listening to "When I Met You" and "Yakap sa Dilim." I wanted to have "Panalangin" as soundtrack to my wedding but Roj and Alwin beat us to it (it was their first dance). I enjoy singing with off-key voice to "Ewan" with wanton abandon.

Their songs of friendship strike true and strike deep. "Awit ng Barkada" chronicles perfectly the kind of friendship that stands through thick and thin. "Saan na nga ba ang Barkada?" echoes the nostalgia of friendship changed by time. "Pumapatak ang Ulan" is a perfect story of bored friends stuck in the house because of rain. I don't remember if Jim or Danny wrote this, but whoever did, wrote it only in two minutes while being stuck in a Baguio house during a rainy day.

photo taken from pinoygigs.com

And of course, their songs of patriotism and love of Filipino culture. "Lumang Tugtugin" heralds our classic folk songs and kundiman. I love how Pidro (Danny) makes fun of "American Junk." Even "Syotang Pa-Class" pokes fun at an ordinary bloke falling head over heels over a high society girlfriend.

It really is amazing how they are able to conjure up these beautiful or wacky songs. And they become more amazing when they perform. I've seen three APO concerts, including the last day of their concert last night. The first was their 25th year anniversary at the Ateneo, the second was their 35th in Ateneo de Davao and the last was their 4oth anniversary and farewell last night.

These guys are just natural comedians! Their singing voices blend wonderfully and so do their comic timing. Concerts become long and drawn out just because their spiels can be very long. But I actually find it entertaining because it was just like watching a bunch of friends make fun of each other in their living room.

They always have something up their sleeve. Last night, I couldn't stop laughing from their rendition of "sirang plaka" music of the top two most sung song in the world. Hilarious!!!

Last night was a very enjoyable concert. As their 25th anniv concert (I still can't get out of my head their W-O-W spiel. Retro!). From start to finish, I didn't stop laughing or singing. And there was that level of comfort even amidst strangers that somehow, everyone has something connecting them. And that was APO. When the show ended, I felt a little void forming in me. They showed a video clip of APO throughout the years. I just found out from Jim Paredes' tweet that they could not bear to sing the song because it was just too emotional for them.

Today, as I was listening to their music and reading a blog entry of a close friend of the APO, I found myself crying major tears. I was telling Jan, "It's like Pope John Paul II, they've been around since I was alive!" God knows how much I cried when the Pope passed away.

I can imagine how bittersweet it is for Jim, Danny and Buboy. To have seen so many people come and watch them and sing with them and laugh with them. 2,770 concerts since they began, that is what Buboy said. 27 albums according to Jim. What an achievement! I bet they have made millions of Filipino happy. They have become the soundtrack of many love stories and barkadas.

It must be so hard to say goodbye to that. But at the same time, you quit while you are on top. All good things must come to an end.

I remind myself to find joy that the first 31 years of my life have been sprinkled with the pixie dust of APO's music.

To Buboy, Danny and Jim... thank you for the precious moments you have uplifted our spirits with your crazy musical antics. You will forever be the score of my personal movie.