The Trillanes Fiasco

I did not see this coming in a million years. And I guess nobdy did, except those who thought they can pull away with another people power. It is so 1980's and like bangs and padded shoulders, napakalaos na.

Trillanes has been in jail for a long time. He was not able to see what is actually going on outside. Rallies and call for support will not stir the people anymore. What we need are real life heroes willing to give their lives up for the cause.

For a while during the coverage somebody said they will take it to the very end "at ito ang magiging bagong Pasong Tirad." Strong words but no balls pala. After an hour, a dose of tear gas and a series of gunshots, suddenly they came out misty eyed surrendering.

Not a good role model. Not that I want to see bloodshed, but what we need is a new Che guevarra or a Ninoy Aquino to capture our minds and imagination. Eh kung ganyan ganyan lang konting sakit give up na, wala talagang mangyayari. Poor planning and execution. Kailangan pa ng practice.

Remember noon 80's its just the radio. And video killed the radio star. Ngayon may cellphones, live coverage and internet na. We have to adjust to the times. Hindi pwedeng bagets pa rin ang tugtog ng boombox.

My Father's Garden

My father was the erstwhile green thumb. Give him a seed or a stem of anything and he will make it grow in a month. He has tried it with bromeliads and orchids and anthuriums, that he created a virtual jungle on our household grounds. But do not look for aesthetics here. Its just mere random planting of whatever he could grab on.

It has been six years since he was gone and the garden was left to tend for itself. No new plants are placed and the old ones seem to have outgrown their pots, vines have climbed to top of trees and seedlings grow together with their mother plants in the same pots.

I took this pictures just to give me something to help me remember before everything changes. Every morning after coffee he would go down and attend to these plants. Either water them, plant new ones or change their pots. Everytime I leave for Manila, I would look for him there to kiss his hands. It was his kingdom and the plants love him like their king. It was where he was most truly happy.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

This is the Belen that was given as a wedding gift to my parents. There is an older nativity scene ceramic set that my father's family bought for fifty pesos fifty years ago, which will be going on display a little bit when people are in the holiday mood already. Merry Christmas.

Insiang at the CCP: a case of great expectations

Was it 5 years ago, when I was jogging along CCP when I saw the poster for Temptation Island the play which starred John Lapus? I was curious enough to buy the tickets and watch that night and had a very pleasant experience watching transvestites do the roles of the candidates for Ms. Manila Sunshine. It was so hilarious, witty and the fact that the script was faithful to the original film that even if I get to see reruns of the film on cinemaone, I still feel the the same exhiliration as before making it truly a classic.

Then came Insiang, the play. I was in Manila over the weekend for nothing in particular. So I looked up the list of shows at the CCP and saw the announcement for Insiang. I was excited to be able to be in town when the show was still running. From the airport the first stop was the box office at the CCP and I was dreaming all night of how wonderful the play would be having seen the original Brocka movie.

But of course, I think that did it. I had my expectations set at par with the movie with Hilda Koronel as my muse that as I was seeing the play I was disappointed with the show.

I understand the whole script was rewritten for the stage. I understand that at this point the writer rather than the director has the creative voice. What I don't understand was half way through the show the play was still busy creating character studies of the lead roles that the drama of the story has to unfold in the last fifteen minutes of the play. I felt I was shortchanged with seeing the plot and the lead role unfold that quick. It was like watching Swan Lake with all the other dances hoarding half of the time and seeing Odile the other half of the time.

The play busied itself with creating atmosphere. There were several moments stolen by the supporting cast members as they make their own different Oscar moments on stage. As I see it, the lead role was Toyang's, which should have been the title. They could have advertised this as a spin off of Isiang instead. Pacing was ineffective as her role was limited to either groaning while having sex and screaming at Insiang. Ricky Davao had pa cute moments like when he was explaining why he was who he is, that I am still trying to understand as part of a stage treatment that was way off character. I ended up not hating him. Insiang was given too long a time to be sweet that I did not feel the transformation to a bitter revengeful bitch that I expected. Perhaps because the girl playing the part was miscast as she was too sweet and played the part like a girl from an exclusive school would or the script was not that powerful and challenging enough.

The production design portraying scenes from the squatters area was terrific. I even commented that the stink of mildew of the theater might actually be part of the design. The acoustics were fine except when Pacing are doing her moments when I actually could not understand what she is saying as she contorts her face to equally incomprehensible emotions. Yes there are breast and butt exposures, which I believe is too juvenile. Parang college plays. But if it helps draw crowds to the show, okay lang. Funding a production is indeed a difficult task these days.

If I was not clouded by the great work of the Brocka, I think i would have doubled my enjoyment on seeing the play. My verdict, see the play before you see the movie.

Saudi Ahmad: The Next National Artist for Visual Arts

The three hour trip from Zamboanga City to Kabasalan, Zamboanga Sibugay is a mean feat for all who dread long road trips and unpaved roads. But the chips and conversation kept us awake in along the rustic scenery that surrounds us. Comments like this wuld be a good place to put up a hospital or a spa. A scenic area overlooking the Sulu sea would be a perfect place to build a house that would rival any in Tagaytay for scenery alone. But reality bites once in awhile as check points dotted the road. But the slow pace of life evident by the people walking along the road surprised to see a car passing by at that time of day.

We reached Ipil a quarter past noon and ate at the old reliable Jolibee. Its presence is actually a measure of an areas economic progressiveness. After the Abu Sayaff razed the town to the ground by burning it, the town like a phoenix has risen from the ashes. We asked the waitress, what else can we see in the town. She made a low smirk and admitted that there isn't any tourist attraction in town. She might have wondered why of all places are tourists going to the place. She suggested to look for the ostrich.

We did look for the ostrich. There were three ostrich kept in a cage in the towns main intersection near a gasoline station. But instead of wonderment, we felt pity for the birds placed on display in the middle of the city with their feathers withering and skin blackened by the pollution of passing vehicles. It was not a pretty site to see.

Then the adventure began, we remembered the legends of Saudi Ahmad. a legendary painter from the old capital of Zamboanga Sibugay, Kabasalan. He was the most famous of all the visual artist in Mindanao. I attended his exhibit once at Fort Pillar and was amazed by the detail of his works. One of the doctors relate how he would give one of his paintings in exchange for treatments. His large works are owned by prominent bussinessmen and one hang at the National Museum. He seems elusive from all the stories we heard of him. Preferring to work alone.

So we decided to look for the elusive Saudi Ahmad. But he was not that elusive after all because he is so famous in his town that from the mouth of the river as we crossed the bridge, we asked for directions to his house and everyone gladly showed us the way.

One would never miss the house. Its achitecture was designed by Saudi made of mangroove wood. The traditional muslim roof tops the house. While the windows have no lkshutters rather are made of wooden railings to let in the air. It was an artists house indeed. We asked the lady who turned out to be his wife if we could meet the famous Saudi Ahmad and see his gallery.

A few minutes later, a man in gray shirt wearing a cap came and introduced himself. Here was a great artist who waas welcoming us, practically strangers. He began talking about his art. He was so glad that we came to see him. He said he appreciates it more if his audience visits him to see how he works. He was we were too late because a week ago there were visitors who came and bought his works.

A little prodding though he said he just finished two pieces and he would gladly show them to us. He said he will be turning the second floor of his house into a gallery. And he showed us the only masterpiece left in his house. His works are all over the world, having done exhibitions in capitals including New York. Details of the work are featured on top of this post. He said he will never part with it no matter how much is paid for it.

The painting depicts the muslim community scene. With detailed costumes and landscape. It was difficult to take a picture of the whole scene because of the reflection of light. He showed us the two recent pieces he finished. One is a mother who is breastfeeding and the other a father teaching his child to play the flute. He showed us photographs of his old works and we were awed by the beauty and intricateness of his creations.

He talked profusely about his works. Like he was suddenly excited that there are people interested in his works. He called his style subtraction. He commented he was the original dagdag bawas originator. He painted a tree trunk with brown and green. After wards, he started taking off the paint using the brush and with such grace and talent, the curves made a striking intricate detail on the trees that is characteristic of his works.

It is difficult now to get a finished work and make and exhibition. His works get sold even before they are not finished. He is up for the honor of the next National Artist for visual arts. And I believe he deserves to be. His works are original and patriotic at the same time.

Who says artist are elusive. Mr. Ahmad is truly an srtist in every sense. He sold to us the two new paintings. Invited us to his exhibit at the Metropolitan museum in Manila. Except for the large painting he refused to sell, there are no other paintings left in his house. That is a mark of truly successful and great artist.

As If We Never Said Goodbye

This is probably one of the best performance of the song I have ever seen.

Mariannete Amper: Isang Kapirasong Langit

Unang reaksyon sa akin ng ikinuwento ko sa mga kaibigan ko ang tungkol kay Marrianet Amper ay ang pagsasa-walang balewala. Hindi raw maiisip ng isang bata ang magpakamatay. Sobrang saya ng pagiging bata at ang pagiisip ng mga problema na parang matanda ay ni minsan hindi nila magagawa. Iyon din ang aking unang naisip nang una kong binasa ang caption sa ilalim ng litrato sa Inquirer. Hindi ko nga binasa ang istorya nang una kong buksan sa internet ang pahayagan. Pero may nagudyok sa aking bumili ng newspaper kanina paglabas ko ng pintuan ng hospital.

Nakakasindak. Nakakalungkot. Nakapanghihinayang. Sa aking alaala ng pagiging labing-isang taon, nakikita ko ang araw araw na pagpasok sa eskwelahan sa susunod na bayan sa isang private school. Sampung pisong allowance sa isang araw. Apat pisong pamasahe papunta at pagbalik sa school. Uuwi ng bahay para kumain ng tanghalian. Ang bag at sapatos bago sa simula ng pasukan. Ang mga libro hindi naman kailangang bilihin dahil sa eskwelahan nirerentahan lang ang mga ito. Mga librong gawa pa sa America. Makakapal ang papel, magaganda ang kulay. Pero yung mga binebenta maninipis na mimeographing paper ang gamit na pagnabasa ng ulan ay hindi mo na maaninag ang nakasulat. Hindi rin ako binilhan ng bisekleta tulad ni Mariannet. Ngayon alam ko dahil wala kaming pera. Subalit noon sabi ng tatay ko dahil delikado ang mag bike sa daan baka mabundol ng kotse o truck.

Araw araw halos nakakapasok naman ako. Walang masyadong kaibigan. Kakaiba raw ako. Nagpipilit mag-aral ng mabuti. Noong labing-isang taong gulang din ako naisip ko ring magpakamatay. Dahil sa paulit-ulit lang ang ginagawa ko araw araw. Matagal at walang pagbabago. Tulad ni Mariannete hindi ko rin namamalayan ang pagdating ng Pasko at ang Bagong Taon ay isang oras ng paglingon sa mausok na bintana para manood ng mga paputok.

Isang araw naisipan kong itali ang leeg ko sa isang poste subalit ng malapit nang sumikip nawalan ako ng lakas ng loob. Minsan nalagay ko na ang daliri ko sa electric socket at napigilan ako ng tatay ko. Minsan sinunog ko ang kalendaryo malapit sa electric fuse ng bahay. Tumalon sa taas ng bubong. Ilublub ang ulo sa drum ng tubig. Piliting hindi huminga na napatunayan kong hindi effective. At uminom ng maraming gin na nakakalasing lang pala at hindi nakakamatay.

Mahina ang loob. May sakit. Kakaiba. Marahil naghahanap lang ng makakaintindi. Marahil naghahanap lang ng makakaunawa. Marahil naghihintay lang ng pagbabago. Hanggang ngayon yan pa ring mga bagay na yan ang aking hinahanap. Masama mang sabihin paminsan-minsan gusto ko pa ring magpakamatay. Hindi na ako takot sa kamatayan basta't mabilis at mapayapa. Siguro balang-araw makakaya ko rin ang ginawa ni Mariannette. Ngayon, makikihalubilo muna ako sa mundo ng mga buhay baka sakaling mayroong pag-asang kahit papaano mayroong pagbabago.

Alam kong masaya na si Mariannete sa kanyang bagong kapirasong langit.

Saddened about the CBCP

Gone are the days when what the priest say is sacred and true. We the faithful have challenged them too much that I think they have become tired and they have conceded to the whims of modern life like corruption, partisan politics and other mundane matters.

Gone are the days when we tremble when a pastoral letter is being read during homilies.

I miss those days. I miss those days when I still have someone to believe in and know that I could do no wrong if I believe in what they say.

Today, it seems like whatever they do the organization will forever be tainted with the mark of the brown paper bags from the Palace.

Bastardation of NEOAngono mural by NPC

We are again in the tipping point of history.
Dark clouds forming to a raging storm.
The heavens descending in tears as
smoke and fire emerge again in our land.
We will never be who we wanted to be.
We will forever be peasants, slaves, helpers,
assistants.
And we will rejoice in all of the
simple pleasures in all of these and thank those
who kept us as us.
Because
we keep on denying who we really are
and what we can be
Because
we have long censored ourselves for our feudal masters.

The “bastardization” of a mural at the National Press Club (NPC) has drawn condemnation from an art critic and a visual artist, and prompted calls for artists to band together to protest the act.

The Road to Taluksangay

Taluksangay is the oldest Muslim settlement in Zamboanga and in Mindanao island. It is featured in the Lonely Planet travel guide and other documentaries and is famous for the oldest mosque in the island. Located about thirty minutes to the east of Zamboanga city, one gets instantly awed by the series of views that follows upon crossing the bridge. The mosque with gold overlain minarets is the center of the settlement. It is constructed on the bank of the mouth of a river that opens into the sea. Houses are built around the mosque and from the minarets, one can get a glimpse of everyday life in the area.






Everyday life in Taluksangay involves the community. The western sense of privacy is nonexistent. As one steps into the plank that leads into the rows of houses, a large area in the center is occupied by women huddled in fours and fives playing cards while attending to their children. There were rice, cassava delicacies and vegetables were lay on the floor for sale. The inhabitants travel mindlessly over the wooden paths unmindful of the gaps. Children walk without fear of falling into the water. The men are in their boats fishing or gathering seaweed.




Houses are built on stilts above the water. They are built adjacent to one another for strength. There are no latrines and running water from faucets. The residents transport fresh water in huge containers from nearby wells on boats. There are no rooms inside the house instead the huge open space is a living area in the morning a dining room during meals and a bedrooom at night. Boats are parked like cars hitched on posts along the wooden walking paths.



Fishing is gradually being replaced as a source of livelihood in the area. Zamboanga provides one-third of the world supply of seaweed which is used as food additives and binders for medicines and other products. Rows and rows of seaweed are laid out to dry on the road. From fresh greens to slimy black to dry whitish yellow varieties. Grown-ups to children as young as five help in the initial processing of seaweed.




A trip to Taluksngay is a worthwhile experience for any traveller interested in the history and culture of Mindanao. It presents facets of community life as it was in the original settlement. Faces, ways and clothes may have changed but the essence of community and bonds of kinship remain.

Memories of Discontent

Today is the feast of all saints. Growing up Catholic, the highlight really is visiting and praying for dead relatives. As a child it is a huge day for a quiet town as car loads of relatives come from the city and instant reunions of old acquiantances ranspire over grave markers and streets leading to the cemetary. Our flowers are usually bought from Quiapo includes yellow and white chrysanthemums and baby's breath arranged in old ceramic pots filled with stalks of gabi cut to serve as base. No one wants to carry the arranged flowers because once they are filled with water they weigh up to two kilos an the cemetary is a kilometer walk from the house.

This is the day when there are more flowers than a Santacruzan. Every one trampling throught the main street is carrying all sorts of flower arrangements. Pineapple juice cans wrapped with bond paper with red and orange santan flowers. Huge red circular flowers with no name. Bandera espanola arranged in coke bottles. Floral arrangements from shops with white and violet dendubriums. The procession starts early in the morning and swell by midday and last until seven in the evening. Honking horns, shouting, traffic and crowds snaking across the streets.

My father's grave lies in the middle of the new wing of the cemetary. He had it made after his brother died and joked that having one's grave made ahead of time will prolong one's life. He died a peaceful but painful death while sleeping in his favorite chair. I have several regrets that I was not able to take care of him before he died and I was not able to tell him how much I love him. But I know he knows about it as I kissed him good night the night before he died. I have not been able to visit his grave evey first of november since the years that followed after his death. I wish I could if only to show him that he was not wrong after all when I asked him why he is good to all these people and he replied so that they will remember you after you die.

I don't know who among my father has helped still remembers him. What I know is that deep in my heart no matter how painful and regretful I am, he will always forgive as he had done ever since I was a child. Papa I love you.