HAPPY TRIP 19: Chloe-isms 2

The little princess swept the awards in her grade this year, including the Gold Medal and other special awards for winning the Spelling, Math, and Science Quiz Bees, among others. She's getting eight medals come Recognition Day.

I texted her what gift she wanted. She texted back: "Item or place to visit?"

Yay.

HAPPY TRIP 18: Chloe-isms

The little princess was putting on her PE uniform this morning before school. Then she realized she didn't have her panties on yet. "Oh, that's why I didn't feel any tightness in my butt!" she quipped. Wahahahaha!!!

BAD TRIP 21: Coming in on a Wing and a Prayer

News just in:
9 Dead in Turkish Plane Crash in Amsterdam

And just recently:
Airplane Crash-lands in Hudson River…
50 Killed as Plane Hits House Near Buffalo…
2 Dead in Fiery Plane Crash at Illinois Airport…

And many more!

A website (http://www.planecrashinfo.com/) has 5,252 accidents in its database
Aaaaargh!!!!
And my job makes me take to the skies more often than I like.

Not too long ago, Cebu Pacific gave me quite a scare.
(Think Flight 387 that crashed on the slopes of Mt. Sumagaya in Misamis Oriental in 1998, killing all 104 people on board. Waaaah!)
We were bound for Caticlan (with its too-short runway) aboard a small plane with propellers.
Not even the view of Boracay Island from my window seat could rid me of that queasy feeling from the rough flight.
Coming in, I thought the plane’s descent was a little off.
True enough, we landed with a loud thud and a jarring crash.
Everyone screamed!
Then the plane took off again!
What the hell??!
Passengers screamed even more.
A small kid yelled “Mommyyyyy!!! Are we gonna die?!!”
The plane made a sharp turn, like we’re in a rollercoaster.
Half the passengers were vomiting…kids crying.
The plane circled, trying to land again.
When we did, it was with a loud thud and a jarring crash again.
But this time we made it to the end of the runway.

Whew.

HAPPY TRIP 15: Palanca wannabe Part 2

While other kids were busy squeezing gifts out of tight-fisted ninongs and ninangs last Christmas, my eight-year-old little princess had her nose in a book the entire time. She actually finished volumes 5 and 6 of the Harry Potter series over the holidays. In-between reading books, she found time to write a short story. She didn't want me to read it at first because "it isn't finished yet". Well...here is her unfinished work:

The Bog Monster

By: Chloe S. R.

Hi, my name is Drew Brockman. I live in a town called Timberland Falls. I’m not very sure why they call it Timberland Falls though. Nobody cuts trees for timber, and there aren’t any falls so why Timberland Falls? I have a friend named Lily Evans, who lives just next door. She’s a very pretty girl who most boys have a crush on.

In our town the Grade 12 pupils have a field trip to the forest outside town. On the way, the teacher tells us about the bog monster, which is rumored to live in the forest. I was so excited. Then the teacher would group us in pairs to explore the forest. I got grouped with Lily. “Gosh, do you think there is really a bog monster?” she asked. “Well, we’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?” I replied. Then our teacher spoke, “Alright everybody, go on and find that monster!” she said.

There was a murmur of excitement. Then my friend James Parker said “Hey Drew my man, would you mind switching partners?” I looked to see who he got grouped with. Then I let out a roar of laughter. He got grouped with his super crazy and insane ex-girlfriend Courtney Brown. “And what is that supposed to mean?” she demanded. Lily and I roared with laughter as Courtney dragged him away. Then, remembering what we were supposed to do, we went into the forest. The forest was so beautiful. I saw a lot of animals but no bog monster. Just then, I heard a terrified scream that sounded like Courtney. We went to the place where James was standing, rooted to the spot. “What’s wrong?” we asked him. Apparently, he was too terrified to speak. Then he gulped. “It was the BOG MONSTER.” “WHAT???” Lily was downright scared. “It ….it attacked her then kidnapped her.” he said softly. There was no mistaking it. Lily was as pale as chalk. “Are you sure?” I whispered. James merely nodded. “How did it happen” I asked softly. “We were walking around then it just happened,” he said in a voice barely more than a whisper. “Where did you see it going?” I asked. He pointed over to a clearing in the forest. “James, come with us. We’re going to find that monster.” I said gravely. I sounded braver than I felt. James nodded.

The path led us to a filthy and slimy place. Just as we were getting near the end of the place, I checked my watch. It was nearly 5:00. So we went back to the school bus. The teacher asked us where Courtney was. We told her that she got lost in the forest, and we checked everywhere. So we just went back to town.

The next day, I went to the library to return my borrowed book. James went with me, to return a book too. When we arrived, however, the door was locked. So we decided to try and get in an open window. However, when we found one, we saw something peculiar. The librarian was all covered in goo. When we were just about to leave, the goo was spreading all over the librarian. When the goo stopped spreading, James spoke to me in a terrified whisper. “That’s the Bog Monster, Drew,” he said softly.

We ran back to school, excited to tell our teacher about what we saw. However, when we were halfway to the school, we realized it was Saturday. The school would be closed. So we just went back home. We have never been more disappointed in our life. Well, I don’t know about James’ life of course. However, on our way back, the most peculiar thing ever happened. Courtney Brown was walking down the side walk, looking perfectly happy and fine. James ran to her, looking as though he had never seen anything stranger. “Courtney! I….. I …… I thought you were….?” “What?” she said. She had a look of surprise on her face. “What are you babbling about?” she added. “I thought you were kidnapped by the Bog Monster,” he said. Courtney giggled a high pitched giggle. “What nonsense! What Bog Monster are you talking about?” she said gleefully. James looked as though he was struck by lightning. “You mean, you don’t remember?” he said. Courtney just sniggered and walked away.

“What is up with her?” James would always ask me whenever he saw Courtney. “ I don’t know” I would always answer impatiently.

To be continued....

FIRST TRIP 13: Bubalus mindorensis

When I first set foot on Mindoro island four months ago, I declared to my co-workers that I wanted to have my picture taken beside a tamaraw. They all laughed at me. Forgive my ignorance but I really thought the tamaraw was much like our friendly neighborhood kalabaw. It turned out it is a wild animal and so fierce that attempting to pose beside it is next to impossible.

But then I proved them wrong. Today I got my picture taken with not one but two tamaraws! Here’s the proof: ta-daaaa!

OK, I cheated. Sort of, hehe. Because the two tamaraws are kept in captivity at the Gene Pool Farm in Rizal town. There are only two of them left there now: mother and calf. The calf, named Kalibasib, was born in the farm.

Tamaraws are found nowhere else on earth except in Mindoro. Sadly, it now ranks among the most critically endangered species on earth, its population dwindling to a pitiful 263 heads due primarily to destruction of their habitat. If only we can ensure that they continue to have a place to live in – the remaining forests of Mindoro – then perhaps they will have a chance at avoiding the way of the dinosaurs.

BAD TRIP 20: Buchikik ek ek ek

I’ve had my share of ill-mannered people but this one takes the cake. Last week in Shenzhen, China a friend and I were waiting in line for a taxi in front of a mall when, just as we were about to take our turn, two matronly Chinese ladies behind us brazenly pushed us aside and jumped into the waiting taxi. Wadapak?! Laglag panga ko sa kabastusan nung dalawa.

(apologies to my Chinese friends who are truly nice persons. one bad egg doesn't make the whole basket rotten)

HAPPY TRIP 14: Malalaking Munting Tinig

The Grade II class was in full swing; the pupils sang “Bahay Kubo” with all their might, their little voices shrill in the distance. Then I caught a deep baritone, his “sitaw, bataw, pataniiiiiiii” soaring well above all the other voices. Intrigued, I took a peek inside the classroom. And found three young Mangyan men in their 20s singing merrily along with their tiny classmates.

Education is slowly creeping into Mangyan land and it is normal to find 17 or 23-year-olds attending primary school. Never too late to get an education. In this same Grade II class, a mother is also enrolled, while her daughter is in the next room. In Grade III.

BAD TRIP 19: Bata bata...sana di ka na ginawa

The girl must be no more than 13. And yet a baby already clung to her, sucking on a breast hungrily. And she’s not the only one. Lots of other children her age in almost all the Mangyan villages I visited already have children, married just as soon as they start menstruating. Breeding the next generation of Mangyans, who will be as marginalized as the generations before them.

SIDE TRIP 43: Chained

I thought the roads in Samar were bad. Really bad. All potholes, no pavement. Aaaargh! The incumbent Congressman’s wife took a beating in the last elections because of them. (GMA then promptly installed him as BID Commissioner. What the f__k?!)

An American visitor once commented “I don’t see roads like these anymore, not even in Africa!” Of course I bristled at being compared to some God-forsaken little African nation ravaged by civil wars and where people die of hunger every day. Is the Philippines really worse off?

And then I took the San Jose to Roxas road on Mindoro island and discovered just what “bad road” really really meant. I was going to catch the RORO to Caticlan in Roxas and that entailed going over the mountains separating Occidental from Oriental Mindoro. And what an experience it was!

The road – if one can call it that – was fit only for carabaos: muddy, slippery, with deeply rutted tire tracks, leaving little room to maneuver. Forget about using your pretty little car; it won’t get past the first ten meters on that hellish stretch from Banban to Milagrosa. The jeepney was literally swimming on mud! I thought we were not going to make it.

But of course, Pinoy ingenuity will always prevail. The two rear tires of the jeepney were fitted with iron chains for more traction, and its front fender was equipped with “wings” -- a kind of pulley where one end of the cable is tied to a tree so it can pull the jeepney up. Wonderful.

Umm.. did I mention the Vice President of the Philippines comes from Mindoro? He obviously doesn’t take that road.

The "Wings" on the front fender:

SOUND TRIP 3: Call of Nature

The Mangyan “Mayor” was nowhere to be found when we went up their village in the mountains of Calintaan. (Their village is the gateway to the Mt. Iglit-Baco National Park, home of the tamaraw.) We were told he was out in his kaingin, usually a fair distance from home.

How to reach him? Simple. A Mangyan boy started shouting towards the direction of the kaingin, giving out the message that visitors are in the village waiting to see the “Mayor”. Pretty soon, we heard another Mangyan shouting on the other side of the mountain, presumably to relay the message he just heard.

An hour later, the beaming Mayor arrived. We asked how many “relay stations” it took for him to get the message. “Four”, he chuckled.

Beats text messaging anytime!


on a hanging bridge leading to the Mangyan village

FIRST TRIP 12: Tall Tales of Tails

Mangyans have tails, if ignorant lowlanders are to be believed. As a child from a neighboring island, I used to believe that too. Now, years later I got to finally meet them up close and personal. Not surprisingly without the tails people whispered about.

Mangyan is the generic name for the eight indigenous groups found in Mindoro island, each with its own tribal name, language, and set of customs. I will be working with these tribes in the next two to three years, in the hopes of making some improvements in their lives, particularly in the areas of education, health, and livelihood.

Tall order I say. But good luck to me. And them. ;p


Crossing rivers going to the Mangyan village









Mangyan house in the mountains








Tau-buid tribe

SIDE TRIP 42: Home is where the heart is

It’s like they transported a piece of Luneta all the way to Singapore. Lucky Plaza along Orchard Road on a Sunday is quite a sight. Teeming with OFWs on their day off, they practically take over the entire mall. Outrageous fashion sense prevails, each one trying to outdo the other.

On one side, I saw a group of women huddled on the floor, hiding behind an umbrella. When I took a peek, it was to find an enterprising Pinay peddling pancit to kababayans. At the Kabayan Fastfood on the third floor, long lines stretch all the way out the door, eager to gorge on adobo and sinigang. And lots of extra rice.

Next door, even longer lines lead to remittance centers. Sisters, mothers, fathers, brothers, tita, tito, anak… sending hard-earned money back home. To families who may not even have a full grasp of how hard it is to work abroad, away from loved ones.

But every Sunday, on Lucky Plaza, they reach out to each other, recreating a piece of home in a foreign land.

On a previous trip to Singapore, a Singaporean colleague once advised me: “Don’t go to Lucky Plaza on a Sunday; there will be too many people there!” But that’s exactly the point! That is why I would want to go there. Because there would be a lot of kababayans around.

BAD TRIP 18: SMification

It pains me to see grand old cities lose their character simply because Henry Sy put his one-size-fits-all stamp on them. It used to be that cities like Baguio and Iloilo had a charm all their own. Session Road and J. M. Basa St. were lined with charming old buildings and quaint little shops where one could find unique treasures that warmed the heart, mind… and stomach.

Not anymore.

I was in Iloilo the other day on J. M. Basa St. and was appalled by the sight of boarded up shops and seedy clubs in what used to be the liveliest strip of road in the entire city. Now it reeks of urban decay, shunned by people who now flocked to malls built outside the city.

Baguio is in a similar bind. Old haunts disappeared on Session Road, unable to compete with the monstrous SM mall up on the hill.

Now they're beginning to look like any other city on the planet. Aaaargh!!!

HEALTH TRIP 1: Knocked Out

The little gym I go to went belly up last week, a victim of economies of scale. Despite its lofty status as a monopoly – it being the only gym in this small Samar capital masquerading as a city – the numbers just didn’t pile up and the owner had the good sense to quit while he’s ahead.

But it’s bad news for me who has started to rely on sporadic trips to that gym to keep unwanted avoirdupois at bay. What to do? No choice but to hit the pavement at the boulevard along the beach and do an hour of brisk walking before going to work.

And it seems a lady gym mate had the same idea. This morning I found her on the boulevard, leading a pack of geriatrics, happily wiggling their fat asses to loud disco music.

And so life goes on….

BAD TRIP 17: Sloshed

My landlord is a drunk. A serial drunk. He usually stays drunk for two straight weeks, sometimes more. While at it, he doesn't bathe and stinks like hell. I wonder if he gets to eat at all in his drunken stupor.

He is a bachelor in his mid-30s but looks much older, and stays alone on the ground floor of the ancestral house he inherited from his parents. We, his boarders, occupy single rooms on the second floor. The rent he collects is his only source of income. Right now, we're down to two, at one thousand pesos apiece. I wonder how he survives on two thousand pesos a month.

I've stopped speculating on why he throws his life away like this. Perhaps it is his way of coping with loneliness and hopelessness, albeit temporarily. At the end of the two weeks, he shuts himself in his room and emerges a few days later, sober and meek as a lamb.

But in the meantime, I have to put up with his knocking on my door in the morning -- totally wasted and reeking of urine and puke -- asking for 20 pesos to buy cheap gin to get him through another day of self-induced coma.

One week down, one week to go.

(sigh)

HAPPY TRIP 13: Aftermath

The sun is out today in Eastern Samar, after weeks of heavy rains. Yehey! My room leaked, my things got soaked. I’ve got no shoes to wear, all of them soaking wet. The damp is killing me, made worse by the smell of decay.

But I have no right to complain; they’re just a minor irritation. A lot more people are worse off – their homes washed out by the floods, their livelihoods destroyed. People are getting sick from contaminated water. They don’t have food to eat, their crops gone. They get crumbs from handouts – two kilos of rice, one can of sardines, two packs of noodles – not even enough for one day. What about the months to come?

Still, people are resilient. Today, all of them are out, hanging clothes to dry, fixing their houses, sweeping away the debris. All done with a smile, thanking the Lord that the sun is out today.

BAD TRIP 16: Hasta la vista

Leaving is such a pain. I can never get used to seeing my little princess cry silently, tears rolling down her cheeks with nary a sound. Nor a whimper. Just those large, wet eyes looking at me with sorrow.

Even after two years of living like an OFW in my own country, leaving home after an oh-so-brief visit kills me every time. It breaks my heart to see her bravely fight off tears as she waves goodbye from the door, already counting the days till my next visit.

“Daddy, can we go back to Manila? Then we can always be together like we used to.” (We moved back to Aklan, my home province, two years ago.)

It’s not possible at this time, baby. Daddy's job is in Samar.

“E di mag-resign ka na lang po.”

(Sigh) I wish it were that simple, baby...

HAPPY TRIP 12: Unsnatched

Either it’s my lucky day or the pickpocket was incredibly stupid. Have you ever had your cellphone snatched and returned right back?

Saturday night on Ati-atihan weekend in Kalibo simply meant one thing – snake dancing at Magsaysay Park. Imagine a big square filled with people, all holding on to one another and doing the snake dance, with Presidential-wannabe Bayani Fernando belting Happy Days are Here Again and Roll Out the Barrell. It was fun, fun, FUN! Of course I was right in the middle of the melee, drenched with sweat, and swaying to the music like there was no tomorrow. Everyone was high, fueled in part by a healthy dose of San Miguel beer.

Just when everyone was in a frenzy, with people crushed against each other, I distinctly felt a hand brush my front pocket, right where my cellphone was kept! Alarmed, I immediately groped my pocket to check. The cellphone’s gone! Aaaaargh!

Good thing there was a lull in the music so the frenzied crowd stood still for a second. I yelled “Cellphone kooooo!!!” to no one in particular.

In a split second, a hand went up in front of me, holding my phone up, saying “O…”

What the f_ _k? I grabbed my phone just as the music resumed, and the guy was gone, lost in the boisterous crowd.

SIDE TRIP 41: Impeccably Imperfect

Is it possible that they first subtitled the movie in Chinese and then translated it back to English? For how else can one explain the strange fact that Wesley Snipes' “The Contractor” came out as "The Agreement Person" in its subtitles? Wahahaha!

There I was, bored to tears on the Cebu to Ormoc fastcraft, and trying to amuse myself by making up stories in my mind about my fellow passengers. It didn’t work. So I focused on the movie playing overhead instead.

The sound was bad and I could barely hear the dialogue. Good thing it had subtitles so I thought I could follow what was going on. Not so. The subtitles had very little resemblance to the spoken lines, the sentences mangled beyond recognition.

After ten minutes, I gave up. But not before I heard Wesley Snipes say “Are you OK?” and reading “How have you been?” on the subtitles.

Perfect.

SIDE TRIP 40: Reluctant Narcissus

Yup, that’s me perched on the toilet bowl.

I’m not doing anything gross, I swear; I just wanted to show you a fine example of interior design that should have made it to the cover of Architectural Digest.

The pic was taken in the bathroom of one of the guest rooms at the McArthur Park Beach Resort in Leyte. I think the designer must have been stoned at the time; otherwise, who would have thought of putting a full-length mirror on the door, facing the toilet bowl? I mean, why would I want to look at myself while in the throes of shitting??? Eww.

I could think of better things to look at.

HAPPY TRIP 11: Palanca wannabe

This is Chloe, my little princess. She is seven years old and in Grade 2. When she was five, she wrote several “books” that she said she’d sell so she could have money to buy a Gameboy (somewhere in the archives is a blog about it, heheh). Of course Daddy “bought” the books secretly and the gameboy was hers.

Earlier this evening, she was busy typing away on my laptop. When I checked 30 minutes later, it was to find a new story she wrote. Please bear with the proud Daddy but I just had to post it here:


Summerland
By: Chloe S. R. (December 27, 2007)


Somewhere in the United States of America, lived a little girl named Sarah. She was very kind and loving. Everyone in their town liked her. One day while she was in school, their teacher told them that summer is only one week away. All the students were talking about what they were going to do on summer. Sarah said she would go to her favorite place: Summerland. The night before summer, she dreamed that she was in Summerland. She and her parents would ride on the merry-go-round, buy cotton candy, and watch the clown perform his tricks. The next morning, Sarah went out of her room to wake her parents up. On her way, Sarah felt something in her nose and before she knew it…… ATCHOO! She had a bad cold and can barely stop sneezing. She told her parents and her parents told her that until she got better, she couldn’t go to Summerland. She was very, very sad. That night she had the same dream. She knew having the same dreams every night meant something, and she was going to find out what. After days of trying to find out she did not succeed. Then she asked both her parents to tell her what it meant. Her parents told her that she was having the same dreams because she was getting better. The next day, Sarah was very surprised. Her cold was gone! She told her parents and they were glad her cold was gone. The very next day they went to Summerland and had an enjoyable time.

THE END

BAD TRIP 15: Forty-something

I hate it that guys in their 20's who work out in the same gym as I do have such great bodies, even if they don’t work out as much as I do. They’re young, I tell myself glumly. Their muscles develop faster while mine remains a puny lump. I kill myself on the treadmill and yet these stupid flabs on my belly wouldn’t go away. Aaaargh! I wish I could trade-in this forty-year-old carcass for a newer model, wahehehe.

Then I hear these youngsters whine incessantly about everything: school, parents, money (mainly lack thereof), and a whole lot of other miseries, real or imagined, and I smile. Ey guys, been there, done that. Don’t wanna go back to when I was an insecure twenty-year-old dork.

Blame it on a society that puts premium on youth -- and people will do crazy things to try and halt the advancing years. But what's wrong with being in my middle years, I ask myself. I have a good job, great friends and, more importantly, a loving family and a whiz kid for a daughter… that’s more than what most people have. Age be damned! The trick is in finding what’s good and beautiful in your life as it is now.

HAPPY TRIP 10: Tickled Pink

My heart leapt when I opened Fence’s blog this morning and found this:



Waw, I am preening like a peacock. Can’t help it. Can’t stop smiling. From ear to ear. :)

Fence is starting what he calls Link Worthy Blogs where he will be featuring blogs that fit his idea of the “lofty and the beautiful” hehehehe. For the inaugural, I’m “it”. Tenks bai!

And yes, Fence, being featured is a reward in itself.

-----------------

Here’s the full text (sorry, I am a techno-retard and don’t know how to do hyperlinks heheh):

Link Worthy Blog #1 - Miki Monster
at Wednesday, December 12, 2007

You don't have to finish the entire jar of jam to know if it is good. A slight finger dip and a quick slurp will do. And so it is with Miki's blog. He had me with his wiggling butt. Kidding. Miki writes in the exact way that I believe things should be written. Light, engaging, and with a steady hint of humor.

Anyone can write ornate sentences. And sadly, a lot of folks mistakingly believe that using flowery words will help their causes. Nothing exposes a sentence's insecurities more than when the writer hides behind big words. Simplicity, in my opinion is still the biggest gauge of a person's mastery of a language. Something that I think Miki has in spades.

Ever wondered why it's so easy reading Miki? How your eyes glide effortlessly from one word to the next? That's simplicity at play right there.

BAD TRIP 14: University of Life

someone was “sourgraping” (his term) at an egroup that the passport to opportunities is still “the baccalaureate” degree, even if there are a lot of people who have been successful without it.
then again, he says, there are thousands of people with degrees but remain hidden in uninspiring woodwork.



while we know education is important
has the emphasis on educational status become superficial?

till now, i've been putting off getting that masters
in my line of work, initials after one's name don't really mean that much
so i keep procrastinating

my previous bisor was a college undergrad
but he was a brilliant man nonetheless
i had a colleague who was trained at AIM
but he sure couldn't cut it in the field

then again, i had a boss who had a PhD
and 20 years worth of work on the ground
and he is fantastic! -- merging theory and practice in a seemingly seamless thread

learning doesn't only happen in schools
it is a big part of one's education, yes
but that doesn't sum up everything that we know in life

life has always been about complexity, uncertainty, change...
what’s true yesterday may not be so today
so we learn from our experiences
and use that new knowledge (from experience) to improve ways of
working and living…

FIRST TRIP 11: Celeb-Me-Not 2

It was my first time to be interviewed on TV (for a TV Gala aired live via satellite in Sweden) and it wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience. I was nervous. My face froze. My mouth was dry. I didn’t know how to smile. Someone told me later I swung my legs to and fro during the entire ordeal.

With three cameras smack in my face, I was terribly self-conscious, thinking about all those Swedes watching me in their homes thousands of miles away. It didn’t help that I also had to worry about what I was going to say, in exactly two minutes, and not a second more.

Aaaaargh!!!

I’m not cut out to be a TV star.



Me on the monitor during rehearsals

HAPPY TRIP 9: Celeb-Me-Not

She pulled up the hem of her cotton dress and wiped her sweaty face. Then she briefly ran her fingers through her hair, folded her palms in front of her washboard abs, and said to the cameraman: “I’m ready!”

Meet Agneta Sjödin.

Agneta Sjödin who?

Agneta is a top Swedish presenter and TV personality on the Swedish television channel TV4. She is the host of the popular show “Let’s Dance”, the Swedish version of “Dancing with the Stars”. And she’s the most uncelebrity-like celebrity I’ve ever met.

Agneta was with us in Samar last week to host the Philippine leg of a TV gala over the weekend. Along with a cameraman, she went to remote barangays to shoot stories of community projects that will then be featured during the live telecast, via satellite, in Sweden. It was a joy to see her lugging a heavy tripod, helping the cameraman set up his equipment, and then face the camera sans makeup. No airs whatsoever.

I was imagining Korina Sanchez doing that. And promptly gagged.

SIDE TRIP 39: Colors and textures

I wonder why they have to design airports to be so cold and impersonal these days. I was at the spanking new Suvarnabhumi Airport in Bangkok last week and found the place to be unwelcoming despite, or perhaps because of, its sleek glass and steel ensemble. Even its cold metal chairs do not invite people to stay long. It’s as if they want you to be out of there fast, processed and dispatched as quickly as possible. The same is true with the Hong Kong Airport and to some extent, the Centennial Airport Terminal 2 in Manila. Gone are the places that make you want to stay a little bit more. The last remaining dinosaur is the Changi Airport in Singapore that exudes warmth and a welcoming air -- with its soft lights, carpeted floors, and a profusion of colorful blooms.

(As an aside, the Thai Army overthrew the Thaksin government in 2006, using the allegedly shoddy construction of the Suvarnabhumi Airport as one of the justifications for its coup.)

Hong Kong and Manila Centennial Airports







Changi Airport


But I must admit to being pleasantly surprised upon walking out of the Suvarnabhumi terminal to find that I was going to be riding a pink taxi going into the city! As in, hot pink! Aaaaargh!!!

Only in Bangkok.

SOUND TRIP 2: Gugmang Giatay

Someone asked in an egroup what the title of this song is:

Oh my God,
Unsa kining gibati ko
I love my teacher,
Yes I do
Ang dughan ko daw mobuto
Mam,
Kung mosuwat ka sa blackboard
Ang akong gihuna-huna
Ang dagway mo nga matahom
h

First time I learned there was such a song
(apparently by Max Surban?)
But it struck a chord from deep within me

You see, my first ever crush was my second year high school math teacher
Her name was Miss Gladys Salido
She was soooo pretty and smart
And she was ambidextrous!
When she’s tired writing on the board with her right hand, she’d switch with her left hand
And the handwriting was the same!
Amazing.

From then on, I practiced writing with both my left and right hands.

Gugmang giatay
Bwehehehe

TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE 1: Crappy Writings

I squirm in acute embarrassment every time I reread stuff I wrote years back. Ganun ba talaga ako magsulat noon? Like a silly dumbass, bwehehehe.

Browsing through old files, I came across this one, written 20 years ago (in June 1987) and published in our company newsletter:


KASIBU: Fascination and Regret

After what seemed to me an endless stretch of drab, dry plains, my first glimpse of Nueva Vizcaya left me almost breathless. Having lived in a town where the sea is practically backdoor, I was a bit intimidated by the grandeur of great mounds of earth soaring to incredible heights. The gracefully zigzagging highway cut along the mountainsides nearly killed me, though: the car turns to the right and I slip sideways to the left; it turns to the left and I’m slammed right back to where I originally sat. For more than an hour and a half, I slipped from side to side until I thought the seat’s gonna rub me out altogether.

But if the highway’s a less-than-pleasant experience, the road to Kasibu town is definitely a driver’s nightmare. The one-lane trail undulates like a starving colon, shoots up 60 degrees to the sky, and snakes along the treacherous mountainsides where a slight miscalculation will send you hurtling several thousand feet down, face to face with St. Peter. We crossed so many streams I lost count, and the ride’s so bumpy I was positive my behind’s going to stay purple for at least a week! It didn’t rain for two days, fortunately, or we’d have plodded along at a snail’s pace the way that road reportedly turns marshmallow during heavy rains.

Kasibu itself is a rather sleepy town set on gently sloping terrain with lush vegetation all around. A sprinkling of cattle graze idly on the mountainsides, giving us the illusion of trampling along Marlboro Country. This was miserably shattered, though, by the realization that it was undoubtedly kalabasa country through and through. Stretches of squash plantations occupy the valley with a sprinkling of rice fields and some corn.

It is sad to note, however, that for such a lovely place it is rapidly losing its mantle of plant life. The once verdant hills that housed all sorts of animal life are now tragically bald, its beauty diminished. A native spoke longingly of how it was only a few years ago: trees abound in the area, sheltering deer and wild boars. Hunting grounds were plentiful. Then came the logging concessions. Trees were felled right and left. Nothing was planted in their place, or if there were, these were burned to the ground by the kaingeros who dig in after the loggers moved. They cleared the area and planted it with squash. After perhaps two croppings, the land is no longer as fertile as before so they move on to other areas and replicate their operations, leaving behind a trail of waste and unproductiveness. Stripped mountains stand mute: helpless witnesses to the wanton destruction of their protective covering.

When are people ever going to learn? With the reckless destruction of our forests, severe drought hits large farming areas during the dry season. When the rainy season comes, destructive floods sweep across the same areas, causing millions of pesos worth of damage to crops and properties. Soil erosion takes its toll, turning thousands of hectares of over-grazed pastures into barren land. Nutrient-laden topsoil on which plants grow are washed away, leaving the area an unproductive waste. Sedimentation of lakes and rivers follow, for much of the sediment comes from denuded mountains and hills.

What will we have then? What can we leave our children and our children’s children? Answers to these questions lie ahead in the future. Whether or not our organization can help shape favorable answers is yet to be seen.

FIRST TRIP 10: One Year Old/Older...

I think this is the first picture taken of me
At least, the earliest surviving pic
This was taken on my first birthday

I'm going to notch another year in a few days' time
Happy birthday to me, wahehehe

ART TRIP 12: Like Father Like Daughter

I’d been drawing since I was a little boy. We lived on a beachfront house and during low tide, the endless stretch of fine sand was my canvas. I also consumed tons of paper on which I drew faces and superheroes and monsters. But I never had any of my early artworks framed. Guess my mother considered it too expensive.

So when my seven-year-old little princess presented me with one of her “masterpieces”, I had it framed. It now hangs proudly in my office. Perhaps I’ll give it back to her much much later… as a wedding gift, hehehehe.

Here it is:

FOOD TRIP 6: Grossed out

I went to a public school at age five, straight to Grade 1 without passing through kindergarten. To this day, I never forgot one of Mrs. Bolivar’s practical lessons: she would invite students to come in front, give them biscuits, and let them demonstrate properly how to chew with their mouths closed.

This afternoon at a fastfood joint, I watched in horror as a well-dressed lady proceeded to chomp on her burgers like a pig, mouth and teeth bared, bits of beef patty mixed with saliva flying out her mouth.

Gross!

FIRST TRIP 9: Senior Citizen

I don’t know why women cry at weddings. I get it when they cry at funerals which are hardly celebratory. But weddings? They’re tears of joy, I’m sure, at seeing two lovely people pledge, for better or worse, to stay together through sickness and health, thick and thin, and lovers’ spats over who gets the remote control after 9pm, bwehehehehe.

I’d just been to a wedding where I notched a first: I became ninong for the very first time. Aaaaaargh!!!! I take it to mean I now reek of naphthalene balls and it’s going to be downhill from hereon. I can see myself more and more in the company of geriatrics, swapping small talk about which adult diaper brand is better.

Eww.

SIDE TRIP 38: How Much of the Philippines Have You Visited?

My Lakbayan grade is B+!

How much of the Philippines have you visited? Find out at Lakbayan!

Created by Eugene Villar.


The places in blue are those I had been to. The shade becomes darker for places where I spend /spent more time.

SIDE TRIP 37: Bangladesh He-Men

Michael Jackson must have been a Bangladeshi in a past life. Remember his trademark crotch grab? Well, Bangladeshi men do it all the time. They frequently hold their crotches over their skirts. You'd be surpised to know men wear skirts in Bangladesh. Not skirts really but lungi, their version of the malong. Instead of pants, they drape the lungi around their waists and presto! they’re ready to go. I was told they don’t normally wear briefs under that piece of cloth so I guess it makes sense that they want to be reassured all the time that their birds haven’t flown the coop.

It is also not uncommon to see two Bangladeshi men hold hands while walking in the mall. How sweet. I guess it takes a lot of confidence to do that unselfconsciously (and wear the damned skirts at the same time!).

But what floored me was the sight of a Bangladeshi man urinating: he squats like a female does! Well, you try wearing that damned skirt and I guess you’ll see why; you’d squat, too, or you’ll pee all over yourself hehehehe.

Come to think of it, since most Bangladeshi men go around naked under that skirt all the time…. and grabs and rubs and scratches their crotches all the time, ready to shoot…. does it have a direct bearing with being one of the most populous countries in the world? Their land area is only half the size of the Philippines but their total population is twice ours. That’s 150 million Bangladeshis! Yay.

HAPPY TRIP 8: Upakan ko manliligaw sa kanya

The little princess turned seven last April 16. When asked how it felt to be 7, she quipped: “I feel old!”

Am I raising a Calvin or what?



Scenes from a birthday party:

BAD TRIP 13: Lost for Words

“Next time, please limit your reports to 750 words.”

That’s the big boss talking, laying down the law. And that goes down the line.

It means that each of the five municipal teams in my command will have to submit to me reports not exceeding 750 words, which I then have to condense into 750 words to submit to the big boss. He, in turn, will have to condense 10 such provincial reports into a country-wide report of 750 words, to be submitted to his boss in the Asia regional office.

And with so many activities and outcomes to report, it’s not easy. Normally we want to cover all angles, resulting to reports exceeding 2,000 words at the minimum!

But in this day and age where people barely have time to read, long narratives are out. As the big boss likes to say, “if you can’t say it in one page, it’s probably not worth it!”

Writing is hard, even for writers who do it all the time. Most times it is difficult to maintain cleanliness, accuracy, and brevity in our writings. But I’ve always found it effective to write in a way that comes naturally, omitting needless words along the way.

Takes practice, I guess.

HAPPY TRIP 7: A Letter Straight Out of Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends

Dear Family,

I’m almost there. A few more days to wait. Speaking of days, how are you? How is little Gabriela? When you read this letter and you want to send me an answer, I want you to tell me every detail of your life there, OK? Ha ha ha ha! So how are Gabriela, Budoy and Clara? Are they behaving and not crying anymore even though I am not there? Are they? Is Angel in college now? Mother, Father please take care of my four siblings even though it’s hard for you. Please do everything you can for them.

Love,

Sister Chloe

That was written by my six-year-old little princess for her imaginary family. Waaaah!!!!

BAD TRIP 12: Of Dogs and Taxes (or, Taxes Going to the Dogs!)

I never owned a dog; I didn’t want the responsibility that went with owning one. Too much bother, I thought.

When I began living on my own I kept my stuff to the barest minimum, not wanting to be saddled with properties I’d have trouble disposing of later on when I move from place to place.

Then I found myself owning a six-hectare spread out in the boondocks, courtesy of grandparents who had the foresight of buying up properties in the old days. And with it came real property taxes. That I discovered I had to pay. Every single fucking year. Aaaaargh!!!!

In the first place, I have no confidence in this government’s capacity to use my hard-earned money with a semblance of prudence (think of fat-assed trapos) so imagine my consternation to be told I had to pay double the real property tax! The times two is supposed to go to the SEF. Special Education Fund. What bullshit is this?

Apparently, the SEF will be released to the local school boards to be allocated for the operation and maintenance of public schools, construction and repair of school buildings, facilities and equipment, educational research, purchase of books and periodicals, and sports development.

One look at the sorry state of our public schools and it tells you loud and clear where the money went.

Wanna kill that politico who stole my money!

HAPPY TRIP 7: Raising Miss Smartypants

My six-year-old little princess got hold of a Dave Barry book. After two minutes she asked: “Daddy, what’s ‘venereal disease’?”

Another five minutes passed and she went: “Daddy, what’s ‘loin of passion’?”

Aaaargh!!! Drop that trash, kid!

Whatever happened to Snow White and the Seven Fucking Dwarfs?

***

Watching Starstruck on TV the other night, she snapped disdainfully: “You call THAT a dance?”

And that was said with matching kilay tu tawsan.

***

Watching Starstruck again the following night, I preempted her by hastily remarking: “You call THAT a song? Er… You call THAT singing?”

“The second one is correct, Daddy” she deadpanned.

***

For Christmas, she wanted a Polly-Pocket-doll-on-a-limo more than anything else. When she got it on Christmas morning, she went up to us and said seriously: “I don’t know how to thank you…. really!”

***

To be continued…

BAD TRIP 11: Out of the mouths of babes....

My six-year-old niece went up to me and asked: “Tito Miki, ano ang trabaho mo?”

I was stumped. How do you explain to a six-year-old that I am in fact in community development work? If I had been a doctor, lawyer, engineer, or teacher, things would have been simpler.

Caught unprepared, I mumbled rather vaguely: “Ah, kuwan… tumutulong ako sa mga mahihirap!”

Bwelta ang bolinggit: “Bakit?”

Ako: “Para gumanda ang buhay nila. Para sila yumaman.”

Bolinggit: “Eh bakit ikaw, hindi?”

Oo nga naman.

SOUND TRIP 1: Wala lang. Trip ko lang i-cheer up sarili ko

Fallin' out, fallin' in
Nothings sure in this world, no no
Breaking down, breaking in
Never knowing what lies ahead
We can really never tell it all, no no

Say goodbye, say hello
To a lover or friend
Sometimes we could never understand
Why some things begin with just love
We can never have it all
No no no ohh

But oh, can't you see
That no matter what happens
Life goes on and on
And so baby just smile
Cause I'm always around you
And I'll make you see
How beautiful life is
For you and me

Take a little time baby
See the butterfly's colors
Listen to the birds
That were sent to sing
For me and you
Can you feel me?
This is such a wonderful place to me

Even if there is pain now
Everything will be alright
For as long as the world still turns
There will be night and day
Can you hear me?
There's a rainbow always
After the rain

from the song "Rainbow" by South Border

FOOD TRIP 5: Oh-wee-shee!!!

We were bone-weary and hungry, just in from a day in the mountains hunting randomly selected respondents for the baseline research. My crew of interviewers consisted of fresh graduates -- quite a jolly bunch of kids with social science background and determined to make this world a better place. We’re spending the night at the barangay health station. Beggars can’t be choosers, needless to say, but at least we will be protected from the biting cold.

Now, what to do for food? We had consumed our baon the last three days. We still had rice and that’s OK. Somebody brought in a big squash given by one of the families interviewed. Only problem was, we did not have anything to mix with it. No meat, no fish, not even a can of sardines.

Solution: Oishi. Oishi??! Yes, a small pack of Oishi Prawn Crackers one kid had on her backpack. And believe you me, the kalabasa con oishi never tasted better!!! It was soooo good we were sweating like horses after the meal.

Now I think about it, that toasted-light-snack-with-a-delicious-blend of-prawns junk had lots of MSG, iodized salt, spices, vegetable oil, garlic powder, and a whole lot of other carcinogens. No wonder the kalabasa dish was so flavorful.

Try it.

SIDE TRIP 36: Skimming in Samar

The kid stands on the beach -- a short running distance from the point of entry into the water – skimboard in hand and waits for a wave. As white wash from the previous wave recedes and a wave suitable for skimming approaches, he runs towards the water. Upon reaching a sandy area with a thin film of water, he drops the board on the water and runs onto it. Several other kids take off after him, sliding gracefully on their skimboards across the water. Sheer poetry in motion!

Right now I am simply a spectator, too afraid to fall flat on my ass and make a fool of myself, nyahahaha! But I’m going to try it if it kills me. At least it’ll give the locals some amusement to watch a middle-aged dork huff and puff on the waves, heheh.

(Just one of the perks of working outside Manila -- the beach is right across the office!)

BAD TRIP 9: Hot Air

Strange how a mere six hours can push the price up by two thousand pesos. I was booking round-trip tickets for the wifey and the little princess at cebupacificair.com and I couldn’t figure out the significance of that six hours. If they take the 3pm flight, it’ll cost me Php 7,000 but if they take the 9am flight on the same day, then I’ll have to pay Php9,000! What the…!!?

Another thing I hate about it is the way they price one-way seats at Php 99 (yipeee!!!) but demand Php2,000++ to include surcharges and taxes. Why not say the price is really Php 2,000 outright?

But still I am thankful to Cebu Pacific for making air travel affordable even if I have to endure silly inflight games (bring me whatever!) and agonizing check-in procedures (long lines stretch forever!).

BAD TRIP 8: From a Weary Window I Wept...

The last tricycle passed five minutes ago. Nothing else has passed since then…

Time passes ever so slowly in places like Eastern Samar, where the ticking of the clock is almost obscene. People are never in a hurry to do anything, seemingly content to go through life on all fours, crawling along at a snail’s pace.

It pains me to see so much poverty in one place… so widespread it slaps you in the face. And this is happening amidst so much bounty – seas teeming with marine life and fertile lands begging to be tilled. Yet most of the people are dirt-poor… living in dilapidated nipa huts, sitting about on the front porch all day, idly watching life pass them by.

Perhaps that is why they prefer to just grow coconuts – they just wait to harvest the nuts, allowing plenty of time to sit on the front porch.

(Sigh)

HAPPY TRIP 6: While I was sleeping (I got published!)

I didn't even know about it
Not until fellow bisayablogger Kendi told me
But I actually got published in Sunstar Weekend -Cebu
(it was my Food Trip 4: Pista sa Baryo post)

Daghang salamat, whoever you are :)

HAPPY TRIP 5: Kendi

Daghang salamat Kends!
You're an angel.

BAD TRIP 7: To Kill a MockingCat

Two stray cats recently decided to make our kitchen their private toilet. And I tell you, nothing stinks worse than cat shit. Aaaargh!!!

Now I dread going to the kitchen in the morning, not wanting to be assaulted by the foulest smelling piece of poop there is. We have tried shooing them away but they still go back every single night. They just stare at us with their yellow eyes and slither away disdainfully to be back later in the night.

How do you liquidate a cat painlessly and swiftly? Or at least, make them go away.

I am serious.

FOOD TRIP 4: Pista sa Baryo

Guess I’d been a city rat too long. I made the mistake of pigging out at the first house we went to and didn’t have room anymore for more food and lots more food on the second and third houses. Aaaargh! Welcome to the pinoy fiesta, the ultimate show of celebration and lavishness.

I am currently working in one of the most impoverished provinces in the country (think of rows and rows of old, dilapidated nipa houses everywhere!) and yet today, this remote fishing village looks like a washed-up whore in full garish make-up. Banderitas and streamers and flags all compete for color, along with deafening sound systems and drum and bugle corps and fireworks. And the food… wow, you wouldn’t think majority of the people in the village actually go hungry the rest of the year!

People here certainly take their fiesta seriously. Balikbayans sporting blond hair and dripping with outsize jewels come home specifically for the occasion. Long lines of hungry visitors lead to the Hermana Mayor’s house who have to feed everyone! And I mean anyone who comes through their door! And this lasts for three days minimum! I wonder how much they actually spend for the entire circus.

And how much debt they rack up.


Mawawala ba ang lechon?

SIDE TRIP 35: For whom the bell tolls

A few years back, ask me where Balangiga is and you would most probably get a blank look. But a hundred years ago, this little-known coastal town in Eastern Samar was the site of one the United States’ worst single defeats in its entire history. In one of the bravest maneuvers in the Philippine-American War in the early 1900s, Balangiga guerillas armed only with bolos attacked the garrison and killed more than 50 of the 78 American soldiers stationed there. The church bells were used to signal the start of the attack which has since been dubbed the “Balangiga Massacre”.

Of course the real massacre was not the attack itself but the subsequent brutal retaliation by American troops that resulted in the killing of thousands of Filipinos in Samar. Perhaps one of the most famous quotes in war history was the order by an American general to “Kill everyone over ten!” The same general was said to have ordered his men “I want no prisoners. I wish you to kill and burn; the more you kill and burn the better it will please me.”

After the burning of Samar, the American soldiers took the bells from the Church and brought them back to the US as war trophy. To this day, the Balangiga Bells remain at Warren Air Force Base in Wyoming. The calls for their return to the Philippines have fallen largely on deaf ears.

Today Balangiga town is as sleepy as it must have been a hundred years back. Decrepit nipa houses line the river bank, mute testaments to the poverty that is pervasive in the province. A huge covered court overshadows the monument in the plaza depicting the historic event. Other than that, a casual passerby will not have any inkling of the town’s significance in Philippine history.

SIDE TRIP 34: Beauty and Madness

Imelda, she of the infamous 3,000 pairs of shoes, once said: “People say I'm extravagant because I want to be surrounded by beauty. But tell me, who wants to be surrounded by garbage?”

Well, the Rose of Tacloban acts on her beliefs: the San Juanico Bridge is still the most beautiful bridge I’ve ever seen. The steel structure snakes gracefully high up over the San Juanico Strait (reputedly the narrowest in the world) and connects the provinces of Samar and Leyte. True, there’s some wear and tear here and there and it badly needs a fresh coat of paint but the grand old lady of bridges still commands awe when you’re riding on her curves.

A little over two kilometers long, the bridge is the longest in the country. When I first saw pictures of it as a boy, I was literally in awe. It seemed so big and majestic then. But when I finally crossed it as an adult, my first reaction upon reaching the other end was: “Ay, tapos na?”

Letdown notwithstanding, San Juanico Bridge is beautiful just the same. Like Imelda, who said on another occasion: “Filipinos want beauty. I have to look beautiful so that the poor Filipinos will have a star to look at from their slums.”

Aaaaargh!!!!


SAN JUANICO BRIDGE

HAPPY TRIP 4: Bohol

Nagsalubong kilay ko in exasperation when I found the door to BQ Mall in Tagbilaran blocked by people – all standing motionless – and I couldn’t get in. I was in a hurry because I was supposed to meet a friend and I was running late.

I was bewildered why people were standing still. They were not talking. They were not moving. I was getting more impatient every second that passed and they wouldn’t let me through.

And then I heard the Church bells ringing and realized it was six o’clock in the evening.

Angelus.

It is truly heartening to note that Bol-anons still pretty much retain traditional practices and beliefs despite the onslaught of modernism and tourism.

TAGBILARAN CATHEDRAL BQ MALL

BAD TRIP 6: Signs of the Times (in a small town in Aklan)

It is truly a sad thing when you go out to town to buy San Miguel beer and you can't find any. Not in the bigger stores, not in the small sari-sari ones. They don't sell SMB around here anymore. Bacause no one buys them. People can't afford them. They make do with Emperador and Gran Matador.

What was it you were saying about steady economic growth, madame President?

GUILT TRIP 6: Badass Momma (Bad ako)

The old lady was all dolled up: full garish make up, tight spaghetti-strapped blouse, low-waist jeans bursting at the seams, and killer stiletto heels. Hardly an image I would associate with a lola in her 60s.

Every single passenger looked her way when she boarded the jeepney. Napa-ubo ang manang sa tabi ko. Dedma si lola. Parang sinasabi: “Stare all you want. Inggit lang kayo kasi sexy ako!”

Pagbaba nya sa kanto, ako naman ang nasamid. Kasi pagtayo ni lola nang medyo naka-bend, bumaba ang low-waist na maong hanggang halos kalahati ng puwit nya. Waaaaah!!! Naka-T-back si lola!

Muntik na ako mahimatay.

ART TRIP 11: Daddy's Girl

at five years old, the little princess draws like a pro
(humor the doting Dad, please heheh)
her drawings are never flat
she always uses perspective
and strives to make them look three-dimensional
she knows about the concept of vanishing points, too
(in practice, if not in theory)

hmmm... it's going to be an artsy-fartsy summer

here's one of her works:

FIRST TRIP 8: Princess in the Tower

Over the weekend, the three of us (wifey, little princess, me) checked in at a hotel in Makati, taking advantage of a gift certificate a friend gave us. A good way to just laze around, we thought.

The five-year-old of course had definite ideas about the outing. Said she:

"Magre-relaks ako, manonood ng TV, at pipilitin wag ma-bore!!!" Nyahahahaha! :)

Makes perfect sense.

Oxford Suites Makati and the little princess

BAD TRIP 5: Walk da Talk

I’ve always wanted to go diving. Ever since I first tried snorkeling in Boracay and saw how beautiful it was underwater, I wanted more. I wanted to go further down... deeper… to swim with sharks and manta rays and giant sea turtles. I envied the tourists in their wetsuits who were sailing away in the horizon for their date with Nemo. And I promised myself I’d do the same in this lifetime.

What's more, I also wanted to dabble in photography, climb Mt. Banahaw, rappel from a 30-storey building, go hang gliding or bungee jumping, do whitewater rafting, and a hundred other different, exciting things.

But somehow, the humdrum of everyday life has a way of putting such plans on hold. There always seem to be a thousand other things to do first. I keep putting things off in favor of “more important” stuff like schedules and deadlines and reports and backlogs and using what little money I earn for practical things like milk and diapers and educational plans for the little princess.

But perhaps I am missing out on life.
I could die tomorrow.
Aaaargh!!!

PS: It's why I envy Jory. He just goes right out and does it.

I wanna swim with sharks....

FIRST TRIP 7: People Power

Someone asked me:
Where were you during the 1986 People Power revolution?

I was in Aklan working for an NGO
It was my second month as a Community Organizer
Working with poor farmers and fisherfolks
Towards community problem-solving on a self-reliant basis

It was my first job, fresh out of university
Wet behind the ears and struggling to make a difference

And I have been in community development work ever since
Couldn't believe it has been 20 years since!

Have I made any difference at all?
What made me stay on in development work?

I don't have ready answers
But I still wish I'd live to see the day
When people do something
Simply because it is the right thing
In pursuit of a common good.

EDSA 1986

ART TRIP 10: In Memoriam

Vincent Benjamin Kua Jr.
(died October 2005)

Idol.
Teacher.
Friend.


This is one of my practice drawings as a student at the Vincent Kua Komiks Studio Plus, with comments from Vincent.

More about Vincent: http://www.komikero.com/museum/vincentkua.html



Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
How you suffered for your sanity
How you tried to set them free
They would not listen they did not know how
Perhaps they'll listen now

FIRST TRIP 6: Ano ka, hilo?!

I don’t have fainting spells. I don’t faint at all. I almost fainted only once in my life. And it was all Lukring’s fault.

Lukring who?

The mother on TV’s Ober da Bakod, that’s who. And the actress who played her literally took my breath away. (And that was before she came to be known as Dugong!)

There I was, minding my own business, and happily learning how to ride a bike in Baguio when I found my way blocked by a slow-moving horse on whose rump Lukring was perched like a queen. She was actually at the tailend of a convoy of horses and I couldn’t overtake properly lest I get sideswiped by oncoming traffic.

The road snaked uphill towards Teacher’s Camp and, when an opening presented itself, I pedaled like crazy and overtook the horde of noisy vacationers that included Lukring. It was truly a valiant effort, I tell you. In my mad scramble to overtake them, I must have pulled a muscle in my thighs (they hurt like hell!) and my lungs were just about ready to burst!

When I reached the top of the hill, I was seeing stars! The pine trees seemed to spin all around my head and I was like falling, falling, falling. Toink! I fell on the ground like a sack of potatoes, just about ready to vomit. Aaaaargh!

I spun in outer space for like a full five minutes. And all the while, the convoy of horses passed one by one, wondering perhaps why I was sleeping on the muddy roadside.

Nahilo lang po.

Horseback riding in Baguio

Lukring turned Dugong (aka Malu de Guzman)

ART TRIP 9: Farewell to a Friend

Back in the 80s when leotards and tangas ruled and Gary Valenciano wore shoulder pads, my idol was neither a movie star nor a singer. His name was Vincent Benjamin Kua Jr. and he was a komiks scriptwriter and illustrator. I worshipped the ground that man walked on. I used to spend all my meager school allowance in komiks-for-rent stalls, eagerly awaiting each installment of his novels.

With works like Ad Infinitum, Cecilia’s Lullaby and Pokwang, I was turned into a rabid Vincent fan and a stalker of sorts. From Aklan I wrote him letters and literally jumped with joy when he wrote back. That started a budding friendship that went on for several years and culminated in his being my mentor in komiks scriptwriting and illustration through his VK Komiks Studio Plus.

We lost touch in the 90s when I moved to Baguio, then Cebu in the course of my work (komiks was simply a sideline for me then). When I went back to Manila ten years later, the komiks industry was dead and Counterstrike ruled. I tried renewing ties with him but he was nowhere to be found. Or perhaps I didn’t look hard enough.

Then yesterday, I stumbled onto another artist’s blog and learned in one of the entries that Vincent died of a stroke last October 2005. I was stunned. He was too young to die.

Farewell my friend. Rest in peace.

Some of my work published in Kilabot, Shocker and Fantasy Komiks:

FIRST TRIP 5: Ay, T! Part2

When promdis come to the big, wicked city, they are almost always the object of ridicule by supposedly more sophisticated city rats. So it is so much fun to turn the table around when our Manileno cousins come to visit Aklan for the summer. The ancestral house is in an island-barrio with no electricity and – to them – it’s like living in another planet.

One fine day, a horde of us were strolling with our cousins around the neighborhood when suddenly, Dwayne (a high school senior who was exiled by my aunt to Aklan due to early experimentation with drugs) started yelling “Sunooooog!!! Sunooooog!!!!” at the top of his lungs.

Alarmed, we asked him “Where???”

It turned out what he was seeing was the neighbor’s kitchen, thick smoke billowing out of its nipa roof. It was only Manang Lacion cooking with firewood, stupid!

Bahay Kubo sa Baryo

BAD TRIP 4: Like Animals

“They were exploited, manipulated and treated like animals.”

Harsh words from the Task Force, yes, but dead-on. Wowowee was making money out of poor people’s hopelessness and desperation; the least it could have done was to treat them fairly. I am angered at the way Willie mouthed platitudes like “it’s not about ratings anymore” when in fact it was to boost Wowowee’s ratings that they offered free tickets and raffle prizes to impoverished viewers who were reduced to pinning their hopes for a better life on a game show.

I was witness to ABS-CBN arrogance one time at the airport. Their crew had just come in and was taking their equipment out. They seemed to think they owned the place and were passing back and forth, unmindful of the fact that it was forbidden to use the exit as entrance. When the guard tried to block their way and direct them to another door, minura-mura nila na parang aso. Ang yayabang! Tagabuhat lang yun ng camera ha. Ano pa kaya yung nasa posisyon?

Grief at the Stampede


Willie (and ABS-CBN Executive) works it after the tragedy.
Nice smiles. aaaargh!!!


Tickets offered by show organizers to a sleepless and hungry throng for a chance at a piece of heaven led instead to hellish death

ART TRIP 8: Cambodian Fisherwoman

This is a sketch I did of a fisherwoman on The Great Lake -- the Tonle Sap. Welcome to Cambodia!

On the banks of the mighty Great Lake and the Tonle Sap and Mekong Rivers, Khmers have celebrated for over two hundred years the changing of the river's flow. During the rainy season the Tonle Sap River reversed direction, flooding the lake, increasing its size almost tenfold, making it the largest freshwater body in Southeast Asia.

In the flood season, water engulfs surrounding forests, regulating agricultural production by ensuring that the countryside is covered with fresh, fertile silt for rice cultivation. The rivers and lakes of Cambodia are truly the lifeline for the largely agrarian and fishing society.

The ancient temples of Angkor (think Lara Croft, the Tomb Raider, heheh) depict in exquisite basrelief detail how the life along the lake affected all walks of Khmer life.

SIDE TRIP 33: Syort Taym sa Davao

“Manong, kanang barato pero limpio!” was our urgent appeal to the taxi driver. I was with our pretty lady accountant, Nikki, on our first trip to Davao and we had no idea where to stay. Miki and Nikki. Cute no? Like Mickey and Minnie Mouse, heheh.

We both worked for a government corporation involved in livelihood development for the poverty sectors and we were in Davao to firm up projects with several NGOs doing microfinance work. But before we could do grand things like that (ha!), we had to find lodgings first. And the easiest way to do that we thought was to ask the taxi driver.

I guess I have to tell you that back then, per diem for lowly government employees on travel was insanely low. And that measly amount already included provisions for hotel accommodations. Certainly not enough if you chose to go solo. We always traveled in pairs -- male and female, one for financial audit and the other for operations audit. And so, to make ends meet, it became standard practice for partners to share a hotel room to save on costs.

And so it came to be that me and the pretty accountant were asking the taxi driver to bring us to any barato-pero-limpio hotel in downtown Davao. Usually, the ones regularly patronized by salesmen and medreps were OK and within our budget range.

“Kana!” we almost shouted to the driver when we passed by a small building with the sign “Family Pension Hotel” on its facade. We figured that with a name like that, it gotta be “safe”. But when we got inside the room, there was only one bed! Good thing it was queen size so Nikki and I decided to just share the bed and put a pillow in the middle to serve as demarcation line.

In the morning as we were going out to meet with an NGO representative, Nikki asked the front desk clerk if he could please put a trash can inside the room because there wasn’t anything to put our garbage in. The clerk was visibly puzzled. “Bakit Ma’am, mag-extend pa kayo???”

Waaaahhh!!! Pang-short time pala napasukan namin!!!

SIDE TRIP 32: Ati-ati sa Akean

Trust the Church to attach something religious to an otherwise pagan celebration. The original mardi gras-type festival in the Philippines was in fact an event to celebrate the sale of Panay Island to the Borneans. The original inhabitants of the island, the dark-skinned and kinky-haired Ati, bartered the island sometime in the 13^th century in exchange for a golden salakot.

To celebrate the sale, the fair-skinned Borneans smeared black soot all over their body so they will look like an Ati. Thus the Ati-atihan - meaning “to make like an Ati” – was born. Every year thereafter, the ritual of painting their bodies with black soot is repeated, along with the frenzy of uninhibited drinking and merrymaking. The Borneans eventually settled in the lowlands (of whom I am a descendant) while the naturally nomadic Atis retreated further inland, into the mountains where most of them remain to this day. (Sadly, now-called indigenous peoples, they are the object of shameless discrimination. But that is another story.)

When the Spaniards came, they very cleverly attached the feast of the Child Jesus into the Ati-ati (Akeanons refer to the revelry as Ati-ati, not Ati-atihan) and so today, you hear the lusty cheer of the more pagan “Hala bira! Puera pasma!” along with the more fervent “Viva el Senor Santo Nino! Viva!”

When I was younger, the Ati-ati was the only festival of its kind in the Philippines. Shiploads of tourists (mostly rich Negrenses) and Europeans flocked to Kalibo every third week of January. Pretty soon, every province it seemed has its own version. Iloilo came up with Dinagyang. Cebu followed suit with Sinulog. Capiz had Halaran while Antique had Binirayan. Negros went for Masskara. Baguio had Panagbenga. These days, streetdancing and festivals are a dime a dozen, with many more being born almost every year. The Filipino sure knows how to have fun.

Hala bira!

HAPPY TRIP 3: I Not Stupid

Over the last two Saturday nights, I’d chanced upon great viewing fare that was quite a relief from the usual landscape of formulaic and irritating shows on free TV. The long-standing network war between ABS-CBN and GMA has led to a kind of programming that verge on the ridiculous. Same formats, same lazy productions, same convoluted melodrama, same tired plots (or lack of it). Makes me want to bang their skulls and holler “Hello? Anybody home?” I not stupid!

Lately, I “discovered” ABC5 as a good viewing alternative. And that was only because I wanted at first to see how the Pinoy contestants are faring in the hit American reality TV shows Rockstar INXS (MiG Ayesa) and So You Think You Can Dance (Melody Lacayanga and Ryan Conferido). It gives me a nice feeling to see Pinoys showing the world what kind of terrific stuff we are made of. Last year, I also watched American Idol only because there were Pinoys competing.

Then two Saturdays ago, I accidentally caught a gem of a movie late at night. Surprise, surprise! It was a Singaporean film! Horrors, I thought. Not another bunch of buhaghag-free ladies fighting to be chief cook in the palace! Thankfully it was not! The little film was called “Chicken Rice War”, about two feuding families engaged in one-upmanship about who makes the best Chicken Rice dish. It had a lot to say about relationships and being our own man (or woman). Along the way, small everyday, ordinary things are tackled with great humor and care.

Last Saturday they showed another comedy, “I Not Stupid”, a well-crafted allegory for the social realities of modern-day Singapore. It poked fun on Singapore’s much-maligned “obedience” and how the push for over-achievement is affecting children negatively, including contemplating suicide in the face of “failure” in school.

These kinds of “small” films illustrate that shows need not be expensive and outlandish to be entertaining. Good scripts and dead-on acting carry them through. And they say a lot about the status quo without moralizing and resorting to a hard-sell approach.

My only complaint with the latter was a reference to “Filipino maids” in one of the dialogues. Then again, I guess being politically-correct is far from the Singaporean’s concept of what is correct behavior in their context.

CHICKEN RICE WAR and I NOT STUPID

ART TRIP 7: Amateur Photography

I like taking pictures
I don't have the right equipment
But that's OK

Here are some of them:

Nha Trang, Vietnam:
Beach resorts right in the city


Bali, Indonesia:
A Hindu temple beside a busy market


Bogor, Indonesia:
Garden of GG House, a back-to-nature resort


Laguna Lake, Philippines:
Huts on stilts in Lake Island Resort


Koh Kong, Cambodia:
River settlement in Koh Sralao


Galle, Sri Lanka:
Walled city jutting out to the Indian Ocean


Hoi An, Vietnam:
Buddhist Temple inside the World Heritage Site


Chennai, India:
Tenements for the poor

EGO TRIP 1: So You Think You Can Dance

Watching an American contestant dancing to Tagalog rap music on a major American TV show was a pleasant surprise. At first I thought I must be wrong but, hey, it really was Tagalog! And I didn't even know the song. And the contestant -- Jonnis -- was dancing for survival, fighting not to be voted out of the American Idol of dance - the reality TV show called "So You Think You Can Dance" currently being aired on ABC 5.

And if they're looking for the best dancer in America, can the Pinoys be far behind? Of course not. Two of the finalists, Ryan and Melody, are Fil-Ams. What's good is that they're both native-looking, heheh. Obviously offsprings of pure Pinoy immigrants to the land of milk and honey.

Ryan received the most accolades from the judges and the audience last night. A breakdancer, he wowed them all with a spirited performance of a dance he was not familiar with -- the mambo. Everyone was amused to see his usually punk look -- spiked hair and all -- transformed into a slick ballroom dancer. And what a performance!

And it was good to note that these two kids pretty much retained their Pinoyness. They're streetwise, sure, but nice kids still.


The Winning Mambo


Ryan da Breakdancer and with fellow Fil-Am finalist, Melody

ART TRIP 6: Totoy Bibo Miki

an artwork i did 20 years ago!

SIDE TRIP 31: Of Ebs and Flows

The toilet bowl in the room was squat-type. Darn. I didn't know they still manufactured models like that. Guess I am so used to sitting like a king when I have to move my ebs that my senses revolt at the idea of now having to squat on the toilet floor to do it. Welcome to Indonesia folks! We're actually having a workshop in Jakarta, the capital city, but the venue is a government training center and facilities are rather spartan. But the squatting-while-making-ebak stunt struck me as particularly hilarious and brought back a flood of memories.

When I was a little boy, we lived in a small island sorrounded by mangroves. While we had a flush-type toilet at home, it was more fun to drop our bombs while perched on piyapi trees sa katunggan at low tide. Boys will be boys, heheh. Of course the nanays gathering clams and shells were not amused at all.

When I was doing field work in the Cordillera, it was normal to have only dug pits as toilets. Basically, you dig a hole in the ground and cover it with wooden planks with a hole in the center. Around it for a little privacy is a waist-high covering made of used fertilizer sacks. When it is time for you to make ebak na, you look around a bit to see if there are people watching, drop your pants quickly and do your thing fast, otherwise large flies will start buzzing on your butt. Ew.

But it was really enlightening when we were doing community consultations in Camotes Islands in Cebu to establish baseline information. We had focused group discussions with children and when asked "Asa mo galibang?", the children chorused:

"Sa sagbutan!!!"

Right! :)

SIDE TRIP 30: Bangkok FLEaSH Market

Patpong is both a flea and a flesh market. The two short alleys stretching between Silom and Surawong Roads are easily Bangkok's best-known, most notorious nightlife area. From the main road, it will appear like it’s a row of tiangges but on each side of the stalls, the doors of the bars are wide open, giving one and all a good view of bikini-clad women gyrating on the ledge. Of course, bar work is only half the job. The real money comes from selling sex to tourists. (During the Vietnam War, American GIs flocked to Thailand for some R&R which they actually called I&I – intoxication and intercourse.)

Together with one Canadian lady and two Indonesian co-participants at the conference I attended, we explored Patpong 1 and Patpong 2 on the eve of Halloween. Never mind that we had a blonde bombshell with us, hustlers immediately went to work, flashing their laminated “menus” in our faces to lure us inside the bars, yelling “Lookee, lookee! Want see pussy show? Pussy smoke cigarette! Pussy open bottle! Pussy pingpong ball show!”

No amount of head-shaking and repeated “No! No!” can deter the hustler. “Lookee! Lookee! Pussy Write Letter. Snake Show. Eggplant Show. Banana, you see already?"

Aaaaargh!

Love it or hate it, few will forget their first trip to Patpong.

FIRST TRIP 4: She Works Hard for the Money

My five-year old little princess wants a gameboy more than anything else for Christmas. Her classmate had it and wouldn’t let her borrow it so she was determined to get one of her own. No amount of persuasion could dissuade her little heart’s desire:

Mommy: “Boy ka ba?”
Little Princess: “Hindi po. Girl po ako.”
Mommy: “E bakit mo gusto ng gameboy? Di ba pang-boy yun?”
Little Princess: “Meron naman po pink na gameboy eh!”

So off we went to SM to look at gameboys. She carefully eyed the tag price and knew it was beyond her usual “budget” for toys.

And so she devised a little plan to raise money. Over dinner a few nights ago, she announced she was going to make “books” and sell them to people so she can have the money. Daddy and Mommy would be her “agents”. She was so excited with her “idea” that she immediately put it into action, producing four little books made out of folded bond paper and stapled on one side.

She knew about diversifying her product line, too. She had a drawing book, a game book, and two story books priced at P20, P22, P25, and P26. I have no idea how she arrived at her pricing formula but there they were, boxed neatly on the cover. I am biased (heheh) but she sure does a mean layout and her story books are just great! She was able to condense Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella into two paragraphs each!

I was so proud of her I was almost tempted to give her the pink gameboy I bought on my last trip to Bangkok.

Then again, I think it would also do her good to believe she worked hard to have it and have something to really look forward to for Christmas.

Me, I look forward to seeing her face light up on Christmas Day.

SIDE TRIP 29: Pinoy Abroad... at ang Bolpen, BOW!

Funny how most Pinoys would readily tell their life stories to complete strangers - - especially to fellow Pinoys they meet abroad.

This morning on the plane to Bangkok, I was seated beside an amiable soul and within ten minutes, I had a pretty good idea of her short life so far. It appeared she fled a poverty-stricken life in Samar to work in a bar in wicked Manila (nothing new here), got herself a German boyfriend, and they planned to holiday in Thailand.

Last week, just as they bought their tickets, she got held up at knifepoint by some jerk in Orosa Street, taking all the money she had including her crispy new passport and a Nokia 6210. Waaah! Losing the money was OK (her boyfriend has lots of it) but she couldn't leave without the passport. So they had to go "under the table", she said, so she could be issued a new passport pronto.

Still, the documents couldn't be hustled fast enough so the dear boyfriend had to leave first without her and now she's travelling on her own (first time out of the country) to catch up with him to sip daiquiris on Pattaya beach, oh la la.

But first, she had to accomplish the Thai arrival and departure card prior to deplaning. She politely asked to borrow my pen and proceeded to fill up the form. Then she gasped, rather loudly: "Naku, sabi dito black bolpen dapat ang gamitin! E blue itong bolpen mo!"

That is news to me! In all the time that I'd been travelling, I have yet to encounter an immigration card that required black pens only.

When I looked at the card, it said: "Please write in BLOCK letters".

Uh, OK. :)

GUILT TRIP 5: When I Choose to be Suplado and Refuse to Hold Hands

I did not read Monday's papers so I did not know there was a small to-do on the issue about holding hands in Church while praying "Our Father".

I am among the few who refuse to hold hands and I hate it when I am made to feel like a leper for daring to break with "tradition". It is especially disconcerting when a manang looks at me askance, her hands outstretched and fully expecting me to hold hands in praising God. Then she gives me a dark look when I don’t take her hand.

While there is nothing wrong with the gesture, a priest in Cebu once told the congregation the symbolism is not appropriate for that part of the mass; it is only the priest who is supposed to raise his hands. Ever the pinoy uzi, one parishioner must have copied the gesture, grabbed someone else’s hand for a feeling of unity and voila! the handholding became vogue and standard practice. When I was younger, it was not done. Can't remember when people started doing it, though.

I am told there is in fact a "directive" from the Vatican saying such a gesture is not appropriate. That same priest in Happy Valley even mentioned the number of the supposed directive. And yet, priests and lay ministers at the altar are the first ones to hold hands. Everyone else follows. Except me. I clasp my hands, bow my head, and recite the prayer solemnly.

But I am being penalized for not following the others and holding hands. No one says a word, but I can feel the censure in their disapproving stares when I refuse to hold out my hands.

So be it.

ART TRIP 5: Komiks ulit

isa pang drowing ko dati sa shocker komiks

BAD TRIP 3: Daig DAW ng Maagap ang Masipag

Long lines stretched way back at the immigration counters in NAIA yesterday. I've just arrived from Colombo via Singapore. Flights from different parts of the world must have arrived almost at the same time. Tired and sleepy, I was in no mood to make small talk with fellow passengers. I just wanted to get out of there and be home in bed.

Just as I was nearing the immigration officer, a fifty-ish woman approached me from behind, all the way from the back of the line. “Meron bang ibang lines para sa Pinoy? Wala naman no?” she asked me with a big smile. To the others waiting in line, we must have appeared to be together. “Wala naman po”, I answered rather curtly because I already had an inkling what she was up to.

True enough, she didn’t leave my side and brazenly slipped in line, still talking to me like we were old friends. Kapal ng mukha. The foreigner behind me couldn’t do anything except frown. On the next line, three other Pinoys did the same trick, neatly overtaking foreigners who were queuing patiently.

Ha hay, bakit kaya marami sa pinoy ang hilig-hilig lumamang. Mahilig sa shortcut, sa instant. In other instances, it may be perceived as abilidad. Or even ingenuity. To me, it reeks of dishonesty. We complain about corruption and yet we do it in our own little ways.

GUILT TRIP 4: When Rules are Meant to be Broken

I don’t like boxing. I don’t like violence and suffering in general. I think it is barbaric to be entertained by watching people or animals in bloody warfare, much like the gladiators in the Colosseum. That is why I also don’t like cockfights, horsefights, or dogfights.

But yesterday was an exception. Like millions of other Filipinos, I was glued to the TV set watching Pacman demolish Velasquez. In style. In six rounds. And I was yelling like mad -- cursing Velasquez, grunting on every jab and punch, cheering the Pacman on. And when finally the referee stopped the fight on the 6th, I was hoarse from too much screaming.

I guess there will always be exceptions to the rule. My rules, anyway. I chide my friends who shoot birds for sport. I tell them they should only kill for food, not for amusement. Then I make a complete turn-around and try to kill the neighbor’s cats that make such a ruckus while screwing in the dead of night. Nothing enrages me more than a screaming cat in heat!

I curse the driver of the car that dared to cut in on us. Uneducated bastard, I yell at him silently. But when it’s our driver who did the cutting, I applaud (also silently), thanking him in my mind for gaining a car’s length while stuck in horrendous traffic.

I guess we do have the penchant to bend the rules a bit when it suits us. I always tell myself to be consistent in applying what I believe to be right. Walk the talk.

But then that is often better said than done.


MANNY "PACMAN" PACQUIAO TRIUMPHANT

ART TRIP 4: NUDE

Ask si Ghary kung meron daw ba ako nude na painting. Ito isa:

ART TRIP 3: Komiks pa rin

One of the cover illustrations I did for Fantasy Komiks back in the late 80s:

GUILT TRIP 3: NEGA

“E di yung pangit na mataba!” was my immediate answer when my wife asked me last night who should be the first to go in Pinoy Big Brother. Me and my big mouth. Napaka-pintasero ko raw, she said. Oo nga.

I guess for many of us, it is easy to find fault. I agree wholeheartedly when people say “if you have nothing good to say, keep your mouth shut” but somehow it is so difficult to do.

Last week I was at a workshop in Batangas where results of a baseline research across the country were presented. “87% of the respondents do not have savings” proclaimed one of the findings and that made us go “aaaaaargh!!!” collectively. On the surface, the statement looked innocent enough. A fair interpretation of tabulated data. Then it hit me that it focused on the weakness, rather than on strengths. Perhaps if it had been presented as “13% of the respondents have savings”, then it would have generated a better sense of something positive to build on.

For years, we have been so used to dwelling too much on the negatives. You hear mothers shouting at their kids “Ang tanga-tanga mo kasi!” until the poor kid believes he is indeed tanga. We even celebrate defeats like “The Fall of Bataan”.

It is said that the deepest principle of human nature is the craving to be appreciated. That is why I think Jessica Zafra is lying to her teeth when she proclaims “I have no desire whatsoever to be liked or admired. Try it; it’s liberating.” Yeah, right.

Say a good word to someone today.



WHO WILL BE EVICTED? Pinoy Big Brother

ART TRIP 2: Komiks

In the late '80s when Counterstrike was still a figment of someone's imagination and komiks ruled, I was a part-time scriptwriter and illustrator.

This is one of my illustrations for Shocker Komiks:

ART TRIP 1: Mother and Child

One of my early watercolors. Done 20 years ago (1985)!
That is also how long I have been using mikimOnster as an alias.

SIDE TRIP 28: Promdi in Hong Kong

Hong Kong is the only place I’ve been to in the region where I truly feel like an alien. I don’t know why. Must be all those Chinese characters and neon signs and tall skyscrapers and flyovers everywhere that make it difficult for me to tell where I am in relation to a landmark.

My hotel was in Kowloon and, of course, I wanted to go to Hong Kong island, too. It being my first time to go there, I thought hard about the mode of transport I would take. Subway or bus and ferry? Since the Jordan Station was just around the corner, I decided to take the subway.

It was during the early morning rush and people were rushing like mad, swiping their wallets on the turnstile to pass through. WALLETS??!!! Yes, they were using their wallets to get past the rotating bars! Hmmm.... I thought perhaps that was the general entrance and I had to buy my tickets inside.

So, I took out my wallet and placed it on top of the scanner like the others did. The bars did not move. Waaaah! What happened? Embarrassed, I made a quick turn around and observed how the others did it. The same thing. People were just placing their wallets on top of the scanner!

Take two. I waited till there were just a few people queuing and placed my wallet again on the turnstile. Still the bars would not move! Aaaaargh!!! Retreat! People were looking curiously at me. Waaaaah!!!

I turned back in embarrassment and walked to the other end of the station. And there I saw an automatic vendo machine that sold single-journey tickets that could be used like we do here at MRT. Yaiks.

It turned out those people had magnetic prepaid cards inside their wallets that allow them to pass through the gates on a touch and go basis. Aaaaargh!

Paita ning tagabukid oi.

MTR Station

SIDE TRIP 27: Killing Fields in Cambodia

I can't fathom the depths of evil people are actually capable of. The bloodstained metal beds with iron shackles, the chilling devices for torture, the faded black and white photographs of those who perished in the genocide - - men, women, children, infants.... thousands of them. They stare straight at the camera, blank expressions on their faces, knowing perhaps that they were going to be killed soon.

Welcome to Tuol Sleng, the detention and torture center full of crude cells and torture devices used to extract confessions in Stalinesque purges of the Khmer Rouge. As hundreds of thousands of Cambodians slowly starved in the rice fields where they were banished, a select number of political prisoners and their families met a terrible fate inside the interrogation center. Tuol sleng was then known as the "place where people go in but never come out". Of the nearly 20,000 people who were known to have entered, only 6 are known to have survived. After interrogation, the victims were taken away to the farming village of Choeung Ek, killed and then buried in mass graves.

Today, a glass stupa stands in the center of what ïs now known as the "Killing Field", housing some 8,000 skulls and bone fragments - - chilling testaments to the insanity of a devil named Pol Pot.

I'm never going back to these places. Once is enough.


TUOL SLENG
one of the shackled beds


one of the paintings done by a survivor


photo of one of the victims


KILLING FIELDS
skulls

SIDE TRIP 26: Hanoi, Vietnam

I still can't get over the fact that I am a millionaire in Vietnam. In fact, my side pockets bulge with 30 million Dong in hard currency! That's a lot of moolah.

Well, not a lot really. Considering that one dollar is equivalent to 15,000 Vietnam Dong. My 30 million is really only about 110,000 pesos --- budget for the one-day workshop I will be conducting tomorrow, heheh.

I am not an economist so I don't really understand the intricacies of how a particular currency's worth is pegged against the mighty US dollar. I thought it had a direct bearing on that country's economy but considering that the Japanese Yen is pegged at 112 to a US dollar while the peso is better off at 56, I am not so sure if that is a correct assumption.

One thing I am sure of, though, is that I am going to have a jolly good time counting my 30 million Dong. Aaaaaargh!!!

THE CITADEL IN HUE

SIDE TRIP 25: Seeing Red at the Airport

Will anyone doubt he likes RED?

Dumb question. From his reddish-blond hair, red polo shirt worn over white tees with large red prints, flaming red cargo shorts, red-lined white socks, red rubber shoes, and red Celine paper bags - -every inch of him screamed "eh sa gusto ko red eh, ano paki mo?!"

Syempre hindi lang yun. Naglabas ng cellphone, red din. Hindi lang isa kundi dalawa (yung isa official, yung pangalawa pang-uwag uwag, heheh). Bising-busy ang lola. Tawag dito, tawag doon. Ina-announce sa madlang pipol sa kabisayaan na sya ay parating na.

If there is one mental image that the snotty Tagalogs have of a bisayang baduy, this apparition in red fits the stereotype perfectly. He looks like a country rat who went to the big bad city and is now coming back to rural South and should therefore look the part of a sosyal Manilenyo.

Except that his idea of a hip fashionista meant... wag na lang. I have been unkind enough. Blame it on OA security checks at NAIA that make me see red.

SIDE TRIP 24: Barangay Naguey, Atok, Benguet

I am in the river at the foot of the mountain. A little boy – he can’t be more than five – struggles up the path carrying a sack of sand on his back. A few feet up the slope he begins to totter with his burden. He doggedly pushes on, resigned perhaps to the fact that he had to carry his load all the way up to the village. He’ll get fifty centavos for his sack of sand.

When I was five, I
had to drink milk
had to eat food I didn’t want
had to take vitamins
had to endure immunization
had to be sent to bed at eight
had to wake up early to go to school

I did not have to earn a living hauling sacks of sand.

SEX TRIP 2: UTEN-shun!

“Manang, nganong moutog ang uten?” I ask with a straight face.

They respond with choked laughter, covering their faces in acute embarrassment and poking each other in the ribs. “Hala, si ser oi!” one nanay admonishes me. “Ngano lagi?” I persist. Still no answer. More hysterical giggles.

Typical reaction, I guess. Bad enough that the word is even mentioned, it is worse when it’s a man doing the asking. And it does sound even more vulgar in the vernacular. Penis or vagina is OK, I think. Dili kaayo hilas paminawon. Bird, flower, pototoy, or pekpek would also be less jarring alternatives. But when uten or bilat is used, people squirm.

So I ask them to repeat after me: uten! uten! uten! uten! bilat! bilat! bilat! bilat!
Get used to it, ladies.

Teaching mothers in far-flung villages the Mucus-Ovulation method of natural family planning is fun. It is even more fun when I start monitoring their charts where they record their entire menstrual cycle -- when they menstruate, when are their “dry” days, when are the “wet” days, is the “white mens” sticky? slippery? stretchy? I monitor 120 mothers in six villages every freaking month. That’s a hundred twenty different bilats and mucus secretions!

They record their observations daily using appropriate symbols. When they have sexual intercourse, they record the event by drawing a heart on the chart. I can’t help but grin stupidly when I see three or four consecutive hearts. Puwa kaayog hasang! Utog bitaw, saunz. I tell them: “Samana manang, oi. I-every other day lang beh!” and they would just cover their faces and giggle wickedly. Be that as it may, we determine from the chart the “safe” days to do “it” if they don’t want to get pregnant.

Sadly, pushing family planning programs in this country remain a challenge, with artificial methods being opposed by the Church every inch of the way. So we continue making babies. And perpetuating that vicious cycle of poverty.

We know of course that rapid population growth alone cannot explain poverty. Poverty is a complex phenomenon and many factors are responsible for it. Bad governance, high wealth and income inequality, weak economic growth are among the more obvious causes.

And we go on and on and on, like that Energizer ad.
85 million Filipinos.
40% below the poverty line.

Aaaaargh!!!


Mucus (sticky or stretchy?) --> Girls get it!

SEX TRIP 1: Sex(t)y Million

I never thought making babies would be so difficult. You stick it in, you stick it out and ta-daaa! out comes the bebe nine months later. Simple, no? Well, not quite.

Five years ago, my wife and I had been married for three years already but without success in the baby department. We were getting impatient. Something must be wrong somewhere so we decided to consult a doctor.

(PLUG: Any of you here knows Dr. Sinco at Cebu Doc? See her if you want a baby.)

Anyway, she prescribed tests for both of us. My wife had hormonal imbalance, she proclaimed, and made her take little red pills. For my part, I had to have a sperm count! Aaaargh!!! Makaulaw!

So I set an appointment at Gillamac’s Clinic across Cebu Doc. I asked the nurse on the phone if I can just, er… you know, release the sperm at home and bring it to the clinic. After all, Happy Valley was just five minutes away. I was told no, the “collection” had to be done right at the clinic. Uh, OK.

The minute I entered the door, I had this crazy belief that all the people seated in the lobby were looking at me. ME! Because they knew what I was there for. Just a crazy thought.

I whispered my intentions to the nurse at the reception. Was that a smirk I saw for a fleeting second on her smug face? Hmmm. She gave me this small receptacle, similar to the black plastic tube for Kodak films, and instructed me to proceed to the toilet on the second floor.

When I climbed up the stairs, it seemed to me all the people in the lobby again followed me with their knowing eyes. They knew maglolo ko taud-taud! Aaaargh!

The toilet was none too clean, devoid of any visual stimulant, and hot as hell! But what the heck, I was there for one reason only and so I concentrated hard and worked my… er, you know what. That was one of my least pleasurable hand jobs ever but well, I was a man on a mission and determined to release those microscopic little devils into the plastic tube.

It was hard, pun not intended. Imagine, you are in the throes of an exquisite orgasm and yet you had to think about shooting that load into the little tube! With all the jerking and twisting, it was no mean feat. But I did it!

Sweaty and feeling weak in the knees, I went back to the nurse to hand over my loot. Again it seemed to me all the people in the lobby were staring and saying “We know what you did!” Ha! Inggit lang sila.


Postscript:

They counted 60 million daw! Whoa. To this day I still wonder how they are able to do that. It’s not as if you have grains to separate from the other. One sperm, two sperms, three… six… aaargh! But no matter. Upon Dr. Singco’s advice, we timed the sticking in and sticking out and came up with the little princess nine months later.

Proudly made in Cebu.

SIDE TRIP 23: Bokod, Benguet

Manang, saan ho pwede maligo? (Ma'am, where can I take a bath?)

Quite a simple question actually but somehow I got a complicated answer. I was doing field work in the Cordillera mountains and was traveling for a week from village to village. I should have known life in the mountains is never simple. Something as mundane as taking a bath may just turn out to be a lesson in ingenuity.

From the house, I was told to take the main road. After about a hundred meters, I was supposed to see a pipe connected to a natural spring. That's where I was supposed to take a bath. So off I went with a small towel, a bar of soap and a sachet of shampoo.

But when I reached the designated hundred meters, there was no pipe in sight. No spring either. The road was empty. No people out. No houses in sight. Then again, it wasn't really surprising to be told the nearest neighbor lived on the next hill. It's just the way things are in the uplands.

Then on the canal on the roadside, I noticed a small bamboo pole stuck on a small hole from where small drops of water flowed. Hmmm…this couldn't very well be the spring, could it? I looked around again, hoping to see free-flowing water. Nothing.

Uh, OK. This must be it. Beggars can't be choosers, I thought, so I might as well make the best of what's available. Fortunately, there was a small empty milk can nearby which I could use as tabo. So I took my clothes off, kept my briefs on, and did what needed to be done. It was difficult because there wasn't enough water and the can was so small but I managed somehow. The more challenging part was how to rinse the shampoo off.

The bamboo pole was set close to the ground, about one foot high, so I couldn't use it like a shower. There was no alternative then but to drop on my knees and position my head close to the tip of the bamboo out of which the water flowed.

So there I was -- in my wet white underwear, my ass sticking out, and bubbles clinging to my hair – when I heard the unmistakable sound of a bus (a BUS???) approaching around the corner! Yaiks!!! When I turned around to have a look, it was to find a whole busload of Igorots gaping at me with round eyes and open mouths as the bus passed by!

Later I was told the entire village was asking about the funny guy who was seen na nakatuwad while taking a bath on the roadside canal. Eww!

And yes, I found out later there was in fact a big pipe with plenty of water in that area but hidden from the road. I just did not see the small trail leading to it.

Waaaaah!!!

BOKOD, BENGUET

SIDE TRIP 22: Bora

I was born and raised near the sea. In fact, I think I learned to swim before I walked. So it was without hesitation that I swam back to a friend who was drowning ten yards from where I was. Those guys in Baywatch make lifesaving seem so cool. And so easy.

Naah… nothing can be farther from the truth.

My friend was Baguio born and bred. He had been to a beach only once before in his life and all he did that time was do doggie strokes on the shallowest spot. He never learned to swim. And so when he came with me to Boracay, he was content to stay in the shallows while I snorkeled on the corals. The water reached only up to my chest because I was standing on rocks to catch my breath in-between dives. But without the rocks, the seabed plunged deep.

And so it was with horror that I saw him thrashing in the water, valiantly trying to stay afloat, panic written all over his face. He must have tried to follow me and found himself on the deep part with no rocks to step on.

Aquaman to the rescue! Ta-daaa! I had a pretty good idea what to do, having seen lifeguards do it on TV many times. But when I reached him, he immediately grabbed me and held on fast, trapping my hands to my sides. He was sooo heavy and soon both of us began to sink! When he realized we were going under, he clamped his hands on my shoulders, pushing me further down.

So then he had his head above the water surface but I was down below drowning! Unable to escape his iron grip, I opened my eyes underwater and saw a rock about five feet away. Forget about David Hasselhoff-style rescue. I WALKED!!! And when I reached the rock, I hauled my ass up on it, with my dear friend still stuck to me like glue!

He wouldn’t let go of me no matter how hard I pled. And so we inched our way back to shore the same way, me walking under water and him riding on my shoulders! Aaaargh!

I swore next time I see a drowning man, I’m gonna knock him out first before doing a Hasselhoff!

BORACAY ISLAND: One of the Best Beaches in the World

SIDE TRIP 21: Lake Caliraya

“Take nothing but pictures
Kill nothing but time
Leave nothing but footprints
To show you came by”

When John Kay sang these words in “Nothing But”, he must have been thinking of some place like Caliraya. For truly, the lake is one of those freak man-made things that turned out almost a natural paradise. Experience has taught us that man is nature’s worst enemy. We have been exploiting, defacing, depleting, degrading the Earth without much regard for future generations. Lake Caliraya is one model I think by which development can co-exist harmoniously with the natural environment.

Built in the 1940s to supply water to the Caliraya Hydroelectric Plant, the lake sits 1,200 feet above sea level on the fringes of the Sierra Madre mountain range and is surrounded by lush forests. Today it remains one of the cleanest lakes in the country.

While swimming on the lake is discouraged, the Lagos del Sol resort where we went yesterday had a good-sized pool and several water sports to occupy your time. I wasn’t interested in them, though. The placid lake and the cool breeze made me want to curl up and sleep under the trees instead. And that’s just what I did. Aaaah, bliss!

LAGOS DEL SOL RESORT

GUILT TRIP 2: Sanggi

I couldn’t believe the actual cash income Manang Lagring earned for one year was only 240 pesos.

I asked her again in my broken Cebuano to make sure: “Manang, pila ang kwarta nga nadawat nimo sa miaging tuig?" The answer was the same. 240 pesos. It came from the sale of her chickens. How could anyone survive on 240 pesos a year?

The arid mountains of Moalboal, Cebu can be quite unforgiving for poor people like her - an old widow with an abandoned grandchild to feed. The dry rocky slopes barely hold enough topsoil to sustain the cornfields where she gets a share of the harvest as a manananggi. That meager portion of corn feeds her and her grandchild throughout the year, she says. She goes from cornfield to cornfield, hoping to sell her labor for a few kernels of corn.

It breaks my heart every time I encounter people like Manang Lagring. I couldn’t even imagine how she still gets to smile at me amiably while I conduct the interview for my research. In the end, I couldn’t even use her data because it skews the results. The few cases like hers get dropped from the total number of respondents as outliers and not representative of the general situation.

Oftentimes I stare at the cup of Starbucks coffee in my hand and think about the 240 pesos Manang Lagring earned for one year.

Makes me want to weep.


MOALBOAL MOUNTAINS

FOOD TRIP 3: Simple Pleasures

it was hot inside the packed bus
i could feel sweat forming under my armpits. aaaargh!
served me right for forgetting to pay the bill on time
now I had to go to meralco balintawak to do it.

one of the two men behind me was telling the other
about how he had to get an advance
at the factory where he worked
to tide him over the rest of the week

with the money he got, he said he bought a hamburger
“ang sarap-sarap ng hamburger, pare!
bumili nga ako ng isa pa eh!”
even if I couldn’t see his face
i knew he’s the most satisfied man at that moment.

i envied him.

often I eat at nice restaurants
and I don’t even notice what I eat

often, we take for granted
what others had to scrimp hard for.

GUILT TRIP 1: Magdalena

It's been a while since I last stepped inside a girlie bar. Perhaps the idea of ogling scantily-clad ladies lost their appeal after some time. Guess when you’ve seen one pekpek on parade, it doesn’t make much difference when a couple dozen more strut onstage. Your eyes become glazed with the same shapes and movements.

But last weekend in Baguio, my best friend didn’t have to ask me twice when he suggested we go to our old haunt, the Double O along Magsaysay Avenue. I hadn’t been inside the place in over three years but it seemed nothing much has changed since my last appearance. Even the DJ still spoke the same sing-song carabao English that only he seemed to fathom.

The ladies were doing their requisite gliding-on-the-catwalk routine when we came in. Wearing jologs dresses that barely covered their privates (I can’t imagine where on earth they buy those slutty dresses!), they made out like “models” with their twists and turns, while their eyes scoured the sea of bottles and drunken faces for potential customers.

Then the “show” began. First it was a fast disco number where the “model” absent-mindedly went through the motions of what passed for dancing. On the second song (a slow one this time), she started taking everything off, one piece at a time, until nothing is left.

Nothing. Except for a broken soul that stared at you relentlessly through vacant eyes.

FIRST TRIP 3: Daddy's Little Girl

My little princess goes to kindergarten
And every morning before I leave for the office
I walk with her to school a block away from home

The feel of her tiny fingers clasped in mine
As we dodge cars in the early morning rush
Gives me such a thrill and the adrenalin
to get me through the rest of the day.

I love these short "alone" times with her
She'd tell me stories of her days in class
Or she'd sing me a song she learned the day before
By the time we reach the school ten minutes later
I am always sad at having to let her go and be on my way.

(I dread the day she's going to ask me
If she can start having a boyfriend. Aaaaaaargh!!!!)

THE LITTLE PRINCESS

HAPPY TRIP 3: Tendjewberrymud

I liked this one so much I just had to post it. Reminded me quite clearly of my days in India and Sri Lanka.

You must read this aloud (for the full effect). Just say any unfamiliar words phonetically. It's amazing, you will understand what 'tendjewberrymud' means by the end of the conversation. This has been nominated for best email of 1999.

The following is a telephone conversation between a hotel guest and room-service, at a hotel in Asia. The call was recorded and later published in the Far East Economic Review. Here goes....

Room Service (RS): "Morny. Ruin sorbees"
Guest (G): "Sorry, I thought I dialed room-service"
RS: "Rye..Ruin sorbees..morny! Djewish to odor sunteen??"
G: "Uh..yes..I'd like some bacon and eggs"
RS: "Ow July den?"
G: "What??"
RS: "Ow July den?...pry, boy, pooch?"
G : "Oh, the eggs! How do I like them? Sorry, scrambled please."
RS: "Ow July dee bayhcem...crease?"
G: "Crisp will be fine."
RS : "Hokay. An San tos?"
G: "What?"
RS: "San tos. July San tos?"
G: "I don't think so"
RS: "No? Judo one toes??"
G: "I feel really bad about this, but I don't know what 'judo one toes' means.
RS: "Toes! Toes!...why djew Don Juan toes? Ow bow english mopping we bother?"
G: "English muffin!! I've got it! You were saying 'Toast.' Fine. Yes, an English muffin will be fine.
RS: "We bother?"
G: "No...just put the bother on the side."
RS: "Wad?"
G: "I mean butter...just put it on the side."
RS: "Copy?"
G: "Sorry?"
RS: "Copy...tea...mill?"
G: "Yes. Coffee please, and that's all."
RS: "One Minnie. Ass ruin torino fee, strangle ache, crease baychem, tossy singlish mopping we bot her honey sigh, and copy....rye??"
G: "Whatever you say"
RS: "Tendjewberrymud"
G: "You're welcome."

HAPPY TRIP 2: Bisaya Ispisyal

Old Cebuano balak:

"Ang panaghigalaay nga nalubong sa tunaan sa kalimot
Kuykuyon gihapon sa hinagiban sa paghinumdom
Aron mubidlisiw ang mga nagkayamukat nga pagbati."

As translated to English:

"Friendship buried in the mire of forgetfulness
Reborn in the wellspring of remembrance
And all confused emotions vanish, like the setting sun."

Beautiful.

HAPPY TRIP 1: Bisayang Daku

my peborit bisdak juks:

DRIVER: Noy, i-atras nako ang jeep. Ingna ko palihug kung mabangga.
MANOY: Oki! Sige, atras! Atras pa...sige pa! Atras gyud! Kana!
CrRaAaSsHh!
MANOY: Oki, bangga na.

Prayer before meals in Bisaya:
"Ginoo namong Dyos, blis dis food, ako fod, siya fod, sila fod, aron ang pagkaon ma-afod-afod ug ang sud-an mapa-igo fod hangtud among ngipon mafodfod.

Mga Bisaya'y di ko maintindihan. Inglis ng isda -- pis; ng mukha -- pis; ng pandikit -- pis; ng kapayapaan -- pis; tinanong pa ako kung saan ako nakatera -- Pis I or Pis II.

SIDE TRIP 20: Bagyong Baguio

Baguio was designed for a population of 30,000 – playground for American GIs on R&R. Streets were meant to be narrow and residential lots wide enough for lots of pine trees.

Now it has a population of 300,000 - half of them students from the lowlands. Streets are choked with traffic and entire mountains are crammed with houses made out of corrugated iron sheets. Pine trees are being felled down at an alarming rate to give way to outlandish buildings and structures all in the name of development.

It pains me to watch Baguio, the city of my dreams, slowly but surely sliding into urban decay. I loved it enough to want to live there permanently. It wasn’t meant to be, but for six wonderful years in the 90s, I lived in this mountain hideaway and count those as among the happiest in my life.

Last weekend I came home to Baguio and there atop Session Road, the abominable concrete pine tree still stood, mocking the few remaining trees that lent Baguio that unique pine scent I so loved. I hate that concrete tree. That’s what we get when we elect morons into office. Their gamunggong utak are able to come up only with the most idiotic ideas with which to spend their pork barrel on.

And who can ignore that monstrous structure called SM? King of the mountain, it towers above all else. Just how many pine trees were cut to give way to development, I don’t ask anymore. The same is true with Camp John Hay that is fast being developed into some exclusive playground for the rich and famous. Several hundred pine trees were cut so there can be more buildings.

People flock to Baguio for the trees and the cool climate. With an economy hinged primarily on tourism, I doubt if there is going to be any trees left to see a few years from now.

I wonder when politicians would learn to leave well enough alone. That less is more.
Then again, that would like wishing for the moon.

SMELL OF THE PINE


SERENITY


WHERE HAVE ALL THE PINE TREES GONE?

SIDE TRIP 19: Villa Escudero

The river is so still and calm I am actually half expecting to find Narcissus gazing lovingly at his reflection on the blue-green waters. The river flows from mystic Mount Banahaw, dammed up on one end of the resort, and overflows onto a restaurant below where visitors feast on Pinoy food while wading on ankle-deep water. Aaaah, bliss!

Villa Escudero awes me. Not only is it such a huge spread (40 hectares of coconut plantation), it also exudes a turn-of-the-century charm. Carabao-drawn carts and gaily-decorated jeepneys transport visitors from the entrance. The resort staff wear Filipiniana "costumes" and the cottages are built almost entirely from bamboo, coco lumber, and anahaw leaves. Bamboo rafts allow visitors to explore the river, but swimming is forbidden; there are pools for that purpose.

At night the air is filled with the combined sounds of crickets chirping merrily and heartwarming kundimans sung by young men serenading guests from cottage to cottage. Fireflies complete the magic. Wow.

In the morning, I wake up to a brand-new day -- unmagical, tedious -- ready to face...... WORK. Aaaaaargh!!!

Miki
(I am not on vacation. I am here for a workshop, heheh)

FIRST TRIP 2: out of the mouths of babes

last night i was busy with reports in front of the computer
my five-year-old little princess was likewise occupied on her bike

from out of the blue she turned to me and asked:

"daddy, paglaki ko pwede ba ako maging SINGLE PARENT?"

utang na loob!!!

FOOD TRIP 2: Kokak

It took six hours to cover the 68 kilometers from Bangued to the village of Gacab in Malibcong, Abra. That’s how bad the roads to the mountains were. And when I finally got off the land cruiser, I came face to face with a squad of New People’s Army (NPAs) loitering near a sari-sari store, all carrying high-powered guns.

One particular NPA caught my attention, and that was because he could have been no more than a boy. I told my guide slash interpreter to ask the boy how old he was and why he joined the communist movement at such a tender age. Speaking in Tingguian, the boy answered that he might be young in age but he was certainly old in terms of the cause he was fighting for. Tsk, tsk. I wondered how much he understood of the cause he was ready to kill and die for. He was only 15.

I was going to stay for the night at a village leader’s house. It was a poor man’s hut with no furniture and no electricity. During dinner, we had to squat on the floor to eat a simple meal of rice and tadpoles.

TADPOLES??!

Yes, tadpoles. Those slimy, black, wiggly baby frogs one normally finds in canals and stagnant water. There they were, swimming in a bowl of broth with bits of leafy vegetables thrown in for added texture. Yaiks.

Of course I had to eat them in deference to the hospitality of my host family. I couldn’t tell you what they tasted like, though, because I just swallowed them whole without chewing on them.

Bon apetit!

FOOD TRIP 1: Killing Me Softly

I stared at the dying chicken and nearly wept.

After being beaten half to death with a blunt stick, its feathers forcibly pulled out, and put over a fire to burn alive, it stubbornly held on to life.

The mountains of Benguet are unapologetic to lowlanders like me. While they looked great on postcards, it took nearly all my willpower not to drop dead from sheer exhaustion after a day’s trek. At journey’s end by nightfall, I was ecstatic to learn a feast was being prepared for us by our host family.

Or so I thought.

They were going to cook pinikpikan. Little did I know I was going to be an unwilling witness to the gruesome torture and murder of an innocent… chicken.

First, manong grabbed the chicken by its wings and started beating it with a stick all over its body. The chicken squawked and shrieked but the beating continued until its skin was entirely covered by blood clots. When the chicken could hardly move, manong began forcibly pulling out its feathers until only a few stragglers were left. Ouch! Barely alive, the “dressed” chicken was then put over a fire to burn (Ouch! again). That was the last straw for the poor chicken, I guess. It must have decided death was a better option so it drew its last breath and croaked adios patria adorada. Killing me softly ngarud.

Cooked like tinola, pinikpikan is quite an exotic dish. With the combined flavors of burnt skin and feathers, blood clots, and ginger - - garantisado, papawisan ka sa sarap! Yum yum.

Trouble is, pinikpikan is almost always served when the Ibalois or Kankanaeys have visitors. And since we were going to be in the mountains for several days – hopping from one village to another – we found ourselves eating pinikpikan in the morning, pinikpikan at noon, and pinikpikan in the evening every single day for three days. Aaaargh!!! I did not eat chicken for three months after that.

What’s more, I wouldn’t ever dream of being reincarnated as a chicken in the Cordillera.


PINIKPIKAN


BENGUET MOUNTAINS


RICE TERRACES

BAD TRIP 2: Ay, T!

I did not lose my cellphone afterall. Bwahaha!!!

This morning while cleaning out my cabinet under the stairs, I found the cellphone I thought I lost last May while out drinking with friends. Eh?! What kind of stupidity is this?

On that fateful night, my best friend from Baguio came for a visit and so we thought it was as good a time as any to get ourselves drunk. Dead drunk. And what better poison to do it with than Colt 45? So we stationed ourselves at Bamboo City in Cubao where beer is cheap and pulutan is plentiful. Whoa, Colt 45 does throw a mean punch; I was feeling groggy after just three bottles. And since my good friend Ric lived nearby (yes, MP Rico Acosta, bow!), I asked him to join us because I also wanted him to meet my best friend.

To cut the story short, all three of us were drunk by 1:30am. And as is customary with drunks, we were feeling more boisterous than usual and decided to move to Padi’s Point for yet another round of Colt 45s. Ric surrendered first (his lovey-dovey was already looking for him, bwehehe) and left for home by 2:00am. At 2:30am, I took out my cellphone from my backpack to answer a text message from the missus (do I have plans of going home at all?). I texted back “yes, we’re going home now”. Truth to tell, I couldn’t remember how my best friend and I managed to get home.

In the morning when I checked my backpack, the cellphone was gone! Waaah!!! Must have left it at Padi’s. I actually have a very bad record with phones, having lost three units in less than a year. There goes the fourth one, I thought. Bye bye.

Or so I thought -- until this morning, exactly six months later. The long weekend inspired me to clean out my cabinet under the stairs and ta-daaa! There was the damned cellphone, buried among all the other junks that needed sorting! How the f*ck did that happen?

Talk about being constantly on guard. My wife and I have had a few spats over cellphone messages so I usually “hide” it in the cabinet under the stairs at night so she couldn’t find it should she think of sneaking up on me and having a peek at the messages. I knew she checks on my phone sometimes.

So on the night that I was drunk, by sheer force of habit I must have put the phone inside the cabinet. I don’t remember doing it. And with the things in there in shambles, I didn’t find the phone at once. Stupid.

Why am I telling you all this?

Wala lang. I’m sure there is a lesson to be learned here somewhere, heheh. Go figure.

Miki

PS: Incidentally, the last text message that registered on the unit (before I asked Globe to cut the line) came from Ric’s lalabs. Sent on 05.28.2004 at 08:12:49, it read:

“Hoy! Gud am. Lasingan yta kau kgbi. Madaling araw n nkauwi c ric”.

Sinabi mo.

And sorry I didn’t text back, buddy. I got it six months later.

FIRST TRIP 1: Sri Lanka

GANDA NG LOLA MO

I was at the Bandaranaike International Airport a little past midnight and valiantly struggling to stay awake when - lo and behold - an apparition almost made me fall out of my seat! And what might that be, pray tell? A plane? No. A bird? No.

It's.... Darna! :p

Picture a small wiry guy with ebony face and plucked eyebrows, puckered lips glistening with pink lipstick, hips a-swaying as he sashayed down the aisle, wrists limp and fingers arched delicately.

Ta-daaa! Presenting the first-ever effiminate Sri Lankan I saw in my life! I almost choked. I knew there must be a gay community in Sri Lanka but they were invisible. In all the times that I'd been going back and forth to this tiny island nation on the Indian Ocean, I haven't ever seen an overtly gay person. Until now.

At mataray ang lola. Wa sya paki even if all the passengers at the pre-departure area were gaping at him with knowing grins on their faces.

Go girl!


BANDARANAIKE INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT


SRI LANKA AIRLINES


PRE-DEPARTURE AREA

SIDE TRIP 18: Singapore

Persons born in September are supposed to be control freaks. They like order, organization, things in their proper places.

Like me. Like Singapore.

Here you can't spit, chew gums, or do a whole lot of things that are otherwise perfectly normal in our dear Motherland. They have restrictions on every conceivable deed, taking a seemingly perverse pleasure in telling people off: you can't do this, you can't do that.

(Bantay, SIT! Arf! Arf!)

But I think I will actually like living here. Everything is neat and clean, efficient, orderly. Clinical almost.

But expensive. I can't quite get over the fact that a pitcher of beer in some hokey hole-in-the-wall actually costs the equivalent of 600 pesos! Utang na loob. I'd pass out from the cost, not the alcohol.

I wonder, though, when they'd stop making robots out of their people. Now, they've made it illegal even to bring in souvenir items made out of empty bullet shells. Why??! They don't say.

Just being their usual tight-assed selves I suppose.


CHANGI AIRPORT, SINGAPORE


SINGAPORE NIGHT SAFARI


ORCHARD ROAD

SIDE TRIP 17: Kirinda, Sri Lanka

A ship in the middle of the street? Whoa. What a strange sight!

It's been five months since the tsunami struck but the scars remain to this day. Once congested settlements are now empty; what's left are slabs of cement that were once floors. Makeshift structures dot the horizon --- wooden planks and corrugated iron sheets that serve as temporary shelters for thousands of families left homeless. People talk of lost lives and livelihoods, helplessness and despair. Yet at the same time, they also talk of hope... displaying the spirit that refuses to buckle under in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds.

In Sri Lanka, people automatically smile, even at complete strangers. It makes one smile in return. So I know people don't think me silly when they smile while watching me take pictures of the ship that was carried by the waves from the harbor, over a two-storey building, and deposited onto the street where it now rests majestically... a mute testament to the world's greatest disaster in recent memory.

SHIP-ON-STREET: Kirinda, Sri Lanka



KILLER TRAIN: 1800++ passengers died when the tsunami struck the moving train

SIDE TRIP 16: Chennai, India 3

SCREENSAVERS

*Yawn*

*Yawn again*

Aaaaargh!!! Lemme outta here!
It's bad enough that their accent sound funny to my untutored ear; worse, they also tend to either talk in droning monotone or really, really fast, so much so that the words and syllables stick together like supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.

Sessions after lunch on a hot day (42 degrees celsius here today! waaaah!) are killers. My eyelids refuse to cooperate and keep dropping off at every unguarded opportunity. More and more I realize that Robert Chambers is right when he says the Philippines is the global epicenter of energizers. Pinoys do have the knack of perking up boring sessions with silly games and action songs that keep blood circulating and interest up. Here in India, they plow right on with the discussions, never mind that almost all the participants are wearing screensavers on their faces. Aaaaaargh!!!

BORED OUT OF MY MIND

SIDE TRIP 15: Chennai, India 2

BLAST FROM THE PAST (INDIA OF OLD)

I could have sworn I was Manuel L. Quezon come back to life. One look at the car and I was ready to believe I must be in a Back-to-the-Future remake. I've never been fond of vintage cars, so to actually ride in one was a bit disorienting. If you watch reruns of old movies on TV and see those large, ancient cars - - that's exactly what I rode in from the airport to the hotel. Bongga, heheh.

Upon arrival at the hotel, the illusion was further heightened when the car door was opened with a flourish by a character straight out of maharajah epics (naka-costume ang doorman, har har har!) who later ushered me into this huge lobby that evoked memories of golden days past, when unabashed opulence ruled. And they don't build hotels the same way anymore I guess - - where the rooms are enormous and the furnishings ornate and rich. I can actually get lost on the king-sized bed! Alas, ako ra usa. Walay kadulog. Waaaah!!!

But hmmmm.... I think I can get used to the good life. Wahehehe.

CHENNAI CAR


GRT GRAND DAYS HOTEL


GRT GRAND DAYS HOTEL LOBBY


CHENNAI AUTO

SIDE TRIP 14: Chennai, India

OF ARMPITS AND HEAVENLY SCENTS

The first thing to assault me on landing in Chennai, India is the smell.

Uh... OK, I am being polite. What I really mean is the foul, stinking stench emanating from I don't know where and which permeates the entire airport. Aaaaargh!!! Perhaps it is because the building is rather dilapidated and lacks proper ventilation. Or perhaps it is because it is my first time to be right smack in the middle of a throng of sweaty "bombays" on a hot and humid evening. Either way, the smell is overpowering!

B.O. nothwithstanding, I swear I am going to enjoy my first taste of India. The Taj Mahal may be far from where I am now but I'm sure there are a lot of other interesting temples and scenes to boggle the senses.

Madras (old name of Chennai), here I come!

MADURAI TEMPLE


TENEMENTS IN CHENNAI, INDIA

SIDE TRIP 13: Bogor, Indonesia

Don't let the name Bogor fool you.

I know it sounds funny (like bogo or bulgur, wahehe) but let me assure you that it is renowned for something much more serious than that --- a 188-year-old Botanical Garden no less, said to have the largest collection of tropical plants from all over the world (over 15,000 species lang naman, heheh). I like trees and plants around me, and the back-to-nature resort where I am now has plenty of them, complete with authentic rice terraces, a gurgling brook, and graceful payags scattered amidst lush greens. It is also the only hotel I've ever been in where you can actually find large grasshoppers and colorful butterflies fluttering about in the hallways, slipping in and out of frilly white curtains swaying in the gentle breeze. Wohohoh.... paradise found!

Paradise indeed! Except that this paradise is also expectedly secluded, cut off from the rest of the world, and --- horrors! NO INTERNET!

Aaaaargh! Lemme outta here!!!

Miki
(going insane in Bogor and afflicted with the severest of internet withdrawal symptoms)

PS: I had to beg a friend to drive me to the town proper ten kilometers away to get this email sent.

GG HOUSE, BOGOR


WHITE ANTHURIUM AT GG HOUSE


BOGOR BOTANICAL GARDEN

BAD TRIP 1: Flash

the past few days we did not have internet access at the office
server was down
so in the evenings i would go to the neighborhood internet cafe
to check on my mails

one night there was this bunch of screaming fags
huddled around one unit, chatting
the one on the keyboard was the ugliest of the lot
his pants was down on his knees (ugh!)
and the webcam zeroed in on his bulge
encased in floral bikini panties
every single one used vulgar language, loudly
screaming, laughing, applauding
everytime the one they were chatting to
flashed...
a chest
a nipple
a crotch
a pubic hair
a cockhead

and on the other units
eight-year-old kids
were playing ragnarok.

call me anything you like
but in that particular instance
i wanted to kill those slimy creatures.

SIDE TRIP 12: Colombo, Sri Lanka

Would you believe the ninang of my little princess is actually based in Sri Lanka? I hadn't seen her in four years and it was such a pleasure to meet her again in Colombo, of all places. The pinoy is truly global - - you will find one anywhere in the world.

Last night she showed me around Colombo. We had coffee in one of the oldest existing hotels in the world -- the five-star Galle Face Hotel which has been operating since 1864! (Manila Hotel was built only in 1912) She took me to the World Trade Center which is a replica of its late American cousin circa 9/11, then took a stroll on the boulevard on the shores of the Indian Ocean. We had dinner at the Grand Oriental Hotel where Jose Rizal used to stay! I didn't even know Rizal went to Sri Lanka but apparently it was one of his favorite places, at the time when it was still called Ceylon. A historical marker mounted on the hotel's walls attest to this. After dinner, she
took me to another five-star hotel where she said a Filipino band performs but sadly, the club was closed because they were in mourning over the killing of a Buddhist monk.

Later at midnight, I was lining up at immigration at the Bandaranaike International Airport when I heard someone behind me say "Ssssh, 'wag makulit!" Startled, I turned around to find a woman trying to contain her hyperactive brat of a child. I smiled at her. She smiled back, then followed it up with "Pilipino ka?" I nodded. Then she asked again, "Saang garments ka?" Nyahaha!!! Apparently, most of the Pinoy OFWs in Sri Lanka are employed in garment factories.

It left me in stitches, pun not intended.


COLOMBO, SRI LANKA on the Indian Ocean

SIDE TRIP 11: Kudawella, Sri Lanka

There is one place in the southern district of Sri Lanka that is truly amazing. Its name is Kudawella and it is home to the blow hole.

The blow WHAT?!

Now, now... before you start thinking kinky, I am not talking about blowing someone's hole. Ew. Although people do line up to witness the blowing of the hole. What HOLE?!

This particular hole gapes from a fold between two rock-solid mounds that are wrinkled, wet, and slippery... definitely dangerous territory. When the pressure mounts from below, great jets of liquid ejaculate from its gaping mouth and shoot 50 meters to the sky. Whew!

Tourists come in droves to the rocky shores of Kudawella, waiting patiently for the great swells coming in from the Indian Ocean to hit the caverns formed naturally under the rocks. When the caverns are filled to capacity, the ensuing pressure causes the water to escape through a small hole to form a giant fountain - - to the delight of
onlookers gathered outside on the promontory. Awesome!

And you thought the hole was...?

He he.

THE BLOWHOLE

SIDE TRIP 10: Galle, Sri Lanka

"Would you like me to jump for you?" asked the young man of about
18. I looked at him blankly, not comprehending. When I didn't
respond, blinding white teeth flashed across his ebony skin in a
wide smile and pointed to the edge of the rampart down to the waves
below. When I gingerly looked at the edge of the tower, my jaw
dropped; it was sooo high! It turned out I'd have to give him some
money to do the stomach-churning freefall, reminding me quite
vividly of the Mines View kids in Baguio hanging on for dear life on
the cliffside, waiting for tourists to throw small change for them
to catch. Tsk, tsk. I said "no" politely.

I am in the small seaside town of Galle in the southern tip of the
tiny island nation of Sri Lanka. It used to be an old Portuguese
settlement, much like the walled city of Intramuros, except that
it's outer walls jut out dramatically seawards. In the old days, it
was quite effective in warding off invaders coming in from the sea.

Quaint shops line the narrow cobbled streets, in-between old villas
and yellow brick buildings. Giant acacia and rubber trees compete
for canopy space, with fragrant white frangipanis blooming like
there was no tomorrow. Outside the thick perimeter walls, huge waves
roll in from the Indian Ocean, smashing against the rocks and
dissolving on golden shores. Truly breathtaking!

Then I thought perhaps I should do the jumping myself, be one with
the beauty of it all, instead of paying the young man to experience
it for me.

There was just one minor problem.

I am afraid of heights.

Waaaah!!!

RAMPART AT GALLE

SIDE TRIP 9: Hong Kong

I only had five hours to do HK, no thanks to a delayed flight by
Vietnam Airlines that made me miss my connecting flight and,
consequently, missed the chance to stay overnight in the Chinese SAR.

So, what can an ordinary Pinoy do for five hours in HK? Tinatanong pa
ba yun? E di shop like mad, wahehe!

Good that their mass transport system is super efficient. Double-
deckers leave the airport every few minutes. With limited time, I
could only go as far as Kowloon, taking in the beauty of bridges
linking the outer islands from the airport to the city. The airport
itself was built on reclaimed land.

Along the way, tall residential buildings dominated the landscape.
There was no traffic, except for a slight build up when we reached
Nathan Road. Kowloon.

Boom! I truly felt like a foreigner then. Must be all those Chinese
characters in neon signs everywhere. Nakaka-alienate.

Heading to the side streets, I immediately joined the melee at the
night market. Cheap imitations everywhere! Fake Nikes. Fake D&Gs.
Fake Louis Vuittons. Fake anything. Aaaargh! Didn't want those. Guess
the most precious thing I got was a cheap anime doll (sort of like
Polly Pocket but Jap-looking) that my daughter adored and whom she
named Michiko.

All the rest, you can easily get at Tutuban. No need to go to HK.

Zhu ni yi tian guo de yu kuai!

KOWLOON NIGHT MARKET


NATHAN ROAD

SIDE TRIP 8: Hue, Vietnam

I hate Vietnam at this very moment.
OK, not really true, he he.
It's Vietnam Airlines I hate.

Here I am at the airport in Hue, cooling my heels waiting for my flight to Hanoi. My delayed flight to Hanoi. My very, very delayed flight to Hanoi. Aaaargh!!! It's Hannoying!

I don't mind waiting really. Afterall, we have been contending with our very own Plane-Always-Late national carrier for most of our flying life. What irks me is the fact that I will miss my connecting flight to HongKong. Which means I won't be having that overnight stay in the Chinese SAR I have been so looking forward to.

Oh well, guess it wasn't meant to be.

One more night in Hanoi is not such a bad idea actually. Maybe it is a sign or something. Perhaps I will finally have that Vietnamese kinuykuyan tonight... on the last night of the wooooorld! ---> (sung a la Kim in Miss Saigon, wahehe)

miki
(turning insane in hue)

GET ME OUTTA HERE!!!

SIDE TRIP 7: Da Nang & Hoi an, Vietnam

Yesterday was mainly travel time so it was kind of relaxed and touristy. No meetings await in the next destination; thank God for small mercies.

After Hanoi, I flew to Da Nang from Nha Trang. I only heard of these places before in war movies and books; now I'm seeing them up close and personal. Traces of the war still linger like a dull ache - - barely discernible but there.

From Da Nang I backtracked to the quaint little town of Hoi An, recently declared a world heritage site. Combine Intramuros with Vigan and Ongpin and you can imagine what it's like.

My destination was really the old imperial city of Hue about 130 kilometers north of Hoi An but it was fun to take my time getting there. Between Da Nang and Hue, we had to traverse the Mountain and Cloud Pass - - very much like Kennon Road in Baguio but with a spectacular view of the South China Sea directly below it.

A bit further on, we stopped for late snacks at Lang Co Beach which resembled Boracay except that the sand wasn't as white or as fine, but close enough. The food at the resort was delicious, though.

Did I say food? Vietnamese cuisine definitely ranks high in my list of favorites.

But that's another story.

Miki

NHA TRANG


PERFUMED RIVER (HUE)


HOI AN

SIDE TRIP 6: Nha Trang, Vietnam

Wake up call at 3:45am.
Leave the hotel at 4:15am.
Depart Hanoi at 6:10am.
Arrive Cam Ranh at 7:50am.

I was going to the resort city of Nha Trang but we deplaned in Cam Ranh some 40 kilometers away. The Nha Trang airport will be closed permanently because there is no more room for expansion (it is the only airport I know that's located smack in the middle of a tiny city!).

From the window, I saw a bevy of pretty girls in graceful ao dais near the foot of the stairs waving banners and flowers, with cameramen and photographers right behind. Hmmm... there must be a celebrity among the passengers (obviously not me!). But when I stepped off the plane, one of the girls gave me the sweetest smile and a long-stemmed rose. Whoa! What's happening? I thought perhaps she mistook me for Dao Ming Si come to visit Vietnam. He he. Kapaaaal !!! When I turned the corner going to the arrival area, a drum and bugle corps and more ao dai-clad ladies were waiting, and a TV (?) reporter shoved a mic in my face, blabbering away in Vietnamese! Hello? OK ka lang? When I answered in English, she promptly turned her back on me and shoved the mic to the person next in line. Ay, bastos!

My grand delusion was thus rudely blown away, more so when I learned ako pala ay nasa inaugural flight to Cam Ranh and that they were having this grand powwow to celebrate the opening of the airport. Uh, OK.

So much for being a big TV star in Viet Nam.

Miki

CAM RANH AIRPORT

SIDE TRIP 5: Ao Dai

Postscript on the Vietnamese Ao Dai


On my last day in the old imperial city of Hue, colleagues at the Hue
University treated me to lunch before my flight back to Hanoi.
Expectedly, they ordered a feast. Yum yum! And as is customary in
Vietnamese cuisine, puro ulam halos, walang rice. Kaya pala ang
papayat nila.

Except for a pretty lady lecturer, all the others in the group were
guys. Young single lecturers at the university and who possessed
tolerable English skills. Anyway, the lady hardly ate - - just
picking on her food. I told her: "You know what, you should eat more;
you're so small and thin!"

One of the guys had an immediate reaction: "You think she's small?
You think she's SMALL?!" he blurted out, wide-eyed. "She's not small!
She's medium!"

Uh, OK.

By their standards, yeah I guess she's a bit big. But compared to
Manila girls, she is definitely on the small and thin category.

So I asked them again: "If a girl were fat, could she still wear the
ao dai?"

"Yes, of course!" they chorused. "But she stay home. No go out."

Ouch.

GIRLS IN AO DAI

SIDE TRIP 4: Hanoi, Vietnam

"covers everything but hides nothing!" is how my canadian lady friend in hanoi puts it when referring to the ao dai, the traditional dress worn by vietnamese women. "and these women? they're so tiny they're not human at all!" bully for her. with her... er, ample girth and big bones and a fair amount of unwanted avoirdupois, she can only dream about slipping into those slinky, form-fitting wisps of cloth that easily transform the vietnamese into ravishing beauties.

hanoi, like its people, is also a beautiful city. suspended in time, you feel like you are in a 1950s period movie, with yellow brick buildings and narrow tree-lined streets. art galleries are all over the place, displaying excellent paintings that are currently the rage in international art circles. charming little shops selling anything and everything occupy practically all the space fronting the streets. and who can ignore the motorcycles? king of the road... they come in swarms! crossing the street is a lesson in survival, an art: not too fast, not too slow, but steady. don't stop; you'll be run over by an avalanche of wheels.

but what really bugged me was the sight of hordes of giggly teenage girls and boys (with a few old timers) at night - around 7pm - parked in front of a shop licking away at ice cream cones like there was no tomorrow. hello? ok lang kayo? pinipilahan ang ice cream? intrigued, nakipila na rin ako and bought one cone for myself for 3,000 vietnam dong. ha! cheap! don't know what's the fuss, though. it was ice cream like any other, except perhaps that it tasted more like milk.

miki

HANOI


AO DAI

SIDE TRIP 3: Bali, Indonesia

BALI may be the Island of the Gods and the people steeped in
spirituality but here, it is quite manly for a guy to wear a skirt
and a flower behind his ear! Eh?!

Picture a fierce-looking warrior, intricate tattoos covering his
upper body, but wearing a yellow and gold skirt (sarong, actually, he
he) and a half-opened pink frangipani tucked in one ear. Ew!

Last night was a full moon and the mostly Hindu residents of the
fishing village in northeast Bali where we are having our workshop
formed a beeline to their temple. It is awesome to see these gentle
people in full Balinese regalia bowing before their Gods, bearing
with them offerings of flowers, food and incense.

Ever the Pinoy Usi, I also wanted to go, of course. But first I have
to wear the skirt; you can't enter the temple otherwise. Not having
the foresight to pack a malong in my suitcase, I had to borrow a
sarong from a workshop participant. Suitably attired in a red shirt
and purple sarong (para akong early warning device, wahehe), I went
past the intricately carved gate into a world quite unlike anything
I've known. Fine sculptures of Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva (and God
knows who else) adorn the temple at every corner. Inside were people
squatting before smaller temples, hands clasped over their heads and
bowing several times. With a flower between her fingers, a girl dips
her hand into a bowl of water and sprinkles the faithful three times.
It was all so quiet and peaceful.

But I've always wondered to what degree Bali's ceremonial activities
and supernatural beliefs – sitting side by side with discos and
McDonalds – are sustained from within, or perpetuated from without,
by the demands of the tourist industry. The obvious question is how
can a culture so rooted in the spiritual reconcile itself with the
increasing absorption of new gods so obviously rooted in the material?

But let them worry about it. First, I gotta have my picture taken.
Nyahaha!!!

Satu, dua, tiga… say cheese!

Klik.


Miki
(19 days down, one day to go. Uuwi na ako ng Pinas bukas!!! Yehey!)

HINDU TEMPLE IN BALI

SIDE TRIP 2: Jakarta, Indonesia

It's sad to eat breakfast alone.

Especially when you're alone in a hotel in a foreign land. Even if
the hotel is really nice and had a great selection in its buffet
table.

This morning, I was trying to decide between the chicken curry (na
naman? aaaargh!!!) and the fried sea bass when a soft voice from
behind put a stop to my dilly-dallying. When I turned around, I found
an elderly Caucasian lady talking to me in Bahasa Indonesia. Everyone
here assumes I am also Indonesian. Primed, I immediately recited my
rehearsed line: "Tida bisa Bahasa Indonesia", informing her I don't
speak the language. Seeing the puzzled look on her face, I followed
it up with "Orang Filipina" which meant I am from the Philippines.
Her face cleared and split into a really nice smile. "Magandang
umaga!" she said. It was my turn to be surprised and greeted
her "Magandang umaga din po" in return. Switching to English, she
asked if I wanted to try the chocolate porridge which she said is a
traditional Indonesian breakfast. I murmured "maybe later" politely
(I don't really like porridge that much) and brought my food to a
table near the window. I was wolfing down the sea bass when someone
tapped me gently on the shoulder and put a bowl of the blasted
porridge with fresh coconut milk beside my plate. "Here," the lady
firmly said, "try this. You might like it." And with a smile, she
went back to her own breakfast table, occasionally glancing my way if
indeed I was enjoying the porridge. To my surprise I did and found it
really delicious! I smiled my thanks to her.

Then

I suddenly missed my own mother who would hover around us at
breakfast when we were kids, making sure we ate right.

Much later, I learned the lady was the owner of the hotel and that
she was from Holland. But I will remember her forever for keeping
that old world tradition of the kindly innkeeper, putting meaning to
the words "service" and "personal touch".

Miki

Jakarta at Night

SIDE TRIP 1: Sumatra, Indonesia

If not for the veiled women, it's as if I never left the Philippines
at all. I am in this tiny fishing village off the coast of
northeastern Sumatra in Indonesia working on a book project. Local
case writers struggle to put into paper lessons learned in community-
based natural resource management.

There are ten of us in the group. Five are case writers while the
rest compose the editorial team and support staff. Next week, we will
meet with seven other case writers in Bali.

This is the first time I am actually staying in a Muslim village for
any length of time. We are staying in a traditional Indonesian long
house owned by a community leader. We sleep on pandan mats on the
floor made of wooden planks that creak like crazy when someone walks.
In the morning, I wake up with aching bones from the hard surface,
reminding me quite plainly just how far removed from the field I had
been lately. There is also not enough rainwater in the tank so we
bathe from an open well with murky water. Now I have reddish-blond
hair. Nyahaha!!!

The village of Teluk Pambang is fascinating. It looks like any rural
fishing village in the Philippines except that in the afternoons,
walang nag-iinuman at walang nagtotong-its. What you'll see are
groups of people gathered in the village square playing volleyball
and spin tops.

Spin tops?! Yes, turumpo. It's hilarious to see 60-year-old granddads
happily playing alongside ten-year-olds. They use home-made tops
carved out of bakhaw trunks. And what fun they have! Yep, one can
still have fun and not spend a cent except sweat. Heck, in Manila
you'd have to pay a lot to sweat in gyms and indoor courts.

(ooops! someone told me horses sweat, people perspire.)

whatever.

morning guys!!!
i really miss being home.

miki

PLAYING SPIN TOPS IN TELUK PAMBANG


BENGKALIS ISLAND, SUMATRA


SHORES OF TELUK PAMBANG