I think this is worthwhile sharing. Steve Jobs, co-founder of Apple and its present chairman, gave this speech at the commencement of Stanford University, 12 June 2005.
Steve Jobs's Stanford University Commencement Speech
I am honored to be with you today at your commencement from one of the finest universities in the world. I never graduated from college. Truth be told, this is the closest I've ever gotten to a college graduation. Today I want to tell you three stories from my life. That's it. No big deal. Just three stories.
The first story is about connecting the dots.
I dropped out of Reed College after the first 6 months, but then stayed around as a drop-in for another 18 months or so before I really quit. So why did I drop out?
It started before I was born. My biological mother was a young, unwed college graduate student, and she decided to put me up for adoption. She felt very strongly that I should be adopted by college graduates, so everything was all set for me to be adopted at birth by a lawyer and his wife. Except that when I popped out they decided at the last minute that they really wanted a girl. So my parents, who were on a waiting list, got a call in the middle of the night asking: "We have an unexpected baby boy; do you want him?" They said: "Of course." My biological mother later found out that my mother had never graduated from college and that my father had never graduated from high school. She refused to sign the final adoption papers. She only relented a few months later when my parents promised that I would someday go to college.
And 17 years later I did go to college. But I naively chose a college that was almost as expensive as Stanford, and all of my working-class parents' savings were being spent on my college tuition. After six months, I couldn't see the value in it. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and no idea how college was going to help me figure it out. And here I was spending all of the money my parents had saved their entire life. So I decided to drop out and trust that it would all work out OK. It was pretty scary at the time, but looking back it was one of the best decisions I ever made. The minute I dropped out I could stop taking the required classes that didn't interest me, and begin dropping in on the ones that looked interesting.
It wasn't all romantic. I didn't have a dorm room, so I slept on the floor in friends' rooms, I returned coke bottles for the 5¢ deposits to buy food with, and I would walk the 7 miles across town every Sunday night to get one good meal a week at the Hare Krishna temple. I loved it. And much of what I stumbled into by following my curiosity and intuition turned out to be priceless later on.
Let me give you one example: Reed College at that time offered perhaps the best calligraphy instruction in the country. Throughout the campus every poster, every label on every drawer, was beautifully hand calligraphed. Because I had dropped out and didn't have to take the normal classes, I decided to take a calligraphy class to learn how to do this. I learned about serif and san serif typefaces, about varying the amount of space between different letter combinations, about what makes great typography great. It was beautiful, historical, artistically subtle in a way that science can't capture, and I found it fascinating.
None of this had even a hope of any practical application in my life. But ten years later, when we were designing the first Macintosh computer, it all came back to me. And we designed it all into the Mac. It was the first computer with beautiful typography. If I had never dropped in on that single course in college, the Mac would have never had multiple typefaces or proportionally spaced fonts. And since Windows just copied the Mac, it's likely that no personal computer would have them. If I had never dropped out, I would have never dropped in on this calligraphy class, and personal computers might not have the wonderful typography that they do. Of course it was impossible to connect the dots looking forward when I was in college. But it was very, very clear looking backwards ten years later.
Again, you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something - your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.
My second story is about love and loss.
I was lucky – I found what I loved to do early in life. Woz and I started Apple in my parent's garage when I was 20. We worked hard, and in 10 years Apple had grown from just the two of us in a garage into a $2 billion company with over 4000 employees. We had just released our finest creation - the Macintosh - a year earlier, and I had just turned 30. And then I got fired. How can you get fired from a company you started? Well, as Apple grew we hired someone who I thought was very talented to run the company with me, and for the first year or so things went well. But then our visions of the future began to diverge and eventually we had a falling out. When we did, our Board of Directors sided with him.
So at 30 I was out. And very publicly out. What had been the focus of my entire adult life was gone, and it was devastating. I really didn't know what to do for a few months. I felt that I had let the previous generation of entrepreneurs down - that I had dropped the baton as it was being passed to me. I met with David Packard and Bob Noyce and tried to apologize for screwing up so badly. I was a very public failure, and I even thought about running away from the valley.
But something slowly began to dawn on me – I still loved what I did. The turn of events at Apple had not changed that one bit. I had been rejected, but I was still in love. And so I decided to start over. I didn't see it then, but it turned out that getting fired from Apple was the best thing that could have ever happened to me.
The heaviness of being successful was replaced by the lightness of being a beginner again, less sure about everything. It freed me to enter one of the most creative periods of my life. During the next five years, I started a company named NeXT, another company named Pixar, and fell in love with an amazing woman who would become my wife. Pixar went on to create the world's first computer animated feature film, Toy Story, and is now the most successful animation studio in the world. In a remarkable turn of events, Apple bought NeXT, I retuned to Apple, and the technology we developed at NeXT is at the heart of Apple's current renaissance. And Laurene and I have a wonderful family together.
I'm pretty sure none of this would have happened if I hadn't been fired from Apple. It was awful tasting medicine, but I guess the patient needed it. Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick. Don't lose faith. I'm convinced that the only thing that kept me going was that I loved what I did. You've got to find what you love. And that is as true for your work as it is for your lovers. Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle.
As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don't settle.
My third story is about death.
When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: "If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you'll most certainly be right." It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: "If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?" And whenever the answer has been "No" for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.
Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything – all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.
About a year ago I was diagnosed with cancer. I had a scan at 7:30 inthe morning, and it clearly showed a tumor on my pancreas. I didn't even know what a pancreas was. The doctors told me this was almost certainly a type of cancer that is incurable, and that I should expect to live no longer than three to six months. My doctor advised me to go home and get my affairs in order, which is doctor's code for prepare to die. It means to try to tell your kids everything you thought you'd have the next 10 years to tell them in just a few months. It means to make sure everything is buttoned up so that it will be as easy as possible for your family. It means to say your goodbyes.
I lived with that diagnosis all day. Later that evening I had a biopsy, where they stuck an endoscope down my throat, through my stomach and into my intestines, put a needle into my pancreas and got a few cells from the tumor. I was sedated, but my wife, who was there, told me that when they viewed the cells under a microscope the doctors started crying because it turned out to be a very rare form of pancreatic cancer that is curable with surgery. I had the surgery and I 'm fine now. This was the closest I've been to facing death, and I hope it's the closest I get for a few more decades.
Having lived through it, I can now say this to you with a bit more certainty than when death was a useful but purely intellectual concept: No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true. Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life.
Don't be trapped by dogma - which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of other's opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.
When I was young, there was an amazing publication called The Whole Earth Catalog, which was one of the bibles of my generation. It was created by a fellow named Stewart Brand not far from here in Menlo Park, and he brought it to life with his poetic touch. This was in the late 1960's, before personal computers and desktop publishing, so it was all made with typewriters, scissors, and polaroid cameras. It was sort of like Google in paperback form, 35 years before Google came along: it was idealistic, and overflowing with neat tools and great notions.
Stewart and his team put out several issues of The Whole Earth Catalog, and then when it had run its course, they put out a final issue. It was the mid-1970s, and I was your age. On the back cover of their final issue was a photograph of an early morning country road, the kind you might find yourself hitchhiking on if you were so adventurous. Beneath it were the words: "Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish." It was their farewell message as they signed off.
Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.
And I have always wished that for myself. And now, as you graduate to begin anew, I wish that for you.
Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.
Thank you all very much.
Saturday, July 02, 2005
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
And So It Goes
"And so it goes...and so it goes.... and you're the only one who knows."
The burden of the passage of time becomes more and more difficult to bear observing the events of the Philippines.
Circa 1998, Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo received a mandate from the people to be Vice President of the Philippines. The President, Joseph Estrada, is from the political opposition but receives the largest-ever mandate in Philippine presidential election history. Such is the fortune of the darlings of the masa.
I can never blame the masa, but I can always blame those who practice such form of populist politics. Have we really run out of leaders to elect, or merely field candidates and use them as lame ducks?
True enough, while Erap assembled a great team from all areas of the ideological spectrum, he did it with a panache that many people hoped would mean genuine reform. But alas, but before the echoes of his proclamation speech have dissipated, Erap literally shot himself in the foot - too many mistresses, too many midnight meetings, too many drinking sprees, and worst of all, the worst kind of friends. Not the evil ones, just the stupid ones.
No one had reined Estrada in, and his dissipation played into the hands of his enemies. While I never liked Erap, I pitied the way he was massacred by his erstwhile friends and allies. The snobs among the power-brokers must have been smiling from ear to ear during the sordid affair of Juetengate.
Here comes Gloria, self-anointed savior and goaded on by members of civil society to make a difference. Only... despite her record as a legislator, Gloria never exhibited the kind of political independence to break away from the mold.
Many people celebrated the ouster of Erap, but those agitators who said "Resign All" must, in some way, prophesied the impasse where the Filipinos find themselves now.
Dare we celebrate being vindicated in our belief, or wouldn't we have wanted Gloria to have done something different. Her thrashing of her Rizal Day 2002 speech of not running again should have unmanned a lot of people. I was, and vowed not to support her, for any reason.
THE ADMINISTRATION FEARED THE COMING OF FPJ. Again, both sides knew it was a numbers game, and the Filipino people merrily played along. So now, you have an unpopular and perhaps bogus President, and a populist tool as Vice President.
The stars smiled at Noli de Castro when he ran for Vice President. Of course, those stars have aligned to muddle up the situation.
Everyone wants proof somewhere that the President cheated. Yes, bring it on. Whatever happens, the institution of the President's office, Congress, Comelec, and even the notion of voting have been savaged.
And so it goes, and so it goes, and no one really knows. Will cynicism triumph? Maybe.
I just hope they pack it in before Christmas.
The burden of the passage of time becomes more and more difficult to bear observing the events of the Philippines.
Circa 1998, Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo received a mandate from the people to be Vice President of the Philippines. The President, Joseph Estrada, is from the political opposition but receives the largest-ever mandate in Philippine presidential election history. Such is the fortune of the darlings of the masa.
I can never blame the masa, but I can always blame those who practice such form of populist politics. Have we really run out of leaders to elect, or merely field candidates and use them as lame ducks?
True enough, while Erap assembled a great team from all areas of the ideological spectrum, he did it with a panache that many people hoped would mean genuine reform. But alas, but before the echoes of his proclamation speech have dissipated, Erap literally shot himself in the foot - too many mistresses, too many midnight meetings, too many drinking sprees, and worst of all, the worst kind of friends. Not the evil ones, just the stupid ones.
No one had reined Estrada in, and his dissipation played into the hands of his enemies. While I never liked Erap, I pitied the way he was massacred by his erstwhile friends and allies. The snobs among the power-brokers must have been smiling from ear to ear during the sordid affair of Juetengate.
Here comes Gloria, self-anointed savior and goaded on by members of civil society to make a difference. Only... despite her record as a legislator, Gloria never exhibited the kind of political independence to break away from the mold.
Many people celebrated the ouster of Erap, but those agitators who said "Resign All" must, in some way, prophesied the impasse where the Filipinos find themselves now.
Dare we celebrate being vindicated in our belief, or wouldn't we have wanted Gloria to have done something different. Her thrashing of her Rizal Day 2002 speech of not running again should have unmanned a lot of people. I was, and vowed not to support her, for any reason.
THE ADMINISTRATION FEARED THE COMING OF FPJ. Again, both sides knew it was a numbers game, and the Filipino people merrily played along. So now, you have an unpopular and perhaps bogus President, and a populist tool as Vice President.
The stars smiled at Noli de Castro when he ran for Vice President. Of course, those stars have aligned to muddle up the situation.
Everyone wants proof somewhere that the President cheated. Yes, bring it on. Whatever happens, the institution of the President's office, Congress, Comelec, and even the notion of voting have been savaged.
And so it goes, and so it goes, and no one really knows. Will cynicism triumph? Maybe.
I just hope they pack it in before Christmas.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Coming To A Head
Adapted.
The ongoing political crisis is a big wet blanket. Certainly we need no more goads to deepen our cynicism over Philippine government and institutions.
Here come the radical NGOs like Migrante and spokesperson Maita Santiago saying that OFWs should stop remitting back to the Philippines or not to use banking channels at all.
As to the intelligence of such a suggestion, well, I'd like to demur comment. This is of course, a real no-brainer --- and my answer to Maita and her ilk: Go get a job! Better yet, go get a life!
If mainstream OFWs had a more comprehensive menu on which to base their choices, leaving the Philippines wouldhardly be palatable. As it is, it is hardly a great choice either right now, even with the Philippines in turmoil. A Maita Santiago would keep her mouth shut if this is just the kind ofuninformed, sweeping generalization she is prepared (or ill-prepared)to make. I'm glad I don't have to follow that kind of tune.
However, I feel that ordinary Filipinos still have their say. Notwithstanding the lightheartedness of poking fun with the "Garci" tapes, folks back home must really figure out what to do or these self-appointed protectors will have a field day. It would be nice to have the silent majority come up with something.
The ongoing political crisis is a big wet blanket. Certainly we need no more goads to deepen our cynicism over Philippine government and institutions.
Here come the radical NGOs like Migrante and spokesperson Maita Santiago saying that OFWs should stop remitting back to the Philippines or not to use banking channels at all.
As to the intelligence of such a suggestion, well, I'd like to demur comment. This is of course, a real no-brainer --- and my answer to Maita and her ilk: Go get a job! Better yet, go get a life!
If mainstream OFWs had a more comprehensive menu on which to base their choices, leaving the Philippines wouldhardly be palatable. As it is, it is hardly a great choice either right now, even with the Philippines in turmoil. A Maita Santiago would keep her mouth shut if this is just the kind ofuninformed, sweeping generalization she is prepared (or ill-prepared)to make. I'm glad I don't have to follow that kind of tune.
However, I feel that ordinary Filipinos still have their say. Notwithstanding the lightheartedness of poking fun with the "Garci" tapes, folks back home must really figure out what to do or these self-appointed protectors will have a field day. It would be nice to have the silent majority come up with something.
Saturday, June 11, 2005
Finding Intimacy
My biggest wish these days is that I could take my own advice. The future is not so bleak and and undefined as it once was, only the certainty that life will end someday is much more palpable. I no longer fear that I have no place in this world. I just fear that I will leave nothing behind. A textbook case for Erik Erikson on Generativity/Stagnation, I would surmise. Though maybe I should look into Intimacy/Isolation.
I am somewhat resigned that it is not my fate to rise to rapturous heights of romance - I hate to be a real party pooper, but such rapture is often an illusion or fleeting moments at best. It's not that I fear intimacy - but the pathways in my life, the things I have chosen to do, have kept me from being intimate with just that ONE PERSON with whom I can share the rest of my life. It's funny that it isn't as hard as it seems, but I have a suspicion my simple open-hearted ways lead some to suspect I have murky hidden agenda. WYSIWYG, and perhaps a surprise or two, with my package.
Twenty years ago I had lofty dreams to be a difference-maker. What I didn't know at that time was what it would cost to be that kind of person. I think it was Voltaire who said that the sum of the human condition will be largely unchanged even by historic events - there will always be the poor and deprived, and misery will be the lot of many people regardless of what we do to change that. I'd like to believe differently, but I can only do so much. Maybe I won't even be a footnote to history, but I'd like my life to have been instrumental in making others' lives happier.
It's tough when no one is there to listen. It's tough without someone who will lean upon me, whom I will hold around my arms and keep safe through the tough times, someone whose acceptance will make me more courageous in facing each day.
Until then, I live each day and give as much as I can, and even when my heart is shredded by the vicissitudes of life, so it must be. I won't make deals with my Maker, but I surely hope this will be enough for Him.
I am somewhat resigned that it is not my fate to rise to rapturous heights of romance - I hate to be a real party pooper, but such rapture is often an illusion or fleeting moments at best. It's not that I fear intimacy - but the pathways in my life, the things I have chosen to do, have kept me from being intimate with just that ONE PERSON with whom I can share the rest of my life. It's funny that it isn't as hard as it seems, but I have a suspicion my simple open-hearted ways lead some to suspect I have murky hidden agenda. WYSIWYG, and perhaps a surprise or two, with my package.
Twenty years ago I had lofty dreams to be a difference-maker. What I didn't know at that time was what it would cost to be that kind of person. I think it was Voltaire who said that the sum of the human condition will be largely unchanged even by historic events - there will always be the poor and deprived, and misery will be the lot of many people regardless of what we do to change that. I'd like to believe differently, but I can only do so much. Maybe I won't even be a footnote to history, but I'd like my life to have been instrumental in making others' lives happier.
It's tough when no one is there to listen. It's tough without someone who will lean upon me, whom I will hold around my arms and keep safe through the tough times, someone whose acceptance will make me more courageous in facing each day.
Until then, I live each day and give as much as I can, and even when my heart is shredded by the vicissitudes of life, so it must be. I won't make deals with my Maker, but I surely hope this will be enough for Him.
Saturday, June 04, 2005
Soldiering On
Why does everything I see remind me of her?
Why do the sounds of life go by?
When my heart still shakes 'cause it's unsure
Why am I afraid to say goodbye?
Happiness is always a gamble
Loneliness forces you to soldier on
Never knowing the onset of desperation
Waking up when dreams are dead and gone.
Love is heavily overrated
Romance in a pill is more oh-so-convenient
Drowning yourself in alcoholic bliss
Sex with strangers is much more expedient.
Cynics really lie to themselves
Wearing a wolf’s clothing to hide a sheep’s heart
Masking a spirit that’s been hurt and broken
Not wanting to be alone, but still keeping apart.
So why despair of my memories of her?
I caress the keys dreaming of our first kiss
Holding on to my shell of inscrutability
When she doesn’t know that I exist.
Why do the sounds of life go by?
When my heart still shakes 'cause it's unsure
Why am I afraid to say goodbye?
Happiness is always a gamble
Loneliness forces you to soldier on
Never knowing the onset of desperation
Waking up when dreams are dead and gone.
Love is heavily overrated
Romance in a pill is more oh-so-convenient
Drowning yourself in alcoholic bliss
Sex with strangers is much more expedient.
Cynics really lie to themselves
Wearing a wolf’s clothing to hide a sheep’s heart
Masking a spirit that’s been hurt and broken
Not wanting to be alone, but still keeping apart.
So why despair of my memories of her?
I caress the keys dreaming of our first kiss
Holding on to my shell of inscrutability
When she doesn’t know that I exist.
Monday, May 30, 2005
Bumping Into Michelle Krusiec
I bumped into Michelle Krusiec while reading my daily online edition of the New York Times (registration required, though):
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/05/29/movies/29leib.html
While the movie itself does make some kind of statement for Asian-American filmmakers on the one hand, and a different love angle through the experience of lesbians (oh boy, I said it, I'm going to get a few webhits for this one), I was more intrigued because one of the lead actresses was a name I haven't heard for quite some time - that of Michelle's.
My buddy Des and I thought of a travel magazine during our down-and-out following our aborted careers as educators (the memories those times bring up ---!) and one of our inspirations was "Travelers" which aired from 1996-98 on the Discovery Channel. Michelle was my favorite regular on the show, though up until now her obvious Asian ancestry does not explain her last name, and until I read her short bio I had to assume her father was American.
I would have caught her earlier had I been a fan of "The Mind of the Married Man" on HBO (where she appeared as topless Japanese masseuse "Sachiko" - dang, now I have to find DVD copies of the show!)
I just liked the memory seeing Michelle's face and the associations it had with some part of my life - aside from the fact that I have always been partial to Chinese girls. Anyhow, one other thing that grips me is that there is so much talent out there in the Philippines that could use a break. Whether or not the current trend of reality-shows/talent searches would help in generating more talent, I really don't know. All I know is too much of a good thing (as matters stand right now) turns out bad in the end.
Anyway, back to Michelle, here is her website:
http://www.michellekrusiec.com/
For more on the movie:
http://www.sonyclassics.com/savingface/
And, for those who don't want to waddle through the NY Times, I'm posting the article ---
May 29, 2005
Kissing Vivian ShingBy ED LEIBOWITZ
THE story behind Alice Wu's "Saving Face" - which is squeezing into theaters between commercial giants "Madagascar" and "The Longest Yard" this weekend - is almost as improbable as the film's plot. The first movie wholly about Chinese-Americans bankrolled by Hollywood since Disney released "The Joy Luck Club" in 1993, it is a romantic comedy about three generations of an immigrant family: a deeply traditional grandfather, his middle-aged daughter (widowed and mysteriously pregnant) and his lesbian doctor granddaughter, who happens to fall in love with a ballerina.
Even one of its producers, the superstar Will Smith, calls the movie "perfectly bizarre" in its twists, on-screen and off. Indeed, "Saving Face" owes its existence to the vagaries of business planning at Microsoft, to new assertiveness in the Chinese-American film world, and to a helicopter soaring above Manhattan for the $70 million Sony Pictures blockbuster "Hitch." More, it was born from Ms. Wu's unlikely success in refusing to make unwelcome concessions when she was asked for them by seasoned film executives.
In 1998, Ms. Wu, having earned her Ph.D. in computer science at Stanford University, was the program manager at Cinemania and Music Central, Microsoft's CD-ROM entertainment offerings. Unfulfilled, though, was her long-held desire to become a writer - an option that she believed was closed to her as the daughter of Taiwanese immigrants, who spoke only Mandarin until she entered the California public school system. "I certainly grew up knowing I was going to take care of my parents," Ms. Wu said in a recent interview. "And English majors generally don't make enough money to pay off their loans and take care of her parents."
At the time, Microsoft was betraying uncharacteristic indecision about how to retool its information services for the fast-emerging Internet. Suddenly, Ms. Wu's division didn't have much to do, and she began writing a novel inspired by her experience of coming out as a lesbian, along with her mother's difficulties in middle age. "You have to sit there for nine hours," Ms. Wu said, "so at least I always looked busy typing."
In the culture she was exploring, Ms. Wu found that many of her characters would say things they didn't mean. The chasm between their words and conflicting facial expressions, she thought, might come across better in a movie.
That insight led to a 12-week screenwriting class at the University of Seattle and a draft of "Saving Face" - which was hashed out in three nights after epic procrastination. Amazingly, she said, her instructor liked it. But he told Ms. Wu she could protect the integrity of the script only by directing it herself.
Defying colossal odds, she quit Microsoft and set out to do exactly that, giving herself five years to succeed. Moving to Brooklyn, Ms. Wu enrolled in a course taught by Alan Oxman, editor of Todd Solondz's "Happiness" and "Welcome to the Dollhouse." She was in the first graduating class of what would become Mr. Oxman's Chelsea-based Edit Center. There, she learned what she calls "guerrilla filmmaking," but, for almost three years of her allotted five, left "Saving Face" untouched.
That changed in 2002, when, on a tip from her screenwriting teacher, she entered the script in a contest sponsored by a Hollywood advocacy and networking group called the Coalition of Asian Pacifics in Entertainment. And won.
"They had me meet with a lot of people in Hollywood, mostly Asian-American studio executives, which I hadn't honestly known existed," Ms. Wu said. She also hadn't anticipated just how often she would be asked to consider changes that struck at the very heart of the script everyone seemed to like so much: Couldn't Ms. Wu make her characters white, so maybe the young doctor could be played by, say, Reese Witherspoon, and Ellen Burstyn could be cast as her mother? How about making the love affair heterosexual? Did she have to direct as well as write it? It was advice Ms. Wu declined to take.
On a later trip back to Los Angeles, Ms. Wu met Teddy Zee, who, until last month, was the president of Overbrook Entertainment, Mr. Smith's production company. Before joining Overbrook, Mr. Zee had served as a longtime executive at Sony Pictures. He'd grown up in cultural isolation in the Catskills - his Shanghai-born father was a salad chef at Grossinger's; his mother had traditionally bound feet and didn't speak English - and he seized upon movies as his escape. And, after a career spent on studio films, he found Ms. Wu's story striking at his roots.
"I didn't pick this script; this script picked me," Mr. Zee said. "You don't set up to do something crazy like this." " 'Saving Face,' " Mr. Zee explained, was "an awakening for me about the Asian-American experience in Hollywood, because I was always such a part of the studio system. Every day there are actors coming in who are Chinese-American, who don't get an opportunity except to play prostitutes or waiters."
The aspiring filmmaker's obstinacy only reinforced his commitment to her. "Alice comes off as very accommodating," Mr. Zee said. "But when it comes to her vision, she's a killer."
For Mr. Smith, the great appeal in "Saving Face" was its unpredictability. "You just never heard a story like that one before," Mr. Smith said, "and it's half in Mandarin Chinese. I was completely out of my wheelhouse." Mr. Smith and James Lassiter, his longtime manager and partner at Overbrook, committed to produce with Mr. Zee, if the financing could be found.
In November 2002, Mr. Zee had lunch with Ben Feingold, president of Sony Pictures Home Entertainment, who told him that he could greenlight certain genre movies at the right price. Even in the event those films never made it into theaters, his division had the wherewithal to market them directly to video.
Mr. Zee urged Ms. Wu to fly out a few days later for a dinner held by his Hollywood advocacy group. She went, despite her skepticism that anything would come of it. At the dinner, though, Mr. Zee buttonholed two of Mr. Feingold's executives - Fritz Friedman, his Filipino-American senior vice president of publicity and a co-founder of the group, and Lexine Wong, the division's Chinese- and Japanese-American executive vice president for worldwide marketing. "I introduced Alice to them, and I said: 'You know what, guys? Your boss says he can greenlight movies, and this is one of the best scripts I've ever read,' " Mr. Zee remembered saying. " 'You guys should champion this - the three of us should do this just based on the fact that we're Asian.' "
The next Monday, Mr. Feingold approved the project at a modest budget of $2.5 million. But the film's language barrier remained an issue at Overbrook. "Certainly, my producers said, 'Do they have to speak Mandarin?' " Ms. Wu recalled, "and I was just like, 'These things are nonnegotiable, and this is why.' " Mr. Zee had no better luck when he suggested she consider changing her ballerina's ethnicity. "He really thought the love interest should be white so that we could cast a star," Ms. Wu said. "I said, 'No.' The moment you make the love interest white, it becomes about race."
So instead of a Scarlett Johansson, Ms. Wu cast a retired ballerina and aspiring actress, Lynn Chen, in the pivotal role of Vivian Shing. Playing opposite her as the medical student is Michelle Krusiec, who had supporting parts in "Dumb and Dumberer" and "Daddy Day Care." Mr. Zee also advised Ms. Wu to cut out what he first regarded as a false ending to the film, but, predictably, she demurred.
Ms. Wu sees nothing strange in her disregard of virtually every story change suggested by her producers. "It's not like I'm out there hiring script consultants," Ms. Wu said. "I'm hiring producers. I need them to find financing. They did, you know, and then they were really supportive."
Filming began in fall 2003, with a Buddhist prayer ceremony and burning incense. Despite her enormous confidence in her story, Ms. Wu delivered a warning. "I said to my producers: 'God, I need to tell you that I might be terrible at this. I know I really love the writing, but I've never done a feature.' "
Many of the scenes would be shot in Brooklyn and the Chinese-American enclave of Flushing, Queens. Not long into production, Ms. Wu realized that the date was Oct. 10, and that, while the film had a few more weeks to more to shoot, she had made good on her five-year plan.
Ms. Wu's film entered a slow postproduction as Overbrook geared up for "Hitch," the comedy featuring Mr. Smith and the "King of Queens" star Kevin James, a bit of synchronicity that solved yet another problem for "Saving Face."
Ms. Wu had about exhausted what money was available to her, but she still insisted that her picture have exterior scenes to situate her story in the larger landscape of New York City. "Alice had always been adamant that we needed to have some second-unit shots," Mr. Zee said, "and I was never a supporter of doing more shooting until absolutely the movie was locked in."
As it happened, when a helicopter lifted off above Manhattan to film aerial shots for "Hitch," Mr. Zee arranged to have a "Saving Face" shadow unit pile into the cabin for a sharply reduced fee. While the "Hitch" crew captured city views of Madison Square Garden, Ms. Wu was getting the sequence that established her entire film - her heroine's D train making its way over the Manhattan Bridge, with the camera veering up to capture the New York skyline for the credits.
"Saving Face" was an official selection at the most recent Sundance and Toronto film festivals. In Toronto, Ms. Wu learned that Sony Pictures Classics would handle its distribution.
Pleased as he is to see the picture finally in theaters, Mr. Zee admits to a certain wistfulness now that the filmmaking family around Ms. Wu is about to break up. "We go to the various festivals and screenings, we all get together and we have reunions," Mr. Zee said. "So it's sad to see the movie actually come out because it means it's going to be the end of our run together."
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/05/29/movies/29leib.html
While the movie itself does make some kind of statement for Asian-American filmmakers on the one hand, and a different love angle through the experience of lesbians (oh boy, I said it, I'm going to get a few webhits for this one), I was more intrigued because one of the lead actresses was a name I haven't heard for quite some time - that of Michelle's.
My buddy Des and I thought of a travel magazine during our down-and-out following our aborted careers as educators (the memories those times bring up ---!) and one of our inspirations was "Travelers" which aired from 1996-98 on the Discovery Channel. Michelle was my favorite regular on the show, though up until now her obvious Asian ancestry does not explain her last name, and until I read her short bio I had to assume her father was American.
I would have caught her earlier had I been a fan of "The Mind of the Married Man" on HBO (where she appeared as topless Japanese masseuse "Sachiko" - dang, now I have to find DVD copies of the show!)
I just liked the memory seeing Michelle's face and the associations it had with some part of my life - aside from the fact that I have always been partial to Chinese girls. Anyhow, one other thing that grips me is that there is so much talent out there in the Philippines that could use a break. Whether or not the current trend of reality-shows/talent searches would help in generating more talent, I really don't know. All I know is too much of a good thing (as matters stand right now) turns out bad in the end.
Anyway, back to Michelle, here is her website:
http://www.michellekrusiec.com/
For more on the movie:
http://www.sonyclassics.com/savingface/
And, for those who don't want to waddle through the NY Times, I'm posting the article ---
May 29, 2005
Kissing Vivian ShingBy ED LEIBOWITZ
THE story behind Alice Wu's "Saving Face" - which is squeezing into theaters between commercial giants "Madagascar" and "The Longest Yard" this weekend - is almost as improbable as the film's plot. The first movie wholly about Chinese-Americans bankrolled by Hollywood since Disney released "The Joy Luck Club" in 1993, it is a romantic comedy about three generations of an immigrant family: a deeply traditional grandfather, his middle-aged daughter (widowed and mysteriously pregnant) and his lesbian doctor granddaughter, who happens to fall in love with a ballerina.
Even one of its producers, the superstar Will Smith, calls the movie "perfectly bizarre" in its twists, on-screen and off. Indeed, "Saving Face" owes its existence to the vagaries of business planning at Microsoft, to new assertiveness in the Chinese-American film world, and to a helicopter soaring above Manhattan for the $70 million Sony Pictures blockbuster "Hitch." More, it was born from Ms. Wu's unlikely success in refusing to make unwelcome concessions when she was asked for them by seasoned film executives.
In 1998, Ms. Wu, having earned her Ph.D. in computer science at Stanford University, was the program manager at Cinemania and Music Central, Microsoft's CD-ROM entertainment offerings. Unfulfilled, though, was her long-held desire to become a writer - an option that she believed was closed to her as the daughter of Taiwanese immigrants, who spoke only Mandarin until she entered the California public school system. "I certainly grew up knowing I was going to take care of my parents," Ms. Wu said in a recent interview. "And English majors generally don't make enough money to pay off their loans and take care of her parents."
At the time, Microsoft was betraying uncharacteristic indecision about how to retool its information services for the fast-emerging Internet. Suddenly, Ms. Wu's division didn't have much to do, and she began writing a novel inspired by her experience of coming out as a lesbian, along with her mother's difficulties in middle age. "You have to sit there for nine hours," Ms. Wu said, "so at least I always looked busy typing."
In the culture she was exploring, Ms. Wu found that many of her characters would say things they didn't mean. The chasm between their words and conflicting facial expressions, she thought, might come across better in a movie.
That insight led to a 12-week screenwriting class at the University of Seattle and a draft of "Saving Face" - which was hashed out in three nights after epic procrastination. Amazingly, she said, her instructor liked it. But he told Ms. Wu she could protect the integrity of the script only by directing it herself.
Defying colossal odds, she quit Microsoft and set out to do exactly that, giving herself five years to succeed. Moving to Brooklyn, Ms. Wu enrolled in a course taught by Alan Oxman, editor of Todd Solondz's "Happiness" and "Welcome to the Dollhouse." She was in the first graduating class of what would become Mr. Oxman's Chelsea-based Edit Center. There, she learned what she calls "guerrilla filmmaking," but, for almost three years of her allotted five, left "Saving Face" untouched.
That changed in 2002, when, on a tip from her screenwriting teacher, she entered the script in a contest sponsored by a Hollywood advocacy and networking group called the Coalition of Asian Pacifics in Entertainment. And won.
"They had me meet with a lot of people in Hollywood, mostly Asian-American studio executives, which I hadn't honestly known existed," Ms. Wu said. She also hadn't anticipated just how often she would be asked to consider changes that struck at the very heart of the script everyone seemed to like so much: Couldn't Ms. Wu make her characters white, so maybe the young doctor could be played by, say, Reese Witherspoon, and Ellen Burstyn could be cast as her mother? How about making the love affair heterosexual? Did she have to direct as well as write it? It was advice Ms. Wu declined to take.
On a later trip back to Los Angeles, Ms. Wu met Teddy Zee, who, until last month, was the president of Overbrook Entertainment, Mr. Smith's production company. Before joining Overbrook, Mr. Zee had served as a longtime executive at Sony Pictures. He'd grown up in cultural isolation in the Catskills - his Shanghai-born father was a salad chef at Grossinger's; his mother had traditionally bound feet and didn't speak English - and he seized upon movies as his escape. And, after a career spent on studio films, he found Ms. Wu's story striking at his roots.
"I didn't pick this script; this script picked me," Mr. Zee said. "You don't set up to do something crazy like this." " 'Saving Face,' " Mr. Zee explained, was "an awakening for me about the Asian-American experience in Hollywood, because I was always such a part of the studio system. Every day there are actors coming in who are Chinese-American, who don't get an opportunity except to play prostitutes or waiters."
The aspiring filmmaker's obstinacy only reinforced his commitment to her. "Alice comes off as very accommodating," Mr. Zee said. "But when it comes to her vision, she's a killer."
For Mr. Smith, the great appeal in "Saving Face" was its unpredictability. "You just never heard a story like that one before," Mr. Smith said, "and it's half in Mandarin Chinese. I was completely out of my wheelhouse." Mr. Smith and James Lassiter, his longtime manager and partner at Overbrook, committed to produce with Mr. Zee, if the financing could be found.
In November 2002, Mr. Zee had lunch with Ben Feingold, president of Sony Pictures Home Entertainment, who told him that he could greenlight certain genre movies at the right price. Even in the event those films never made it into theaters, his division had the wherewithal to market them directly to video.
Mr. Zee urged Ms. Wu to fly out a few days later for a dinner held by his Hollywood advocacy group. She went, despite her skepticism that anything would come of it. At the dinner, though, Mr. Zee buttonholed two of Mr. Feingold's executives - Fritz Friedman, his Filipino-American senior vice president of publicity and a co-founder of the group, and Lexine Wong, the division's Chinese- and Japanese-American executive vice president for worldwide marketing. "I introduced Alice to them, and I said: 'You know what, guys? Your boss says he can greenlight movies, and this is one of the best scripts I've ever read,' " Mr. Zee remembered saying. " 'You guys should champion this - the three of us should do this just based on the fact that we're Asian.' "
The next Monday, Mr. Feingold approved the project at a modest budget of $2.5 million. But the film's language barrier remained an issue at Overbrook. "Certainly, my producers said, 'Do they have to speak Mandarin?' " Ms. Wu recalled, "and I was just like, 'These things are nonnegotiable, and this is why.' " Mr. Zee had no better luck when he suggested she consider changing her ballerina's ethnicity. "He really thought the love interest should be white so that we could cast a star," Ms. Wu said. "I said, 'No.' The moment you make the love interest white, it becomes about race."
So instead of a Scarlett Johansson, Ms. Wu cast a retired ballerina and aspiring actress, Lynn Chen, in the pivotal role of Vivian Shing. Playing opposite her as the medical student is Michelle Krusiec, who had supporting parts in "Dumb and Dumberer" and "Daddy Day Care." Mr. Zee also advised Ms. Wu to cut out what he first regarded as a false ending to the film, but, predictably, she demurred.
Ms. Wu sees nothing strange in her disregard of virtually every story change suggested by her producers. "It's not like I'm out there hiring script consultants," Ms. Wu said. "I'm hiring producers. I need them to find financing. They did, you know, and then they were really supportive."
Filming began in fall 2003, with a Buddhist prayer ceremony and burning incense. Despite her enormous confidence in her story, Ms. Wu delivered a warning. "I said to my producers: 'God, I need to tell you that I might be terrible at this. I know I really love the writing, but I've never done a feature.' "
Many of the scenes would be shot in Brooklyn and the Chinese-American enclave of Flushing, Queens. Not long into production, Ms. Wu realized that the date was Oct. 10, and that, while the film had a few more weeks to more to shoot, she had made good on her five-year plan.
Ms. Wu's film entered a slow postproduction as Overbrook geared up for "Hitch," the comedy featuring Mr. Smith and the "King of Queens" star Kevin James, a bit of synchronicity that solved yet another problem for "Saving Face."
Ms. Wu had about exhausted what money was available to her, but she still insisted that her picture have exterior scenes to situate her story in the larger landscape of New York City. "Alice had always been adamant that we needed to have some second-unit shots," Mr. Zee said, "and I was never a supporter of doing more shooting until absolutely the movie was locked in."
As it happened, when a helicopter lifted off above Manhattan to film aerial shots for "Hitch," Mr. Zee arranged to have a "Saving Face" shadow unit pile into the cabin for a sharply reduced fee. While the "Hitch" crew captured city views of Madison Square Garden, Ms. Wu was getting the sequence that established her entire film - her heroine's D train making its way over the Manhattan Bridge, with the camera veering up to capture the New York skyline for the credits.
"Saving Face" was an official selection at the most recent Sundance and Toronto film festivals. In Toronto, Ms. Wu learned that Sony Pictures Classics would handle its distribution.
Pleased as he is to see the picture finally in theaters, Mr. Zee admits to a certain wistfulness now that the filmmaking family around Ms. Wu is about to break up. "We go to the various festivals and screenings, we all get together and we have reunions," Mr. Zee said. "So it's sad to see the movie actually come out because it means it's going to be the end of our run together."
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Hoping for the Country
I guess I will gather some links while I have time to read:
http://news.inq7.net/opinion/index.php?index=2&story_id=37760&col=60
A nice piece by Randy David (eminently quotable, for all that I disagree with some of his politics). One thing this generation of young Filipino professionals has always heard is to prepare the next generation. One can count the spin on songs of "The Greatest Love of All" and poems like Rizal's "To the Filipino Youth."
Last time I checked the lines are still blaring this refrain. Ironically the generation that was being referred to when we first heard that catchphrase was us. Now, when we listen to it, some may ask: where is our youth going to? Where, indeed, as we who were once younger?
In a world where we are striving for economic balance in our lives and for many of us who are coping with the challenges of raising families, quo vadis the agenda for making the Philippines better?
What agenda do we hold when we head our own companies, as invariably some of us do right now, or begin making names for ourselves in the corridors of power? What would be tragic is that, as we were growing up and finding the state of affairs wanting, find that when we reach our own personal aspirations, we have turned into the very things we were dissatisfied with.
Just a few things to think about... I don't mean to be one of those Cassandras but once in a while (when I'm sober, as I am right now), some things cause one to think.
It's nice to have a future to fight for. But all fights must be fought in the present for them to be worthwhile.
http://news.inq7.net/opinion/index.php?index=2&story_id=37760&col=60
A nice piece by Randy David (eminently quotable, for all that I disagree with some of his politics). One thing this generation of young Filipino professionals has always heard is to prepare the next generation. One can count the spin on songs of "The Greatest Love of All" and poems like Rizal's "To the Filipino Youth."
Last time I checked the lines are still blaring this refrain. Ironically the generation that was being referred to when we first heard that catchphrase was us. Now, when we listen to it, some may ask: where is our youth going to? Where, indeed, as we who were once younger?
In a world where we are striving for economic balance in our lives and for many of us who are coping with the challenges of raising families, quo vadis the agenda for making the Philippines better?
What agenda do we hold when we head our own companies, as invariably some of us do right now, or begin making names for ourselves in the corridors of power? What would be tragic is that, as we were growing up and finding the state of affairs wanting, find that when we reach our own personal aspirations, we have turned into the very things we were dissatisfied with.
Just a few things to think about... I don't mean to be one of those Cassandras but once in a while (when I'm sober, as I am right now), some things cause one to think.
It's nice to have a future to fight for. But all fights must be fought in the present for them to be worthwhile.
Saturday, May 21, 2005
What Purpose Female Orgasm?
An interesting link, which no doubt will disappear in a few weeks so I'll post it in full later:
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/05/17/science/17orga.html?incamp=article_popular_5&pagewanted=all
I'd like to believe what Desmond Morris said about orgasms: they are a psychological response to support the development of the pair-bond among humans. A solid pair-bond would mean a man wouldn't have to worry about his chosen mate going to another man who is bigger and stronger. So, in the course of the hunt, he needn't feel insecure that the stronger and better hunter would not only get the spoils of the hunt, but also the spoils of sex.
(Come to think of it, times haven't changed in that respect.)
In a really intimate pair-bond, a man and a woman understand each other's needs and sex is not only a necessity but also very pleasurable. My thinking, an orgasm is Nature's way of saying to a woman that sex is good despite the fact that briniging a child to term in those evolutionary days was dangerous. Or that seeking multiple partners would destroy the cohesion of the tribe.
One train of thought leads me to posit that when agricultural societies started, "the thrill of the hunt" still became a regular way to add notches to masculinity but was no longer essential to security, and thus a different track - that of polygamy - started. It didn't help, I would think, that agricultural societies would demand territory for farming - and the wars that were part of such societies would decimate the male population.
So polygamy now becomes socially acceptable - it is no surprise that the nomadic society of the Hebrews found the sexual mores of the tribes inhabiting Canaan scandalous.
I believe the obsession with orgasm exists primarily because it is so rare - and that males are using this way to keep score "who is better in the sack," and at the same time keep women chained to subservience by telling them they're inadequate if they do not derive pleasure from the physical act of sex. How typical. There are, certainly, other factors involved in sex than the techniques or choreography.
What would be interesting to see is if men lose the drive for sex if an orgasm is not involved. Hmm...
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/05/17/science/17orga.html?incamp=article_popular_5&pagewanted=all
I'd like to believe what Desmond Morris said about orgasms: they are a psychological response to support the development of the pair-bond among humans. A solid pair-bond would mean a man wouldn't have to worry about his chosen mate going to another man who is bigger and stronger. So, in the course of the hunt, he needn't feel insecure that the stronger and better hunter would not only get the spoils of the hunt, but also the spoils of sex.
(Come to think of it, times haven't changed in that respect.)
In a really intimate pair-bond, a man and a woman understand each other's needs and sex is not only a necessity but also very pleasurable. My thinking, an orgasm is Nature's way of saying to a woman that sex is good despite the fact that briniging a child to term in those evolutionary days was dangerous. Or that seeking multiple partners would destroy the cohesion of the tribe.
One train of thought leads me to posit that when agricultural societies started, "the thrill of the hunt" still became a regular way to add notches to masculinity but was no longer essential to security, and thus a different track - that of polygamy - started. It didn't help, I would think, that agricultural societies would demand territory for farming - and the wars that were part of such societies would decimate the male population.
So polygamy now becomes socially acceptable - it is no surprise that the nomadic society of the Hebrews found the sexual mores of the tribes inhabiting Canaan scandalous.
I believe the obsession with orgasm exists primarily because it is so rare - and that males are using this way to keep score "who is better in the sack," and at the same time keep women chained to subservience by telling them they're inadequate if they do not derive pleasure from the physical act of sex. How typical. There are, certainly, other factors involved in sex than the techniques or choreography.
What would be interesting to see is if men lose the drive for sex if an orgasm is not involved. Hmm...
*******
May 17, 2005
A Critic Takes On the Logic of Female Orgasm
By DINITIA SMITH
Evolutionary scientists have never had difficulty explaining the male orgasm, closely tied as it is to reproduction.
But the Darwinian logic behind the female orgasm has remained elusive. Women can have sexual intercourse and even become pregnant - doing their part for the perpetuation of the species - without experiencing orgasm. So what is its evolutionary purpose?
Over the last four decades, scientists have come up with a variety of theories, arguing, for example, that orgasm encourages women to have sex and, therefore, reproduce or that it leads women to favor stronger and healthier men, maximizing their offspring's chances of survival.
But in a new book, Dr. Elisabeth A. Lloyd, a philosopher of science and professor of biology at Indiana University, takes on 20 leading theories and finds them wanting. The female orgasm, she argues in the book, "The Case of the Female Orgasm: Bias in the Science of Evolution," has no evolutionary function at all.
Rather, Dr. Lloyd says the most convincing theory is one put forward in 1979 by Dr. Donald Symons, an anthropologist.
That theory holds that female orgasms are simply artifacts - a byproduct of the parallel development of male and female embryos in the first eight or nine weeks of life.
In that early period, the nerve and tissue pathways are laid down for various reflexes, including the orgasm, Dr. Lloyd said. As development progresses, male hormones saturate the embryo, and sexuality is defined.
In boys, the penis develops, along with the potential to have orgasms and ejaculate, while "females get the nerve pathways for orgasm by initially having the same body plan."
Nipples in men are similarly vestigial, Dr. Lloyd pointed out.
While nipples in woman serve a purpose, male nipples appear to be simply left over from the initial stage of embryonic development.
The female orgasm, she said, "is for fun."
Dr. Lloyd said scientists had insisted on finding an evolutionary function for female orgasm in humans either because they were invested in believing that women's sexuality must exactly parallel that of men or because they were convinced that all traits had to be "adaptations," that is, serve an evolutionary function.
Theories of female orgasm are significant, she added, because "men's expectations about women's normal sexuality, about how women should perform, are built around these notions."
"And men are the ones who reflect back immediately to the woman whether or not she is adequate sexually," Dr. Lloyd continued.
Central to her thesis is the fact that women do not routinely have orgasms during sexual intercourse.
She analyzed 32 studies, conducted over 74 years, of the frequency of female orgasm during intercourse.
When intercourse was "unassisted," that is not accompanied by stimulation of the clitoris, just a quarter of the women studied experienced orgasms often or very often during intercourse, she found.
Five to 10 percent never had orgasms. Yet many of the women became pregnant.
Dr. Lloyd's figures are lower than those of Dr. Alfred A. Kinsey, who in his 1953 book "Sexual Behavior in the Human Female" found that 39 to 47 percent of women reported that they always, or almost always, had orgasm during intercourse.
But Kinsey, Dr. Lloyd said, included orgasms assisted by clitoral stimulation.
Dr. Lloyd said there was no doubt in her mind that the clitoris was an evolutionary adaptation, selected to create excitement, leading to sexual intercourse and then reproduction.
But, "without a link to fertility or reproduction," Dr. Lloyd said, "orgasm cannot be an adaptation."
Not everyone agrees. For example, Dr. John Alcock, a professor of biology at Arizona State University, criticized an earlier version of Dr. Lloyd's thesis, discussed in in a 1987 article by Stephen Jay Gould in the magazine Natural History.
In a phone interview, Dr. Alcock said that he had not read her new book, but that he still maintained the hypothesis that the fact that "orgasm doesn't occur every time a woman has intercourse is not evidence that it's not adaptive."
"I'm flabbergasted by the notion that orgasm has to happen every time to be adaptive," he added.
Dr. Alcock theorized that a woman might use orgasm "as an unconscious way to evaluate the quality of the male," his genetic fitness and, thus, how suitable he would be as a father for her offspring.
"Under those circumstances, you wouldn't expect her to have it every time," Dr. Alcock said.
Among the theories that Dr. Lloyd addresses in her book is one proposed in 1993, by Dr. R. Robin Baker and Dr. Mark A. Bellis, at Manchester University in England. In two papers published in the journal Animal Behaviour, they argued that female orgasm was a way of manipulating the retention of sperm by creating suction in the uterus. When a woman has an orgasm from one minute before the man ejaculates to 45 minutes after, she retains more sperm, they said.
Furthermore, they asserted, when a woman has intercourse with a man other than her regular sexual partner, she is more likely to have an orgasm in that prime time span and thus retain more sperm, presumably making conception more likely. They postulated that women seek other partners in an effort to obtain better genes for their offspring.
Dr. Lloyd said the Baker-Bellis argument was "fatally flawed because their sample size is too small."
"In one table," she said, "73 percent of the data is based on the experience of one person."
In an e-mail message recently, Dr. Baker wrote that his and Dr. Bellis's manuscript had "received intense peer review appraisal" before publication. Statisticians were among the reviewers, he said, and they noted that some sample sizes were small, "but considered that none of these were fatal to our paper."
Dr. Lloyd said that studies called into question the logic of such theories. Research by Dr. Ludwig Wildt and his colleagues at the University of Erlangen-Nuremberg in Germany in 1998, for example, found that in a healthy woman the uterus undergoes peristaltic contractions throughout the day in the absence of sexual intercourse or orgasm. This casts doubt, Dr. Lloyd argues, on the idea that the contractions of orgasm somehow affect sperm retention.
Another hypothesis, proposed in 1995 by Dr. Randy Thornhill, a professor of biology at the University of New Mexico and two colleagues, held that women were more likely to have orgasms during intercourse with men with symmetrical physical features. On the basis of earlier studies of physical attraction, Dr. Thornhill argued that symmetry might be an indicator of genetic fitness.
Dr. Lloyd, however, said those conclusions were not viable because "they only cover a minority of women, 45 percent, who say they sometimes do, and sometimes don't, have orgasm during intercourse."
"It excludes women on either end of the spectrum," she said. "The 25 percent who say they almost always have orgasm in intercourse and the 30 percent who say they rarely or never do. And that last 30 percent includes the 10 percent who say they never have orgasm under any circumstances."
In a phone interview, Dr. Thornhill said that he had not read Dr. Lloyd's book but the fact that not all women have orgasms during intercourse supports his theory.
"There will be patterns in orgasm with preferred and not preferred men," he said.
Dr. Lloyd also criticized work by Sarah Blaffer Hrdy, an emeritus professor of anthropology at the University of California, Davis, who studies primate behavior and female reproductive strategies.
Scientists have documented that orgasm occurs in some female primates; for other mammals, whether orgasm occurs remains an open question.
In the 1981 book "The Woman That Never Evolved" and in her other work, Dr. Hrdy argues that orgasm evolved in nonhuman primates as a way for the female to protect her offspring from the depredation of males.
She points out that langur monkeys have a high infant mortality rate, with 30 percent of deaths a result of babies' being killed by males who are not the fathers. Male langurs, she says, will not kill the babies of females they have mated with.
In macaques and chimpanzees, she said, females are conditioned by the pleasurable sensations of clitoral stimulation to keep copulating with multiple partners until they have an orgasm. Thus, males do not know which infants are theirs and which are not and do not attack them.
Dr. Hrdy also argues against the idea that female orgasm is an artifact of the early parallel development of male and female embryos.
"I'm convinced," she said, "that the selection of the clitoris is quite separate from that of the penis in males."
In critiquing Dr. Hrdy's view, Dr. Lloyd disputes the idea that longer periods of sexual intercourse lead to a higher incidence of orgasm, something that if it is true, may provide an evolutionary rationale for female orgasm.
But Dr. Hrdy said her work did not speak one way or another to the issue of female orgasm in humans. "My hypothesis is silent," she said.
One possibility, Dr. Hrdy said, is that orgasm in women may have been an adaptive trait in our prehuman ancestors.
"But we separated from our common primate ancestors about seven million years ago," she said.
"Perhaps the reason orgasm is so erratic is that it's phasing out," Dr. Hrdy said. "Our descendants on the starships may well wonder what all the fuss was about."
Western culture is suffused with images of women's sexuality, of women in the throes of orgasm during intercourse and seeming to reach heights of pleasure that are rare, if not impossible, for most women in everyday life.
"Accounts of our evolutionary past tell us how the various parts of our body should function," Dr. Lloyd said.
If women, she said, are told that it is "natural" to have orgasms every time they have intercourse and that orgasms will help make them pregnant, then they feel inadequate or inferior or abnormal when they do not achieve it.
"Getting the evolutionary story straight has potentially very large social and personal consequences for all women," Dr. Lloyd said. "And indirectly for men, as well."
Friday, May 20, 2005
Bittersweet
I was in love before
And then, the hurting began.
I have not loved since.
Life continues so.
Whatever form it must be
But not enough for me.
Hating has its charms
A feeling so bittersweet
A grudge to hold on.
Lying is so simple
It’s telling the truth that’s hard
Caught in a web of one’s lies
Despair often mounts
Dramas are so easily loved
With boredom for life.
Play music of choice!
Feast your senses on excess:
Better than empty.
When the bill does come
No worries for tomorrow
There's always escape.
Freedom’s just a word
A state to want but not reached
A trick of the mind
Prison is still fun
Inmates all for your choosing
When you’re the warden.
Never surrender
Don't give up the lie you've built
Truth is agony.
And then, the hurting began.
I have not loved since.
Life continues so.
Whatever form it must be
But not enough for me.
Hating has its charms
A feeling so bittersweet
A grudge to hold on.
Lying is so simple
It’s telling the truth that’s hard
Caught in a web of one’s lies
Despair often mounts
Dramas are so easily loved
With boredom for life.
Play music of choice!
Feast your senses on excess:
Better than empty.
When the bill does come
No worries for tomorrow
There's always escape.
Freedom’s just a word
A state to want but not reached
A trick of the mind
Prison is still fun
Inmates all for your choosing
When you’re the warden.
Never surrender
Don't give up the lie you've built
Truth is agony.
Sunday, May 15, 2005
A Case for Flat Taxation
You work eight hours a day, five days a week, sometimes six, and sometimes you put in overtime, paid or unpaid. You are in a two-income family struggling to make ends meet: paying the rent or the amortization on your home; worrying about the college education of your kids; buying the necessities for food and clothing.
Your government taxes you a portion of your salary and in addition, taxes you for everything that you consume; taxes you for every transaction that you make, from birth 'til death.
Your government is duty-bound to protect your life and property and in exchange, taxes you to perform this duty.
However, there is a catch: do you really trust that government is doing its job? Who takes responsibility for you and your children when you are in trouble? Do you feel safe with the police force that your taxes pay for? Will government take care of you when your children get sick?
And finally: do you trust this government will spend your taxes wisely?
The answer, most probably, is NO.
It is now time to take control over what you have responsibly worked for and earned. You pay for your family's needs in education, health, and sometimes, even for security.
Many of us citizens have demonstrated that at many times, we have succeeded DESPITE government.
So why pay more taxes when we don't rely on government to take care of the things we do take care of? Why allow ourselves to be a taxed a third of our income for working harder and making informed decisions on our lives?
We need a simple flat tax of no more than 10% for government services that we cannot handle by ourselves. With a bigger consumption tax being levied, this will give all of us citizens more flexibility in managing our money.
By lowering taxes, Filipinos have more opportunities to spend, save, and even invest in our economy and create jobs.
A simple rate means simplified administration – easier to calculate, easier to collect, and easier to SPOT CHEATING. A simple rate means people have even less incentive to cheat. No exceptions, no loopholes.
A simple rate creates an impetus for government to regulate spending and to become more efficient, and to get out of areas where government involvement is not needed. Simple taxes, in the end, would lead to simpler and more efficient government.
We need a simple FLAT TAX RATE NOW, not in the future.
Your government taxes you a portion of your salary and in addition, taxes you for everything that you consume; taxes you for every transaction that you make, from birth 'til death.
Your government is duty-bound to protect your life and property and in exchange, taxes you to perform this duty.
However, there is a catch: do you really trust that government is doing its job? Who takes responsibility for you and your children when you are in trouble? Do you feel safe with the police force that your taxes pay for? Will government take care of you when your children get sick?
And finally: do you trust this government will spend your taxes wisely?
The answer, most probably, is NO.
It is now time to take control over what you have responsibly worked for and earned. You pay for your family's needs in education, health, and sometimes, even for security.
Many of us citizens have demonstrated that at many times, we have succeeded DESPITE government.
So why pay more taxes when we don't rely on government to take care of the things we do take care of? Why allow ourselves to be a taxed a third of our income for working harder and making informed decisions on our lives?
We need a simple flat tax of no more than 10% for government services that we cannot handle by ourselves. With a bigger consumption tax being levied, this will give all of us citizens more flexibility in managing our money.
By lowering taxes, Filipinos have more opportunities to spend, save, and even invest in our economy and create jobs.
A simple rate means simplified administration – easier to calculate, easier to collect, and easier to SPOT CHEATING. A simple rate means people have even less incentive to cheat. No exceptions, no loopholes.
A simple rate creates an impetus for government to regulate spending and to become more efficient, and to get out of areas where government involvement is not needed. Simple taxes, in the end, would lead to simpler and more efficient government.
We need a simple FLAT TAX RATE NOW, not in the future.
Saturday, May 14, 2005
Crud! --- Ruminations
My brain is not in the best shape right now so I'm unloading and blabbing on a bit.
Just a few things to share.
- My weight has ballooned to 107 kgs., which makes me just as heavy as San Antonio Spurs forward Robert Horry, only he is about a foot-and-a-half taller than I am. Yikes! That was my arrival weight last year, too, but I think this one is more legit since I was weighed down by adjustment last time. Scary.
- I am now a lone wolf in the apartment (at least for a week) - my officemate went on a training trip while his wife and two kids are still in the Philippines. Being in an empty space like this one is more depressing than I thought - I actually sat through "A Countess from Hong Kong" with Marlon Brando/Sophia Loren (Sophia put the "S" in sizzle in this movie), "The Apartment" with Jack Lemmon/Shirley MacLaine (in my opinion, the best Billy Wilder movie, though "Some Like It Hot" is a real good one), and "Little Man Tate" with Jodie Foster starring and directing ALL in one sitting. We have a great movie channel by the way, but sometimes the commercials can be a drag.
- We went to meet with the Dammam Toastmasters Club since the Company Head Cheeses said to us we must do it. To illustrate the phrase "dragged while kicking and screaming" would be an understatement. For those in the know, we had a Table Topics session and incidentally, I won that one over my boss, who was also dragged into the fray. As if I needed another goad... Crud! Still, I came out of that session hall learning something useful.
- I started my walking regimen on Thursday and boy oh boy, was that a real bad move. I got up at 5:30 am, joined my buddies at 6 and came back to eat breakfast at 8. It was a torrid pace, for me, at least, cutting my walking time for the same distance by about 30%. Result: when I showed up in the office to do additional work, I actually fell asleep. My ankles still hurt. That, however, does not make me Shaquille O'Neal.
- Our mandate to do really good things becomes even tougher with our Chief Banana getting bumped to position as Director, Administration and Human Resources. I predicted that six months ago and even without my crystal ball there will be tough times ahead.
It was just one year ago people voted for President...now people want another change. Bombs go off in Iraq, but somehow the sense of outrage is deadening. That, I think, is a greater tragedy...
I never did get to share what happened with me the day Pope John Paul II passed away. I was playing an endless rote game on my PC back home in the Philippines when I logged on and read that the Pope had died 30 minutes past.
It was like the crumbling of another pillar of our lives, like the world had lost another reason for being relevant. I wrote so many years back that the late Holiness was, in many senses, head and shoulders above the normal human throng, and I am glad that HE SAW ME that day when the PopeMobile meandered its way through Intramuros.
I write this because I have always calendared my good buddy Robert's birthday alongside that of His Holiness (since they were both born on May 18). I reminded my friends not to forget Robert on his birthday. He always has surprises or treats for everyone.
So now, it's crud since it's freaking HOT in the Philippines. Crud that I sit behind this desk and soon will be booted out in the name of progress (hope the new cubicle is better). Crud because of work. Crud because I'm not up to doing work.
And most of all, crud because I'm missing the NBA Playoffs on TV. Go Pacers!
Sunday, May 08, 2005
Always a Mama's Boy
It's Mother's Day... and I found this reading from an article by Randy David that I filched from the online version of the Inquirer.
http://news.inq7.net/opinion/index.php?index=2&story_id=36293
It does make good reading. It doesn't make me feel bad to say that I'm a Mama's boy. I strive to be my late father's man, but I always remain that boy to my mother.
Happy Mother's Day! … for the mothers now and the mothers-to-be, and for all of the mothers in our lives, living and dead.
But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one that compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more.
On to the article:
Men and their mothers
AS they sat on a bench in the crowded courtroom, she began to wipe the sweat on his face with a crumpled handkerchief. He lowered his head and leaned slightly toward his mother. She hadn't seen him in a while, and now he was back in her arms, her son, her little one. It was 1954. The man was Luis Taruc, the 41-year-old dreaded Huk Supremo, who was being tried for rebellion. His mother, Roberta, kept him company every single day of the trial.
It was an image that stayed a long time with my father, Pedro David, then a young assistant provincial fiscal assigned to prosecute the legendary hero of Central Luzon's peasantry. He remembered being transfixed by that scene. At that moment, my father said, he knew in his heart he was prosecuting a good man. In the evening, over supper, he shared with my mother his misgivings about the Taruc case. My father had a deep sense of social justice.
But he had a job to do, and it wasn't an easy one. Pampanga in the 1950s was a hotbed of rebellion. Cane fields were being torched daily by landless peasants. So-called "civilian guards" funded by the landlords roamed the barrios in search of Huk rebels. We were not a landed family, but being a government lawyer, my father found himself upholding the laws of a government that took the side of the landlords. I was in grade school. I remember sharing our home with soldiers who had been sent to provide us security for the duration of the trial. My father won his spurs in that celebrated case. Luis Taruc was convicted for the crime of rebellion complex, under a law that, if I recall correctly, was later declared unconstitutional. He spent 16 years in prison. Marcos freed him so he could parade him as a symbol of his commitment to agrarian reform.
Many years later, I met Ka Luis at a function in the University of the Philippines. I introduced myself as the son of Fiscal Pedro David. The name quickly rang a bell. He looked at me as if searching for the face of the young man who had sent him to jail. Then he smiled warmly and shook my hand. "Your father was a good lawyer, and he was always fair," he told me. "I hold no grudge against him whatsoever; he was doing his duty." "But," he added with a chuckle, "I am glad his son and I are now on the same side."
It was the beginning of a long friendship. I invited him a few times to my TV program. He would ask me to accompany him on his visits to remote barrios in Nueva Ecija and Pampanga, where communities of Hukvets revered him as a hero. Two years ago, he came to our home in Betis. He met my brothers and sisters and regaled them with stories of the Huk years. Even in his late years, Ka Luis never lost his fire. He was articulate in three languages.
Ka Luis died this week. He would have been 92. At his wake the other night, I saw a picture of his mother beside the coffin. It was a photo taken in 1953, when he met his mother for the first time after he came down from the hills. In my mind's eye, I had imagined his mother, Roberta Mangalus Taruc, to have the same build and appearance as my father's own mother, Epifania. She did look like her. And I am certain it was exactly how my father had pictured her in that crowded courtroom in Pampanga more than 50 years ago. He saw his own mother in her.
Men are lambs in the presence of their mothers. They lose their hardness, and their public stature becomes irrelevant. Think of Jose Rizal and Ninoy Aquino. Think of Ferdinand Marcos and Joseph Estrada. They are children all over again in front of Mama. Before their fathers, they are achievers. But before their mothers, they are nothing but human beings longing to be loved. For all their gentleness, it is mothers who loom as the tough figures in men's lives.
The Nobel laureate Gabriel Garcia Marquez opens his autobiographical work, "Living to tell the tale," with tender recollections of his no-nonsense mother. Every son will easily recognize his own mother in these lines: "Her most conspicuous virtues had been a sense of humor and an iron good health that the sneak attacks of diversity would never defeat over the course of her long life. But her most surprising trait, and also since that time the least likely to be suspected, was the exquisite skill with which she hid her tremendous strength of character: a perfect Leo. This had allowed her to establish a matriarchal power whose domain extended to the most distant relatives in the most unexpected places, like a planetary system that she controlled from her kitchen with a subdued voice and almost without blinking, while the pot of beans was simmering."
My mother was very much like that. She had spent more than half of her life carrying 13 pregnancies, and the other half looking after the myriad needs of her large brood. Yet she found time to regularly visit her relatives and to be active in the local barrio council. And if she had not been ill, I believe she would have gone back to school to finish a degree. My mother had good survival instincts, and her dependable inventiveness saw us through very hard times.
Nature is wise; she blesses women with longer lives. My father was barely 60 when he died. My mother outlived him by a good 20 years. I cannot imagine what kind of life he would have had if it had been the other way around. He would not have known what to do with himself. I can feel my mother's strong influence in our lives especially when I am with my brothers and sisters. Her spirit continues to guide our relations to one another and the way we conduct ourselves in the world.
I've always suspected that perhaps, at the peak of their powers, men think themselves to be ultimately answerable to no one else but their mothers.
* * *
Comments to public.lives@gmail.com
©2005 www.inq7.net all rights reserved
http://news.inq7.net/opinion/index.php?index=2&story_id=36293
It does make good reading. It doesn't make me feel bad to say that I'm a Mama's boy. I strive to be my late father's man, but I always remain that boy to my mother.
Happy Mother's Day! … for the mothers now and the mothers-to-be, and for all of the mothers in our lives, living and dead.
But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one that compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more.
On to the article:
Men and their mothers
AS they sat on a bench in the crowded courtroom, she began to wipe the sweat on his face with a crumpled handkerchief. He lowered his head and leaned slightly toward his mother. She hadn't seen him in a while, and now he was back in her arms, her son, her little one. It was 1954. The man was Luis Taruc, the 41-year-old dreaded Huk Supremo, who was being tried for rebellion. His mother, Roberta, kept him company every single day of the trial.
It was an image that stayed a long time with my father, Pedro David, then a young assistant provincial fiscal assigned to prosecute the legendary hero of Central Luzon's peasantry. He remembered being transfixed by that scene. At that moment, my father said, he knew in his heart he was prosecuting a good man. In the evening, over supper, he shared with my mother his misgivings about the Taruc case. My father had a deep sense of social justice.
But he had a job to do, and it wasn't an easy one. Pampanga in the 1950s was a hotbed of rebellion. Cane fields were being torched daily by landless peasants. So-called "civilian guards" funded by the landlords roamed the barrios in search of Huk rebels. We were not a landed family, but being a government lawyer, my father found himself upholding the laws of a government that took the side of the landlords. I was in grade school. I remember sharing our home with soldiers who had been sent to provide us security for the duration of the trial. My father won his spurs in that celebrated case. Luis Taruc was convicted for the crime of rebellion complex, under a law that, if I recall correctly, was later declared unconstitutional. He spent 16 years in prison. Marcos freed him so he could parade him as a symbol of his commitment to agrarian reform.
Many years later, I met Ka Luis at a function in the University of the Philippines. I introduced myself as the son of Fiscal Pedro David. The name quickly rang a bell. He looked at me as if searching for the face of the young man who had sent him to jail. Then he smiled warmly and shook my hand. "Your father was a good lawyer, and he was always fair," he told me. "I hold no grudge against him whatsoever; he was doing his duty." "But," he added with a chuckle, "I am glad his son and I are now on the same side."
It was the beginning of a long friendship. I invited him a few times to my TV program. He would ask me to accompany him on his visits to remote barrios in Nueva Ecija and Pampanga, where communities of Hukvets revered him as a hero. Two years ago, he came to our home in Betis. He met my brothers and sisters and regaled them with stories of the Huk years. Even in his late years, Ka Luis never lost his fire. He was articulate in three languages.
Ka Luis died this week. He would have been 92. At his wake the other night, I saw a picture of his mother beside the coffin. It was a photo taken in 1953, when he met his mother for the first time after he came down from the hills. In my mind's eye, I had imagined his mother, Roberta Mangalus Taruc, to have the same build and appearance as my father's own mother, Epifania. She did look like her. And I am certain it was exactly how my father had pictured her in that crowded courtroom in Pampanga more than 50 years ago. He saw his own mother in her.
Men are lambs in the presence of their mothers. They lose their hardness, and their public stature becomes irrelevant. Think of Jose Rizal and Ninoy Aquino. Think of Ferdinand Marcos and Joseph Estrada. They are children all over again in front of Mama. Before their fathers, they are achievers. But before their mothers, they are nothing but human beings longing to be loved. For all their gentleness, it is mothers who loom as the tough figures in men's lives.
The Nobel laureate Gabriel Garcia Marquez opens his autobiographical work, "Living to tell the tale," with tender recollections of his no-nonsense mother. Every son will easily recognize his own mother in these lines: "Her most conspicuous virtues had been a sense of humor and an iron good health that the sneak attacks of diversity would never defeat over the course of her long life. But her most surprising trait, and also since that time the least likely to be suspected, was the exquisite skill with which she hid her tremendous strength of character: a perfect Leo. This had allowed her to establish a matriarchal power whose domain extended to the most distant relatives in the most unexpected places, like a planetary system that she controlled from her kitchen with a subdued voice and almost without blinking, while the pot of beans was simmering."
My mother was very much like that. She had spent more than half of her life carrying 13 pregnancies, and the other half looking after the myriad needs of her large brood. Yet she found time to regularly visit her relatives and to be active in the local barrio council. And if she had not been ill, I believe she would have gone back to school to finish a degree. My mother had good survival instincts, and her dependable inventiveness saw us through very hard times.
Nature is wise; she blesses women with longer lives. My father was barely 60 when he died. My mother outlived him by a good 20 years. I cannot imagine what kind of life he would have had if it had been the other way around. He would not have known what to do with himself. I can feel my mother's strong influence in our lives especially when I am with my brothers and sisters. Her spirit continues to guide our relations to one another and the way we conduct ourselves in the world.
I've always suspected that perhaps, at the peak of their powers, men think themselves to be ultimately answerable to no one else but their mothers.
* * *
Comments to public.lives@gmail.com
©2005 www.inq7.net all rights reserved
Saturday, April 30, 2005
Temporary
A last stab at April
The damsel in distress has called
A knight beside her she would need
The hero comes a-calling, unaware
What tragedy he would heed
Swords do clash, sparks unleash
Hilt and guard awash with sweat
The horns of battle grow with longing
At the stain of blood being let
The honor gained of a battle won
Leaves little glimmer for glory lost
The gauntlet speaks, and it speaks truly
Folly's treason and the lives it cost
Wake, o wake, o slumbering warrior
Escaping to find yourself is a lie
The allure of fantasy is all-so-convenient
Obscuring your fear from your mind's eye
Honor you seek is temporary
The world we have is challenge enough
No need to search for ladies and dragons
Fighting to stay sane is just as tough
History is written, and the tomes have aged
Movements and wars and discoveries
Statesmen and kings, tycoons and the rare sage
Have they relevance in your memories?
The damsel in distress has called
A knight beside her she would need
The hero comes a-calling, unaware
What tragedy he would heed
Swords do clash, sparks unleash
Hilt and guard awash with sweat
The horns of battle grow with longing
At the stain of blood being let
The honor gained of a battle won
Leaves little glimmer for glory lost
The gauntlet speaks, and it speaks truly
Folly's treason and the lives it cost
Wake, o wake, o slumbering warrior
Escaping to find yourself is a lie
The allure of fantasy is all-so-convenient
Obscuring your fear from your mind's eye
Honor you seek is temporary
The world we have is challenge enough
No need to search for ladies and dragons
Fighting to stay sane is just as tough
History is written, and the tomes have aged
Movements and wars and discoveries
Statesmen and kings, tycoons and the rare sage
Have they relevance in your memories?
Sunday, April 24, 2005
Returned
I lack the words
To narrate my return
Always the same excuses
Always the same
BLEAKNESS
Riding the back of my mind
I can no more deny the emptiness
Than I can willingly spill
My own lifeblood
For those that have remained
Yet my soul sings to be let free
But numb from the trying --
The despair of ever wanting to --
GRIEVE
Where there is no loss
Only anticipation
How can I explain to the prisoner
When the prison has no walls
And the boundaries may be eternal
The plastic awareness
Has settled into epoxine permanence
The mind plays cruel tricks
But my knowledge of it being so
Offers little comfort
Returned - a strange state to be in
When my home is not here...
To narrate my return
Always the same excuses
Always the same
BLEAKNESS
Riding the back of my mind
I can no more deny the emptiness
Than I can willingly spill
My own lifeblood
For those that have remained
Yet my soul sings to be let free
But numb from the trying --
The despair of ever wanting to --
GRIEVE
Where there is no loss
Only anticipation
How can I explain to the prisoner
When the prison has no walls
And the boundaries may be eternal
The plastic awareness
Has settled into epoxine permanence
The mind plays cruel tricks
But my knowledge of it being so
Offers little comfort
Returned - a strange state to be in
When my home is not here...
Friday, April 22, 2005
Manila Diary - Blunders
Edit May 18: The account of my vacation has gone on too long, with edits and other stuff I have put down all that I have gone through. If you've gotten this far, you deserve a big hug from me. I put down all my thoughts into my Pocket PC, it’s just an entire month of re-adjusting and refining all my thoughts that I get to finish this.
One more note during my Manila stay before the real highlight of the trip (which came, appropriately, in the end, for a slam-bang finish) was my seeing my ex-boss Joecon.
We had a breakfast meeting in his house and we chatted up a great deal. The old man has been sadly diminished, though not significantly. Maybe I notice this because the light in my life is burning more strongly than it ever did during my years of service with him. Or maybe because he has been weighed down by all the problems and he has few competent people to lean on. In a way, it was weird justice because in his own way, he drove people like me away.
I expected him to offer me a job, which was one reason why I basically avoided him during my entire vacation. Interesting prospects, by the way, but it was just too late for me to worry about it (as if I would, with the plans I have made in KSA). If the mood during that day kept up I would expect a little less acrimony IF I do work for him again, but my personal prescription is a big fat NO, of course.
I’ve saved the best part of this story for last…
Remember at the start of my tale I bought a PDA phone?
(Go back, go back, go BAAAACCCKKKK)
When I got home after seeing the SHARE folks for the first time in a year, I spent about five hours getting used to it and putting in entries for my schedule, INCLUDING MY RETURN FLIGHTS to Dubai and KSA. Of course I wasn't in tiptop condition (jet lag) and pretty tired to boot. It didn’t help that I had a few beers that night, though less than usual.
So it was that it happened that I encoded my flight out to Dubai on Tuesday, April 19, instead of Wednesday, April 20... (!) How did that happen I can no longer decipher or try to divine . . .
The result, of course, was that I packed my bags and made all the arrangements to leave on Tuesday. I managed to get a hard-pressed Robert (who had a catering appointment to handle that evening, bless you, Robert, for making time!).
What happened to me was like an out-of-body experience. If it weren’t happening to me, I could have sworn it could have been a skit out of a comedy. As it was, I would relate it to you:
Otep gets off the car, waves off mother, sister, and househelp who wanted to see him off. The trio fight back tears while Robert, visibly hurried, says goodbye too.
Otep pushes the trolley up the ramp, not noticing that he should go to the POEA section, not noticing that he is making a ruckus because he put 54kg worth of luggage onto the trolley.
Otep fumbles around among his things, in his usual clumsy way, for his ticket, Overseas Employment Certificate, and passport. When he gets to the guard, he proudly presents his documents, as if saying smugly, "Isa akong Bagong Bayani! Worship me! Hahahahahaha!!!"
Guard, nonplussed and poker-faced, says, "Ser, bukas pa po ito. Tingnan ninyo, o… April 20."
Otep is SHOCKED (with a strange premonition that some shitty thing will happen, as if often does, to him. Poor soul. Aww!!!) and looks at the guard with the straightest face, "Ha?! Ganoon ba?" (Looks at the ticket, wanting not to believe) "Oo nga 'no!" (Wanting to pat the guard on the back and hit him over the head at the same time).
Otep turns his trolley around, again, noisily, as a long queue of people waits to get into the terminal. Otep does not look into their faces, and dials his sister's phone number, laughing at himself because there just wasn't room enough to cry or be humiliated. He pointedly does not look at the guard or at the other passengers.
(I'm now pausing for your benefit)...
It just took 20 minutes for Robert to broadcast this incident to SHARE people and the gang, the same amount of time it took for them to get back to the Departure area. To quote him: "Pare, kahit na late ako, sulit ang araw na ito!" And I can believe him. I was really sorry for ruining the evening for Robert. Tough call. Of course, the returns for him were huge. I would be stumped to come up with a blooper to top this one as one of the greatest loser moments EVER? My posting a neon-green, colored "L" on my forehead wouldn't have done the same kind of job….
Couldn't you imagine what that guard was thinking while looking at me for about 20 minutes while I waited? Priceless, priceless would be an understatement of a term.
So anyway, I did make it to my flight to Dubai the following night. I spent the next 36 hours with my sister who's based in Dubai, which needs another story for me to tell. Suffice to say that:
1) Dubai is a great place to live in, but not necessarily to save money. Everything is so darned expensive!
2) The head honchos in Dubai are probably among the most progressive and visionary in the entire Gulf. I haven't met a whole of Emiratis, but I can safely surmise that per capita they are among the most open-minded of the Gulf Arabs. Otherwise, I don't see their leadership making some headway in transforming their country.
3) Still, I wouldn't take anything away from a KSA-based life right now.
Things I did in Dubai:
1) Wild Wadi Water Park! What a great place! Pound for pound, though, I'd give Ocean Park the thumbs-up over this, but I had more fun here because I was able to enjoy more of the attractions. Grateful that my sister made the arrangments.
2) Almost getting detained. We took shots of some locals, which generally would be halal if one would go about it surreptitiously. However, we did it in front of the security guard, so we got called into the park office and had to delete the picture.
3) Eat an epicurean meal for the last time. We went to the Fairmont Hotel for dinner - a nice setting of steak! Met up with Sheila B, based in Dubai for some time and getting more womanly while she's at it.
Things I did not do:
1) Visit the strip, or see some of the ladies of the night. 'Nuff said.
2) Get a good night's sleep.
3) Have a sad moment.
So that ends my tale of the first-ever vacation from KSA. Hope the memories will keep me strong enough for the months ahead.
I AM RETURNED.
One more note during my Manila stay before the real highlight of the trip (which came, appropriately, in the end, for a slam-bang finish) was my seeing my ex-boss Joecon.
We had a breakfast meeting in his house and we chatted up a great deal. The old man has been sadly diminished, though not significantly. Maybe I notice this because the light in my life is burning more strongly than it ever did during my years of service with him. Or maybe because he has been weighed down by all the problems and he has few competent people to lean on. In a way, it was weird justice because in his own way, he drove people like me away.
I expected him to offer me a job, which was one reason why I basically avoided him during my entire vacation. Interesting prospects, by the way, but it was just too late for me to worry about it (as if I would, with the plans I have made in KSA). If the mood during that day kept up I would expect a little less acrimony IF I do work for him again, but my personal prescription is a big fat NO, of course.
I’ve saved the best part of this story for last…
Remember at the start of my tale I bought a PDA phone?
(Go back, go back, go BAAAACCCKKKK)
When I got home after seeing the SHARE folks for the first time in a year, I spent about five hours getting used to it and putting in entries for my schedule, INCLUDING MY RETURN FLIGHTS to Dubai and KSA. Of course I wasn't in tiptop condition (jet lag) and pretty tired to boot. It didn’t help that I had a few beers that night, though less than usual.
So it was that it happened that I encoded my flight out to Dubai on Tuesday, April 19, instead of Wednesday, April 20... (!) How did that happen I can no longer decipher or try to divine . . .
The result, of course, was that I packed my bags and made all the arrangements to leave on Tuesday. I managed to get a hard-pressed Robert (who had a catering appointment to handle that evening, bless you, Robert, for making time!).
What happened to me was like an out-of-body experience. If it weren’t happening to me, I could have sworn it could have been a skit out of a comedy. As it was, I would relate it to you:
Otep gets off the car, waves off mother, sister, and househelp who wanted to see him off. The trio fight back tears while Robert, visibly hurried, says goodbye too.
Otep pushes the trolley up the ramp, not noticing that he should go to the POEA section, not noticing that he is making a ruckus because he put 54kg worth of luggage onto the trolley.
Otep fumbles around among his things, in his usual clumsy way, for his ticket, Overseas Employment Certificate, and passport. When he gets to the guard, he proudly presents his documents, as if saying smugly, "Isa akong Bagong Bayani! Worship me! Hahahahahaha!!!"
Guard, nonplussed and poker-faced, says, "Ser, bukas pa po ito. Tingnan ninyo, o… April 20."
Otep is SHOCKED (with a strange premonition that some shitty thing will happen, as if often does, to him. Poor soul. Aww!!!) and looks at the guard with the straightest face, "Ha?! Ganoon ba?" (Looks at the ticket, wanting not to believe) "Oo nga 'no!" (Wanting to pat the guard on the back and hit him over the head at the same time).
Otep turns his trolley around, again, noisily, as a long queue of people waits to get into the terminal. Otep does not look into their faces, and dials his sister's phone number, laughing at himself because there just wasn't room enough to cry or be humiliated. He pointedly does not look at the guard or at the other passengers.
(I'm now pausing for your benefit)...
It just took 20 minutes for Robert to broadcast this incident to SHARE people and the gang, the same amount of time it took for them to get back to the Departure area. To quote him: "Pare, kahit na late ako, sulit ang araw na ito!" And I can believe him. I was really sorry for ruining the evening for Robert. Tough call. Of course, the returns for him were huge. I would be stumped to come up with a blooper to top this one as one of the greatest loser moments EVER? My posting a neon-green, colored "L" on my forehead wouldn't have done the same kind of job….
Couldn't you imagine what that guard was thinking while looking at me for about 20 minutes while I waited? Priceless, priceless would be an understatement of a term.
So anyway, I did make it to my flight to Dubai the following night. I spent the next 36 hours with my sister who's based in Dubai, which needs another story for me to tell. Suffice to say that:
1) Dubai is a great place to live in, but not necessarily to save money. Everything is so darned expensive!
2) The head honchos in Dubai are probably among the most progressive and visionary in the entire Gulf. I haven't met a whole of Emiratis, but I can safely surmise that per capita they are among the most open-minded of the Gulf Arabs. Otherwise, I don't see their leadership making some headway in transforming their country.
3) Still, I wouldn't take anything away from a KSA-based life right now.
Things I did in Dubai:
1) Wild Wadi Water Park! What a great place! Pound for pound, though, I'd give Ocean Park the thumbs-up over this, but I had more fun here because I was able to enjoy more of the attractions. Grateful that my sister made the arrangments.
2) Almost getting detained. We took shots of some locals, which generally would be halal if one would go about it surreptitiously. However, we did it in front of the security guard, so we got called into the park office and had to delete the picture.
3) Eat an epicurean meal for the last time. We went to the Fairmont Hotel for dinner - a nice setting of steak! Met up with Sheila B, based in Dubai for some time and getting more womanly while she's at it.
Things I did not do:
1) Visit the strip, or see some of the ladies of the night. 'Nuff said.
2) Get a good night's sleep.
3) Have a sad moment.
So that ends my tale of the first-ever vacation from KSA. Hope the memories will keep me strong enough for the months ahead.
I AM RETURNED.
Monday, April 18, 2005
End of the Chinese Tale
Hong Kong.
The brassiest metropolis of China, and I would like to qualify this given that Shanghai has gone on overdrive the past 15 years and is the de facto business capital of the PRC.
It was almost eleven when we got settled into our hotel. Our guide, Henry, was a no-nonsense kind of person, a difference from Fiona who had the gift of gab and courted all attention. Henry had quiet knowledge but was more organized and efficient. We were hungry! The twists and turns of the station exhausted us.
We stayed in the New Territories, several kilometers away from the city center (which explains why the hotel was so cheap). The hotel was part of a mixed-use development with a high-rise apartment building making up the other portion of the property. As I divined, the room was small, but comfortable, though on the first night I slept on the window bench, which was a really bad idea.
The bummer of the Hong Kong trip was the clogged toilet in our hotel room! I’ll save the imagery for you. So we had to switch rooms and move all of our stuff. Stressful since we had to meet our 8:00am schedule but we only got to move at 7:30am!
Because of our experience in Shenzhen, we were not likely to pony up a lot of cash for the goods they were selling at the various tourist shops. I did, however, appreciate the kind of organization these guys had.
Why not promote eco-shopping tourism in the Philippines? Not only do we have the destinations, our people have enough smarts to do this. It doesn’t even need a whole lot of government intervention, only less government red tape. Why this is not being done is a testament to the lack of direction and vision in the country.
Going through Hong Kong, I gained a sense of balance over the things NOT DONE during this trip. Even with better management of my time, I guess it was all a matter of priorities – my primary objective being the happiness of my mother on her 70th birthday. It was also the first real opportunity for me to give something back to her after all of these years.
This opportunity may never come again. While I still have time, I aim to make life better for my mom. One only hopes she will be around if and when my own children come. Well, she is tough as anything, but the main problem is that I’m having a hard time on the relationship end (hahahaha!).
Ocean Park was a blast! Cute pandas (a relatively new attraction), fantastic cable car ride, great dolphin-and-seal show --- the only thing that took some fun away was that it was raining. Plus the fact we managed to run into one of the biggest senior citizen conventions ever. There was a veritable horde of seniors (most probably from elsewhere in China), so we didn’t get to enjoy some of the attractions as much. Back to the Philippine question – WE CAN DO THE SAME THING AS OCEAN PARK, but the question is - who is going to take the risk?
Later that day, we went to the Mongkok night market. It’s an experience to be undergone to give a good description. It’s not that esoteric, by the way, but still…
By that time, however, I was already drained due to the exertions of the day, and I didn’t want to spend as much anymore. I just wanted to sit down, relax, and forget that I would be spending more money. Still, we had to buy the requisite perfumes, knick knacks and some clothes for the people back home.
And so the trip ended with all of us filing into the tour bus to the airport the following morning. I did a cowardly thing though, to protect myself from potential letdown, which was NOT to collect numbers of our tour-mates. My mom had all of them though, but my not taking down numbers was a convenient excuse and an escape. Guess I still have to work on my store of guts. There will be opportunities anyhow; I just have to make proper use of them.
The brassiest metropolis of China, and I would like to qualify this given that Shanghai has gone on overdrive the past 15 years and is the de facto business capital of the PRC.
It was almost eleven when we got settled into our hotel. Our guide, Henry, was a no-nonsense kind of person, a difference from Fiona who had the gift of gab and courted all attention. Henry had quiet knowledge but was more organized and efficient. We were hungry! The twists and turns of the station exhausted us.
We stayed in the New Territories, several kilometers away from the city center (which explains why the hotel was so cheap). The hotel was part of a mixed-use development with a high-rise apartment building making up the other portion of the property. As I divined, the room was small, but comfortable, though on the first night I slept on the window bench, which was a really bad idea.
The bummer of the Hong Kong trip was the clogged toilet in our hotel room! I’ll save the imagery for you. So we had to switch rooms and move all of our stuff. Stressful since we had to meet our 8:00am schedule but we only got to move at 7:30am!
Because of our experience in Shenzhen, we were not likely to pony up a lot of cash for the goods they were selling at the various tourist shops. I did, however, appreciate the kind of organization these guys had.
Why not promote eco-shopping tourism in the Philippines? Not only do we have the destinations, our people have enough smarts to do this. It doesn’t even need a whole lot of government intervention, only less government red tape. Why this is not being done is a testament to the lack of direction and vision in the country.
Going through Hong Kong, I gained a sense of balance over the things NOT DONE during this trip. Even with better management of my time, I guess it was all a matter of priorities – my primary objective being the happiness of my mother on her 70th birthday. It was also the first real opportunity for me to give something back to her after all of these years.
This opportunity may never come again. While I still have time, I aim to make life better for my mom. One only hopes she will be around if and when my own children come. Well, she is tough as anything, but the main problem is that I’m having a hard time on the relationship end (hahahaha!).
Ocean Park was a blast! Cute pandas (a relatively new attraction), fantastic cable car ride, great dolphin-and-seal show --- the only thing that took some fun away was that it was raining. Plus the fact we managed to run into one of the biggest senior citizen conventions ever. There was a veritable horde of seniors (most probably from elsewhere in China), so we didn’t get to enjoy some of the attractions as much. Back to the Philippine question – WE CAN DO THE SAME THING AS OCEAN PARK, but the question is - who is going to take the risk?
Later that day, we went to the Mongkok night market. It’s an experience to be undergone to give a good description. It’s not that esoteric, by the way, but still…
By that time, however, I was already drained due to the exertions of the day, and I didn’t want to spend as much anymore. I just wanted to sit down, relax, and forget that I would be spending more money. Still, we had to buy the requisite perfumes, knick knacks and some clothes for the people back home.
And so the trip ended with all of us filing into the tour bus to the airport the following morning. I did a cowardly thing though, to protect myself from potential letdown, which was NOT to collect numbers of our tour-mates. My mom had all of them though, but my not taking down numbers was a convenient excuse and an escape. Guess I still have to work on my store of guts. There will be opportunities anyhow; I just have to make proper use of them.
Interlude in Shenzhen
We stayed overnight in Shenzhen before going to Hong Kong.
The hotel was three stars – my sister and my mother shared one bed while I took the other. Still, the place was adequate except that we didn’t have room keys. We went late-night shopping and I came away with a watch. Nice rip-off of a Swiss IWC model.
The next day on the trip was the substantial one – both in event and in expense.
Item A: don’t bring women to a jewelry store or a store with exotic cosmetics.
Item B: don’t bring your credit cards or money with you.
Item C: leave your vanity at home, or else people will spot it and play upon your need to be recognized.
Result without Items A, B, C:
1) Humungous shopping bill.
2) Suddenly useless items which seemed good to buy at the time.
3) An aching wallet.
The funny thing was this incident with Fiona. As I said, she was a nice-looking girl, but what with my mother being in the forefront I tried to stay under the radar. Still, Fiona liked my mother a real lot. During our first stop, she said she would give all the items in the store if only my mother would stay behind in China (Tsk, tsk. As if I would allow that to happen). My mom said that if Fiona wanted a mother-in-law, she shouldn’t worry because her oh-so-cute son (me) was available to be her fiancé.
I ended up with a girlfriend for the rest of the trip. The joke was fun while it lasted.
Shenzhen’s best bet was the Windows to the World theme park, which was said to have been built for HK$600million. We ran out of Chinese money so it was a bit of a stretch getting by in the place. There were theme sections from East and Southeast Asia, Europe, the Americas, the Middle East/Egypt, Africa, and Australia. The only thing out of place was a dinosaur park. Every kid has to have dinosaurs somewhere. The replicas were great. It was a shame we didn’t have more time to tour.
I have observed that I defer often to my mother because she is such a convivial person, sometimes too convivial for her own good. I couldn’t get to the ladies in the tour group, folks! Normally my genial facial expression and pithy comments would demand some amount of attention. But alas, it was my mother’s time to do her thing.
At last we had to leave Shenzhen and Fiona (broken hearts, but most likely mine, sigh!) but the going was really bad. We left Shenzhen late, so one of the convenient entrances to the train station was closed. It was up-down, up-down, and through a maze of passageways. Finally we boarded the train and Shenzhen was history.
Notable notes:
Our tour guides always called us “grupong maganda at guapo,” likely something they learned throughout many tours. PRC people are likely to speak better English if they are government-connected, and they have made great strides in this area.
Chinese are really entrepreneurial, and it’s no great surprise the head honchos reshaped their economy to be capitalist while retaining central control.
The cutest girl that I saw on the trip wasn’t even Fiona, but a girl named Lorelei who even spoke better English. She was one of their people at the tourist shop, which I gather does big business with international buyers.
The hotel was three stars – my sister and my mother shared one bed while I took the other. Still, the place was adequate except that we didn’t have room keys. We went late-night shopping and I came away with a watch. Nice rip-off of a Swiss IWC model.
The next day on the trip was the substantial one – both in event and in expense.
Item A: don’t bring women to a jewelry store or a store with exotic cosmetics.
Item B: don’t bring your credit cards or money with you.
Item C: leave your vanity at home, or else people will spot it and play upon your need to be recognized.
Result without Items A, B, C:
1) Humungous shopping bill.
2) Suddenly useless items which seemed good to buy at the time.
3) An aching wallet.
The funny thing was this incident with Fiona. As I said, she was a nice-looking girl, but what with my mother being in the forefront I tried to stay under the radar. Still, Fiona liked my mother a real lot. During our first stop, she said she would give all the items in the store if only my mother would stay behind in China (Tsk, tsk. As if I would allow that to happen). My mom said that if Fiona wanted a mother-in-law, she shouldn’t worry because her oh-so-cute son (me) was available to be her fiancé.
I ended up with a girlfriend for the rest of the trip. The joke was fun while it lasted.
Shenzhen’s best bet was the Windows to the World theme park, which was said to have been built for HK$600million. We ran out of Chinese money so it was a bit of a stretch getting by in the place. There were theme sections from East and Southeast Asia, Europe, the Americas, the Middle East/Egypt, Africa, and Australia. The only thing out of place was a dinosaur park. Every kid has to have dinosaurs somewhere. The replicas were great. It was a shame we didn’t have more time to tour.
I have observed that I defer often to my mother because she is such a convivial person, sometimes too convivial for her own good. I couldn’t get to the ladies in the tour group, folks! Normally my genial facial expression and pithy comments would demand some amount of attention. But alas, it was my mother’s time to do her thing.
At last we had to leave Shenzhen and Fiona (broken hearts, but most likely mine, sigh!) but the going was really bad. We left Shenzhen late, so one of the convenient entrances to the train station was closed. It was up-down, up-down, and through a maze of passageways. Finally we boarded the train and Shenzhen was history.
Notable notes:
Our tour guides always called us “grupong maganda at guapo,” likely something they learned throughout many tours. PRC people are likely to speak better English if they are government-connected, and they have made great strides in this area.
Chinese are really entrepreneurial, and it’s no great surprise the head honchos reshaped their economy to be capitalist while retaining central control.
The cutest girl that I saw on the trip wasn’t even Fiona, but a girl named Lorelei who even spoke better English. She was one of their people at the tourist shop, which I gather does big business with international buyers.
Sunday, April 17, 2005
Reconnecting with China
The days of my vacation are almost ending. The mind does learn new tricks – RESILIENT I think is the best term. When I arrived, I couldn’t wait to go back to KSA. Now that my time is over, I wish I could turn back time and start this month over.
It’s simply too late to go back and try to set meetings with people I would like to meet. I remember a few of them now and I have only REGRET. I can only hope I will have better plans next time.
Before I go on telling about the trip to Hongkong/Shenzhen, let me tell you about the FOOD, food being my main preoccupation:
Shenzhen, pm, April 10: It was the standard Cantonese lauriat, the one where there are eggs and tofu always served. We were hungry, so we wolfed that stuff down.
Shenzhen, am, April 11: Breakfast of mini-siopao, buchi, boiled egg, rice, noodles, and pancit with nothing in it, and oh, corn and peas. The only thing that bothered me was that the servings were a bit mixed up. Our tour group people were aghast.
Shenzhen, noon, April 11: There were a selection of tourist restaurants but our tour just went to one for the entire trip. Same lauriat. The food was better, but it was the same lauriat. No water served, so either buy the bottled type or drink the house tea. I drank the tea.
Shenzhen, pm, April 11: As I said, same restaurant. Same lauriat. It was starting to get cloying, but I hardly noticed. I noticed my tour group mates noticing my not noticing, since I was the only one eating heartily. What's the deal, I was thinking.
When we arrived in HK that evening, Lucky Me! Instant mami never tasted better.
Hong Kong, am, April 12: Breakfast was a cafeteria type affair in downtown Kowloon. Food was actually better.
Hong Kong, noon, April 12: We had an extended stay in the tour spot, and it was raining! We went to a restaurant instead of a McDonalds. It was a mystery since we were all going to Ocean Park. The lauriat sucked. The Shenzhen type was better. I wonder.
Hong Kong, pm, April 12: We were left to our own devices, so I finally had my first Western meal in HK at the Mongkok KFC in the night market. Fabulous, fabulous, but rice was unbelievably expensive!
Hong Kong, am, April 13: Breakfast was loaf of bread and side of luncheon meat.
Hmmm… just made me think… why should I bother writing more about the tour when I can go just go on about the food? Makes me hungry… (grabs a snack)
Think again if you are going on a package tour to China, if you have a thing about some creature comforts and of course, food. Otherwise, the trip was a real blast!
Since the low point of the trip was not making it (screwing up our departure dates, care of yours truly), we were considerably loose when we got to the airport. Cebu Pacific offers a backdoor to Hong Kong through Shenzhen (which is the closest mainland Chinese city apart from Macau). If you have a thing against old airliners, don’t take this flight.
Cebu Pacific openly admits it uses previously mothballed jets which they secure from suppliers with only the avionics updated … it was my first encounter with a DC-9. As with all CP flights, no-frills was the norm.
We arrived at the swanky Shenzhen airport and it was another example how badly the Philippines has been left behind – the Shenzhen airport was utilitarian but still a work of beauty. It took us forever to get out of immigration since somebody with an American passport joined our tour group and had to be sent home. Too bad for her.
We were met by our tour guide, a Shenzhen local named Fiona Yin who was as cute as a button. I’ve always been partial to ladies with Chinese features and here was the real article. Seeing a real Chinese person made me reconnect with my last sojourn to the PRC – a splendid eight days in Kunming and two more in Hong Kong in December 2002. I came off that trip very upbeat (good trip + nice Chinese girl who became my friend), but it’s been long past and that girl hasn’t written me back ever since I left for Saudi Arabia.
China is an object lesson for Filipinos and authoritarian government:
1) Filipinos don’t need ironclad laws, they just need ironclad and incorruptible law enforcement.
2) We already have a good thing in democracy, but we are just too lazy to learn about, and live by, the responsibilities of a democratic society.
3) We are in sore need of national direction which a strong government will provide – however, “strong” does not necessarily have to be repressive.
Okay, I’ll save the commentary and go straight to the action…
Cripes! It’s late and I have a morning appointment, have to go now…
It’s simply too late to go back and try to set meetings with people I would like to meet. I remember a few of them now and I have only REGRET. I can only hope I will have better plans next time.
Before I go on telling about the trip to Hongkong/Shenzhen, let me tell you about the FOOD, food being my main preoccupation:
Shenzhen, pm, April 10: It was the standard Cantonese lauriat, the one where there are eggs and tofu always served. We were hungry, so we wolfed that stuff down.
Shenzhen, am, April 11: Breakfast of mini-siopao, buchi, boiled egg, rice, noodles, and pancit with nothing in it, and oh, corn and peas. The only thing that bothered me was that the servings were a bit mixed up. Our tour group people were aghast.
Shenzhen, noon, April 11: There were a selection of tourist restaurants but our tour just went to one for the entire trip. Same lauriat. The food was better, but it was the same lauriat. No water served, so either buy the bottled type or drink the house tea. I drank the tea.
Shenzhen, pm, April 11: As I said, same restaurant. Same lauriat. It was starting to get cloying, but I hardly noticed. I noticed my tour group mates noticing my not noticing, since I was the only one eating heartily. What's the deal, I was thinking.
When we arrived in HK that evening, Lucky Me! Instant mami never tasted better.
Hong Kong, am, April 12: Breakfast was a cafeteria type affair in downtown Kowloon. Food was actually better.
Hong Kong, noon, April 12: We had an extended stay in the tour spot, and it was raining! We went to a restaurant instead of a McDonalds. It was a mystery since we were all going to Ocean Park. The lauriat sucked. The Shenzhen type was better. I wonder.
Hong Kong, pm, April 12: We were left to our own devices, so I finally had my first Western meal in HK at the Mongkok KFC in the night market. Fabulous, fabulous, but rice was unbelievably expensive!
Hong Kong, am, April 13: Breakfast was loaf of bread and side of luncheon meat.
Hmmm… just made me think… why should I bother writing more about the tour when I can go just go on about the food? Makes me hungry… (grabs a snack)
Think again if you are going on a package tour to China, if you have a thing about some creature comforts and of course, food. Otherwise, the trip was a real blast!
Since the low point of the trip was not making it (screwing up our departure dates, care of yours truly), we were considerably loose when we got to the airport. Cebu Pacific offers a backdoor to Hong Kong through Shenzhen (which is the closest mainland Chinese city apart from Macau). If you have a thing against old airliners, don’t take this flight.
Cebu Pacific openly admits it uses previously mothballed jets which they secure from suppliers with only the avionics updated … it was my first encounter with a DC-9. As with all CP flights, no-frills was the norm.
We arrived at the swanky Shenzhen airport and it was another example how badly the Philippines has been left behind – the Shenzhen airport was utilitarian but still a work of beauty. It took us forever to get out of immigration since somebody with an American passport joined our tour group and had to be sent home. Too bad for her.
We were met by our tour guide, a Shenzhen local named Fiona Yin who was as cute as a button. I’ve always been partial to ladies with Chinese features and here was the real article. Seeing a real Chinese person made me reconnect with my last sojourn to the PRC – a splendid eight days in Kunming and two more in Hong Kong in December 2002. I came off that trip very upbeat (good trip + nice Chinese girl who became my friend), but it’s been long past and that girl hasn’t written me back ever since I left for Saudi Arabia.
China is an object lesson for Filipinos and authoritarian government:
1) Filipinos don’t need ironclad laws, they just need ironclad and incorruptible law enforcement.
2) We already have a good thing in democracy, but we are just too lazy to learn about, and live by, the responsibilities of a democratic society.
3) We are in sore need of national direction which a strong government will provide – however, “strong” does not necessarily have to be repressive.
Okay, I’ll save the commentary and go straight to the action…
Cripes! It’s late and I have a morning appointment, have to go now…
Thursday, April 07, 2005
Manila Diary - Haze!
I've finished laughing for now. What just happened wasn’t funny, but there’s no choice for me but to laugh.
These past ten days or so have been a haze – too many beers in dark rooms. I’m glad that
A) I haven’t lost my wallet
B) I haven’t lost my new Pocket PC
C) I’ve gotten out alive.
My father did tell me it’s not the amount of beer you drink, it’s the people with whom you drink. There is no safety when the guys you drink with are total jerks.
Speaking of my father, I visited his grave at the cemetery. This gives rise to two thoughts:
A) What if my family agreed, as per my father’s wishes, to have him cremated? --- AND
B) Would it have made any difference?
I also visited my late friend Miggy Baluyut in his resting place. The devotion of our other friends to his memory is so touching, almost “faggy” in nature, all in the most positive way, of course. It’s like those buddy moments like the Dirty Dozen or perhaps more recently, the Lord of the Rings movies, but as I said, all in a good way, of course.
I spent Easter celebrating Jene P.’s birthday with the Funny Bunch at Jene’s swanky new home. The future, no, the present, is all so bright for Jene – prospects coming up, a wonderful wife, and supportive friends. Granted, there are always bumps on the road, but wouldn’t there always be?
I slept through parts of “Team America” (finally, I got some good sleep) by the guys who created “South Park” and “Baseketball,” Matt Stone and Trey Parker. The movie was a huge broadside on liberals, self-righteous artist-activists, chick flicks, and for the most part, good taste. Needless to say, the gang lapped it all up. “Triumph the Insult Comic Dog” was also a blast. To use the canine’s words, it’s probably the greatest DVD bargain ever – “for me to poop on!”
And after that – a real alcoholic haze that I was referring to.
Normally, I would pop in a “what have we learned?” portion, but I’d just get onto the funny story:
My sister (the youngest among them, the one with three kids) had referred to us a wonderful four day-three night package to Hong Kong and Shenzhen, all told for a sum of $178++ (plus taxes and other stuff, it went to more than $250) per person. I would pay for me and for my mother, and our eldest sister would join us on the trip. My sister asked for an April 7-10 schedule since it would fit in with her days off and the April 9 public holiday, and this is what I specifically did not look at when I bought the tickets on April 4, Monday. I assumed that my other sister fixed it up with the agent. Turns out the tours were on fixed schedules.
Now, I could have looked at the tickets, but all I did was stick them into my bag, go out, and then proceed on working myself senseless.
The following day, I was pretty groggy when I gave the tickets to my mother and she put them away. That makes us two whiz kids who did not bother to read the fine print, but of course since I was making the arrangements, I take all the blame. Because…
The tour was SPECIFICALLY scheduled from April 10 to April 13. We were already packed and scheduled to leave for the airport when our youngest sister (the one who got us the contact) called us and told us to check the tickets. And lo and behold! The tickets were from the 10th to the 13th.
(Long pause…)
{Aftermath edit, April 23: After we had gotten over the huge deflation over all the anticipation for the trip, it was time to laugh. The only damage it did was to my sister’s schedule since she had to move her days off. A few ruffled feathers, for the most part, and as a plus, my mother got to attend her prayer meeting with her prayer community, which she would have missed otherwise.
Still, that little glitch did not ruin that tour.
Did we learn anything from that episode? For me, obviously not, as events in the near future (as in the following week) would bear out…)
These past ten days or so have been a haze – too many beers in dark rooms. I’m glad that
A) I haven’t lost my wallet
B) I haven’t lost my new Pocket PC
C) I’ve gotten out alive.
My father did tell me it’s not the amount of beer you drink, it’s the people with whom you drink. There is no safety when the guys you drink with are total jerks.
Speaking of my father, I visited his grave at the cemetery. This gives rise to two thoughts:
A) What if my family agreed, as per my father’s wishes, to have him cremated? --- AND
B) Would it have made any difference?
I also visited my late friend Miggy Baluyut in his resting place. The devotion of our other friends to his memory is so touching, almost “faggy” in nature, all in the most positive way, of course. It’s like those buddy moments like the Dirty Dozen or perhaps more recently, the Lord of the Rings movies, but as I said, all in a good way, of course.
I spent Easter celebrating Jene P.’s birthday with the Funny Bunch at Jene’s swanky new home. The future, no, the present, is all so bright for Jene – prospects coming up, a wonderful wife, and supportive friends. Granted, there are always bumps on the road, but wouldn’t there always be?
I slept through parts of “Team America” (finally, I got some good sleep) by the guys who created “South Park” and “Baseketball,” Matt Stone and Trey Parker. The movie was a huge broadside on liberals, self-righteous artist-activists, chick flicks, and for the most part, good taste. Needless to say, the gang lapped it all up. “Triumph the Insult Comic Dog” was also a blast. To use the canine’s words, it’s probably the greatest DVD bargain ever – “for me to poop on!”
And after that – a real alcoholic haze that I was referring to.
Normally, I would pop in a “what have we learned?” portion, but I’d just get onto the funny story:
My sister (the youngest among them, the one with three kids) had referred to us a wonderful four day-three night package to Hong Kong and Shenzhen, all told for a sum of $178++ (plus taxes and other stuff, it went to more than $250) per person. I would pay for me and for my mother, and our eldest sister would join us on the trip. My sister asked for an April 7-10 schedule since it would fit in with her days off and the April 9 public holiday, and this is what I specifically did not look at when I bought the tickets on April 4, Monday. I assumed that my other sister fixed it up with the agent. Turns out the tours were on fixed schedules.
Now, I could have looked at the tickets, but all I did was stick them into my bag, go out, and then proceed on working myself senseless.
The following day, I was pretty groggy when I gave the tickets to my mother and she put them away. That makes us two whiz kids who did not bother to read the fine print, but of course since I was making the arrangements, I take all the blame. Because…
The tour was SPECIFICALLY scheduled from April 10 to April 13. We were already packed and scheduled to leave for the airport when our youngest sister (the one who got us the contact) called us and told us to check the tickets. And lo and behold! The tickets were from the 10th to the 13th.
(Long pause…)
{Aftermath edit, April 23: After we had gotten over the huge deflation over all the anticipation for the trip, it was time to laugh. The only damage it did was to my sister’s schedule since she had to move her days off. A few ruffled feathers, for the most part, and as a plus, my mother got to attend her prayer meeting with her prayer community, which she would have missed otherwise.
Still, that little glitch did not ruin that tour.
Did we learn anything from that episode? For me, obviously not, as events in the near future (as in the following week) would bear out…)
Sunday, April 03, 2005
Looking Back - "Aubrey"
I’m taking a break to re-post an old journal entry I wrote two years ago, almost to the day. I attended a Journal Writing workshop that I never felt like attending in the first place, but my friend and erstwhile colleague made such a good case for me to go. It was a worthwhile experience, too bad I did not get to repeat it.
This entry is slightly edited, and it was with a little surprise that I delivered it in public.
"AUBREY"
It was a 1982, 1400cc, red, box-type Mitsubishi Lancer - my friend Robert's car, Aubrey. His story of naming his car goes something like this - when he first acquired the car from its previous owner, he turned on the radio, and coincidentally the song that was playing was Bread's "Aubrey." Or something like that.
Maybe it's less of the car but more of the person who owned "her," but Aubrey was the confessor of our barkada, the ship of our dreams and aspirations, the granary of our frustrations, fears and disappointments. She of course was also the sounding board of our jokes! What we shared inside the car raises a thought - if Aubrey only had a soul - she would write the story of our lives - the journeys we have traveled, the ribbing and the kidding around, the stories that we told and lived through - she would be part of the soul of several years of friendship.
Aubrey was not just a car, she was an old friend that you've been longing to see and would always like to see - she would always be waiting expectantly for me to hop in. When I hear the familiar crunch of her door hinges, when I inhale the sweet-sour smell of her upholstery, when I run my hand on her cracking paint, and even when I struggle to thrive on the hottest days and her aircondtioner wasn't working - I know I am safe and secure, ready to share another adventure with her and our friends. When I am ensconsced in her arms, I believe that I am among friends, friends who accept me for who I am, who accept my idiosyncrasies, reveling in my own gifts and personhood.
Aubrey was the altar of our friendship, a hallowed place that is no less sacred for all the lewdness we have talked about, all the crazy songs we conceived and sang, the dirty looks we gave to passers-by, and generally, the drunkenness of being young and carefree. Aubrey was a fount of acceptance, of belonging, of HOME.
And like Aubrey, her owner Robert is in his own way a fount of kindness and friendship - someone you'd expect would be there if you're in a crunch. It's sad how seldom I got to tell him I appreciate him (what with all the male way of showing appreciation), how have we as friends - sometimes me in particular, forget to tell him we're sorry that we put him into some amount of inconvenience or hurt, or to give some consideration to his feelings. For, like Aubrey, Robert had become an invaluable tool, an indispensable appliance (if those words could be thought of as complimentary when referring to a person), the ubiquitous glue that binds people together. For all this time, I have known that he is one of those angels who walk this earth, giving guidance and comfort wherever he goes.
Aubrey is no longer with us - she gave up the ghost after being involved in an accident on West Avenue some five or so years ago - though Robert had her fixed, it was clear her time had come and he had to let her go. By some twist of fate, it was also around that time his mother passed away - it was as if an era an ended and a new one must be written. For a time, we shared some experiences with his other car, a Kia Pride CD-5 we called "Jenny." We called her "Si Kia" at first and since Gabby Concepcion was married to Jenny Syquia at that time, it was somehow apt to call her just that.
But then, in some cosmic joke or case of serendipity, Robert bought a new car with the money his mother left him - a bigger vehicle that could take in more people (a proverbial school bus) and take us where we want to go. It was a red Mitsubishi Adventure - we called her "Aubrey II."
As with Jenny, life with Aubrey II was not the same with the THE Aubrey. Another of our friends had a Toyota Tamaraw FX called the “Millennium FX” that we also went around in, but for some reason or another, it wasn't the same too. Like an old pair of shoes worn in to the grooves of my foot, the first Aubrey was a comfort that could never be equaled. As time passes and the tapestry of people's lives change, we also follow our own channels, our own paths. Aubrey II was not the same kind of experience, and neither does she evince the same kind of nostalgia as the first one. Perhaps it's because life does tell us that each moment is something we should cherish, and that we should live each moment with value, and to fill these spaces with love. Same for the people we cherish and love.
Now that we spend less time with one another and our friends, I miss Robert, I miss all of them. Some have gotten married, and some have gone away to other places. I miss Aubrey.
But if by chance I see any kind of box-type Lancer, no matter how beat-up or old-looking, I remember Aubrey and am warmed by the thought that somehow, somewhere out there, angels do exist and miracles happen everyday. They're often man-made.
This entry is slightly edited, and it was with a little surprise that I delivered it in public.
"AUBREY"
It was a 1982, 1400cc, red, box-type Mitsubishi Lancer - my friend Robert's car, Aubrey. His story of naming his car goes something like this - when he first acquired the car from its previous owner, he turned on the radio, and coincidentally the song that was playing was Bread's "Aubrey." Or something like that.
Maybe it's less of the car but more of the person who owned "her," but Aubrey was the confessor of our barkada, the ship of our dreams and aspirations, the granary of our frustrations, fears and disappointments. She of course was also the sounding board of our jokes! What we shared inside the car raises a thought - if Aubrey only had a soul - she would write the story of our lives - the journeys we have traveled, the ribbing and the kidding around, the stories that we told and lived through - she would be part of the soul of several years of friendship.
Aubrey was not just a car, she was an old friend that you've been longing to see and would always like to see - she would always be waiting expectantly for me to hop in. When I hear the familiar crunch of her door hinges, when I inhale the sweet-sour smell of her upholstery, when I run my hand on her cracking paint, and even when I struggle to thrive on the hottest days and her aircondtioner wasn't working - I know I am safe and secure, ready to share another adventure with her and our friends. When I am ensconsced in her arms, I believe that I am among friends, friends who accept me for who I am, who accept my idiosyncrasies, reveling in my own gifts and personhood.
Aubrey was the altar of our friendship, a hallowed place that is no less sacred for all the lewdness we have talked about, all the crazy songs we conceived and sang, the dirty looks we gave to passers-by, and generally, the drunkenness of being young and carefree. Aubrey was a fount of acceptance, of belonging, of HOME.
And like Aubrey, her owner Robert is in his own way a fount of kindness and friendship - someone you'd expect would be there if you're in a crunch. It's sad how seldom I got to tell him I appreciate him (what with all the male way of showing appreciation), how have we as friends - sometimes me in particular, forget to tell him we're sorry that we put him into some amount of inconvenience or hurt, or to give some consideration to his feelings. For, like Aubrey, Robert had become an invaluable tool, an indispensable appliance (if those words could be thought of as complimentary when referring to a person), the ubiquitous glue that binds people together. For all this time, I have known that he is one of those angels who walk this earth, giving guidance and comfort wherever he goes.
Aubrey is no longer with us - she gave up the ghost after being involved in an accident on West Avenue some five or so years ago - though Robert had her fixed, it was clear her time had come and he had to let her go. By some twist of fate, it was also around that time his mother passed away - it was as if an era an ended and a new one must be written. For a time, we shared some experiences with his other car, a Kia Pride CD-5 we called "Jenny." We called her "Si Kia" at first and since Gabby Concepcion was married to Jenny Syquia at that time, it was somehow apt to call her just that.
But then, in some cosmic joke or case of serendipity, Robert bought a new car with the money his mother left him - a bigger vehicle that could take in more people (a proverbial school bus) and take us where we want to go. It was a red Mitsubishi Adventure - we called her "Aubrey II."
As with Jenny, life with Aubrey II was not the same with the THE Aubrey. Another of our friends had a Toyota Tamaraw FX called the “Millennium FX” that we also went around in, but for some reason or another, it wasn't the same too. Like an old pair of shoes worn in to the grooves of my foot, the first Aubrey was a comfort that could never be equaled. As time passes and the tapestry of people's lives change, we also follow our own channels, our own paths. Aubrey II was not the same kind of experience, and neither does she evince the same kind of nostalgia as the first one. Perhaps it's because life does tell us that each moment is something we should cherish, and that we should live each moment with value, and to fill these spaces with love. Same for the people we cherish and love.
Now that we spend less time with one another and our friends, I miss Robert, I miss all of them. Some have gotten married, and some have gone away to other places. I miss Aubrey.
But if by chance I see any kind of box-type Lancer, no matter how beat-up or old-looking, I remember Aubrey and am warmed by the thought that somehow, somewhere out there, angels do exist and miracles happen everyday. They're often man-made.
Monday, March 28, 2005
Manila Diary - Celebrating Rebirth
A week had passed and I haven’t gotten myself on Manila bearings yet. I guess it has something to do with the fact that I hardly ever sleep on time, or that I keep on doing things that take me past reasonable bedtime hours for people.
Holy Week used to be the Holy Grail for family time when all of us children were still students. We actually managed to pack eight people in a sedan – my brother driving, me seated on my father’s lap on the front passenger seat, and my three sisters, my mother, and my other brother at the back.
There were the trips to Pangasinan – with side trips to Baguio for some days. There were the company trips and beach-hopping in Cavite and Batangas – and Holy Week was the only time everybody was available.
Time has past and the allure of Holy Week has faded. Holy Week was also the week that added to the mystique that was our father.
I had made plans with my brother to go to Puerto Galera for Holy Week – but we decided too late and everything was so expensive. In the end, we joined my sister and her family to my brother-in-law’s place in Batangas. We were there from Thursday to Saturday.
At the start of the week, I pointedly avoided seeing my former boss when I visited RFM – it was a good thing he was in Jakarta at a meeting following the First Miss ASEAN Pageant. On a side note, our entry and the winner, Jheazarie Javier, looks very personable. An apt winner, and some plus points for a land looking for some.
I brought the cheque donation of SPA to the Cartwheel Foundation. It was a moment of some significance, and I feel good for all the efforts I exerted on getting that cheque safely settled in their hands.
Of course, the transition to Manila life wasn’t easy. When I was younger, I looked askance upon our eldest brother, but since we discovered that we were helpless drunks (and still are, God help us), we have gotten along just fine. My best friend was my other brother – but since that fateful Change so many years back – I have gone through several stages from self-loathing to pity to disdain to indifference. I can’t change who we were – there is so much history for me to ignore that – but the present is such a quandary to resolve.
So it was in a tense atmosphere that we left Manila for Batangas.
In the provinces, the onset of time is far heavier than it is in Manila. Adapting would mean becoming more laidback – or moving out. So, the more things change, the more that they remain the same. What I find so sad is that people leave so much damage in their wake.
Malabrigo Point in Lobo, Batangas is a national historic site - the landmark of that place is a lighthouse built by the Americans to guide ships around the point to Batangas harbor. The only reason for that area's existence is that very lighthouse. My brother-in-law's family moved there to maintain that lighthouse. I envy the kind of history that they have, though sometimes that kind of history has its own unwanted truths spilled out...
It was nice to reconnect with my sister's sons again. I never developed a relationship with her daughter, the youngest, and this was the first time that we were in close quarters for an extended time. Invariably family relationships rise and ebb and her daughter was born when our relationship was strained. There are always high hopes . . . I hope these kids become an improvement over us, their predecessors.
It would have gone pretty uneventfully - the place is far more comfortable than last time I was there more than eight years past - but my brother-in-law chose to be an idiot in picking a fight with my brother. Suffice to say, the superior man subdues his anger without need for fighting; an inferior man looks for a chance to show his pride when there is no need. My brother-in-law could have been the superior man, but he stooped to the lower level. What a shame. And I thought he had grown up. Tsk, tsk.
I am glad, though, to have met one of the friends my sister turned to when her youngest Trixie was born. While I had no chance to unburden myself as I normally would have and listened to the concerns of other people, the sun and the fresh air helped a great deal to rejuvenate my emotional batteries. I got what the doctor ordered - a holiday and a tan. When we got back to Manila, I even had a double chance to unwind since my brother was checked in at the Pen. Hmmm... his Holy Week holiday isn't a bad idea.
Easter should be the most important Christian holiday but I have a theory why it's not as popular as Christmas - it's because the Easter date changes every year and the sense of anticipation is not the same.
Finally, I am so pleased that this week and the Easter holiday have validated the changes in my own life. Not all of the changes are good, and it would be foolish for me to expect that, but I'm glad all the same.
Holy Week used to be the Holy Grail for family time when all of us children were still students. We actually managed to pack eight people in a sedan – my brother driving, me seated on my father’s lap on the front passenger seat, and my three sisters, my mother, and my other brother at the back.
There were the trips to Pangasinan – with side trips to Baguio for some days. There were the company trips and beach-hopping in Cavite and Batangas – and Holy Week was the only time everybody was available.
Time has past and the allure of Holy Week has faded. Holy Week was also the week that added to the mystique that was our father.
I had made plans with my brother to go to Puerto Galera for Holy Week – but we decided too late and everything was so expensive. In the end, we joined my sister and her family to my brother-in-law’s place in Batangas. We were there from Thursday to Saturday.
At the start of the week, I pointedly avoided seeing my former boss when I visited RFM – it was a good thing he was in Jakarta at a meeting following the First Miss ASEAN Pageant. On a side note, our entry and the winner, Jheazarie Javier, looks very personable. An apt winner, and some plus points for a land looking for some.
I brought the cheque donation of SPA to the Cartwheel Foundation. It was a moment of some significance, and I feel good for all the efforts I exerted on getting that cheque safely settled in their hands.
Of course, the transition to Manila life wasn’t easy. When I was younger, I looked askance upon our eldest brother, but since we discovered that we were helpless drunks (and still are, God help us), we have gotten along just fine. My best friend was my other brother – but since that fateful Change so many years back – I have gone through several stages from self-loathing to pity to disdain to indifference. I can’t change who we were – there is so much history for me to ignore that – but the present is such a quandary to resolve.
So it was in a tense atmosphere that we left Manila for Batangas.
In the provinces, the onset of time is far heavier than it is in Manila. Adapting would mean becoming more laidback – or moving out. So, the more things change, the more that they remain the same. What I find so sad is that people leave so much damage in their wake.
Malabrigo Point in Lobo, Batangas is a national historic site - the landmark of that place is a lighthouse built by the Americans to guide ships around the point to Batangas harbor. The only reason for that area's existence is that very lighthouse. My brother-in-law's family moved there to maintain that lighthouse. I envy the kind of history that they have, though sometimes that kind of history has its own unwanted truths spilled out...
It was nice to reconnect with my sister's sons again. I never developed a relationship with her daughter, the youngest, and this was the first time that we were in close quarters for an extended time. Invariably family relationships rise and ebb and her daughter was born when our relationship was strained. There are always high hopes . . . I hope these kids become an improvement over us, their predecessors.
It would have gone pretty uneventfully - the place is far more comfortable than last time I was there more than eight years past - but my brother-in-law chose to be an idiot in picking a fight with my brother. Suffice to say, the superior man subdues his anger without need for fighting; an inferior man looks for a chance to show his pride when there is no need. My brother-in-law could have been the superior man, but he stooped to the lower level. What a shame. And I thought he had grown up. Tsk, tsk.
I am glad, though, to have met one of the friends my sister turned to when her youngest Trixie was born. While I had no chance to unburden myself as I normally would have and listened to the concerns of other people, the sun and the fresh air helped a great deal to rejuvenate my emotional batteries. I got what the doctor ordered - a holiday and a tan. When we got back to Manila, I even had a double chance to unwind since my brother was checked in at the Pen. Hmmm... his Holy Week holiday isn't a bad idea.
Easter should be the most important Christian holiday but I have a theory why it's not as popular as Christmas - it's because the Easter date changes every year and the sense of anticipation is not the same.
Finally, I am so pleased that this week and the Easter holiday have validated the changes in my own life. Not all of the changes are good, and it would be foolish for me to expect that, but I'm glad all the same.
Monday, March 21, 2005
Manila Diary - Falling Down
Just a warning --- the bulk of the entries in this diary are actually written in hindsight. But it seems unfair NOT to write anything down as they happen.
I had a recurring dream that I would be left by my plane on the way back to KSA. That would be disastrous – aside from whatever penalties I will pick up from the no-show, I would be heavily penalized by the Company. Loss of face actually would mean much more than the loss of money.
I had no idea it would turn out otherwise.
My life would most likely be more profitable have I no need of this form of catharsis. I take a lot of pride in being able to put words to describe my life; I take none in time at times I find that life wanting in meaning.
It's just like falling down - the power of the g-force swooshing against one's cheeks, the adrenaline kicking in and the promise of fear all but gone as exhilaration takes over the short-circuited nerves. It's all so exciting - until the brunt of the impact deadens the whole body. The thrill - and the emptiness - that's how the search of life must be those for those who have leisure at their fingertips.
Now if all those broken bones wouldn't serve up a reminder…
Thirty-five days I was away from my life in KSA, and my exile was put in hiatus. Thirty five whole days! How I wish they could be so easily forgotten. The prize of all this toil - a mere respite for all the 300 or so more days I have to wait for again - is a chance to be in touch with who and what I was BEFORE I left for the Middle East.
Funny, after one whole year, it seemed that it didn’t add up to a whole lot, but when I had to return, it was a whole lot more.
Day 1 – Actually, night one.
My mother’s 70th birthday was the 19th of March, so by all means fair and foul, I had to make to it to Manila by that date. Complication was, my sister was in Dubai and I had to go there too to see her.
So it was I booked myself on Emirates instead of Gulf and suffered a seven-hour lay-over. It didn’t feel like that way, but I did get stressed from all that waiting. The flight was full – families making their way back for the school holidays. In other words, I twiddled my thumbs since I couldn’t get on the earliest flight out. I did get some practice with Arabic by listening to the airport PA system.
Finally, when I got on the plane, some intemperate kabayans drank too much red wine on the trip from Dubai to Manila. Aforementioned kabayans started feeling the effects of their drinking, and proceeded to make a beeline for the toilets. Since I couldn’t do my thing in the plane, I had an extreme case of number two on the way out at Immigration. Coupled with the numerous frantic phone calls of my folks wanting me to arrive in time for my mother’s birthday, it was a real pressure cooker.
My folks arranged for airport pick-up – my arrival was meant to be a surprise – so I really had to get on the car service ASAP. There was traffic on Tramo, there was heavy traffic at Edsa Guadalupe, there was traffic at Pioneer. My kind driver drove me to a Chowking and fortunately I made it before my sphincter gave way… (hahahahaha!). I had a great entrance at the party. It was a blast. Nothing beats going home.
I was not surprised that I ended up that night at one of my old haunts along Edsa. It was as if I had never gotten away – there was the smell of spilled beer and cigarettes, the slight zest of the fragrance the bar gave to their girls, and as always, the videoke machine. Bless the videoke machine. Without it life wouldn’t have been as bearable.
Day 2 – The bright lights have given way to the start of the Manila heat. The notable of this day was that the SHARE people got together courtesy of our buddy Robert who called a reunion on my behalf.
Quezon City is still the same. The buildings of Eastwood rise against the smog-filled sky. Traffic clogs the streets.
The hits of the day: Beer and pork – goes without saying. Meeting with the SHARE folks!
This past year saw some friends and family depart – some very close to my heart and others just simply part of the periphery that makes up the space of OTEP. There were also new friends – friends out of the necessity of sharing the same workspace, but more importantly, friends I have chosen to take into my heart because they enrich the space where I live, think, and feel.
But the SHARE people – they are irreplaceable.
Misses of the day: I never missed Manila traffic, and I got a first-hand lesson in Manila humidity. The service at that Gerry’s Grill was abysmal.
Treat of the day: I bought an HP iPAQ 6365. It has some disappointments, but I couldn’t be more excited about it that Sunday night.
(This will have dire consequences for me later).
I had a recurring dream that I would be left by my plane on the way back to KSA. That would be disastrous – aside from whatever penalties I will pick up from the no-show, I would be heavily penalized by the Company. Loss of face actually would mean much more than the loss of money.
I had no idea it would turn out otherwise.
My life would most likely be more profitable have I no need of this form of catharsis. I take a lot of pride in being able to put words to describe my life; I take none in time at times I find that life wanting in meaning.
It's just like falling down - the power of the g-force swooshing against one's cheeks, the adrenaline kicking in and the promise of fear all but gone as exhilaration takes over the short-circuited nerves. It's all so exciting - until the brunt of the impact deadens the whole body. The thrill - and the emptiness - that's how the search of life must be those for those who have leisure at their fingertips.
Now if all those broken bones wouldn't serve up a reminder…
Thirty-five days I was away from my life in KSA, and my exile was put in hiatus. Thirty five whole days! How I wish they could be so easily forgotten. The prize of all this toil - a mere respite for all the 300 or so more days I have to wait for again - is a chance to be in touch with who and what I was BEFORE I left for the Middle East.
Funny, after one whole year, it seemed that it didn’t add up to a whole lot, but when I had to return, it was a whole lot more.
Day 1 – Actually, night one.
My mother’s 70th birthday was the 19th of March, so by all means fair and foul, I had to make to it to Manila by that date. Complication was, my sister was in Dubai and I had to go there too to see her.
So it was I booked myself on Emirates instead of Gulf and suffered a seven-hour lay-over. It didn’t feel like that way, but I did get stressed from all that waiting. The flight was full – families making their way back for the school holidays. In other words, I twiddled my thumbs since I couldn’t get on the earliest flight out. I did get some practice with Arabic by listening to the airport PA system.
Finally, when I got on the plane, some intemperate kabayans drank too much red wine on the trip from Dubai to Manila. Aforementioned kabayans started feeling the effects of their drinking, and proceeded to make a beeline for the toilets. Since I couldn’t do my thing in the plane, I had an extreme case of number two on the way out at Immigration. Coupled with the numerous frantic phone calls of my folks wanting me to arrive in time for my mother’s birthday, it was a real pressure cooker.
My folks arranged for airport pick-up – my arrival was meant to be a surprise – so I really had to get on the car service ASAP. There was traffic on Tramo, there was heavy traffic at Edsa Guadalupe, there was traffic at Pioneer. My kind driver drove me to a Chowking and fortunately I made it before my sphincter gave way… (hahahahaha!). I had a great entrance at the party. It was a blast. Nothing beats going home.
I was not surprised that I ended up that night at one of my old haunts along Edsa. It was as if I had never gotten away – there was the smell of spilled beer and cigarettes, the slight zest of the fragrance the bar gave to their girls, and as always, the videoke machine. Bless the videoke machine. Without it life wouldn’t have been as bearable.
Day 2 – The bright lights have given way to the start of the Manila heat. The notable of this day was that the SHARE people got together courtesy of our buddy Robert who called a reunion on my behalf.
Quezon City is still the same. The buildings of Eastwood rise against the smog-filled sky. Traffic clogs the streets.
The hits of the day: Beer and pork – goes without saying. Meeting with the SHARE folks!
This past year saw some friends and family depart – some very close to my heart and others just simply part of the periphery that makes up the space of OTEP. There were also new friends – friends out of the necessity of sharing the same workspace, but more importantly, friends I have chosen to take into my heart because they enrich the space where I live, think, and feel.
But the SHARE people – they are irreplaceable.
Misses of the day: I never missed Manila traffic, and I got a first-hand lesson in Manila humidity. The service at that Gerry’s Grill was abysmal.
Treat of the day: I bought an HP iPAQ 6365. It has some disappointments, but I couldn’t be more excited about it that Sunday night.
(This will have dire consequences for me later).
Thursday, March 10, 2005
Craven
I crave
I crave to be free
I crave to be me
Unmistaken to be a shining star
Firmly placed in the heavenly vault
A sign
A hope
I crave
I crave for the truth
I crave for my youth
Unknowing grasping at unknown
Folly to want so much wisdom
A shoot
A spur
I crave
I crave for a love
Not lost
Yet not understanding
Riding the rollercoaster of life
Dread
Terror
Going down the chasm
Yet wanting it again
and again
and again
Home
Clutched in my mother's arms
Bearing a sword in her defense
Wanting to be weak
Wanting to be a child
Wanting to let go
Craving
To be
Craven
Craven
No lies on my face
No false hopes
No questions
No doubts
No walls
No defenses
But no true love
Riven
Divided by expectation
Torn
Battered
Scarred
World wanting so much
Having everything and nothing to give
Distorted
Discarded
Forgotten
Craven
No reason to be brave
No reason to behave
I live
I thrive
I seek
Love hides
So it must be
So it always has been
Searching for the true song
A song of love
A song of living
A song of deliverance
No meaning hiding between the lines
For that song says
You are
I am
We are together
But we are two
Belonging
But strong even alone.
Until that day comes
I crave
Until that day comes
I crave
I admit loss
Inconsequence
Solitude
Pain
Fear
I am craven
But I am me
I crave to be free
I crave to be me
Unmistaken to be a shining star
Firmly placed in the heavenly vault
A sign
A hope
I crave
I crave for the truth
I crave for my youth
Unknowing grasping at unknown
Folly to want so much wisdom
A shoot
A spur
I crave
I crave for a love
Not lost
Yet not understanding
Riding the rollercoaster of life
Dread
Terror
Going down the chasm
Yet wanting it again
and again
and again
Home
Clutched in my mother's arms
Bearing a sword in her defense
Wanting to be weak
Wanting to be a child
Wanting to let go
Craving
To be
Craven
Craven
No lies on my face
No false hopes
No questions
No doubts
No walls
No defenses
But no true love
Riven
Divided by expectation
Torn
Battered
Scarred
World wanting so much
Having everything and nothing to give
Distorted
Discarded
Forgotten
Craven
No reason to be brave
No reason to behave
I live
I thrive
I seek
Love hides
So it must be
So it always has been
Searching for the true song
A song of love
A song of living
A song of deliverance
No meaning hiding between the lines
For that song says
You are
I am
We are together
But we are two
Belonging
But strong even alone.
Until that day comes
I crave
Until that day comes
I crave
I admit loss
Inconsequence
Solitude
Pain
Fear
I am craven
But I am me
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
The Stupidity of War
The headlines scream at me with the regularity of conflict that the images metamorphose to numbness. If there is a cause the world should devote itself to, it should be peace. There is no conclusive proof that free-market economics will do the trick.
Let's concentrate on the word "free." What kind of freedom does a "free" man have when all he has is the freedom to starve with the burdens of government inefficiency, too many taxes, too many barriers ... when conflict in the Middle East will spike oil prices and drive prices of commodities even further.
Yup, cynicism is the order of the day - or perhaps guarded optimism at best. A little piece I'd like to share with you, written at the beginning of the Balkan conflict in the 1990's:
Little soldier girl, do not cry when the drums refuse to play.
They are dead and buried under the ground, you know.
Don't fret when the clap of the cymbals have ceased singing.
They have wasted away in silence, even as you are far away.
No matter how much you tried to hear them as the winds blow,
No matter even if you're a world apart or within hearing.
The sounds of the battle march were tried, and found wanting.
And your tears mean even less in your own hour of reckoning.
Little boys in men's clothing take up their standards of death
And spread them like cloaks, or perhaps like picnic cloths
That invite destruction and decay to feast upon their souls.
Watch and see, little soldier girl, the stench of their breath
As they gamble recklessly and with doom they cast their lots.
They know little, men that they are, the weight of their roles.
So do not cry when the joyous jigs are buried with the moles.
The din of their gaiety brings no laughter but from the poles.
And did you know, little soldier girl, that with each battle cry
Another drop of blood is spilled upon the ground, to sow the soil
With the seeds of death, so that more would die the next time?
Did you know that the cries of joy these men heave and sigh
Are the very shouts in the darkness against which all must toil?
There is no reason in the melodies you wish to hear, nor rhyme.
The echoes lash about themselves, destroying themselves in time.
And perhaps you may say the song of death has become sublime.
Little soldier girl, will you die for the din in their hearts
That cries for retribution, that shouts for revenge for wrongs
Of childhood that all must bear? Will you perish for dreams
Of fear, of bogeymen in the night, of wan witches and their arts?
Will you make them real as these men plan to do in their throngs?
Will they die for you, you who do not know what's real and seems?
The anger and hatred in them is ripping their souls at the seams.
And the discordant tunes that haunt you are nothing but dreams.
It's said that idle minds are the devil's workshop, and I agree,
As the train of thought urges one to take one's hands and grasp
That lowly piston of desire, to acquire some comfort from lust.
Little soldier girl, it is not war which would set them free,
For their guns spit only the scum from their fear-filled asps,
Cringing in their fear of unknown destiny rising from the dust.
And they still spew and fight, doing what they think they must.
But looking in their eyes, reality has powdered itself to rust.
And oh, the loneliness that cries out from their scarred sinews,
The greed which has wasted their speech into guttural laughter :
You know how it is, little soldier girl, when dreams have died,
There's no herald to shout and holler, no tome to break the news,
There's no one to pick up the broken pieces in the morning after,
There's nothing to make up for but the noise of slighted pride.
There's no song in the air and the whistle in the wind has died.
And you will stand all alone with only adversity by your side.
There's still time to grow, little soldier girl, time to scatter
All your dreams and sow them as seeds into the great wide beyond,
Time for you to live and be happy, time to cherish the beauty
Of all this world, time to ask and know what really is the matter
With all of life. There is time to bear your daughter and a son
Who will carry on all your dreams and live in all this bounty.
I can hear your song for them, but its voice is spent and empty.
The melody is mired in the stench, still it is proud and haughty.
Little soldier girl, the song foretold for you is beyond hearing.
Puny men decide the way you go, to show the size of their roles.
Let go, strive for happiness, look for the reason and the rhyme
In all of this madness; find the the true gold in all that seems
Glitter; raise yourself from the pile of filth and from the dust,
Give yourself a reason to brush your feathers and live in pride
For deep within you there's more than wealth, more than bounty.
Look for it deep within your heart. It's called the truth.
Let's concentrate on the word "free." What kind of freedom does a "free" man have when all he has is the freedom to starve with the burdens of government inefficiency, too many taxes, too many barriers ... when conflict in the Middle East will spike oil prices and drive prices of commodities even further.
Yup, cynicism is the order of the day - or perhaps guarded optimism at best. A little piece I'd like to share with you, written at the beginning of the Balkan conflict in the 1990's:
Little soldier girl, do not cry when the drums refuse to play.
They are dead and buried under the ground, you know.
Don't fret when the clap of the cymbals have ceased singing.
They have wasted away in silence, even as you are far away.
No matter how much you tried to hear them as the winds blow,
No matter even if you're a world apart or within hearing.
The sounds of the battle march were tried, and found wanting.
And your tears mean even less in your own hour of reckoning.
Little boys in men's clothing take up their standards of death
And spread them like cloaks, or perhaps like picnic cloths
That invite destruction and decay to feast upon their souls.
Watch and see, little soldier girl, the stench of their breath
As they gamble recklessly and with doom they cast their lots.
They know little, men that they are, the weight of their roles.
So do not cry when the joyous jigs are buried with the moles.
The din of their gaiety brings no laughter but from the poles.
And did you know, little soldier girl, that with each battle cry
Another drop of blood is spilled upon the ground, to sow the soil
With the seeds of death, so that more would die the next time?
Did you know that the cries of joy these men heave and sigh
Are the very shouts in the darkness against which all must toil?
There is no reason in the melodies you wish to hear, nor rhyme.
The echoes lash about themselves, destroying themselves in time.
And perhaps you may say the song of death has become sublime.
Little soldier girl, will you die for the din in their hearts
That cries for retribution, that shouts for revenge for wrongs
Of childhood that all must bear? Will you perish for dreams
Of fear, of bogeymen in the night, of wan witches and their arts?
Will you make them real as these men plan to do in their throngs?
Will they die for you, you who do not know what's real and seems?
The anger and hatred in them is ripping their souls at the seams.
And the discordant tunes that haunt you are nothing but dreams.
It's said that idle minds are the devil's workshop, and I agree,
As the train of thought urges one to take one's hands and grasp
That lowly piston of desire, to acquire some comfort from lust.
Little soldier girl, it is not war which would set them free,
For their guns spit only the scum from their fear-filled asps,
Cringing in their fear of unknown destiny rising from the dust.
And they still spew and fight, doing what they think they must.
But looking in their eyes, reality has powdered itself to rust.
And oh, the loneliness that cries out from their scarred sinews,
The greed which has wasted their speech into guttural laughter :
You know how it is, little soldier girl, when dreams have died,
There's no herald to shout and holler, no tome to break the news,
There's no one to pick up the broken pieces in the morning after,
There's nothing to make up for but the noise of slighted pride.
There's no song in the air and the whistle in the wind has died.
And you will stand all alone with only adversity by your side.
There's still time to grow, little soldier girl, time to scatter
All your dreams and sow them as seeds into the great wide beyond,
Time for you to live and be happy, time to cherish the beauty
Of all this world, time to ask and know what really is the matter
With all of life. There is time to bear your daughter and a son
Who will carry on all your dreams and live in all this bounty.
I can hear your song for them, but its voice is spent and empty.
The melody is mired in the stench, still it is proud and haughty.
Little soldier girl, the song foretold for you is beyond hearing.
Puny men decide the way you go, to show the size of their roles.
Let go, strive for happiness, look for the reason and the rhyme
In all of this madness; find the the true gold in all that seems
Glitter; raise yourself from the pile of filth and from the dust,
Give yourself a reason to brush your feathers and live in pride
For deep within you there's more than wealth, more than bounty.
Look for it deep within your heart. It's called the truth.
Forgotten
Does anyone want to live forever?
Does anyone want to love without pain?
In the rush to buy all things we've forgotten
Nothing we have is so easily won,
No road is better than the one we're on.
When this life ends, when everything is done,
Can eternal day make brighter the sun?
Glory fades soon after it's begotten
But no loss is lost; lost love is true gain
In memories of our lives together.
Does anyone want to love without pain?
In the rush to buy all things we've forgotten
Nothing we have is so easily won,
No road is better than the one we're on.
When this life ends, when everything is done,
Can eternal day make brighter the sun?
Glory fades soon after it's begotten
But no loss is lost; lost love is true gain
In memories of our lives together.
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