Moving Out
After sorting my closet, I decided to ditch this old blog as well.
Blogger is the new home.
Please update your link http://giboinks.blogspot.com/
What’s in your closet?
After 3 wicked days in Jakarta, I went back to Penang to do something, which I’ve been avoiding for the last 5 years: open my closet. Literally.
This humungous closet in my living room has been my repository of things I cannot sort or refuse to sort. Mostly, things from travels and more: papers, documents, pictures, maps, post cards, old appliances, receipts, old bills, books, magazines, song books, sinulid, butones, hopia, mani, popcorn.
For two days, I emptied each compartment of the closet, dumped everything on the floor, looked at every item and asked: to keep or not to keep? In between, I made some resolutions so as not to end up having the same junk in the future.
It was a tough decision I must say as I found the following:
Around 40 kilos of conference papers. I still can’t fathom why I picked up or accepted these papers. I reckon I need at least 40 years to read them all. I don’t have 40 years but I can lift 40 kilos. I decided to ditch them and bring them to the recycling station in my building. Resolution: Stop going to boring UN conferences (I must admit though, UN meetings serve the best free food in the world).
Engagement ring – Bigay ni ex number 1. Hindi ko ito maiwan sa family house namin sa Maynila kaya dinala ko sa Malaysia. Baka kasi may makakita, mahirap ipaliwanag sa nanay o sa kapatid ko kung bakit may mamahalin akong singsing (at hindi ako mahilig sa alahas), na may diamante sa gitna at may pangalan ng lalake sa tabi ng pangalan ko. Sinubukan kong ibalik kay ex, ayaw tanggapin. Resolution: Ibenta at i-donate ang pera sa isang kaibigan na may sakit.
Monthly receipts from the gym for the last 5 years. My gym bills are getting fat, just like me. Looking at the receipts and how much money I’ve been spending, I realised I’m not taking my gym seriously. Resolution: Spend more time burning calories. Don’t hire cute trainers.
Tons of pictures- Pictures mula sa field trip sa Africa circa 2005, despideda party sa Maynila limang taon na ang nakakaraaan, speaking tour sa Japan noong 2004 at marami pa. Ang isang natuwa ako, picture namin ni ex number 2 sa Hong Kong Disneyland. Ang sweet namin (magkakahiwalay din pala, leche). Dahil closeta ang ex at nakatira sa bahay ng ate at nanay nya sa Maynila, at dahil may sarili akong flat sa Malaysia, ako ang naatasang magtago nito. Resolution: Huwag magpa-picture sa tabi ni Mickey Mouse. Malas ito.
Hundreds of used plane tickets- I’ve been traveling a lot these past 10 years or so, mostly for work. I thought I would collect all these tickets to remind me of the places that I’ve been to. I was hoping that one day, I would have the time to sit down and write travel stories. Resolution: Unresolved. But I’m keeping the used plane tickets for now. They are collector’s item now after e-ticket replaced traditional paper tickets around the globe in June this year.
At the end of the 2nd day, I simply had to stop sorting my 5-year old junk. I put the unsorted things back in the closet. I realised I need at least 2 more days, or maybe more. I don’t have 2 more days for now.
I’m flying to Manila. I promised to visit my nieces and nephew. Also, I intend to claim a closet in the family house to store some of my junk from Penang.
This made me cry
Again. In Hong Kong two weeks ago, the conference participants gave Ka Bel a tribute. I cried.
Youngblood
Quiapo vendors
The day after “Ka Bel” died, my father sent me an email urging me to go to the wake for the party-list representative. He said Crispin Beltran was once his boss and one whom he deeply respected, and he felt it was his filial obligation to offer flowers and prayers at his wake. But since he was away in Maastricht, the Netherlands, on a scholarship, he asked me to go his place.
I’m no leftist; I’m not even politically inclined, as some of my schoolmates have probably noted. So when I put on my denim pants and rubber shoes to go to Manila’s Quiapo district to buy some flowers, I thought that I was merely doing what my father had asked me to do: to offer flowers and prayers for a dead man.
When I got to Quiapo, I searched the flower vendors at the side of the church, trying to imagine what colors my father would have wanted. I stopped at a nondescript stall with green, maroon and pink flowers, not just the usual yellow and white. The vendor told the white or yellow mums would cost P100, but if I picked assorted colors it would cost me P150.
I tried to bargain, and she brought down the price of the latter to P140.
I asked if the funeral wreath came with ribbons. “Extra P20 kung may ribbon,” she said.
I did not bother to haggle anymore. Then I handed her a piece of paper on which I had copied the epitaph my father wrote: “Pagpugay sa dakilang anak ng uring manggagawa, Ka Bel; Ang buhay at alaala mo’y titis ng pag-asa sa pakikibaka ng uri. — Kas. George.”
The vendor was shocked by the long message. I figured that she was used to writing only “Condolence and sympathy” on the ribbon. But she talked so loud that the other vendors came over.
“Santissima! Kay Ka Bel mo ba ibibigay?” a vendor of Lego-like toys asked.
I nodded and smiled.
“Diyos ko, Mare, huwag mo na singilin!” she told the flower vendor. “Kay Ka Bel naman pala eh. Kapatid natin iyon sa pakikibaka.”
They called their friends, who were selling trinkets worth P10 or less. One of them offered to do the writing, declaring his handwriting was the best. Others shared their opinions about Ka Bel. Some told the flower vendor to add more flowers on the wreath.
“Nakakasama kasi namin sa rally si Ka Bel,” the friendly toy vendor explained.
“Oo, at wala siyang paki kahit mga mahihirap kami,” the man with the nice handwriting chimed in.
Some asked me if I was going alone, or if I was with a leftist group. I politely told them that I was going on behalf of my school organization.
When they asked me what school I attended, someone said, “Mabuting may mga matatalino pa ring sumusuporta sa mga mahihirap.” I did have the courage to tell them I was no leftist.
Finally they finished the wreath, beautifully done. The flower vendor told me that with all the additions, the wreath was now worth more than P200, but she was giving it to me for free as her own offering for Ka Bel. A vendor of plastic bags gave me a big red-and-white plastic free of charge. And while I was preparing to leave, a cigarette vendor came with a small bouquet of white mums and asked me to bring them to their champion. Then they all bade me a cheery goodbye, while asking me to extend their condolences to Ka Bel’s family. I rode the jeepney to Taft Avenue with a heart that was never more deeply touched.
Had my father been here, he would have gone every day to the wake. He would have go to Ka Bel’s funeral, marching with his buddies in the labor group Kilusang Mayo Uno, sharing pictures and stories of Ka Bel and the KMU. He probably would not have thought of asking me to go with him, knowing that I am not interested in rallies and leftist organizations.
But maybe it was a good thing that he was away and had to ask me to do this. I never would have come so close to the poor and neither would have known how deeply they felt about Ka Bel, their “brother in the struggle” against poverty.
Consuelo Maria G. Lucero, 17, is a third-year Bachelor of Arts in Comparative Literature student at the University of the Philippines in Diliman, Quezon City.
Jakarta Post
I made a mistake of booking a flight that goes Penang-Kuala Lumpur-Penang when there is a direct and cheaper flight from Penang to Jakarta.
Three hours before my flight, I was packing and attempting to clean my flat that looks like a jungle, as I haven’t touched the vacuum and the mop for more than a month now. And the only reason I tried to clean it was because the landlord was coming over this weekend and I was afraid he would have the impression that I don’t take care of his flat.
But I should not be bothered because I’m vacating that flat by the end of October anyway. And he is only coming over because I’ve been complaining about the shower knobs that don’t turn off and the light bulbs that constantly keep me in the dark. He promised to bring the tubero and electrician while I was away but I forgot to leave with the guard the keys to the flat. I only thought about the keys when I was on the plane.
On my way to the airport, I should have stopped at the computer shop to pick-up my laptop battery that was sent in for repair. I forgot. I only thought about the missing battery when I realised that my laptop bag was so light. Now I have to plug my laptop whenever I need to use it.
I should have packed the right clothes and shoes knowing that I would meet my friends’ snooty friends who love to go to snooty places like this, where women look like paper dolls and the men look like Tim Yap. But I didn’t pack really; I just randomly stuffed things in my luggage. Besides, most of my “proper” clothes are in the laundry bin and the washing machine broke down (again, for the nth time). And I forgot to tell the landlord about this. But it doesn’t matter because he doesn’t have the keys to my flat anyway.
I brought my goggles with me hoping to swim at my friend’s pool but I realised I didn’t bring my swimming trunks. But I don’t have swimming trunks really because I ditched the last one when it ended up looking like a toasted bacon after I accidentally put it in the washing machine ages ago.
Jakarta Post is the only English daily newspaper here in Indonesia. The title of this post should have been a Post from Jakarta to simply say that I’m on vacation and that my scattered brain and saturated fats will be floating around South East Asia for the rest of July.
Why Wai: 7 Heavenly Sins to Commit in Bangkok
I must say, whenever I end up in Bangkok these days, I tend to just simply stay in my hotel. Fine. In between, I shop as well. But nothing more. Sometimes, I feel that Bangkok is one those been-there-done-that places. But just like many places in the world, it constantly reinvents itself, offering something new.
I must concede though, it is still one of the coolest urban jungles in the world.
As I have been in and out of Bangkok for the last 10 years or so, mainly for work (fine, relationship as well), I have to constantly remind myself why I enjoy Bangkok:
1. Cosmopolitan. Walking in the streets of Bangkok, particularly the tourist areas, is like walking in the halls of the United Nations. The diversity of people brings a plethora of places and company one can enjoy. When the clock turns 10 in the evening and if it’s a weekend, and you’re gay or a fag hag, you have to be in Silom for the parties. It is a must. The UN doesn’t like absentees.
2. Food. The best Thai food looks like a mess but tastes like heaven. We brought a British friend to Bangkok ages ago. Unfortunately, he could not stand Thai food, he ended up having burger from Mc Donalds everyday. I must say he missed half of his life. I think he died recently. Thai food is one of the best in the world. Period.
3. Fashion. Forget immorally expensive high-end fashion. Local fashion designers in Thailand never ran out of ideas and inspirations. Their creations are inexpensive but chic. They are not mass-produced so everything is always limited edition. The chance of seeing somebody wearing the same clothes that you bought is very slim, unless you go to Silom to party.
4. Shopping. Bangkok is a shopper’s paradise, from glitzy places such as Paragon and Emporium to shops that most Thais prefer—MBK, Siam Square, Chatuchak and more. Chatuchak is a weekend market; it has thousands of stores that all run down small alleys, millions of shopping ideas (from fab shawl to cuddly puppies), and the humidity that is not fit for the faint hearted. The hedonist in me loves it.
5. Cool places to chill-out. Bangkok never ran out of innovative new places to have drinks or food. I’ve recently discovered this place called To Die For, an uber chic place– with an outdoor area complete with shared cushion-seating under candlelight at night. Perfect for dinner or drinks and uncensored talakfest as Girard puts it.
6. Spas. Thailand has perfected the art and science of wellness– from high-end spas to hoi-polloi-production-line massage places. There is always a place that fits my budget. The Thais have eyes for details– from the way they design their spas to the services they offer. Happy ending is always optional but I say no to sex tourism.
7. Thai hospitality. Thailand can be stressful especially in a situation when you want to communicate in English and most of the Thais don’t get you. English may be the international language but so does hospitality. And Thais never ran out of ways to show their hospitality. Most of the time, they are patient and tolerant, especially to those who show the same respect.
An ex, who is Thai taught me how to wai. The ‘wai’ is the traditional greeting in Thailand: press palms and fingers together and raise them to nose level with a slight bowing of head. The ‘wai’ is filled with meanings. I forgot a good number of them. One thing is sure; it is a way to show respect and to say thank you.
A “wai” to Bangkok.
***
A “wai” to Girard, an uber chic Bangkok based blogger for the hospitality. I had a wonderful weekend with him and his friends- Heidi and Bubbles. In fairness, ang haba ng neck nya. Fashion model talaga. Kainez.
Out, Proud and Positive
When Rey told me he was HIV positive, it was over dinner at TGIF here in Penang. We were with two other friends, having fun over a hefty dinner and frozen margaritas. I won’t forget the way he broke the news. It was so casual; as if he was telling me he had a haircut.
No grand introduction, no drama, no tears.
It was April last year. Unlike Rey’s way of breaking the news, my life was full of drama then. I just broke off with my ex, I was so busy with work and travels that I didn’t even have time to sort out what really happened to my relationship.
As Rey had already set the no-drama tone, I had to act as if I was used to hearing such news from old friends. In a very casual way, I asked him when did he learn his HIV status. It was so casual, as if I was asking when and where did he get his new haircut.
December 2005, he said. My mind went back to that cold December in Hong Kong. I was there; it was the peak of our preparations for the anti-WTO protests. Everyone was stressed. But for Rey, I’m sure the word “stress” won’t be enough to describe his state of mind at that time. Looking back, Rey acted as if nothing earth shaking had happened. He acted as if the only thing that mattered was to have a successful protest against the WTO.
As Rey and our other friends moved to another topic of conversation, I excused myself. I went to the toilet where I had my drama and tears. I cried and I didn’t know if it was because of my recent break up or because of Rey’s news. There was also some guilt on my part because in Hong Kong at that time, I was pressuring him to finish some work he was doing for us. I didn’t know that it was the lowest point in his life.
I went back to our dinner as if nothing happened. Later on, I had a one on one conversation with Rey about his health and how he was coping.
I was in Hong Kong early this year. Over coffee and cigarettes, we talked about his recent life— his initial denial (of his status), rediscovering self-worth, acceptance and how he intend to use his blog to educate others on HIV and AIDS.
Just last week, I saw him again in Hong Kong. We talked briefly about another friend in Manila who found out recently that he is HIV positive. Just like Rey in the beginning, this friend of ours is still trying to cope with his new status. Unlike Rey, he is not in good health. He has been in and out of hospital in Manila. Unlike Rey, who somehow receives excellent health service in Hong Kong, this friend has been trying to cope with the immorally high cost of health services in the Philippines.
But they have something in common– they are both full time activists who dedicate all their young lives to the movement. Both were key players at the anti-WTO protests in Hong Kong. Both are committed comrades. Both are out and proud.
I just hope that our friend, just like Rey, will find the courage and determination to fight the disease. I just hope I will have the chance to see him soon. Hopefully, in a casual manner, I can tell him that drama and tears are okay, that life indeed is not as simple as getting a haircut.
Of Miles and (Straight) Men
In the plane on my way back to Malaysia from Hong Kong via Bangkok, I sat beside a chatty and delectable French guy. I was exhausted from a weeklong meeting and I wanted to sleep through the flight. But how can one resist somebody who looks like Shia LeBoeuf, reads Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov and raves about the French actor and director Albert Dupontel? We chatted animatedly. He told me he lives in Taipei but would be in Bangkok for the next 4 months…
***
We’ll keep in touch. We’ll see each other again.
Heto na siguro ang pinaka-walang kuwentang phrases na sinabi ko at sinabi sa akin ng maraming tao na nakilala ko sa maraming biyahe. Wala syang kwenta kasi hindi naman sya nangyayari sa tutuong buhay.
Sa tutuong buhay, pagkatapos makauwi sa mga bansa nyo, babalik ka sa iyong regular na routine. Magpapadala ka ng isa o dalawang email sa nakilala mo, just to say hi and hello at yun na ang katapusan ng inyong holiday friendship.
Sa dami ng aking international friends, may isa na akong shoe box ng mga calling cards at ilang daang email addresses sa aking yahoo account. Noong bata pa si Sabel, ang sipag ko pang magpadala ng mga Christmas at get well soon cards, at iba pang ka-echosan ng Hallmark.
Pero kalaunan, nagsawa na rin ako. Nagsawa na rin sila.
Pero may isang grupo ng mga Pinoy sa Canada na hindi nagsawa at hindi ko rin pinagsawaan. Sila ang host ko noon sa Montreal. 1992 yun. Estudyante ako. Speaking tour yun para sa isang youth organisation sa Pilipinas. At yun ang unang foreign trip ko.
Nasundan namin ang buhay ng isa’t isa: engagement, kasal, nagka-anak, binyag, depression, career change, unemployment, weight loss, weight gain, wrinkles, activism, frustrations, happiness, illness, warts and all. In between, dinalaw ko sila sa Canada ng ilang beses. O kaya naman ay nagkikita kami sa Pilipinas kapag nagba-bakasyon sila. In between, may skype at email.
Ikinukwento ko ito kasi nakita ko ang ilan sa kanila sa Hong Kong para sa isang global meeting ng mga makabayan (at makabayot na rin) na aktibista. In between sessions, we tried to catch-up. Pinulutan namin ang mala-soap opera na buhay ng mga mga migrante sa Canada na nakilala ko.
Among the Pinoy-Canadians, pinaka-close ako kay Joey. He’s the coolest guy among the activists sa Montreal. Sabi ko, it’s about time I tell him that I’m gay (o baka naman alam nya?). Abay ako sa kasal nya, ninong ako ng panganay nyang anak at kung bading si Joey, sya ang boyfriend material.
After the weeklong meeting, I took the Pinoy-Canadians around Hong Kong. Pero dahil Saturday iyon at last day namin sa Hong Kong, sabi ko kay Joey na I have to be somewhere by 9pm. Saan ka pupunta? Bakit di ako pwedeng sumama? Tanong nya.
Ang tutuo, may date ako with the beckies ng HK at plano naming pumunta ni Kiks at Aaron sa Volume. At dahil makulit itong si Joey at gustong sumama, sinabi ko na rin ang tutuo: I’m off to a gay bar with the beckies.
There, I said the magic word.
Our Hong Kong tour ended infront of the Big Buddha in Lantau Island. In jest, while we were posing infront of the Big Buddha, Joey said that it was our Buddhist gay wedding. We laughed. I realised coming out is sometimes overrated.
He reminded me to send him our Hong Kong pictures, particularly the one infront of the Big Buddha, so he could show them to Jasmin, his wife and also a dear friend of mine.
At the Hong Kong Airport, while waiting for our flight, Joey asked me to visit them again in Montreal. I asked him to visit me in Malaysia or the Philippines. Meanwhile, we promised to keep in touch and that we would see each other again, somewhere.
***
...the French guy complained that the 2.5 hours flight from Hong Kong to Bangkok was too short and that we have so much to talk about– films and books and our lives in transit. I told him I would be in Bangkok next week for a meeting. He gave me his Bangkok number.
He insisted that we should keep in touch and that we should see each other again.
And that I should meet his Taiwanese girlfriend.
Memorya
An old piece. Was debating with myself if I should post this. Obviously, I won.
****
Maikli ang aking memorya. Sa mahigit na tatlumpung taon kong edad, may mga taon sa buhay ko na hindi ko maalala. Ito marahil ang dahilan kung bakit marami akong kaibigan, ang silbi nila ay ipaalala sa akin ang mga samut-saring kuwento na aming pinagdaanan– kaarawan, binyag, kasal, kamatayan at kung anu-ano pa.
Kuwento ng isang kaibigan, umiyak daw ako noong lamay ni Jojo, isang kaibigan na namatay sa kanser. Di ako umiyak, tutol ko. Pero syempre, di ko ‘to masabi na hindi kumukurap ang aking mata. Di ko na kasi maalala. Umiyak din daw ako noong libing ni Rommel, isang kaibigan na nagpakamatay. Di na ako tumutol, ni hindi ko na nga maalala kung ano ang hitsura ni Romel noong buhay pa ito.
Hindi ko rin matandaan ang mga kaarawan. Kahit kaarawan ng aking dating kasintahan ng tatlong taon ay hindi ko matandaan. Basta ang alam ko, kapag malapit na ang anibersaryo ng Martial Law, malapit na rin ang kaarawan niya. Kung tama ang alaala ko, Setyembre 22 o kaya ay 23.
May isang kasintahan naman ako na lumipas na ang kaarawan ay di ko man lang nabati. Dahil nasa ibang bansa siya, nagkuwento siya sa email na nalasing siya noong selebrasyon. Syempre pa, pahaging ito, simpleng pagsasabi na “di mo man lang ako naalalang batiin”. Pagkabasa ko sa email, takbo ako agad sa National Bookstore para bumili ng regalo, libro at birthday card. Katakot-takot na paliwanag at paghingi ng despensa ang laman ng card. Pinadala ko ang package sa FedEx. Babawi na lang ako sa susunod na taon, sabi ko.
Di ko rin maalala ang kaarawan ng aking kapatid. Dahil Jun ang pangalan niya, nalilito ako kung June 22 o kaya ay July 22 ang kanyang kaarawan. Noong nasa ibang bansa ako isang Hunyo, tumawag pa ako ng long distance para batiin siya. Kuya, sabi niya, sa susunod na buwan pa ang birthday ko. July 22 pala ang birthday niya. O sige, di na kita babatiin sa susunod na buwan ha? Nabati na kita, sabi ko.
Kundi dahil sa isang kaibigan na si Aya na palaging may bitbit na kamera, di ko maaala kung sino ang dumalo sa aking mga nakaraang kaarawan. Di ba, sumuka pa nga siya sa garahe nyo dahil sa sobrang kalasingan? Sabi niya. Siguro nga, sabi ko, nang ipaalala niya sa akin na dumalo ang isang kaopisina na nasa larawan. Sa isang kaarawan ko din daw nagsimula ang tambalang Melvin at Angge, mga kaopisina. Hindi ko matandaan na inimbita ko sila.
Ang malungkot ay kung hindi mo maalala ang mga masasayang nakaraan.
Ito siguro ang dahilan kung bakit ako nag-iipon ako ng kaibigan. Sila ang aking bangko ng mga alaala. Kapag kapos sa kasiyahan, may madudukot na masayang kuwento. Nagsolo daw kami ng kuwarto ng aking kasintahan isang gabing malamig noong nagpunta kami sa Batad, di ko na maalala. Outing sa Olongapo, lumabas si Obet ng bahay na naka-brief para kunin ang gamit sa kotse na nakaparada sa kalye, nagulat ang buong barangay, di ko na matandaan.
Kung hindi sa aming family photo album, may ilang bahagi ng aking pagkabata na blangko ang aking memorya. Hindi ko na mataandaan na noong ika-8 taon kong kaarawan ay bungi ako. Di ko na matandaan na may alaga akong aso, regalo ng ninang ko nang mag-second honor ako sa klase noong Grade III ako. Dahil panganay ako sa kalahating dosena kong kapatid, ako daw ang magiliw na nag-alaga sa kanila, bagay na hindi ko na masyadong matandaan. Sa isang larawan, nakaupo ako sa ibabaw ng Volksawagen, sampung taon akong gulang. Di ko matandaan na nagkaroon kami ng sasakyan noon. Heto ang Tita Nelia mo, siya ang nag-alaga sa iyo ng maliit ka pa, kuwento ng nanay ko habang itinuturo ang litrato. Noong di ka makahinga dahil sa sipon, akala ko mamatay ka na, sinipsip niya ang ilong mo. Naaalala mo? Tanong ng nanay ko. Hindi, sa loob-loob ko. Tumango na lang ako.
Ang masaya ay kung hindi mo na maalala ang malungkot na nakaraan.
Naiyak ako sa kuwento ni Ram, isang matalik na kaibigan. Hindi dahil sa kuwento ng buhay niya. Kundi dahil ikunuwento niya kung gaano ako kabalisa noong panahon na naghihiwalay kami ng dating kasintahan. Siguro nga umiyak ako noong lamay ni Jojo o noong libing ni Rommel. Kuwento ni Juday, isang kaibigan na matabil, para daw akong negosyante na nalugi noong bumalik sa probinsya ang isang kaibigang itinatangi na hindi ko man lang nasabi ang aking pagsinta. Hindi ko na rin matandaan.
Ang kapatid kong si Jun ang nagpaalala sa akin na kaya mabigat ang loob niya sa isa naming tiyahin ay dahil di kami nito pinautang noong panahon na wala kaming pang-deposito sa bagong bahay. Naaalala mo kuya, nakaupo tayo sa luma nating sofa noong nagdamot siya? Syempre hindi. Nakitira daw kami sa isang kamag-anak ng tatlong taon dahil wala kaming pambayad sa bahay at walang trabaho si Tatay. Naalala ko na nakipisan kami sa kamag-anak. Pero hindi tatlong taon, ilang buwan lang. Tatlong taon daw.
Ang malungkot ay kung naalala mo pa rin ang mga malungkot na nakaraan.
Sabi ng isang kaibigan ko na may matalas na memorya, tatanda at mamatay siyang malungkot. Ang mga alaala ay parang pilat sa kanyang utak. Masagi lang at makapa, aagos ang lahat ng malungkot na alaala na parang mga barya sa bagong bukas na alkansya.
Dapat matuwa ako dahil maikli ang aking memorya, sabi niya. Tatanda at lilipas ka na walang masamang alaala. Tumango lang ako. Ang tutuo, may isang bahagi ng aking alaala na parang bisita na hindi umaalis.
Isang araw ng Marso na maalinsangan, tumatakagtak ang pawis ko na umuwi galing sa eskuwela. Sarado ang bahay. Nasa palengke raw si Nanay sabi ng matandang kapitbahay. Sinuyo niya akong pumasok sa kanyang bahay. Inalok ako ng malamig na tubig, masuyong hinagod ang aking likod, dahan-dahang ibinaba ang aking unipormeng pantalon na kulay lupa, hinubad ang aking maasim na puting uniporme. Huwag daw akong magkukuwento kahit kanino. Grade I ako noon. Tiyak ako.
Matapos ang taon na iyon, wala na akong iba pang malinaw na alaala ng mga sumunod na taon maliban sa isang araw ng Marso na iyon.
Newcastle upon Tyne, England, Marso 15, 2002
****
I‘m off to Hong Kong for a week-long meeting. I may not be able to post for a while. I’ll bring some siomai when I get back.
If I were to join Ms. U
Sa dami ng sinagot kong tanong sa aking tour of duty bilang international NGO worker, pwede na akong sumali sa Ms. U.
Noong 2005, pinadala ako ng office sa Chile para mag-aral ng Spanish. Para sa isang Pinoy na nakatira sa Malaysia, masyadong exotic ang aking country of origin at residence para sa marami. In the same way that for a Pinoy, exotic para sa akin ang mga Mapuche ng South America.
Para sa maraming Chileans, tatlo lang ang Asians- Chinese (at marami silang restaurants doon), Koreans at Japanese (karamihan turista). Sa school, dalawa lang kaming Asians. Ako at si Miki, isang Japanese. Of course, everyone knows anything about hi-tech Japan. Pero palaging mystery sa marami ang Philippines at Malaysia.
Sa mga parties at iba pang social events, para itong question and answer portion para sa akin. Ang daming tanong ng mga Chileans, lalo na ang mga university educated. Mahihiwagang tanong na nangangailangan ng mahihiwaga ring sagot. Heto ang ilan sa mga paborito kong tanong:
Chilean 1: In the Philippines, do you also eat pizza?
Me: Yes, we call it picha pie.
Chilean 2: Is there electricity in Malaysia?
Me: (thinking if I have turned off my coffee maker before I left Malaysia) Yes, but Malaysian prisons prefer flogging over electric chair to save energy.
Chilean 3: Do people still live in trees in Malaysia?
Me: No, but they live in buildings as high as Petronas Tower.
Chilean 4: Do men really get pregnant in the Philippines? (this guy refers to this old news about a Pinoy guy who made headlines for claiming he was pregnant)
Me: Nope, we have already discovered contraceptives.
Chilean 5: In Malaysia, do people still cut each other’s head when there is a tribal war?
Me: (thinking about my neighbours and how they behave when there is altercation) Where did you hear that?
Chilean 5: I’ve seen it on National Geographic.
Me: Frankly, I dont know, my neigbours speak Chinese all the time.
And this is my ultimate favourite.
Chilean 6: Is las Filipinas near Finlandia? (note: in the world map that is common in all schools in Chile, there is an alphabetical list of countries below the actual map, Filipinas is listed above Finlandia)
Me: (without batting my eyelash) Nope, Philippines starts with “P”, therefore it is near Peru.
I therefore conclude, my school days in Chile were the happiest days of my life; which should give you some indication of the nose bleeding I’ve endured.
Wave to the crowd. Exit to the left.
Sex (but not) in this City
Kung meron akong isang bagay na nami-miss sa Pilipinas, ito ay ang manood ng sine.
Tinanong ko ang kaibigan kong Malaysian kung ipapalabas ba dito ang Sex and the City. Ang sagot: Is Gloria the president of this country?
In short, malamang hindi. At kung ipapalabas man, lahat ng “immoral” na eksena o dialogue ay kinatay na ng board of censors. Ito ang moral police ng Malaysia. Bawal ang kissing scenes; syempre walang nudity, dialogue na may sexual innuendos; eksena na kritikal sa Islam (pero okey lang kung Catholic tulad ng Da Vinci Code); kwento tungkol sa racial tension sa Malaysia, etc.
At some point, huminto na akong manood ng sine dito sa Malaysia. Maliban sa wala naman akong ka-date at ka-holding hands, may mga movies na hindi ko na maintindihan ang plot dahil sa dami ng pinutol na eksena.
At hindi dito nagtatapos ang censorship.
May isang global NGO dito sa Penang na ang advocacy ay breasfeeding. Nagulat sila isang araw dahil naglabas ng listahan sa media ang board of censors ng mga libro na dapat i-ban sa mga bookstore. Isa dito ang Breastfeeding Your Baby: Revised Edition.
Bakit? Breast is suso, therefore, malaswa.
Ganito ang duda ko. May database sila ng libro. Nag-search word sila para sa: breast, sex, gay, boobs, god at iba pang dubious words.
Lumabas sa listahan ang breastfeeding. Ayun, ka-level na nya ang mga banned books tulad ng How to Talk to Your Child About Sex: It’s Best to Start Early, But It’s Never Too Late: a Step-by-Step Guide for Every Age; Divine Secrets of the Ya-ya Sisterhood; Poems & Prayers for Children; Sex, Lies and Stereotypes: Challenging Views of Women, Men, and Relationships.
Mahaba ang listahan. Dahil dito huminto na rin akong bumili ng libro. Maliban sa kaunti lang ang choices, mahal sila dahil mataas ang tax ng imported books. In short, halos hindi nagbabasa ang mga Malaysians maliban sa daily newspapers tulad ng government controlled na Star at Strait Times na ang duda ko, ang news stories na lang, na hindi dumaan sa censorship ay yung nasa sports page.
Tinanong ko ang Reyna ng Jordan Road, kung palabas na ang Sex and the City sa Hongkong. Dahil papunta ako doon next week, doon na lang ako manonood. Oo daw. Magkano naman ang sine dyan? HK$ 70 daw or P490 in Philippine currency.
Ang mahal para sa isang ka-echosan lang na pelikula. Hihintayin ko na lang sa in-flight entertainment ng eroplano. Pero hindi nagtatapos ang censorship sa lupa. Sakop din ng moral police ang Malaysia Airlines.
Heto muli ang panahon na nabuhay ang aking passion na pumunta sa office ng board of censors, hanapin ang boss chief para bulungan ng: kantot, kantot, kantot.
