In the key of PKT

Down the Easter Road: An Online Lenten Prayer Series with Hangad

2009-03-18T01:25:00.000-07:00

While we often eagerly anticipate the joy and celebration of Christmas, we seldom appreciate the significance of Lent, Holy Week, and Easter. Yet Easter is the Christian occasion of greatest importance—even more so than Christmas. After all, everyone is born—but only Christ was reborn! What would be the significance of Christ's birth, if there had not been a Resurrection? What would be the meaning of Christmas, if Jesus did not go on to suffer, die, and rise again?

This Lenten season, we in Hangad invite you to join us in our preparations for Holy Week and Easter, with Down the Easter Road: an Online Lenten Prayer Series with Hangad.

Down the Easter Road is a four-part online prayer guide comprising readings, reflections, and songs. A new chapter in the recollection will be uploaded each Sunday from March 15 to April 6. Simply set aside 20 minutes each week to visit the site and go through the different materials there, and you’ll discover a deepened Lenten season.

And on April 25, we will culminate Down the Easter Road with an Easter concert which we will also place online.

Click here to start your journey with us Down the Easter Road.

=====================
Hangad is a group of young professionals and students, bound by their desire to help others know God through music. Over the past 18 years, the group has recorded six albums and produced four music videos under the Jesuit Music Ministry; as well as staged concerts inside and outside the Philippines, sung for weddings and Masses, and given workshops to parish choirs. Find out more about Hangad at www.hangad.org, or e-mail us at mail@hangad.com.

Trip down memory lane

2009-01-09T19:52:00.000-08:00

Yet another Lego post from my blog -- this time, a combination of a rare lazy day in the office, and excitement over the newly-discovered guide.lugnet.com site. Hugely nostalgic! :-)

http://paulophonic.multiply.com/photos/album/29/All_my_Lego_EVER

I tried to arrange the sets chronologically, but I'm sure I got some wrong. Lego super-fans and historians, please forgive any errors, it's been a while. :-)

Great Lego store: Bricks World in Singapore

2009-01-09T19:47:00.000-08:00

Another Lego link from my blog... this time, exciting news for anyone who's travelling to Singapore :-)

http://paulophonic.multiply.com/journal/item/49

Rediscovering my blog for Lego :-)

2009-01-09T19:42:00.000-08:00

Some items from my blog on my recent rediscovery of my love for Lego (after a 17-year hiatus!), including a dream correspondence with them! :-) The three entries are best read in the order of the links below. :-)

http://paulophonic.multiply.com/journal/item/40

http://paulophonic.multiply.com/journal/item/42

http://paulophonic.multiply.com/journal/item/48

Times you'd HATE to be in marketing

2008-11-30T20:05:00.000-08:00

In the supermarket some days back, James and I noticed that the Nestle infant milks had a new packaging, and wondered what the hell Nestle was thinking...

...until we realized a split-second later that it wasn't only Nestle, but every product in the infant milk aisle!

My jaw dropped in shock. Government regulation strikes again. In the past, to promote breastfeeding, DOH had prohibited pediatricians from endorsing any infant milk; forebade infant milk brands from having any kind of advertising in health centers; and more recently, banned infant milk advertising on TV. Now, DOH is regulating packaging as well. So much for packaging aesthetics. And just imagine the cost and logistical nightmare of replacing every single box and can of infant milk with this new regulated packaging!

In fairness, at least we see one government agency doing its job. Product aesthetics and sympathy for infant milk brand managers aside, there really are products that deserve to be regulated in the interest of consumer well-being. I just wonder when they'll get around to similarly regulating other such products? Apart from the no-brainer of cigarettes being hazardous to your health, there are actually a few others I'd love to see, hahaha:

On softdrink bottles and junk food wrappers: "This shit is bad for you."
On processed foods: "You don't even want to know what goes into this shit."
Outside fastfood joints: "Go eat something healthier."
On cellphones: "Do you want to know how much sending a text ACTUALLY costs?"
Outside SM: "Don't support unfair labor practices."

And I'll stop there before I get to beauty products and just shoot myself in the foot. Hahahaha! Happy shopping, consumers!

Move over, Ikea... I've got a new favorite store

2008-11-30T03:54:00.000-08:00

Yes, this entry is STILL about Lego. Hahaha. But I'll make it quick.

I discovered Bricks World during my recent trip to Singapore... in the mall below the P&G office, of all places! What an exciting place. Lego everywhere, standard sets as well as rare sets (Lego chess!) and merchandising (keychains, playing cards, cookie jars, magnets) that you don't find elsewhere. You can also buy individual and hard-to-find pieces. And best of all, stuff is WAAAAY cheaper than it is in the Philippines -- by around 30%! Not to mention the stuff on sale pa.

Apart from the merchandise, I also appreciated the service. Even by Singapore standards, it was really good. The shop ladies worked out my purchases such that I could get a Bricks World membership, and a discount too! I think I saved the equivalent of Php1,000... and got a membership card too. :-D

So I bought a ton of Lego: Christmas gifts for my niece and nephew, a set that Joanne made bilin after finding out it was 30% cheaper... and of course, a big set for myself. And lots of little merchandise (haha sucker for marketing). [Incidentally, what's great about this big set -- which I super SUPER wanted after seeing it on the Internet -- is that, the first day I went to Bricks World, it was on sale at S$299 from the original price of around S$380. I decided to give it some thought... which was great, because when I visited again 2 days later, it was down to S$199!! No more second thoughts about a set this great, at this big a discount. :-D]

I got so much stuff that it didn't fit in my luggage on the flight home, and the check-in lady wouldn't let me handcarry it... luckily there was a post office in Changi and I was able to buy a big box, hahaha.

Bricks World has stores in Novena Square and Ngee Ann City in Singapore. I heard they have more but I haven't been able to visit yet. Next time! :-D

Getting back with my old flame

2008-11-30T02:58:00.000-08:00

My rediscovered romance with Lego just keeps getting better.

Some history. When I was a kid, I think around Grade 4, I wrote and snail-mailed a letter to Lego. I told them how much I loved their toys, I even made suggestions on new lines (at the time, they only had town, castle, and space -- none of the pirates and agents and racers and underwater stuff).

The experience of writing the makers of my favorite toys was happy enough -- but what a thrill when they actually responded! A package came in the mail weeks later, containing a load of Lego and Legoland magazines and brochures, including a factbook detailing the history of Lego... and a personalized letter thanking me for my ideas! It was a highlight of my childhood life, and that yellow envelope with all the material from Lego was in my schoolbag for months after.

A few weeks back, I wrote my next letter to Lego. This time, it was as an adult, toying with the idea of a job with their company, and via e-mail. Again, like before, I was happy enough to just write them. And, like before, I was thrilled to get a response from them, via e-mail.

I thought that was that. Until many days after, I received a notice from the Mandaluyong Central Post Office that I had a package to pick up. I had no idea what it was, and it was actually quite irritating because I could only go there from 8 AM to 12 NN, Mondays to Thursdays (go figure with the government!), and besides I had no idea where the Mandaluyong Post Office was. (Who goes to post offices nowadays anyway!?)

For several days I ignored the notice. But then I received another notice, this time labeled "Final Notice", and thought to myself, what the hell. So last Thursday, with a relatively light office load (note: relatively), James and I went to the Mandaluyong City Hall. Luckily the Central Post Office was easy to find. And luckily I did go, because when they handed me the pacakge, the first thing I saw was the little red square in the middle of the envelope:

I wanted to tear it open then and there! But I thought better of it and waited till I was back in the car.

I was a 10-year-old kid again, practically jumping up and down in my seat, heart pounding, and smiling ear to ear. Inside the envelope was a Lego Club magazine, a couple of Lego keychains (one with a classic 2 x 4 Lego brick, and one with a Catwoman Lego mini-figure... how did they guess I was a Catwoman kind of guy!? hahahaha), and a personalized letter in response to what I'd written. I hugged that envelope so close to my chest that I crumpled it. Hahaha.

It may have been unlike 20 years ago, when that package was in my bag for months -- but last Thursday, I had that package with me the whole day, and showed it to every officemate I could. "Cool", "Exciting", "Wow", and "Great example of consumer relations" were some of the reactions -- and I agree with them on all points. This "extra mile" of snail-mailing a package in the e-mail age was a great move on Lego's part -- from both the points of view of a thrilled 30-year-old kid and a brand manager (I just bought another Lego set today, and I can't wait till my next set, so this clearly drove purchase, hahaha).

This brand has won me over, all over again.

Slippery situation

2008-11-29T04:52:00.000-08:00

Along the corridor of a Singapore hotel a few weeks back, on the way to an Olay training in that hotel, I bumped into this sign:

I have to admit, I was tempted to skip my Olay training altogether and just head for Sir Henry Keppel 1. Sounds interesting naman, di ba? Hehehe.

Installation art spotted at NAIA 1

2008-11-29T04:40:00.000-08:00

This first one is titled, "How not to fix a broken faucet":

Well, you have to admit it's inventive hahaha. I couldn't help but watch it for a whole minute.

And this one, outside the bathrooms leading to the boarding gates, is: "Philippine sanitation technology 1 feat. Walis Tambo."

Maybe they have the giant wooden spoon and fork hanging outside the restrooms in the other wing. Hahaha.

Show foreign visitors our Filipino ingenuity, that's NAIA's motto. Walang nasabi ang Changi.

Gay lingo test!!

2008-10-28T21:54:00.000-07:00

Got this from James' Multiply site. I rarely read Multiply in the middle of the work day, much less POST, but I just couldn't resist!

90% ang nakuha mo, ateng!

Winnie the Pooh ka, bakla! Talo mo pa ang may PHD in Foreign Languages! Walang tsismis na nakakalusot sa yo!

http://www.gotoquiz.com/gay_lingo_fun_quiz" style="color: blue;">Gay Lingo Fun Quiz
http://www.gotoquiz.com/" style="color: blue;">Take More Quizzes

How NOT to do a rebrand, from ZestAir

2008-10-25T15:58:00.000-07:00

I love budget airlines for how they've made travel easy and accessible -- especially since we live on an archipelago, where it's next to impossible to get anywhere that's somewhere except by air. That's why AirAsia, Tiger Airways and Cebu Pacific were welcome alternatives to PAL's distinctive balance of ridiculously high fares and unmistakably crappy travel experiences.

Some weeks back, I noticed some small billboards along EDSA advertising a new airline: "ZestAir." How exciting! A new airline would mean a new travel option, and additional pressure on existing airlines to offer even more competitive rates, services, routes.

But when I visited the website (www.zestair.com.ph) hoping to find out what new travel adventures this new airline would open up, I was met by:

1. The knowledge that ZestAir is nothing more than a rebrand of Asian Spirit, now tagged as "Asia's Most Refreshing Airline."

2. Some of the crappiest copy in the world, attempting to explain the thinking behind the rebrand. See below.

3. A HUGE photo of their CEO. It's the first thing you see on their home page, even before the planes, their destinations, their promotions, or even their logo. How refreshing, right? And really now, you don't put your CEO's photo on your website's home page unless your CEO is Lance Gokongwei, Fred Uytengsu, or Jaime Augusto Zobel de Ayala.

Talking about my website visit with some officemates some days later, they asked, " 'ZestAir, Asia's most refreshing airline'... what the hell is that supposed to mean?" I replied, "Maybe it means the planes are open air. Like ordinary fare buses..."

Well, what a coincidence -- a few weeks later, I found out that I was booked on Asian Spirit / ZestAir for our upcoming Boracay office offsite (i.e., company junket). I was mildly curious about what the changes would be.

Here's where the fun started. Along with a handful of others, my Manila - Caticlan flight was supposed to be at 12:30 PM on Wednesday. Hooray, that meant I had a whole afternoon to enjoy the island.

But on Tuesday evening, I got an e-mail saying that the flight had been moved to 3 PM on Friday. Crap, goodbye to the happy afternoon plans.

So I'm in the office on Wednesday morning, taking my time getting work done, since I don't have to be at the airport until 2 PM.

And then, at 12:50 PM, while having a pleasant lunch with officemates, I get a call from Tani, who's on the same flight as me -- "Chad and I are already at the airport, and we just found out our flight has been moved earlier to 2 PM. You have to get here by 1:15 PM otherwise you'll have to take the 3:30 PM... to Kalibo."

WTF, right!? And the nerve of them to not even call us, but rather, leave it to kind colleagues to call us to inform us of the change!? Diva that I am, I said to Tani, "NO, I won't be there at 1:15 PM, duh." And so Falqi, Anj, and I -- the ones who didn't make it by 1:15 PM to catch the Asian Spirit / ZestAir flight -- got tickets on PAL Express instead.

Lucky for me, I was still going to fly Asian Spirit / ZestAir going back to Manila on Saturday. And I learned Asian Spirit's / ZestAir's efforts to educate the public about the re-brand were more aggressive in Boracay. When the girl at the resort's front desk called the Asian Spirit ticket office, she said, "Hello, Asian Spirit? Oh, I'm sorry, yes, ZestAir." Then, when I had to have my ticket stamped for a schedule change, I had trouble finding the ticket office at D'Mall because the once-big Asian Spirit sign above their door had now been changed with a little bond-paper-sized sign, "ZestAir." And at the Caticlan airport, a big ZestAir banner was hanging over the check-in counter (with a little parenthetical remark of an "Asian Spirit" banner hanging below it); the baggage trucks had "ZestAir" stickers; and green and orange flags fluttered along the path to the ZestAir pre-departure lounge beside the terminal.

But the plane was my favorite part. It was still an ancient, zero-maintenance-budget propeller planes -- yes, one of those of those which won them the reputation, "You take off as an Asian and you land as a spirit" -- complete with rusty surfaces, unlaundered seat covers, dripping air conditioning vents, joints that threaten to come off at any minute. The only difference was that the whole plane's exterior was painted white -- naturally, to make way for the orange and green paint that would herald that it was now "ZestAir."

Anyway, our flight landed in Manila half an hour late. Incidentally, the same evening I landed, I found out from Tatay that Tita Inday flew back to Boracay that same day via Asian Spirit / ZestAir -- and found out at the last minute that her flight was rerouted to Kalibo. At least they're consistent, right?

If there's anything worthwhile that came out of this whole experience, it's the amazement that a re-brand could actually be executed so crappily. You don't rebrand unless you have a significant change in consumer experience behind it -- otherwise it's just superficial and disappointing. You don't execute a rebrand until you're ready to rebrand everything -- or else, the piecemeal implementation just falls flat in its early stages. And if you're going to talk about yourself being a "Asia's most refreshing", you'd better make sure people know why -- and it's not about some poorly written copy in a message from a CEO who doesn't look refreshing at all.

Lego responds... the Universe makes her move

2008-10-18T04:19:00.000-07:00

I originally posted this as a reply to my "letter to Lego" entry, but I realized it's easy to miss there. So I made it a separate post.

Anyway... two mornings ago, Lego answered! :-) :-) :-) No, not a job offer (in my dreams!), but the Universe has made her move, and it's time for me to make mine.

(In retrospect... when I applied for P&G 3 years ago, it was also a "what the heck" kind of thing. Hahaha)

I'll bring everyone Danish pastries as pasalubong :-D

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Dear Paulo
Thanks for getting in touch with us.

We would like to thank you for the very nice email about how devoted to LEGO you were and still are. It is true that many customers have just very nice memories about their childhood when speaking about those plastic bricks they spent their free time with.

Actually, the idea of LEGO is to bring fun for very long time and to preserve ages. Believe me, here in our company all the colleagues are adult but still loving to play with LEGO.

As for the jobs which are offered in our company, you can find all the positions on our webpage. We update it once a week. So may be you could find something for you as well. Please, just go to the link:

http://www.lego.com/eng/info/default.asp?page=vacancies

(the path is : LEGO.com, scroll down to "about us", then go to "jobs" and finally to "vacancies")
At the moment, as you can see there are only positions in Denmark available but as mentioned, these offers change
and there were already positions for US or UK available, for Germany as well.

We wish you that your dreams for working with LEGO come true and we hope you will have much fun in the future building our lovely sets and models

Best regards,

Peter Sekerak
LEGO Direct

Olay introduces REGENERIST with a ONE-DAY PRE-SALE

2008-10-10T19:31:00.000-07:00

Filipina women who have experienced and loved leading anti-ageing line Olay Regenerist from their trips in the United States, United Kingdom, China, Australia and Singapore can now get their anti-ageing fix closer to home as skin care brand Olay launches Olay Regenerist in the Philippines this November.

And this October, Filipina women will even have the chance to try it before it hits the stores through the Olay Regenerist One-Day Pre-Sale to be held during mall hours on October 18 at SM Makati Department Store, SM Megamall Department Store, SM North EDSA Department Store, Watsons SM Mall of Asia, and Watsons SM Cebu North Wing.

Olay Regenerist represents a revolution in anti-ageing as it goes beyond skin care to cell care, giving women dramatically younger looking skin. Inspired by clinical treatments, it helps regenerate your skin at the cellular level through its unique amino-peptide complex, which penetrates and renews skin cell by cell.

Four Olay Regenerist products will be available during the Pre-Sale: Regenerating Serum (50 mL); Regenerating Cream, with SPF 15 (50g); Night Firming Cream (50g); and Eye Lifting Serum (15 mL). Each of these products is priced at Php999.

Since stocks of Olay Regenerist will be limited during the Pre-Sale, women are encouraged to sign up for the Pre-Sale Priority List at www.olay.com.ph, or with the Olay Beauty Consultants at the five Pre-Sale stores. From 10 AM to 2 PM on October 18, the Pre-Sale will be open exclusively to those on the priority list. From 2 PM onwards, the Pre-Sale will be open to the public.

Olay made its anti-ageing debut in the Philippines in 2006, when it introduced Olay Total Effects, which fights 7 signs of skin ageing in just 1 bottle. Regenerist is the skin care brand’s premium anti-ageing line, known around the world for its ability to dramatically reduce lines and wrinkles. Its exclusive amino-peptide complex beautifully regenerates skin cells so skin looks, feels and behaves more like new skin.

Searching for my dream job

2008-10-10T18:47:00.000-07:00

Yup, I actually sent this e-mail just now. Who knows, maybe I'll be packing up for Denmark pretty soon! :-)

Hi LEGO team,

My name is Paulo Tirol, 30 years old and living in the Philippines.

I grew up loving Lego. From 1982 to 1992, I acquired over 100 sets. I would spend all my money on Lego; when I got good grades (which was pretty much all the time :-) ) my Mom would buy me Lego; when my Dad would go abroad, he would bring me back Lego; and from time to time an uncle living in Frankfurt would send Lego too.

At home, my bedroom and our living room was filled with castles, pirate lairs, cities, and train sets. All my free time was devoted to playing with Lego -- building, creating dioramas, acting out stories out with it. And around fifth grade, I was thrilled when Lego actually responded to a letter I wrote, and sent a whole bunch of materials on facts and figures, Lego's corporate history, and the Legoland parks.

Today, I work as an Assistant Brand Manager at Procter & Gamble Philippines. I handled diaper brand Pampers for 2 years, then was reassigned to handle skin care brand Olay last June.

Being a busy grown-up and living away from my parents' house where all my Lego was, it had been years since I last touched any my Lego -- until two weeks ago, when I moved into a new flat and thought some Lego would make a nice touch, and I re-assembled my pirate ship (model 6285 :-) ).

It was a thrilling experience that brought back wonderful childhood memories -- and an experience which made me decide to e-mail you.

There have been times when my friends and I in the marketing field talk about our "dream brands" to handle. My answer is always "Lego", a brand which I grew up with, continue to love, and will always believe in. And while I do love my current job at Procter & Gamble, I figure it's high time I tried to see if my dream job is actually something within reach. :-)

With that, I get to the point of my e-mail: are there actually marketing jobs available for someone like me, either in the region (Singapore?) or even outside (Denmark?)? I know that I should have inquired about this through your "jobs" site, but with a 300-character requirement, I don't think any inquiry I posted there could ever have done justice to my passion for Lego. So, I hope that you could forward this message to your HR instead, and I do hope I get a response.

Thank you for your time, and thank you for the unforgettable childhood you gave me, and continue to give to children all around the world. God willing, I would love to be a part of it someday.

Sincerely yours,

paulo

HANGAD: NOON AT NGAYON. Isang Handog-Pasasalamat sa ika-10 anibersaryo ng unang album ng HANGAD.

2008-08-18T04:05:00.000-07:00

"Kung aawit ako nang mag-isa, awit ko'y awitin nga ba?"

Block off your calendars for Hangad: Noon at Ngayon, a 10th anniversary concert for Hangad's first album titled "Hangad". The show will feature inspirational and liturgical standards from Hangad's repertoire -- some in their original form, others with fresh new arrangements -- such as Panunumpa, Pananatili, and Pag-Ibig Ko.

Moreover, the show features the launch of a commemorative 5-track CD, also titled Hangad: Noon at Ngayon, featuring new arrangements of well-loved songs mostly from Hangad's first album, plus the first-time release of the upbeat "Walang Ibang Hangad."

Hangad: Noon at Ngayon will be held at 7 PM on August 30, 31 and September 7, 2008, at the St Stanislaus Chapel of the Ateneo High School, Ateneo de Manila University, Katipunan Ave., Loyola Heights, Quezon City.

Tickets are at Php150, which covers entrance to the show and a copy of the commemorative CD "Hangad: Noon at Ngayon." Additional "Hangad: Noon at Ngayon" CD's can be purchased at Php100 each.

"Habambuhay iisa ang Hangad: umawit sa "Yo!"

The Bread Bag: a restaurant I just had to write about

2008-08-09T00:01:00.000-07:00

Three facts before I get to my point (Proctoid!):

1. I rarely write about food. The only other time, I think, was Thai Pad over a year ago. Given my limited diet and culinary preferences, I would have little subject matter and even less credibility as a food writer.

2. Among these limited culinary preferences of mine is a love for bread. People are amazed that I haven't had a grain of rice since December 31, 2007. The fact is, I grew up eating more bread more than rice, which made aunts and uncles exclaim, "Paulo! Are you Filipino or American!?" (I would have answered "European", but it wasn't among the options, haha.) In grade school I would devour a whole loaf of mayonnaise-smeared white bread; in college I would have around four huge pan de sals every breakfast; and these days, I'm stuffed way before the main courses arrive in Italianni's because of that heavenly focaccia.

3. The disappointing thing is, there aren't many places you can get quality bread meals in this city. In your everyday, to my mind there are two kinds: cheap fast food sandwiches which aren't good for you, and mega-overpriced sandwiches which claim to be good for you but taste like crap.

But today, I came across a place which I'm crazy enough about to dare to write a food article. It's called The Bread Bag Pandesal Bar, in the Ortigas Home Depot complex at the corner of Meralco Ave and Julia Vargas. What should have just been a quick lunch on a busy Saturday of chores turned out to be a happy discovery for me.

Like Pan de Manila, the place serves pugon-baked pan de sal. But, it takes Pan de Manila a bit further by serving meals. They have Pan de Plato, which is similar to rice topping except that you have a pan de sal instead of rice; pan de sal sandwiches; and soups in bread bowls. Their claim to fame is that they have the same recipes as Casa Marcos, a Spanish restaurant with branches in Gilmore and Morato until the year 2000.

I had never heard of Casa Marcos, but with the quality of The Bread Bag experience, who needs credentials?

Their food is delicious. It tastes fresh and home-cooked, not at all manufactured, and I love that the food they serve actually looks like the menu photos!

I started off my lunch with their soup of the day, cream of chicken and mushroom, in a bread bowl. Like I said, a fresh and homemade taste -- not bad for Php33, when you think about other soup in a bread bowl meals, which range from around Php100 in French Baker to Php175 in Soup Kitchen. While it's not as large as the Soup Kitchen bread bowl, it's a very pleasant starter.

Then I had my corned beef pan de sal sandwich, and it was heaven in a mix of tender tangy home-made corned beef, creamy scrambled egg (none of that McMuffin sunny-side-up shit), fresh juicy vegetables, and pesto-mayo sauce on a slightly toasted whole wheat pan de sal.

And though I had misgivings about the sandwich's filling-ness -- I had asked to see the pan de sals before ordering and felt it looked quite small -- I found that it was quite heavy. You end your meal completely satisfied with taste and portion. And value as well -- with prices ranging from Php77 to 99 for a sandwich with iced tea and kamote chips (healthier than potato chips, say the staff), it's much better value than either Oliver's or Subway.

Lastly, I also have to mention that I appreciated the staff. The lady at the counter patiently and smilingly answered my questions about the dishes on the menu (who had heard of "pan de plato" after all?).

So, go visit The Bread Bag. It's open from 6 AM (mmm, freshly baked pan de sal!) to 1 AM daily. And though it's a bit out of the way, it's well worth the detour. I'll be back with James next week to try out more of their menu items (pan de sal a la cubana, anyone?). And I'm looking forward to them opening more branches soon.

That's Father Bitch to you

2008-07-27T04:53:00.000-07:00

When Jesus said "Let the little children come to me", I'm pretty sure the little brats weren't bawling in the middle of His sermon on the mount.

In a separate post, I talked about how babies' penchant for spoiling just about any setting has fueled my dislike for them. Movies, restaurants, Masses, airplane rides... just when you think it was all good, they suddenly start screaming, or crying, or running around.

And worse still than the havoc wrought by the little monsters is that grown-ups condone it. Hate, hate, hate.

Ah, but not so some weeks back at Christ the King Church in Greenmeadows. My mind was starting to wander in the middle of the bishop's homily -- when suddenly he faced a child who was scampering from pew to pew along the aisles, and declared with delicious matter-of-factness: "Would someone please attend to that child."

A surge of triumph rushed through me, as the child, still incredulous about what was happening, was apprended by his mother. I was too far from her to see how red she was in the face, but duh, the whole church was looking at her. I loved it.

It was reminiscent of the late Fr Pat Lim, at Sta Maria Della Strada Parish some years back. He was delivering his homily in his usual good-natured manner. A little beast, set loose from his cage by some idiot mother, was literally screaming nonsense in the aisle. Fr Pat stopped short in the middle of his homily, shot out a finger at the boy, and said, "If someone doesn't restrain that child, he will grow up to be a sociopath."

Long live adults with enough sense to want children know what propriety means.

What I learned from over two years in baby care

2008-06-01T16:08:00.000-07:00

This entry is neither a shameless plugging of a baby diaper brand, nor a disclosure of marketing strategies and secrets.

Let me start off by saying -- even after 2 years and 3 months of handling Pampers, I’m still no expert.

Unlike most P&Gers, I still have to consult a price list when asked about the pricing of my 34 SKU’s; I don’t know the relative pricing between Pampers and its competitors; answers to questions on value share, channel salience, birth rates per birthing center type, penetration and consumption are far from automatic; and I’m pitifully clueless about trade margins.

On the flipside, in fairness to me, I’ve memorized the variant – diaper size – diaper pack combinations of my entire SKU lineup; the brand’s visual equity guidelines are second nature; with all the practice I got, I can whip up pretty mean bundle packs and on-shelf communication materials; and I like to think I know diaper consumers like I know my closest friends.

But the most important things I’ve learned go way beyond business management, marketing communication, and the physics and technology of disposable baby diapers.

First, I learned about babies. Before joining P&G, I had never liked them. They would screw up the ambience in nice restaurants with their bawling. They would scamper around church during the most solemn parts of the Mass. And they would do nonsensical tricks (beautiful eyes, what the hell!?) that grown-ups, for some reason, would find SO cute.

But over the last two years, I’ve looked into the bassinets of thirty-minute-old, freshly cleaned babies—tight -eyed and open-mouthed and toothless and wriggling and tender-skinned—and realized that thirty minutes before, these babies had not been in this world. I’ve seen mothers spend their days carrying their babies, feeding them, and rocking them to sleep, deriving their whole raison-d’etre from doing nothing but that. And I’ve seen the pride and accomplishment on both the moms’ and baby’s faces, when baby suddenly sits up, stands, walks, or calls her “mama.”

Wonder is abundant during the first months of every human life, and I guess I've realized that babies aren’t all that nonsensical after all.

Second, I learned about our government. Like everyone else, I love to bitch about potholes and corrupt policemen and awful pink pedestrian overpasses and that hellhole called the LTO, and wonder where the hell in all this my tax money goes.

Surprise, there are actually people in government who are doing their job and making lives better for Filipinos.

Before Pampers, I had never before stepped into a public health center, let alone a government maternity hospital. But while handling Pampers, I saw midwives in action at health centers, teaching moms to care for their babies, convincing them of the importance of breastfeeding, urging them to have regular pre-natal check-ups and post-natal immunizations, scolding those who missed the free twice-a-year mothers’ classes. And I saw the nurses at Fabella, the country’s biggest maternity hospital, scrambling to deliver 2,000 babies a month in a place where there is a ratio of two mother-baby pairs to a single bed, and there are urban legends (or are they?) of babies getting switched and being abandoned by mothers who can't afford them -- easily the most surreal, shocking, eye-opening place I'd ever been.

In both Fabella and public health centers, the facilities are sorely in need of upgrading, the services are basic, and the staffing is desperately lean. But what staff there is, works hard, makes do with what they have, and are genuinely concerned for the welfare of the mothers they serve. And it comforts me and makes me proud that, somewhere in these islands, my tax money is actually doing someone some good.

Third, I learned about Filipinos. In my second month with Pampers, I was doing a one-on-one interview with a mom in the sheltered environment of a consumer research agency in Makati. She told me that in the afternoons, she would take the baby outside for sunshine and exercise. “Sa garden?” I asked naively, imagining a large yard with a lawn and maybe swings and a slide, like those in which my cousins and I grew up. “Hindi, sa labas lang,” she said.

I realized only later on that, this mom—like 88% of Filipinos—didn’t have a garden. Rather, she had an eskenita, flanked by dangerously stacked shantys made of discarded wood and unpainted hollow-block walls, and dotted with dark smelly puddles of days-old water, where she and other moms like her would gather in the afternoons, to gossip about the neighbors and artistas and compare babies, until it was time to go back inside and prepare dinner.

I saw how, to such moms, one peso—no, one centavo—would make a difference. Down to the second decimal place, they would memorize the prices of the smallest packs of instant noodles, vinegar, vetsin, laundry soap, shampoo, infant milk and diapers--and any increase would force them to wonder how they would make their husband’s meager earnings as a construction worker, scrap collector, or jeepney driver last the whole week.

On lucky days, they would go to nearby supermarkets—but for the first time in my life I saw a mom declare her budget upon getting to the check-out counter, and be told by the cashier that the last few purchases were already out of that budget. And mom just sighed, paid for the items that she could afford, and resolved to come back for the rest the next payday.

But amidst this struggle, I saw how these people still found never-ending reasons to be proud, and be happy. The discovery of a cheaper product that’s serves the family’s needs anyway, and lets the household budget stretch just a little farther. The eldest son who comes home with news that he’s getting a medal, after all the studying he’s put in. The gruff “thank you” from the man of the house, who comes home exhausted at the end of the day and notices the great job his wife has done keeping everything clean. The baby who smiles up at her in recognition, every time she picks him up. And the hope that, if they their family just keeps working and trusting hard enough, things will get better one day. In P&G's language of market segmentation, these moms are called “resourceful optimists”—and seeing how they smile despite everything life throws at them, it’s not hard to see why.

Fourth and most importantly, I learned about mothers. A mother's love is underestimated. A mother's love will always be underestimated.

Nothing in mothers' lives is more important than caring for their children. Every day they wake up before sunrise to start preparing the kids’ breakfast and see them off to school. During the course of the day’s chores, they drop everything if the baby starts crying. They put off buying things for themselves, and choose to spend on things for the children first. When baby is sick and cries non-stop, the mother’s world falls apart, with the financial burden but more so with the emotional burden of the baby’s pain.

Asked what their greatest wishes in life are, they invariably give two answers—“a good education for my baby, so he can have a better life than mine” and “a house of our own, for our children to grow up in.” And these wishes drive mothers in all they do—whether it’s putting aside every extra centavo for the child’s schooling, helping older children with their studies, or looking for opportunities as DH’s and waitresses abroad, with the knowledge that life as an OFW is their ticket to a good future. And you can’t help but admire them for their devotion to and sacrifices for their children—and be thankful for the devotion and sacrifices your own mother gave you.

So, even after two years, I'll admit that I still haven't learned the nitty-gritty of running a baby diaper business. But learning about a baby's worth, a public health worker's dedication, the Filipino's strength, and a mother's love will last long after the books have been closed.

Starting June, I’ll be moving on to a radically new world. In place of provincial health centers, eskinitas and public markets, I’ll be concerning myself with spas, condominiums, and department stores. My mission will no longer be to care for baby’s health and development, but to make women feel younger and more desirable. With a new category to learn about, I’ll soon forget what facts and figures I memorized from baby care.

But even if I do move on and forget the little details, the eye-opening and life-changing lessons I learned on the way will always stay. And there will always be enough wide-eyed babies and devoted mothers in the world to make sure these lessons do.

Bossa nova: raped, maimed, and left for dead

2008-05-30T19:57:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid learning to play the organ (or Electone, as Yamaha thoughtfully branded it), one of my favorite things was a feature called “minipops.” It allowed me to just press a three-note combination with my left hand, and the instrument would churn out a fully arranged accompaniment, with drums, rhythm, bass and embellishments. I could play disco, pop, rock, big band, and a variety of latin beats without hardly any effort.

It was great fun back then, since I was just beginning to explore different genres of music, and had hardly any dexterity in my left hand. With just the push of a button and the press of a few keys, I could hear how songs would sound in slow rock, dixieland, and reggae. Now that I can actually play, I hardly use the feature. But I think it’s great for people just fooling around, or just learning to play.

What bugs me is that these days, there’s a whole revolution in what I call “minipops music.” Like I said, the feature is great for people having fun or learning to play… but to create an entire industry around it is simply disgusting. To commercialize something that involves neither art nor skill is just wrong.

I’m talking about today’s “bossa revolution”, and I call it “minipops music” because it has just as much art as when I was a kid switching the genres of songs through the minipops function. It’s exactly the same as the original version—melody, chords, lyrics, and structure—except you press the “bossa nova” button to change the entire rhythm section, and have it sung by a poor facsimile of a bossa singer. There’s absolutely no original thought involved, and I’d like to know who these sellout arrangers are who make such perfunctory changes and dare call it a new arrangement.

And it’s everywhere! Racks upon racks of CD’s in music stores are lined with “Bossa Carpenters”, “Bossa Bacharach”, “Bossa Beatles.” James and I have walked out of shops and restaurants just because the bossa versions of “Close to You” and “What the World Needs Now” started playing.

I’ve wanted to blog about it for a long time, but never got around to it. But today, having spent six days in Boracay next to a tacky resort whose sound system is all too loud, I’ve been drowning in pseudo-bossa versions of The Police’s “Every Breath You Take”, Kylie Minogue’s “Can’t Get You Out of My Head”, and Santana’s “Smooth.” And with all that crap ringing in my ears, who can I not write about it?

Bossa is not simply about the bossa beat, lazy rhythm sections, sloppy intonation, poor enunciation, and an airy vocal timbre. Bossa is about the sultry soul of Brazil, languidly hanging in the air and waiting to ensnare you.

And the art of arranging is not about making perfunctory changes. And arranging is about introducing something new to a song, to make the listener hear, think, and feel something he never did before from that song.

I dare anyone to listen to original recordings of Antonio Carlos Jobim, Astrud Gilberto, or even Lisa Ono—and tell me it all sounds the same anyway.

Kuya

2008-05-28T03:50:00.000-07:00

My brother and I couldn't help but be close when we were growing up. For 17 years we shared a bedroom that was small but filled with personality -- books, comics, CD's, VHS's, Lego boxes, model kits, movie and Broadway posters.

Yes, we had our categorically un-fraternal moments. Me throwing a fit ("inaaaaaaaayyyy!!") when he wouldn't let me play with his Lego, and him throwing a fit ("inaaaaaaaayyyyy!!") when I lost his Lego. Him terrorizing me by teaching me (at 10 years old) about communism and nuclear war. Throwing rolled-up socks at each other, and chasing each other with kitchen knives, which resulted in Inay imposing a TV viewing limit of one robot show per week. Him screaming at me for falling asleep on his bed, me screaming at him for leaving his sweaty basketball clothes all over the floor.

But for the most part, and especially factoring in our differences, we got along pretty well. He eventually gave me all his Lego. He taught me Dungeons & Dragons. He introduced me to Choose Your Own Adventure Books, to the Hardy boys, to Transformers, to Voltes-V, and to the X-Men. He tried to teach me to drive (see related entry, haha) and how to play chess (I gave up). He also tried to teach me how to play basketball (and ended up teaching me that it was something I'd rather not learn).

He was there when I fell off my bike so hard that I chipped a tooth. We learned to play the piano around the same time, and he would have been damned good if he hadn't given up early on. He inspired me to draw, to write, to be editor-in-chief of the Eaglet, to make sure I'd be in 1A, to try out for Dulaang Sibol, to be active in Days with the Lord, and to pour my heart into Tulong Dunong. And when I came out to my family, he put his arms around me and said, "You're still my brother, and nothing can change that."

These days though, we're not all that close. I moved to Cebu in early 2001; that same year, he got married. Today, five years out of that small bedroom, we lead very different and very busy lives and we see each other only around every other month. Needless to say, don't think about him all that much.

When I talk about him, I usually center on how different we are. He's an intellectual; I'm an artist. He studied Political Science, Economics, and English Lit, has a masters in History, and is on his way to a Ph D in Philippine Studies; I have a degree in Communication and I dropped out from an MBA after the very first class. He can answer endless questions in Trivial Pursuit; I have to wait for a question I'm lucky enough to know the answer to. His career in the academe will take him straight to heaven; my career in capitalism requires me to rack up good karma on the side. He still wears socks with sandals; I've discovered low-rise jeans. And that's that.

But tonight, when Igo pointed me to a website that reviews teachers, I felt a surge of pride in having an older brother like Jo-Ed. I knew he was sought after during registration, loved by his students, and recognized by award-giving bodies as an outstanding teacher. But this was the first time for me to actually read people talking about him.

"Very funny. He makes history a bearable subject. He is the best history teacher I've ever met in my whole life because he relates the past events to the present circumstances."

"Best teacher yet. friendly with students. Knows history very well. Insightful, even. Cool teacher."

"His lectures give a totally different perspective of Western History. He makes you realize your role in history. He inspires you to see the whole world in a different light. He does not make you memorize anything, he makes you understand, and think. He's the type of teacher that makes you WANT to do well. Every Tirol class is something to REALLY REALLY look forward to. He's NEVER boring. He's smart, witty, funny, engaging and insightful. You'll learn so much, not just about history, but about life. At the end of the semester, you'll come out a whole different person. Definitely not easy A, but in the end, while you're at it, the 'Tirol education' will be one of the most memorable times in your life. Bottom line: life-changing."

"Probably the best history teacher ever!"

Part of me had to re-read the "funny" and "comedian" bits a few times, and charge it to differences in our senses of humor. Part of me wished that I had had a good history teacher in college, because I didn't. But I had to admit -- people saying "best ever", "every class is something to really look forward to", and "life-changing" had me glowing with pride. That's my kuya. Still inspiring people the way he inspired me.

So, Jo-Ed. I don't know when you'll read this from your unpopulated, "just there so I can read about people" Multiply account. Whenever that is, for the record: as different as we are, as rarely as we talk or see each other --

You're still my brother, and nothing can change that.

See you around. :-)

Here's your chance to hear what I have to say about you! (a.k.a. still more nonsense from Jowi!)

2008-05-27T18:01:00.000-07:00

Leave a comment here and...

1. I'll respond with something random about you.
2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3. I'll pick a flavor of jello to wrestle with you in.
4. I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me.
5. I'll tell you my first/clearest memory of you.
6. I'll tell you what animal you remind me of.
7. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.
8. If I do this for you, you must post this on your journal.

I saw this on Jowi's blog, thought it was fairly interesting, and being a diva who loooooves being talked about, I left a comment. With eight comments prior to mine, I didn't think Jowi would answer. But she did! I guess some people are just really bored. Hahaha.

Seeing how complicated the thread had gotten on Jowi's blog, I asked Jowi if I could just forego # 8. Clearly, I ended up not foregoing # 8. Clearly, guilt is a powerful driver. :-p

Game na!

More nonsense borrowed from Jowi hahaha

2008-04-21T04:21:00.000-07:00

I thought the "My First Time" survey I grabbed from Jowi would be my first and last time filling up such a thing. So when I saw this one on Jowi's site this morning, I told myself na magpipigil ako.

But then, having slept for two hours before my yoga class this afternoon, I'm so not sleepy yet. So, might as well.

So much for protecting my byline. Hahaha.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

A) Four jobs I have had:
1) Writer / Editor at Ayala Museum
2) Human Resources Manager at Globe Telecom (I've tried to erase this from my mind)
3) Head of Internal Communication at Globe Telecom
4) Assistant Brand Manager at Procter & Gamble (took the scenic route to get to where i belong)

B) Four movies I would watch over and over:
1) Love Actually
2) The Devil Wears Prada
3) Borat HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
4) Beauty and the Beast

C) Four Places I've lived:
1) Calantas St., San Antonio Village, Makati (1978 to 1984)
2) Kingsville Subdivision, Antipolo (1984 to 2001)
3) Sarrosa Hotel, Mabolo, Cebu; and Acacia St., Lahug, Cebu (2001 to 2002)
4) Paragon Plaza, EDSA, Mandaluyong City (2003 to present)
(Super info!)

D) Four TV shows I love to watch:
1) Project Runway
2) America's Next Top Model (embarrassingly so)
3) Avatar: The Legend of Aang
4) Jeopardy (nerdaz!)

E) Four favourite places I have been on vacation:
1) Hoi An, Hanoi, and Halong Bay, Vietnam
2) Chiang Mai, Cambodia
3) New York City (48 years ago)
4) And of course, Sur Beach Resort in Boracay

F) Websites visited daily
1) paulophonic.multiply.com
2) www.gmail.com
3) www.friendster.com (like ANTM, embarrasingly so)
4) private! teeheehee

G) Four of my favourite foods
1) char kway teow from banana leaf curry house
2) roti canai with curry dipping sauce from banana leaf curry house
3) tofu furai from sushi-ya (di na nagsawa)
4) nuts... peanuts, almonds, cashews, pistachios, walnuts, pili nuts, you get the idea
(dati cookies but i've eased it out of my diet... ahuhuhuhuhu)

H) Four places you would rather be at now
1) on vacation in prague
2) on vacation in istanbul
3) on vacation in vienna
4) on vacation in florence
*sigh*

I) Four Names You Go By:
1) Paulo
2) Tirol
3) Rolti (high school!)
4) Ti*ol (grade school!)

J) Four Things You Are Wearing Right Now:
1) yellow All Boxed Up t-shirt circa 1996 na pambahay na ngayon (in fairness sa tibay)
2) short short shorts
3) nothing else, teehee! :-)

K) Four things you ate today:
1) starbucks tomato mozzarella basil multigrain bagel for breakfast. panalo!
2) club house sandwich at delifrance for lunch
3) about a liter of water after bikram yoga... does that count?
4) salami sandwich on whole wheat bread and a cup of whole grain cereal for dinner

L) Four things that attract you to the opposite sex:
(i assume in my case, "opposite" means "same")
1) mukhang malinis... at sana malinis talaga
2) substance... including wit, intelligence, purpose and passions
3) talent... yung totoong talent ha, hindi yung feeling talented
4) honesty and transparency... hwag yung ma-issues at ma-bullshit

M) Four of Your Favourite Things to do:
1) watch movies with james
2) eat out with james
3) do bikram yoga (not with james :-p)
4) sit at the piano for hours and just play

N) Four Things You Want Very Badly At The Moment:
1) pants that fit.
2) improved performance in yoga (even after 3 months, there's still a load of poses i can't do)
3) to get my car back (no joke getting a cab to and from makati every day)
4) to be in Boracay

O) Four pets you had/have:
1) a bunch of dogs, in succession... Aldus and Alex were my most recent, and my favorites
2) a cat named "Cat" (in retrospect, how very Breakfast at Tiffany's!); and another cat named Furface
3) a couple of rabbits named Clyde and Cassidy. one of them bit my finger, damn him
4) a bunch of chicks (as in sisiw) bought at the grade school fair... ang cute nung maliit, pero di namin naisip nung binili na lalaki pala yun... ayun, lumaki nga, ang ingay at ang baho... kinatay na lang at pinrito ni Inay mwahahahahaha

P) Four things you did last night:
1) ate at Silk with James, Migs and Prime
2) looked around Fully Booked in Bonifacio High Street (ahlaveht!)
3) mornangzed at Coffee Bean in High Street with James, Migs, and Prime, plus Domi, Kenneth, Harry and Dave... and realized there's nothing healthy on Coffee Bean's menu
4) borlogs

Q) Four people you last properly talked to in the flesh:
1) James, before saying good night (kanina pa siya tulog)
2) Prime, after bikram yoga
3) Betty, the Thai bikram yoga teacher
4) my boss Anoop... I told him my computer was being fixed by IT and thus I'd be computerless for 24 hours... and he told me, "Go home."

R) Four Things you're doing tomorrow:
1) choose my outfit for the day (always a challenge)
2) get my computer back and hoping to it's honest-to-goodness fixed this time
3) write an email to officialize a decision to postpone a project... bla bla bla who cares
4) go to the Hangad core group meeting

S) Four people you live with:
1) James
2) Bubba
3) Yunnan
4) Lala
(Bubba, Yunnan and Lala are teddy bears... along with Harrod, Sem-Sem, and an army of others whose names I don't remember right now.)

T) Four silly things you've done:
1) wrote a poem for a girl.
2) wrote a song for the same girl.
3) asked her to a high school dance.
4) told her, when she said "i love you pau" in a letter -- "don't say that, we're not ready"
AHAHAHAHAHA!!!

U) Four foods you dislike:
1) any seafood... yes, including crab, lobsters, oysters and nori
2) pinoy stuff... tinola, kare-kare, pakbet, afritada, sinigang... the kind of stuff lolas make :-p
3) chewing gum, ewwh
4) beer, bleecch

V) Four things you hate:
1) people with issues... whatever it is, my dears, get over it
2) overly perky bibo people. i roll my eyes at them (several times a day, in the office, in fact)
3) mediocrity... both others', and my own
4) people with poor breeding... that includes loud unmodulated voices, distasteful conversation topics, underuse of "pleases" and "thank yous", interrupting you when you're talking... ok tama na

W) Four things you've used today:
1) my cell phone
2) my laptop... until 12 NN today when i gave it to IT support ahuhuhu
3) my yoga mat, whee!
4) james' computer, because mine's with IT support ahuhuhu

X) Four things you're doing/have done today
1) worked... or rather, tried to
2) accompany james to st luke's for a post-laser surgery check-up
3) done bikram yoga with prime (it's his second session! sana may iba pang sumama :-D)
4) read blogs and write in my blog

Y) Four favourite books:
1) Dogeaters by Jessica Hagedorn
2) Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman
3) Watchmen by Dave Gibbons and Alan Moore
4) Breakfast at Tiffany's by Truman Capote (it's even better than the movie)

Z) Four things you want to achieve in your life time:
1) live in Boracay
2) see the world with James
3) write the music for a complete Mass -- DONE! :-D
4) bring smiles to the faces of friends and strangers alike

Just when you thought my motoring misadventures were over...

2008-04-19T07:22:00.000-07:00

Yes, a long 15 months after my last driving-related mishap (i.e., the evil fire hose cabinet shattering my rear windshield... see http://paulophonic.multiply.com/journal/item/26/Motoring_Misadventures), and just when I thought my luck on the road was getting better -- the gods of motoring thought it would be funny to screw with me again.

It wasn't my fault this time. Well, not entirely. There's this guard in the condo who's less alert, less quick, and less pleasant than all the others. He doesn't control traffic at the condo's parking entrance, which has resulted in a quite a few near-collisions as vehicles enter and exit; he takes forever to open the barrier gate to the parking when you're pulling in; and when you drive past, he neither salutes nor nods, he just gives you a blank stare.

Last Thursday, on my way to work, I started down the ramp connecting the 4th floor parking lot to the street. At the bottom of the ramp, Mr Guard lazily gave the barrier gate a push, letting it swing open towards the wall on which it was mounted.

More than halfway down the ramp and having accelerated considerably, I noticed Mr Guard was raising his palm to say, "Uhm, stop." "Uhm", because it was so half-assed and non-committal -- palm up as if patting a dog, or praying over someone.

In fact, I only realized it was "stop" when I noticed that, from the force of his push, the barrier gate had swung fully open, bounced against the wall -- and was swinging back towards my car.

Foot all the way down on the brakes. Screeching tires. Not good enough, with how much speed I'd gained, the incline of the ramp, and Mr Guard's "uhm, stop" coming way too late. The barrier gate's ugly tip connected with the front of my car.

I threw dagger looks at Mr Guard, a few meters ahead of me. He stared back stupidly. "Bakit mo kasi tinutulak lang," I said, getting out of the car. "Sir, ang bilis kasi ng takbo niyo..." he said feebly.

"Saan tumama?" I said, circling towards the front of the car, dreading to find a shattered headlight or a big ugly dent. Surprisingly, none. "Wala sir, lumusot sa ilalim." Sure enough, the gate had gone through the grill below the fender.

Lucky for him. "Sa susunod, hwag mong basta itulak lang," I said sternly, as I got back in the car and drove off, thinking that was that.

Unfortunately, that wasn't that. It took me only a few minutes to notice the aircon, while blowing, was not getting cold. And still fewer minutes after that, to notice a weird clacking sound starting to come from my engine.

I stopped by a gas station, deciding to ignore the clacking and hoping the air con thing was just lack of water. But my worst fears were confirmed when the gas attendant said -- "Sir, nangangamoy yung coolant niyo."

It was only then that I crouched down, peered through the front grill, and saw that there was a huge dent in my radiator, and that stuff was dripping -- no, pouring out of it. Even the water the attendant poured in was just pouring right back out onto the ground.

"Dalhin ko na sa casa, sa Magallanes," I said to myself, aloud.

"Sir, medyo malayo yun, baka hindi na po umabot..."

I steeled myself for the worst. Windows down, I drove back to the condo to pick up my insurance policy. (Why the hell wasn't it in the car?!) On my way out of the building, I raised a complaint to the head of security. Mr Guard still stuck to his "sir, masyadong mabilis ang takbo mo" and his half-witted stare. The head of security said the fault was ours both -- me for my speed, him for just pushing the gate -- so what did I want to do? Well, I said, I don't expect you to do anything, my priority now is to bring the car to Honda, and I don't suppose you have insurance for this kind of thing? No, he said. Bitchy shrug, and off I went. I know far better than to argue with security people.

Not far from the condo, the "overheating" indicator on the dashboard started blinking. Good thing Tatay's and Jo-Ed's cars used to overheat quite often, so I kinda knew how to handle it. I stopped at another gas station for a refill of water. Even so, halfway between this gas station and Honda, the indicator started blinking again.

Finally, I got the car to Honda. In one piece, thanks God. And thank God, again, for Honda's in-house insurance. No funny looks, no interrogations, no red tape. In fact, then and there, I was able to get an estimate of the cost of repairs, and leave the car to have the work started. (Not as if the car was going anywhere anyway.)

So there. With Honda's estimate for the repair timeline, James and I will be carless for 10 days. With a hole in my radiator and my condenser, and a crumpled engine fan, the cost of repairs is estimated at over P45,000. And I've yet to get any sign of remorse from Mr Guard, from the condo's security office, or the property administration. Just they wait till they get my letter of complaint... and anyone who's read hate mail from me should know that these offenders had damn better gird their loins.

On the bright side... First, my insurance will be paying for over 90% of the repairs, which gives me automatic payout and then some on my premium, which was less than 50% of the repair costs. (Just like last year, when repairs on my rear windshield exceeded my premium... I am so blacklisted, hahaha.) Second, even I was surprised that I largely remained calm throughout the whole mess. (Must be yoga training... "breathe... breathe... just... f**cking... breathe...") And third, I feel really lucky that, in all the times I've screwed up on the road, I've never injured myself, or anyone else.

Time to get reaccustomed with the cab-dependent life. And hopefully it will be more than 15 months before my next mishap.

My first time...

2008-04-19T02:35:00.000-07:00

Stolen from Jowi's site. These things are such fun! :-)

1. Who was your FIRST prom date? I didn't go to my prom. But when ACMG had a prom-themed induction ball in 1998, my date was Mylene, and we were prom king and queen... I think it was because my socks matched her red dress, hahaha... but it was James who gave me a corsage, teeheehee :-)

2. Do you still talk to your FIRST love? No. Maiirita lang ako.

3. What was your FIRST alcoholic drink? Mompo. Hahaha. Red wine siguro. I don't remember.

4. What was your FIRST job? I interned at Probe Team. That was exciting, since it was the summer of the 1998 elections. But I don't know if that counted as a job because I didn't get paid, hahaha. My first paid job was with Ayala Museum as Writer and Editor.

5. What was your FIRST car? Honda Jazz.

6. Who was the FIRST person to text you today? Kenneth, asking "Whatchadoin?"

7. Who is the FIRST person you thought of this morning? James. Teehee! :-)

8. Who was your FIRST grade teacher? Ms Maria Victoria Tirona. What a bitch. My mom hated her.

9. Where did you go on your FIRST ride on an airplane? Zamboanga. I was 3 and Tatay had to go there for work and brought the whole family. I cried like crazy on the plane.

10. Who was your FIRST best friend and are you still friends with them? My cousin Jebboy. Yup, we're still friends.

11. What was your FIRST sport played? Wahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. Does piko with my cousins count?

12. Where was your FIRST sleep over? With all my cousins at my grandparents' house, a.k.a. "Catmon", because it was along Catmon St. in Makati.

13. Who was the FIRST person you talked to today? James. Pero tulog pa siya so di siya sumagot.

14. Whose wedding were you in the first time? Tito Val. I was a reader. My barong was bitin.

15. What was the fisrt thing you did this morning? Do bikram yoga :-D

16. Where was your FIRST vacation? The same Zamboanga trip as in #9. The only thing I remember apart from bawling on the plane was getting scared of the coin divers outside our hotel window.

17. First tattoo or piercing? I wish.

18. FIRST foreign country you went to? Hong Kong

19. What was your FIRST run in with the law? Driving without a license. See my separate blog entry on that. :-p

20. When was your FIRST detention? Walang detention sa school. Pero the worst sanction I ever got was a jug. Even when my barkada and I tried getting a post towards the end of fourth year high school -- just to experience it, hahaha -- hindi natuloy kasi hindi kami nahuli sa pag-cut ng CAT.

21. What was the FIRST state you lived in? Xushal na tanong!

22. Who was the FIRST person to break your heart? Ay ang sakit! Bakit naman kasi girls ang gusto niya.

23. Who was your FIRST roommate? My older brother Jo-Ed. For the first 22 years of my life!!

24. Where did you go on your FIRST limo ride? Masasagot ko 'to next year pag natanggap na ako sa America's Next Top Model.

Sharing through World Vision

2008-04-13T08:11:00.000-07:00

Some years back I watched a DVD of the Jack Nicholson movie About Schmidt. I didn't like it, but there was one thing in it that struck me -- a subplot in which Nicholson corresponded with a child from Africa, whose education he was sponsoring through an outreach program. I found the idea interesting -- that you could not only support a child financially, but also form a relationship with him.

A few days after watching About Schmidt, I learned that there really were such outreach programs when I passed an orange and white booth in SM Megamall with the words "World Vision" on it. From the brochure I was handed, I learned that through this Christian relief, development, and advocacy organization called World Vision, you could sponsor a kid -- which meant making regular donations that would be used for the general welfare and development of the kid and his or her community, and also keeping a regular correspondence with your kid.

I got excited about it, but unfortunately the brochure and sign-up form just ended up in one of my piles of papers at home. It stayed there for several years. Even when I came across it again some months back and filled it up, I never got around to faxing it. Bad, bad me.

Luckily, I came across the World Vision booth again a few days back, in Robinsons Galleria.

Then and there I signed up to sponsor two kids. From a bunch of kids' profiles (you choose your beneficiaries), I chose the youngest boy, 8-year-old Aivan Kahlil, and the youngest girl, 7-year-old Hanna Mae, both of whom live in remote villages in Palawan. On a small piece of paper shaped like a pencil, I wrote each of them my first note: "Kumusta? Ako si Kuya Paulo, mahilig ako sa music. Kayo, ano mga hilig niyo? Ingatan niyo pamilya niyo at mag-aral kayo nang mabuti. Sana mas makilala ko pa kayo..."

The volunteers at the booth, Kenneth and Me-An, explained that I could write as often as I wanted, and I could also expect a letter from my sponsored kids at least once a quarter. And at the end of each year, I'd also get an update on the kids' community, photos, and a copy of the kids' grades. If I wanted, I could even ask for World Vision's help arranging to meet with my kids.

For each sponsored kid, P450 will be charged to my credit card each month. (You can also pay in cash or through check, but credit card is the most hassle-free.) The money goes to programs for the kids and their communities, to provide them education, safe water, medical assistance, health programs and livelihood trainings, among others. And with the relationship World Vision bridges between my kids and me, my monthly pledges become deeper and much more meaningful than a dole-out.

Personally, I'm excited to get my first letters from Aivan Kahlil and Hanna Mae; and excited too about where this will go over the next year. Maybe I'll sponsor more kids eventually.

Here's the welcome kit you get when you sign up for World Vision.
It includes a booklet explaining where donations go
and how you go about corresponding with your kids;
a brief on your sponsored kids' communities;
your sponsored kids' picture folders;
and as a bonus, a baller-type bracelet (is that what they're called?)
with the WorldVision logo on it.

What's sad is that I don't think World Vision gets that many donors. For a whole day in a busy mall like Robinsons Galleria, they're already happy with eight sponsorships in one day. That's why I'm writing -- because I promised the volunteers at the booth I'd tell my friends about World Vision, and hopefully get people interested in signing up.

So do visit http://www.blogger.com/www.worldvision.org.ph or http://www.wvi.org/ and find out more about World Vision. They also have booths in Galleria and Megamall this whole summer -- it only takes a few minutes to sign up. :)

3 months, 25 pounds, 6th place, an iPod, and the realization I'm not so physically inept after all

2008-04-12T22:03:00.000-07:00

Over the years, I've gotten recognition for a few things. Academics, creative work, and work performance. But never anything physical.

I don't have any sports, not even volleyball. I've surrendered to the fact that I can never be in musical theater because of the two leftest feet you've ever seen. I find myself gasping after swimming just 50 meters. I've never caught a ball thrown at me, ever. If I could have flunked high school because of P.E., I probably would have. Even my posture is something Inay has to correct everytime she sees me.

But last April 4, I got my first physical recognition ever: 6th place in our office-wide weight loss contest, having lost 25 pounds, or 13.7% of my starting weight, over 90 days. I won an iPod Nano for it. Hooray for me!

I lost 25 pounds in three months, and all I have to show for it is an iPod Nano.
My consolation: I sold it at a higher price than SRP. Hahaha, thanks Cathy. :-p

The weight-loss contest was something our HR group launched last January, to promote "wellness" -- or, to put it simply, there were just too many fat people in the office already. The 15 people with the highest percentage weight loss come April 4 would win prizes.

Even before the contest was announced, I had already resolved to lose weight. P&G veterans talk about the "Freshman 15" -- the 15 pounds you gain in your first year. I myself ballooned after entering, thanks to the loads of stress and loads of food, and hardly any time and energy to exercise. I stopped weighing myself after reaching my freshman 15 -- I wasn't doing anything about it anyway, so what was the point? -- but I still kept gaining weight. And last November, I started getting chest pains, shortness of breath, and worst of all, my clothes wouldn't fit anymore. (Only when I weighed-in for the contest last January did I learn that I had already gained over 20 pounds since joining the company. Horrors!)

These were taken in Boracay, during the 2007 Christmas holidays --
a few days before the diet started,
and at the peak of my weight gain. They're funny now.
But I shudder imagining myself taking off my shirt at the beach during that trip.

That did it. Health and fashion -- plus the knowledge I would soon be moving to a new assignment which required me to look good -- meant I had damn better start getting in shape. I started on January 1, even before the contest was announced.

It started with a diet. The easy parts were: no rice (I'm more of a bread and pasta person anyway); no softdrinks (I've never been a softdrinks person); and no alcohol (I never touch beer, and wine and other drinks are a social thing). The tougher parts were: no fast food (I came from eating Big Mac meals thrice a week); no iced tea, unless brewed (I was one of those suckers who thought iced tea was a health drink, and one of those idiots who tried to maximize payout on bottomless iced tea by refilling my glass five times); and worst of all, no dessert, no sweets, no cookies (this was a killer, especially the frappuccinos, the banana smoothie, and the cookies). In retrospect, it wasn't that difficult. Except for cookies, I was still able to eat most of the stuff I love -- sandwiches, pasta, pizza, noodles; Italian, Thai, Malaysian, Japanese, Mediterranean food; and of course, yum yum, water.

Second thing was to start working out. To hell with working nights and working on weekends. There were more important things. So there came my Norma Desmond moment of stepping back into the gym -- yes, everything was as if we never said goodbye -- five times a week for two-hour workouts including 50 minutes of cardio. It's not so bad as long as you're listening to the right music. Hairspray, Wicked, and a bunch of a cappella tracks kept me occupied.

And the clincher was something I had been curious about for over a year, but never had the guts to try. Well, in my desperation, now was the best time for Bikram Yoga, which is 90 minutes of yoga in a heated room (http://www.bikramyogamanila.com). I found out on my first session that it was about more than just a heated room. Unlike the new age, dimly-lit, meditation-centric Hatha Yoga I had done two years ago, Bikram Yoga was like going through CAT all over again. The room was fully lit, the heat and the intensity of the routine had you dripping sweat like a faucet, teachers would bark orders, and they would call out your name when you'd screw up. (Eg., Betty the Thai teacher: "Shuck in yoh sshtomach, Paulo! Touch yoh foh-head to yoh knee ev-y-bah-dee! Ken!! Ish that yoh foh-head, Ken?! Tha'sh not yoh foh-head, Ken!!") Several times, I found myself wanting to collapse, or puke, or just die.

Bikram Yoga's "standing bow-pulling pose."
I'm still along way off from the perfecting the pose (that's teacher Betty at right)
but believe me, I've already made HUGE progress vs when I'm started.

But the masochist inside me kept me going back for more. After my introductory week, I signed up for a month, and then another month. After all, the weight loss was tangible, I saw my performance in class improving slowly but steadily, I felt great, and I was doing once unimaginable things like touching my forehead (foh-head!) to my knees. I loved it so much, that when I thought I'd stop Bikram for a while and just focus on the gym, I couldn't help but sign up for Bikram again after just a week (this time it was another studio in Greenhills, http://www.bikramyoga.ph, cheaper by around 20%).

So there. Today, I'm 25 pounds lighter, half my clothes are too big, and the other half of my clothes are resurrected from my pre-P&G days. For winning 6th place, I got an iPod Nano and sold it to an officemate for P8k -- it hardly made up for what I spent on Bikram Yoga, but who cares? The contest was just a bonus. More important is that I feel great and my clothes fit again. And even after winning, I'm still watching what I eat (though I might give myself one dessert a week soon), working out (I'll need to find a new soundtrack soon, Hairspray's wearing thin), and doing Bikram Yoga (maybe one day I'll actually be able to perfect that standing split).

Me and Anama on the day of the win. Anama won 11th place (I think),
but more importantly, was one of only three girls to place in the top 15.
I think I have a big ass in this photo. Anama thinks I'm developing an eating disorder.
Hahaha. Go Top Model!

The Care Bears used to say, "You can do anything, if you put your mind to it." Bee-yotch that I was, even as a kid, it made me roll my eyes no end. But as I've gotten older, I've learned Tenderheart Bear wasn't so full of crap after all.

So... anyone up for dancing lessons?

Motoring Misadventures

2008-04-05T08:01:00.000-07:00

While cleaning out my wallet early last week, I realized that my driver's license had already was already 20 days expired. Not wanting to risk any untoward incidents on the road, I took the morning off the very next day, and renewed my license at the LTO center in Robinson's Galleria. Luckily, it all went smoothly. No accidents and no getting caught by MMDA's while my license was expired -- which was unusual, given what kind of luck I've had on the road.

I learned to drive pretty late. Just three years ago, in fact, when James gave me the practice and confidence I needed. I had taken lessons way back in 1995, but never it didn't help that my brother Jo-Ed's idea of practice was driving three nervous circles around the village on first gear. It also didn't help that, on our third and last practice session ever, Jo-Ed was teaching me to back up in a cul de sac when I exclaimed, "Oh my God, a cute guy!" -- and heard the shattering of flowerpot from behind the car. Jo-Ed didn't buy my excuse that cute guys were a rarity in our neighborhood, and that my exclamation was well-deserved. And we never got in the car together again.

That cute-guy-at-the-sari-sari-store-in-the-cul-de-sac incident might as well have been a premonition of my driving a decade later.

INCIDENT # 1. I don't know if you'd agree, but I have the weird belief that everyone has to get into a car accident once in their driving lives. That came true for me in a stupid, but luckily rather safe way. A few months into my job, I had brought the car to a research agency near the office -- note that it was actually close enough to walk, haha -- and on the way back to the office I took an alternate route. Turning into Ayala from a sidestreet, I looked left at oncoming traffic -- I remember I even had a smug smile on my face, proud that I was smart enough to look out for oncoming traffic. Apparently I wasn't smart enough, because as I looked left I hadn't realized I was gliding steadily forward -- until there came the ugly, ugly crunch of metal as my bumper rammed into the rear end of the van stopped in front of me. Smart, smart, smart. Luckily it was pretty minor -- and I had fulfilled my mandatory "once-in-my-lifetime" car accident.

INCIDENT # 2. Or so I thought. One accident in your lifetime apparently doesn't get you off the hook. Though in retrospect, incident # 2 probably wasn't really an accident -- so much as it was an act of utter idiocy.

Hangad was in two cars on the way to Bulacan for a concert in 2005 -- a whole bunch of people in Domi's van, and fewer in my car with James driving. On NLEX, one of Domi's tires burst and the van swerved suddenly. We pulled over, van then car. No one was hurt -- yet.

Initially it was fun and funny. We seized the opportunity to have a pictorial on NLEX (how often do you actually get to set foot on NLEX, after all?), and Hangad's not-so-manly-men were taking turns trying to operate the jack.

The real fun started when, more than halfway through changing the tire, JC told me that our car was still unlocked. Thanks, I told him -- and I put to work a very important lesson from childhood to always lock your car. I got into the passenger seat. The motor was still running, the radio and air-con were on. And without giving it any thought, I locked the driver's door from the passenger side, locked the passenger door -- and got back out.

The satisfied smile that my car was now safe quickly turned to a horrified frown as the realization sank in. One car key in the ignition, the other in my bag in the trunk, and all doors locked. I felt sick to my stomach as I approached James, who was taking his turn at the jack; I bent down beside him, and whispered -- "I locked the keys inside the car."

"Hindi nga?"

In fairness to James, he didn't make it any worse than it already was. We looked at several options. I called my salesman from Honda, he was no help and didn't even seem interested in helping (which is why I bought my second car from someone else, the asshole). I clambered over the concrete barriers, through a break in the fence, to ask a talyer by the service road for wire with which to pick the locks. They had wire, but I had no talent in lock-picking.

The NLEX patrol had come along by this time. With trepidation they made the only viable suggestion -- break the window nearest my bag and reach in for the key. Fine. Big sigh. Jack. Towel. And a dull weak thud against the back window. I couldn't do it.

I handed the makeshift mace to one of the patrolmen, assured him he could go ahead and do it, then ran away as far as I could, hands over my ears, unwilling to see it happen.

When I had gathered the courage to walk back to the car, there was a gaping hole where the window used to be. I reached in, grabbed my key, opened the car, cleaned out the bits of broken glass, and did my best to cover the window with plastic. (It stayed that way for a few days -- good thing the office car maintenance allowance covered the repair.) We made it to Bulacan in time for the concert. And I thanked God for getting me through what was possibly the dumbest dumb luck of my life -- and resolved to be more mindful of my car in the future.

INCIDENT # 3. I would find months later that the dumbest dumb luck was yet to come. And that I was really forgetful about lessons I ought to learn.

James and I had lunch in Rockwell to celebrate a job offer he'd gotten. After dropping him off at his office, I was in my office's basement parking lot. There should have been nothing eventful about it -- I had backed into parking slots in that same basement hundreds of times -- but I guess I underestimated the evil fire hose cabinet lurking behind me, just waiting to make my day.

From the back of my months-young hatchback (I had just joined P&G and gotten a new car), there came the ugly, ugly crunch of metal -- and then of plexiglass cracking, and shattering, and falling bit by bit in tiny shards. In the rear view mirror I could see bits of my rear window falling inwards, into the trunk. First there came a few seconds of shock. I got out of the car and saw the culprit -- the fire hose cabinet had dented the metal and bent the window -- and still in shock, climbed back into the car. With trembling hands, dialed James' number -- and that's when the wild screaming started. "ANG... TANGA... TANGA... KO!!!!"

Fortunately I had enough wits about me to check for my insurance policy, and I was smart enough to keep it in the car. I dialed the number -- fortunately again, the policy I had gotten had some kind of priority status, which meant I could just drive into Honda and have it fixed that same afternoon. Thank God.

But that meant having to get to Honda first. I sped out of the parking lot -- yes, sped, because I didn't want the added hassle of the guards blaming me for breaking the glass on their stupid fire hose cabinet. Every meter I drove, could here glass tinkling and shifting, and I had to look in the rear view mirror every so often to make sure my window was still there. It was actually amusing, on EDSA, that I was parting the traffic behind me, with cars were moving out from behind me into other lanes. On the other hand, it was NOT funny when, near Honda, I didn't see a hump and sped over it and landed hard on the ground. Surprisingly, I still had a rear window after that.

Things went smoothly at Honda. Insurance was processed quickly, the service team was very professional, and I was relieved to find out I would get my car back in two days. Even my boss was very understanding when I told him I'd be taking the afternoon off. And I was pleasantly surprised to find the premium for my car insurance renewal was lower than I thought.

INCIDENT # 4. For a year after I got my license, I was still driving license-less. That's because, after a whole day of being manhandled by the LTO, I was told to come back because the license printing machine had conked out. Not wanting to waste another whole day at LTO, I relied on my license receipt.

Until one day shortly after I got my new company car, an MMDA flagged me down for having no license plates. Confidently I showed him my LTO registration, showing that I was still within the grace period for platelessness. He nodded, then asked for my license. I handed him my receipt.

"This is one year old," he said. "You should have gotten your license card by now."

No matter how I argued about LTO machine breakdowns and my busy schedule, he made a strong argument that driving without a license was a huge offense and could land me in jail. The only thing he listened to was Ninoy Aquino, and that was the very first time I became part of the cycle of corruption.

Agitated and unwilling to get into more trouble, I drove with utmost care to the office and immediately got in a cab to get to the LTO in Pasay.

Ironically, it only took me five minutes to get my license. No more manhandling, no fixers. My taxi ride to the LTO was actually longer than my time there. Leaving the LTO, I looked up to the sky -- "You get me in trouble for something I could have easily avoided... very funny, God."

In fairness to me, it's been a while since I had a mishap on the road. And I guess the urgency with which I renewed my license shows I'm actually getting better at learning my lessons.

An end to Lactacyd envy

2008-03-31T07:29:00.000-07:00

Ever since feminine hygiene products began TV advertising some years back, it became fairly common to hear cracks among guys such as: "Why isn't there something similar for men?"

Such cracks were apparently taken not as cracks, but as consumer insights, by some entrepreneurial soap-maker. And whoever made those cracks to mask his secret need for such a product, will now be pleased to find that, on the shelves of Mercury Drug, there awaits a product to fulfill his need:

More than that, the same entrepreneurial soap-maker was clever enough to make it a "his and hers" duo.

I just wonder though: 1) Wouldn't branding have been more consistent if it had been "Fem Tight" and "Peni Big"? Or "Peni Fresh" and "Fem Clean"? 2) Why couldn't hers have been in Tutti-Fruitti flavor too?

And on a more practical side: 3) The "hers" variant's "tightens muscle" promise is intriguing... I wonder if it'll work on stretch marks and wrinkles? If anyone has the answer, let me know.

Globe Telecom, at your service... well, kinda

2008-03-31T06:38:00.000-07:00

One of the cutest things about arriving in Singapore -- along with the view of the park-dotted city and the gleaming airport -- is immigration. Yes, immigration. Why? Because in every other country, you've gotten used to surly immigration officers. That includes our very own Philippines, where immigration officers at departure seem resentful that you're traveling, and those at arrival aren't at all welcoming when their kababayans are back.

But in Singapore, I love it that every immigration counter has a little glass bowl of mints. And when you approach the counter, the immigration officer offers you one. Sure, some offer the mints more pleasanty than others -- "HAVE. A. MINT.", I was once commanded by a stern-faced Indian -- but invariably, they do offer. It's a minor detail, but I love it because from what you know about immigration officers, it's just so unexpected.

So what's that got to do with Globe Telecom? Hahaha, true to my verbose form, I've written two paragraphs worth of digression. Or is it?

Yesterday, while waiting to pay my bill in the Globe's Shangri-La Business Center, I looked towards the Platinum counter and saw a little glass bowl with colorful candy wrappers in it. How cute, I thought! How thoughtful!

But then an evil thought crossed my mind -- "I wonder...?" And sure enough, upon closer inspection, here was the bowl and its contents... or should I say, former contents:

Looks like someone had the bright idea to install this would-be pleasant detail in the Business Center, but ran out of budget to see it through. Or everyone was too busy to clean out and replenish the thing. In any case, I just found it too hilarious a metaphor for all those dropped calls, long lines, incessant text promos, incomprehensible promos, and wrong answers from customer service, and everything else that comprises the service you get from this supposedly premium service provider.

How ironic, that a detail so simple is done so well at an immigration desk, where you don't even expect it; but done so lousily at an elite service desk of a premium brand in an elite mall, where the promise is nothing but the best.

As they say, if you can't do it well...

Finally on Multiply!

2008-03-21T02:36:00.000-07:00

I created my Multiply account months ago but never got around to populating it. I made it in the first place because:

1) James' photo albums looked a lot more fun than mine on Friendster.

2) Na-excite ako at the prospect of uploading my own music, the way Igo does it.

3) I can link it to my blog.

4) Judging from my friends who are active Multiply-ers vs those who are active, uhm, Friendster-ers, Multiply seems a lot more like the smart person's choice. Hahaha. Elitist bee-yotch.

(Yes, kelangan talagang naka-enumerate ang reasons ko for creating a Multiply site. Proctoid!)

The thing is, I wonder if I'll actually be able to maintain this Multiply site. I hardly have time for songwriting, arranging, reading the books on my shelf, and maintaining my weight. In fact, with my blogging now at the bottom of the list of my to-do's, it's not been updated since August 2007. (In James' words nga naman: "Masyado mo kasing kinakarir ang entries mo"... well duh, James, I have to protect the integrity of my byline! :-p ...but then, may point nga naman.)

Oh well, bahala na. :-p

More than meets the eye

2007-08-18T05:52:00.000-07:00

One afternoon some months back, I'm taking a break from a stressful day at work, fiddling with something I had bought over lunch break -- a Transformers toy.

Mr Hong, one of the associate directors on our floor (not his real name, but close, haha) is walking around eating a sandwich. He sees me and says, within earshot of a handful of people: "Oh! Aren't you supposed to be playing with Barbie?"

The rolling of eyes.

And of course, the emission of a quick retort -- just as audible, but of course with the added bite of an incensed diva's wit: "Ryan, you saying that I should be playing with Barbie is like me asking you why you're eating that sandwich and not siopao."

Snaps to me. But just as quickly, a save -- lest Ryan unleash his associate director wrath upon this poor junior manager: "But then again -- it's a magenta motorbike that transforms into a girl."

Laughter. Whew, my career is safe.

Arcee transforms into a motorcycle -- notice her bangs, her bust, and her high-heeled boots, and guess what, she yields a crossbow -- while Brawl becomes a tank.

It's true that the Transformer I've bought is a female that bends into a magenta motorbike. But that's not why I bought it -- after all, I've also bought a yellow Camaro that transforms into a robot named Bumblebee.

I buy more Transformers toys over the next few weeks. And, unsurprisingly, I get a few more such remarks.

"It's off-equity for you to be playing with Transfomers!" one brand manager exclaims.

My reply: "Well, it makes me more interesting, doesn't it?"

From the movie, you'd think Jazz would be a really cool toy -- which is why I bought him. Unfortunately, the movie is sort of an overpromise for him. Bumblebee, on the other hand, is one great-looking robot.

The truth is, I was been playing with Transformers as early as grade three, and actively collecting them until around grade seven -- and up until today, I continue to check toy store shelves for Transformers whenever I can. Transformers were my second-favorite toy, next to Lego. I was interested in Zoids for a time, and later Ghostbusters, but Lego and Transformers were a different level. I had over a hundred Lego sets, and over forty Transformers. At any given time, half our living room was either a Lego diorama -- a city complete with road plates and set up with a story like "fire on the townhouse roof", or a medieval setting with knights preparing to joust amid colorful penants -- or an Autobot vs Decepticon battlefield.

And no, I never had Barbie, or My Little Pony, or any of that crap. The closest that I ever came was a short-lived interest in Rainbow Brite, and only because I thought the idea of Color Kids was so clever.

I think my fascination for Transformers was the whole idea of a human-shaped thing (or in the case of Ravage and Laserbeak and others later, a dog-like or bird-like thing or animal-like thing) becoming a non-human-like thing like vehicles or weapons or household objects. The whole idea of Transformers, and of each individual Transformer -- how they could shift form without having to be disassembled and assembled again -- captured my imagination. I would spend hours transforming them back and forth and back again in entranced wonder. I would stare at catalogs at home, or at boxes in toy stores, analyzing the images with my eyes and figuring out how each transformation would work. And I would even fill up sketch pad after sketch pad with transformers of my own -- inside and outside of class.

(A sixth grade Language teacher caught me drawing my robots once and told me to stop and listen to the lesson; I matter-of-factly answered: "I don't need to, I know it already." Snaps to me, and long live the arts.)

When the family met up for lunch late last June, with the excitement of the movie coming on, I asked Inay and Tatay to bring all my old Transformers. That night I emptied out the sports bag Tatay had packed them in, and showed them all to James.

Unlike many of my classmates, I didn't have any of the classics like Optimus Prime and Megatron. I had Starscream, but only much later when I saw him foolishly put on sale at the supermarket. Rather, my first Transformer was the space shuttle Blast Off . It was my brother Jo-Ed's first Transformer, actually -- it was my Christmas gift to him, but I eventually ended up playing with it more. On Jo-Ed's urging, I soon acquired Blast Off's fellow Combaticons to form Bruticus.

My first Transformers! Bruticus is formed from the five Combaticons -- Brawl (tank), Swindle (army jeep), Blast Off (space shuttle), Vortex (helicopter) and Onslaught (artilery truck).

Later Jo-Ed and I also collected Superion, the combination of the five Aerialbots.

Superion was formed from the Aerialbots, the Autobots' first jets. Air Raid (F15), Skydive (F16), Fireflight (F4), Slingshot (Harrier), and Silverbolt (Concorde -- yes, a Concorde, in retrospect kind of a stupid thing to have alongside four fighter planes).

Metroplex, the Autobot city, was sent as a gift from an aunt in the US. Although I secretly wished I had been given Trypticon, the battery-operated Decepticon city, Metroplex nonetheless made a great base for my "minibots" -- Swerve (pickup), Outback (jeep) and Tailgate (car). I know I used to have Warpath (tank) but I've no idea where he went.

Over the years I got more Transformers here and there, buying them with the reward money I would get during Reading of Honors, or receiving them as gifts, or trading with classmates: Kup from the animated movie; Squeezeplay of the Headmasters (Transformers whose heads detach and transform into humans -- an idea toeing the fine line between clever and desperate?); fire truck Inferno and fire car Red Alert; Dinobot Sludge and Insecticon Bombshell.

I was especially proud of some limited edition Transformers I had -- Autobot Overdrive, a red sports car; and the Reflectors, three robots who formed into a camera (a pretty crappy thing to be as a Transformer, now that I think about it, but back then it was really cool). There was pride because these toys were available only through mail order, by accumulating "clip and save" points and mailing them with a few dollars. I was the talk of the class!

I put Transformers aside around Grade Seven, when I started to get busier with school work and PC games came into my life. But like Lego, they were such a big part of my childhood that even when I was already working, I continued to go to toy stores, check out what the new Transformers toys were, and sometimes even buy them. I picked up a couple of Beast Wars toys.

Silverbolt (a recycled name) was one of the Beast Wars Fuzors. These were robots that turned into half-and-half creatures. Silverbolt was half wolf, half eagle. I just had to buy him because it was such a cool toy -- and on 50% discount.

And recently, with the introduction of new toys for the movie, I bought four of them too -- Bumblebee, Jazz, Brawl, and Arcee (not in the movie, but a marketing-driven creating using a name from the animated movie, but this time, transforming into a motorcycle).

Interesting to compare Brawl c.1987 and Brawl 2007. Twenty years ago I thought Brawl was an amazing toy -- how far Transformer toy design and engineering have come is simply amazing.

"Save your money," Inay used to say, "Because you'll get tired of those toys eventually."

Today, a little over a month after the Transformers movie (which delivered on awesome special effects and nostalgia over the toys and TV shows of one's childhood, but not much else), my forty-odd Transformers are back in their sports bag, and my four new acquisitions are just standing on top of my DVD player, untouched for weeks and gathering dust.

By and large, I guess I have gotten tired of these toys. Yet I've no regrets. There's much to be said for toys born out of brilliant ideas -- and which, incidentally, prove that Mr Hong can eat more than siopao, and I never did play with Barbie.

To view or not to view

2007-08-18T05:23:00.000-07:00

One of the great things about living in a 38th-floor condo is having a view that encompasses EDSA, Makati, Mandaluyong, San Juan, and Quezon City, and on good days, even Manila Bay.

Unfortunately, it also gives you clear view of the smogline that biscets the scene all the way across, hovering just above the tops of the mid-rise buildings.

Sure, you're so high up, that you're not partaking of that muck.

But then, you also know that once you step out of the elevator onto the ground floor, you're already breathing into that thick, ugly layer of gray.

Some months back, a cousin was in town with her American husband, a scientist (microbiologist, I think) who now works in public policy. Over lunch he talked about steps Washington was taking to battle global warming. Wow, I thought, I hadn't heard that term since grade school -- along with terms like "ozone layer" and "CFC" (learning about which, back then, made me throw away my can of hair spray).

Further, during the last Academy Awards, when Al Gore's An Inconvenient Truth won the Oscar for Best Documentary, I realized what a huge deal it was.

So why don't we hear about it much? No, I'm not about to launch into some political or environmental commentary -- but suffice it to say, as long as our politicians continue to bicker about power and personal gain, we'll be turning a blind eye to 38th-floor views that are staring us right in the face.

Eight Days as Miss Saigon (part 2 of 2; or, why this is the most amazing country I've ever visited)

2007-08-15T06:56:00.000-07:00

(From Part 1 of 2: Culture Shock in Vietnam)

Vietnam is by far the strangest place I've visited -- not strange "weird", but strange "unfamiliar" -- so much so that I would use the often-abused word "exotic" for it. It's farther from the world I know than anywhere else I've ever been -- making it captivating on one hand, and shocking on the other.

There's a whole lot that will leave you wide-eyed and drop-jawed with surprise -- just make sure you pack a sense of humor, so potential annoyances leave you fascinated rather than infuriated. After all, no tout or taxi driver, or polluted lake or number of motorbikes, will make me regret coming to this amazing, amazing country.

VIETNAM LIST NUMBER TWO: TEN REASONS WHY, DESPITE THE CRAZINESS, I WOULD DO IT ALL OVER AGAIN. Believe me, with everything I experienced within a span of eight days, it was a challenge narrowing this down to ten.

Reason # 1: That unbelievable Vietnamese food. One of my worries before leaving for Vietnam had been the food. I had never been a fan of Phobac, Pho Hua, Pho 24, or the now-closed Hue, so I could never figure out why Lonely Planet made such a big deal out of Vietnamese food, with a whole book about it for crying out loud. (I figured it was another of those Lonely Planet screwups, like saying in their Philippines guidebook that the Robinson's Ermita food court was a good place to eat.) But as early as my first bite in Vietnam -- a noodle soup snack at a plain little restaurant in Ho Chi Minh's domestic airport, while awaiting our flight to Hue -- I was hooked. It's not spicy like Thai food, it's not saucy or salty like Chinese food -- rather, think of the widest array of herbs you've ever imagined in a single dish, each one flooding your mouth with a surprising and delicate new flavor with each bite. Whether it was spring rolls (which we had for every meal during the first four days!), or stir-fried noodles, or noodle soup, or Hue's pork kebabs in rice paper, or Hoi An's fried wanton and white roses, or a baguette sandwich with herbs and vegetables and beef bought from a market stall, the food was an unprecedented experience. Chowking is to Shang Palace, as Phobac, Pho Hoa and the rest are to the real thing.

Worlds away from Pho Hoa: pork kebabs to be wrapped in rice paper and dipped in peanut sauce in Hue;
and freshly baked baguettes in the roadside market in Hoi An.

Reason # 2: More unbelievable food! Yes, the food was so good that it merits two entries. If reason # 1 was dedicated to the Vietnamese food, here's where I talk about all other kinds of food we enjoyed in Vietnam. How about the Paris Deli and Boulangerie (Boulangerie!) in Hanoi, where we stopped in to share a slice of cake, an eclair, and a couple of frappuccinos, while watching the city go by from the huge window? How about breakfast in Hue, where I must have eaten five baguettes in a Chinese-pavillion-turned-hotel-restaurant, whose huge windows opened right onto the street, right across from the centuries-old walls of the Imperial City? How about still more baguettes, freshly-baked and sitting in baskets at the market in Hoi An? How about a sandwich bar in Hanoi, that made huge sandwiches packed with meats and egg and vegetables and herbs and spices? How about the French bistro Cyclo Bar, where cyclos (something like rickshaws) were transformed into chairs for the diners, and I had a taste of real French onion soup, and the risotto was just so good that I had my first bite of rice in two years? And how about our first taste of haute cuisine at a Restaurant Bobby Chinn, where the prices ($15 per dish!), ambience (rose petals as early as the door step, and a menu that's fit for an English literature class!), and food (steak salad to share, lamb chops for James, a vegetarian platter with the best ever hummus for me, and mint tea and chocolate pudding a la mode to cap it off!) are enough to make you exclaim, sacre bleu, sacre bleu, sacre bleu!

Huge sandwiches at Little Hanoi, and chocolate pudding with vanilla ice cream at Restaurant Bobby Chinn, also in Hanoi.

Reason # 3: Discovering the unfamiliar. I said in Part One of this entry that there's much in Vietnam to rock your boat and shock you silly. But then, isn't the beauty of travel to surprise yourself with places in the world you never imagined existed? Okay, it's not just the motorbikes, and the people's indifference, and the fledgling capitalists' uhm, entrepreneurial spirit. It's also the museums and the sights, where you learn about cultures and histories and heritages that you once didn't know about. A trip to the fine arts museum makes you see that Vietnam had its own distinct style of human realism in sculpture in the 17th century. The My Son archeological site tells you that Angkor isn't the only place you can see Hindu-influenced 10th century ruins. A water puppet show in Hanoi shows you this culture's inventiveness, and its live orchestra shows you the richness of the music that is all theirs. It's countries like these that deserve to have great tourism marketing campaigns... none of that "Malaysia Truly Asia" crap to overcompensate (unsuccessfully) for a boring heritage.

A whole new world: Angkor-esque ruins (only smaller) at My Son; a traditional Vietnamese orchestra at the water puppet show;
a couple taking wedding photos at the Temple of Literature.

Reason # 4: Soaking in Hue's royal atmosphere... on motorbike! Speaking of the unfamiliar, I wouldn't have found out about Hue in Central Vietnam if Lonely Planet hadn't marked it as a UNESCO World Heritage site and a Vietnam highlight. I'm so glad it did. The imperial capital during Vietnam's most important dynasty (Nguyen dynasty, mid-19th to mid-20th centruy), Hue features a walled imperial city (complete with palace), and a countryside dotted with sprawling emperors' tombs. It's nothing as grand as Angkor, or as ancient as the pyramids, but there's an air of majesty all about this provincial town. And the best part: we could have explored it by boat down the perfume river, or from the air conditioned comfort of a car -- but for some reason (or stroke of inspiration?) we chose to explore by motorbike. Ah, the life -- James and me on the backs of two motorbikes, in utter fear that transformed into utter enjoyment as the afternoon went by, zipping around the cool-aired, pine-dotted countryside.

In and around Hue:
at the entrance to the Imperial City;
motorbiking across the Perfume River;
view of Emperor Minh Mang's tomb.

Reason # 5: Losing yourself in Hoi An! And yet again, thanks to Lonely Planet for earmarking Hoi An as a must-see, and telling me it's a UNESCO World Heritage site. It was a trading port town in the 16th - 17th centuries, like Melaka and Penang in Malaysia -- but unlike Melaka and Penang, Hoi An did not disappoint the least bit. It's a riverside maze of streets lined with Chinese shophouses, restaurants, museums, art galleries and temples, that you just love to wander around and get lost in. Pick up freshly baked baguettes from the market, on your way into town; spend the morning poking your head into shops and art galleries; avoid the noonday sun over a superb Vietnamese lunch, and the early afternoon heat in a museum or Chinese temple; grabe coffee in the afternoon; and as the sun sinks in the sky, hang out at the town's courtyard, near the river, watch the tourists and townsfolk go by -- maybe even make a friend.

In Hoi An: hanging out on a street corner (I think it's a playing field for a Vietnamese sport);
at the Japanese bridge, a symbol of the town's multicultural past as a port town.

Reason # 6: Realizing a place like Halong Bay could actually exist. My earliest memory of Halong Bay was the French film Indochine. Catherine Deneuve and Vincent Perez, fleeing from the French army during the First Indochina War, find themselves in a small boat, ill and weak; camera pulls out, dissolves to reveal an aerial shot that's the most poignant image of hopelessness I've ever seen -- the boat is but a tiny speck bobbing in a sparkling lagoon where, like the walls of a maze, majestic rock formations jut out towards the sky. I recognized the images from the guidebook, and told myself -- we have to go there. And so there James and I were, early on a cloudy morning, our boat along with several others heading across Halong bay towards row after row after row of rock formations silhouetted against the sun, and stretching across the horizon. Soon we were among the rocks, huge limestone formations sculpted by sun, wind and sea, with lush greens growing on them, and gentle waves lapping at them; and among the rocks, whole communities of houseboats, fruit vendors, and fishermen. Lunch was on the boat; and after lunch, a cruise among these rocks. A longer cruise would have been great, but just being there, even for just one afternoon, was enough.

Out towards the rocks on Halong Bay; fishermen among the formations.

Reason # 7: Unbeatable prices! Singapore and Hong Kong have great food, and lots to buy, and lots to see and do. But one can't help but convert the prices in their heads (or their cellphone calculators), and cringe at how much each meal or each purchase is setting them back. No such thing in Vietnam, where everything is as cheap as it gets. A meal of four heavenly dishes, including drinks, costs around 100,000 Vietnamese Dong -- or $6.25, or Php281. Delicious baguettes in the market sell for 2,000 VND, or $0.13, or Php6. Souvenirs in Hoi An or Hanoi's Old Quarter have an irresistible combination of charm and affordability -- Vietnamese conical hats at 20,000 VND ($1.25, or Php56), dancing apsara sculptures at 25,000 VND ($1.56, or P70), or oil paintings at $12. Our all-afternoon motorbike tour was $7 per person (P315), including tour guide; decent hotels can be had for $20 per night; and our Halong Bay tour, including the 3 1/2 hour bus rides from Hanoi to Halong City and back, the cruise around the bay, and lunch on the ship was a steal at $30.

Conical hats for only 20,000 VND ($1.25, or Php56); at a music store in Hanoi.

Reason # 8: Making new friends! Two days before our trip, Fr Jett Villarin SJ said during his homily at two friends' wedding: "Travel together. But when you travel, don't just look at each other the whole time -- meet other people." I took this advice to heart, because during the trip, I talked to as many people as I could, and loved it. Chika with travel agents and shopkeepers, who gave us stories and laughs in addition to the tours and souvenirs we purchased. War stories from a veteran of the American War, who took us up to a hill above Hue's Perfume River, for a look at American bunkers and a view of battlegrounds 40 years ago. Wordless games with children, and James struggling to remember his Chinese to talk to an old man in the Hoi An courtyard where we passed hours people-watching. Lighthearted banter with fellow tourists, like the American couple in the Hoi An shop where you could have shoes custom-made for $20, or the trio of English girls who asked for an encore when I played songs from Les Miserables on the piano in Cyclo Bar in Hanoi. And, new friends acting like old friends on our Halong Bay cruise -- Vanh and Ley, sister and brother from Laos; Quyin from Saigon, who had finished a business trip in Hanoi; and Cu, who was of Vietnamese descent but grew up in France. We exchanged e-mails at the end of the day, and invitations to see each other again in our home cities. Who knows? Maybe we'll visit each other again some day.

James with new friends Quyin, Vanh and Ley outside a cave in Halong Bay;
and looking out on the Perfume River in Hue with war veteran turned guide Mr Anh.

Reason # 9: Getting around and seeing so much. I've never been one to stay in just one city when I travel to other countries. With so much of the world to see, how can you just stay put? And that was especially true with this Vietnam trip -- thank God for the scenic bus routes, affordable domestic flights, trusty taxis and car rentals, and even those crazy motorbikes that let us to see so much of this country.

A 30-minute stopover at Lang Co beach, during the 3 1/2 hour bus ride from Hue to Hoi An;
about to board our propeller plane from Ho Chi Minh City to Hue.

Reason # 10: Coming face to face with the people. And lastly, as much as I was shocked by the their lack of etiquette and the hunger for tourist dollars, I also couldn't help but admire the virtues of the Vietnamese people. Where else can you balance three huge baskets of flowers on the back of your bicycle? And who would imagine little old ladies would still have the strength, or the drive, to walk around town selling fruits and corn and whatever else from baskets hanging on a pole balanced across their shoulders? Who can imagine the queue outside Uncle Ho's mausoleum, snaking around three blocks just to be able to see their hero? It's incredible that these people what these people have gone through -- two wars, the bombardment of four armies, the depreciation of their currency, isolation from the outside world -- and how far they've come. And as long as they remain true to the nationalism and pride of the father of their nation's independence; have the strength to bear heavy loads on their shoulders; and find ways to balance impossible loads on their bicycles, then there's no telling where this country, rich in history and heritage and amazing people, will be in the next few years.

A fisherman with his catch, right out of the moat around Hue's Imperial City
(I stepped up behind the guy just when he reeled in the fish --
which flew up and backwards and almost smacked me in the face!);
fruit vendors on Halong Bay;
a family touring the Presidential Palace in Hanoi;
the queue outside Ho Chi Minh's mausoleum in Hanoi;
and ladies eking out a living in Hoi An.

Eight Days as Miss Saigon (part 1 of 2: or, why you should gear up to be culture-shocked in Vietnam)

2007-08-13T09:03:00.000-07:00

Actually, I wasn't really Miss Saigon, since all we saw in Saigon was the airport, it being the only direct link between Vietnam and the Philippines. Since I started planning our Vietnam trip around four years ago, I had been wondering Ho Chih Minh City was worth a visit. The books never seemed to say anything really interesting about it; no one I knew who visited the city gushed about it; and finally, Insight Guides convinced me that if I had only 8 days, then I could very well afford to skip the South.

ASIDE: I love Lonely Planet books for their comprehensiveness. I've pieced together a couple of Southeast Asia do-it-yourself travel itineraries using these books alone. But for all their detail, they don't really tell you what's worth seeing and what's not. In contrast, Insight Compact Guides by Discovery Channel aren't too detailed, but have lots of pictures. More importantly, they assign ratings to attractions, ranging from "absolutely must see" to "nice to see" -- making them a great complement to Lonely Planet, and useful in prioritizing activities and designing itineraries.

And so we flew to Saigon -- me using a trip voucher I had gotten simply by agreeing to be bumped off a flight to Singapore earlier this year, James using Mabuhay Miles that I had earned -- then on to Hue, Vietnam's one-time imperial capital and site of a handful of emperors' tombs, that same afternoon. We spent two nights in Hue, then took a 3.5-hour bus ride down to Hoi An, a 16th century port town with distinct Chinese influence, abundant shopping opportunities, and nearby 10th century ruins. We spent two nights in Hoi An, then took a 1-hour ride to Danang and flew from there to Hanoi, Vietnam's oldest city and capital. We spent three nights (taking a day trip to Halong Bay inbetween) before flying back to Saigon, and onwards to Manila.

So, what to think, sitting at home and looking back? Memories are still fresh, of the stress of Hanoi's street crossings; the cacophony of the Vietnamese language; the enchanting flavors of strange herbs and spices; the sights and sounds of markets and shops; and the feeling of a motorbike between my legs. Vietnam is by far the strangest place I've visited -- not strange "weird", but strange "unfamiliar" -- so much so that I would use the often-abused word "exotic" for it. It's farther from the world I know than anywhere else I've ever been -- making it captivating on one hand, and shocking on the other.

I had originaly intended to "chapterize" my blog entries on Vietnam -- in fact, I had already thought up six full-length chapters -- but realized, who'd want to read six full-length blog entries? I, for one, wouldn't. So, in consideration of my readers' attention span, instead of full-length blogs I'm just writing a couple of concise (well, hopefully concise) lists.

VIETNAM LIST NUMBER ONE: FIVE SHOCKERS. Originally this list was going to be titled, "Ten reasons Vietnam is screwed up." But I changed it to "five shockers" for two reasons: first, though there are things about Vietnam that will stretch the limits of your patience and /or have you bitching your whole trip and / or have you rolling your eyes, it's all just culture-shock because the place is so different -- and you can choose whether to hate it, or to be fascinated by it. And second, I couldn't think of ten Vietnamese screw-ups anyway. In any case, consider this a warning to would-be travelers to Vietnam. Steel yourselves for what's to come.

SHOCKER # 1: THE STREETS OF HANOI. "Honda is Vietnam's biggest brand," I told James. On my first morning in Hue, I observed motorbike after motorbike going down the street, and wondered where they could all be going. Just when I thought Hue and Hoi An were motorbike-heavy (where, in fairness to motorists, motorbikes actually yielded to faster vehicles behind them), I got to Hanoi: a city with a literally endless stream of motorbikes, bicycles, motorbikes, cars, motorbikes, tourist vans, motorbikes, tourist buses, and did I mention motorbikes? I've nothing against motorbikes -- except that these motorbikes have no regard for pedestrians, or stoplights, or safety (no helmets here), or lanes. Where there's an opening, there they'll go -- never mind if it's meant for vehicles traveling in the opposite direction (which more often than not there are!). It makes crossing the street a challenge (and an interesting video game concept). Walking the sidewalks would be fun -- if there weren't rows and rows of motorbikes parked on the embakments, forcing you to step down onto the road and hope to God that you won't get sideswiped. As a passenger in a taxicab too, it's unbelievable how people abuse the car horn -- honking at every little thing, and sometimes, at nothing at all.

Hanoi by night. With a non-stop flow of motorbikes (where do they go??),
good luck crossing the street.

SHOCKER # 2: THE "VILLAGERS." Miss Manners that I am -- I put huge importance on pleases, thank yous, your welcomes, excuse mes, and I'm sorrys -- the Vietnamese (the ones I met, at least) were a huge shocker. You can stand in front of an airport ticket counter, or a theater box office, and the girl behind the counter or inside the box office won't just not acknowledge you're there -- she'll even chitchat on her phone. On the streets, people will matter-of-factly push you aside when you're in the way; and in the same way, those who block your way will step aside not at "excuse me" or even "excusez-moi", but at brute force -- and interestingly enough, they won't mind. In the airport, I helped a guy pull his suitcase off the luggage carousel, and he didn't even look at me; as an experiment, I "accidentally" elbowed him while he reached out for his next suitcase, again, interestingly enough, he didn't seem to mind. James was elbowed, jostled, pushed aside, and accidentally kicked by a girl mounting her motorbike -- no sorries at any time. Jumping queues is as casual as a stroll in the park. Order and service and courtesy are in such short supply among the people that Singaporeans would blush. But through it all, it's more shocking than it is infuriating. It's not rudeness -- "rudeness" is those damned Cantonese bitches in their Hong Kong night market stalls -- because it seems there's never any malice. Fascinatingly, somewhat like villagers whose city grew around them too fast, it's really just the way they are.

SHOCKER # 3: THE TOURIST-TRAPPERS. Since the communist party loosened its grip on the country only recently, tourism is fairly new to Vietnam -- and so is capitalism. So get ready for people who'll try to squeeze every dollar out of you the moment they spot your camera or city map. And it's more maddening here than anywhere else I've ever been -- at least in Thailand, they know what you mean when you firmly say, "No, I'm not interested in your sexy girls." Here, on every corner, motorbike drivers will wave at you and offer you a ride even after you've said no twice. In parks, peddlers sell toys, books, and won't leave you alone, apparently in the belief that purchase is driven by annoyance rather than need. In stores, salesladies will overprice whenever they can (is there anywhere else in the world where you have to haggle over bottled water??). And beware of travel agencies like An Phu who are more interested in making a buck than their tourists' comfort and convenience -- imagine a bus load of tourists groaning because the air conditioning has been turned off while waiting for the last few passengers to come! Or being barked at by some guy who just boarded your bus, to check out their hotel, even after you've told them you already have a booking elsewhere!

Beware of An Phu travel agency in Hue and Hoi An!
They don't care about your comfort and convenience --
all they want is to make a buck off you.

SHOCKER # 4: THE DISAPPOINTMENT. My urge to visit Hanoi came from a pantry conversation with an officemate eight years ago, who was gushing about the charms of Hanoi. It's like Paris, she had said, with French cafes and tree-lined streets and lakes. The travel guides strengthened my resolve to visit this Paris of the orient: "city of lakes and tree-shaded boulevards", "alluring", "charming", "Southeast Asia's most beautiful capital". Imagine my disappointment upon seeing the Hanoi lakes were murky green, with discarded plastic bags and mineral water bottles floating around in them; that boulevards were not only tree-lined, but motorbike-lined as well, so much so that the sidewalks vanished. Don't get me wrong -- there are astoundingly beautiful places. Lots of them. Just don't believe every photo will see.

Tortoise Stupa in Hanoi is photogenic by night -- but up close by day, the lake is murky green and lined with trash.

SHOCKER # 5: COMMUNICATION GAPS. On the funnier side, it's as if, with the dawn of tourism, the government taught all shopowners and motorbike drivers and cyclo drivers three simple words: "Where you from?" Indeed, it's asked everywhere. We'd answer, "Philippines." They'd say, blankly, "Aaaah..." Apparently, the cities we visited didn't get very many Pinoy visitors. (Although one of the more interesting moments of our trip was an afternoon in Hoi An, when a girl on a bicycle just pulled up in front of us and asked us the magic question. Thinking a bit, and deciding to have some fun, I replied, "Russia." She gave me a funny look and said, "No." I laughed and said, "Philippines." Then came the blank "Aaah..." I said, "You don't know where that is." And she said, "I do. Philippines." And went on to ask if she could see some Philippine money, which she had never seen before...) But on the darker side of Vietnamese communication gaps are major inconveniences. Arriving at the Hanoi airport for our flight back to HCMC, I had run out of Vietnamese Dong and was going to pay in US dollars, and tried explaining the exchange rate, but the driver spoke no English, either had flawed math or no integrity, grabbed every dollar or dong I showed him, and assaulted me with halitosis, until I shouted at him to give me back my money and just take $16 and VND2000, which was the right amount by his exchange rate, even if he insisted I give him more. Further, business communication with small hotels is apparently not as professional as you'd like -- the Hanoi hotel I had emailed said they would pick me up from the airport, but they weren't there when I arrived -- and when I called to ask about the pickup, she had the gall to get irritated and tell me to take a cab and she'd pay me back. Naturally, I took a cab -- and just went to another hotel.

Vietnam is a great place to just walk and walk and walk...
if only the sidewalks weren't congested with parked motorbikes.

So there: five warnings to anyone who intends to be a tourist in Vietnam. There's a whole lot that will leave you wide-eyed and drop-jawed with surprise -- just make sure you pack a sense of humor, so potential annoyances leave you fascinated rather than infuriated. After all, no tout or taxi driver, or polluted lake or number of motorbikes, will make me regret coming to this amazing, amazing country.

What makes this place so amazing? Check out Part 2 of this entry.

FRIENDSHIP: A homily written and delivered by Fr Arnel Aquino SJ last June 9, 2007

2007-07-20T07:36:00.000-07:00

Yes, this blogger is back! And with three catty entries in a row, one can just imagine how bitchiness has gone un-blogged and bottled up for the past two months. What's been keeping me so busy all this time? Writing marketing recos and managing office projects... musical-directing a major Hangad concert... and putting together June 9.

What's June 9? Well, it's a milestone whose blog entry is long overdue. A Mass... a dinner... family and friends... but rather than me describing it in detail, I'll still this acerbic tongue for a while, put on some reflective music, and transcribe the homily delivered by Fr Arnel Aquino SJ last June 9. One of the best gifts I could ever receive from anyone.

FRIENDSHIP

his evening, we celebrate in anticipation the great feast of the body and blood of Jesus Christ. But why is the gospel that of Luke's feeding of the five thousand, instead of the last supper according to John? Would it not have been so much more intimate if John were the one to speak to us about the Lord's body and blood, right on the last night with his friends? On a Thursday night, when he washed his disciples' feet? A night when he huddled close with those who meant his life to him, to break bread with them, in anticipation of his broken body the next day? A night in which he would finally symbolize, through a meal, his total, unrelenting self-outpouring to God and to his friends? But no! We're to deal with the feeding of the five thousand that takes place during the heat of the day, when there is aloft no ambient intimacy, when there are strangers everywhere sitting around and pressing against each other's social bubbles, when the bread doesn't even come from Jesus, and the wine, the wine that further warms company with friends, where is the wine?

But that this mass is a thanksgiving celebration for the friendship that we all enjoy makes Luke's gospel providential. The everyday-ness of our gospel for tonight, its apparent lack of flair and drama, has in fact vital things to teach us about friendship... real friendship.

First. Look at the crowd that hems Jesus in. Notice that as people set their eyes on the Lord and draw themselves nearer to him, they are in fact drawn ever nearer to each other. Now that is true of friendship as it is of marriage as it is of a religious or secular organization: that when we set our eyes first on the Lord, and approach the Lord together--the key word, together--we are very naturally drawn so much closer to each other.

Surely, we all pass through that stage when we tell each other under our breaths, "You and me against the world," and look at each other nose to bloody nose, googly and cross-eyed, hold hands, and walk through life sideways. And yet, where has that taken many of us? Friendships like that have mostly been weak and short-lived. But you look at our moms and dads, or titos and titas, or old partners who are still together after all these years... and you notice that they've long ceased looking at themselves. Rather, they've turned and look towards God, side by side. They've realized that there is a Much Greater than their own love for each other, and that is a God who loves them. When we set our eyes first on the Lord and approach him together--the key word, together--we are very naturally drawn so much closer to each other.

Secondly, when you look at the Lord's friendship with his disciples, you realize that their intimacy is deepened while they pour themselves out, body and blood, so to speak, in the service of the learger community. Yes, they spent their quiet times together. Yes, they got to gather 'round and tell each other of the deepest stirrings of their hearts. Yes, their intimacy grew out of unabashed self-disclosure. But the bonds of their love were seasoned and strengthened as they pour themselves out as friends to others who had need of them.

You know how it feels when you have choir practice, for example, and you notice that a pair of lovers among you is at a stand-off. And during an innocuous meeting, one of them speaks his mind, and the other argues, until they bicker about an innocuous matter. Then you realize, they're not arguing about the agenda! They're having a lover's quarrel! Nothing is more irking in a meeting than lovers who have private business to settle, yet have not gone beyond their relationship in order to spread the friendship to the larger community. To spread the luv.

Believe me, I speak from experience: our intimacy with the one we love is deepened while we put our friendship at the service of the larger community--when we look beyond ourselves and each other, and see that we can use our love to nourish others. Far along your relationships and friendships, you will realize that your ability to nourish each other eventually runs on empty when your community life--our life with other friends and family--fall ill. Because, my dear sisters and brothers, believe me, everything about us is eventually communitarian. "You and Me Against the World" is just a song. It doesn't promise a love that is long-lived for as long as that love keeps embracing only each other and keeps the community away. Because when family and friends are kept away from our strangle-hold embrace, someone finally comes and says, "Oh, get a room!" That's the signal that we've hugged each other too tightly.

Lastly, do you notice that Jesus never had a soulmate? I guess you could say that he was so single-minded about pouring himself out in the service of the many that he really didn't need one. Or, since he was never tainted with sin, I guess the total lack of selfishness that plagues sinners like us, might have given his very consciousness that fantastic latitude that you and I are yet to strive for in our lives.

But I tend to think that because he was human like ourselves, he must've carried around with him an emptiness, like we all do, an emptiness that he might sometimes have wished were filled. You know how empty you and I feel when we trust so completely and yet are cheated, when we forgive so painfully and yet are violated, when we love so deeply and yet are short-changed. You cannot say that our Lord's life wasn't anything like that--for he trusted yet was abandoned, forgave yet was convicted, loved yet was punished with the cruelest death of all. So in the heart of this Jesus must've been an emptiness hollowed out by God himself which nobody on earth can fill; no, not even a soulmate.

We carry in our hearts an emptiness hollowed out by God and can never be completely filled with anything or anyone earth-bound, not even by our soulmate if we have one. But hallowed be that emptiness because only God can make holy... hallowed... and only God can fill it.

We thank the Lord for you who have found their soul-mates, for that person is a gift from God. But for the rest of you who still wonder when you're gonna meet yours, let me tell you something to think about. Not all people have soul-mates. It is possible that one goes through his or her life not ever meeting a sfeyshal samwan whom one considers as half one's soul. And you know what, it is okay. It is okay. It is not abnormal, it is not irrecular, it is something you ought to consider yourself you should suffer over. It's been said, "We were all created as half souls... and we are to spend our life looking for the other half that completes us." Well, that's the fluff that Hollywood is made of. It sounds so true and heart-wrenching because it is a beautiful line... of a script. But it is not true.

That we were created half spirits might be true... but the other half has been given us from the very moment of our lives--our family is half our spirits, our friends make up half our souls, and all those that love us--they complete us.

So on this feast of the self-outpouring of Christ, we celebrate our being drawn closer to the Lord and therefore to each other. We celebrate the gift of many friends who have nourished our relationships by accepting us for what we are and for whom we love. Finally, we celebrate the emptiness that God hollowed out of our beings, which he in turn hallows, makes holy, with his Presence.

All this is what I think Luke teaches us about the feeding of the five-thousand on this feast of the body and blood of Christ: it is the feeding of five thousand friends by Jesus and his friends.

Thank you, Paulo and James, for bringing us together in this breaking of the bread.

The gold standard of advertising brilliance

2007-07-20T06:34:00.000-07:00

Great advertising, marketeers say, communicates a relevant brand benefit to a clear target audience, in a manner this is clear, distinct, memorable, and compelling, such that the target audience makes a choice for that brand.

("Marketeers" -- I just hate that word. Ranks right up there with "monies" and "choiceful.")

Knorr used a colorful, catchy, happy music video to convince kids that eating vegetables isn't gross but fun, and in the process encourage moms to buy Knorr sinabawang gulay.

Enervon came up with a selling line and jingle that distinguished itself as the multivitamin that gave you more energy, para mas happy.

Dove staged a campaign for real beauty to strike a poignant chord, and subtly convince all women that with Dove, anyone can, and should be beautiful.

But every so often, there comes an ad that's just so earthshaking ("game-changing", as we "marketeers" like to say) -- just like this landmark ad along EDSA. It's not hard to imagine: marketeer briefs ad agency (and pays monies): "convince SEC A & B families that the Spider is their best choice for a second car."

And voila! The brief passes through the ad agency's brilliant creative minds, and they come up with...

In fairness to them, it's a material that's clear (no mistaking this message for anything else!); distinct (never seen anything like it!); memorable (it left such an impression that I can recite it in my sleep); has an unmistakeable target audience (unless you're blind); relevant (of course any A & B family would love a second car!); and... uhm... compelling?

Hahaha. I guess ensuring that a product actually delivers on a benefit is another story.

Gods bless

2007-07-19T08:47:00.000-07:00

A face has launched a thousand ships... a picture can paint a thousand words... and a t-shirt whose message and sentence construction really make you stop, and think, and realize you don't really know how the hell to react, can trigger a thousand catty little thoughts.

Hehehe. You can just imagine my excitement snapping a photo of this, and the many many many different captions that ran through my head as I planned the blog entry.

But then again, in fairness to her, you have to admire her idealism, and her courage to spread her message of hope to everyone who's fortunate to be standing behind her. I guess idealism, hope and courage come easily to those who've got a whole bunch of Gods smiling down upon them, and their t-shirts.

Reader participation encouraged! Everyone is welcome to submit their own captions for this snapshot of Miss Creative (it's home-made, go Pentel pen power!) and her "Who Are You Kidding" t-shirt. Submit now!

Kick me up

2007-07-16T07:43:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday, the DJ's on RX 93.1 were excitedly encouraging people to message them through Yahoo Messenger. "Add us up! Chat us up!" they said over the air.

It wasn't the first time I'd heard these phrases being used. I'd seen them in the networking cum dating sites I visit for fun. "Add me up! Text me up! Chat me up!" write site members in their profiles.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the DJ's, the same way I roll my eyes at these online friend-hunters. I wonder if they realize that to "add them up" would mean to "derive their sum"... that "text me up" works just fine without the word "up"... and "chat me up" is incorrect from whatever angle you look at it?

Sigh. I really don't know where these would-be idioms sprung from, but it's uncanny that they came right on the heels of those crazy text phrases "kain na me" and "ok lang me." By my count, "kain na me" consumes more energy than "il eat na" (16 keystrokes vs 15); and "ok lang me", at 18 keystrokes, is almost thrice as exhausting as "m ok", which has just 7. Someone introduce me to the linguist who thought up these phrases.

Now, it's not as though taking liberties with the English language is exclusive to the jologs class, as my officemates would say. Because even in our office -- one of the world's most respected companies, supposedly hiring only the top students from top universities -- you have people who, as an officemate similarly frustrated with the state of English in the office said, "invent words to make up for their limited vocabularies."

"Choiceful" is one of my office favorites. Going by the principle of root word and suffix, it should mean, "with plenty of choice." But in the office subculture, it means "selective." As in, "let's be choiceful about which project to invest in."

Roll my eyes. I've never been able to figure out why they can't just say "selective."

Strangely, I had also heard "choiceful" from my boss in my former company, who had come from another globally respected company. Hmm. Does global market share give companies the license to fool with the English language?

Well, at least I no longer hear "monies." As in, "We can't put out this advertisment because we don't have any more monies." Yes, hah, as in plural for "money"! It took a supreme effort to supress a laugh the first time I'd heard "monies" used in a meeting. To think, that's one of the things they tell you in every year of grade school: money is like sheep, you don't need to change the spelling to make it plural.

To many, English is a status symbol -- the better yours is, the higher your rung on the social ladder. Interestingly enough, the jologs guy desparately looking for a date, and the marketing director in his global company, aren't that far apart English-wise. I guess the jologs guy better just be choiceful about how to spend his monies... and the marketing director can just text up his general manager.

Tiffany's biggest fan

2007-05-02T09:57:00.000-07:00

Check out song 3382. Is it another of those videoke listing typographical errors? Or does the typist feel that one Tiffany just isn't enough?

Promdi and loving it, PART 2

2007-05-02T08:59:00.000-07:00

"I thought you weren't going for diary-type entries," James said after he read my last entry.

"It's not diary-type," I replied. "It's... uhm... photo-essay."

Three days into my life as a blogger, I had declared I wouldn't go for diary-type blog entries. "My genre will be 'light essay'," I had announced to James, who in response had given me his signature stoic "Okay."

Well, maybe my last entry was a bit diary-type. But no matter, because whatever genre it was, the important thing for me was to capture a once-in-a-lifetime memory. Here's more of that memory... deciding to embrace my newly-unleashed promdi-ness, and thanking Greenhills for bringing my Cybershot phone into my life at just the right time, I took as many pictures as I damn well could during my four days in the Shangri-La Singapore's Horizon Club.

One of the three "use-all-you-want" computers in the Horizon Club Business Center on the 21st floor.

There was a photocopier too... I should've brought all my Hangad scores and made 10 years worth of copies there.

The Horizon Club's exclusive lounge. Never got to sit here, though.

Who'd want to sit in a lounge when Orchard Road awaits?!

Love the details, dahling. How about this bathroom scale...

... or a double sink. His and hers? How thoughtful of them to give me an option. Hahaha.

I wouldn't mind working 24 x 7 if I had an office that looked like this.

(No wonder I was sleeping at 2 AM every day of my stay.)

I just had to take this camera-phone-self-portrait-in-the-mirror. Not often the Horizon Club has guests who look like this.

Me at my desk.

View from the top.

Surveying the souvenirs once back home: promdi na, social climber pa!

(James: "You're not a social climber until you display everything."

Note to readers: everything's hidden away for when they're actually useful.)

Not in picture: Shangri-La desk calendar, Shangri-La shopping bag. Hahaha what a hick!

While waiting for the bellboy to pick up my bags in preparation for check-out on my last day, I felt like Cinderella just before the clock struck twelve, anticipating the moment when the magic would end and everything would turn back the way it was.

"...But, I thought to myself, at least I'd be going back to my Prince Charming."

"How long did it take you to think up that line?" James said in his usual kebs way.

Ass. I smacked him hard across the shoulder.

It was good to be home.

Promdi and loving it

2007-04-25T08:15:00.000-07:00

Talk about blogging in white heat. I have to, if I want to capture a feeling like I have now.

Around two hours ago, I landed in Singapore; around an hour ago, I arrived in my room at the Shangri-La Hotel. I had stayed here for six nights during an office conference last February, and had been awestruck at what a luxurious place it was.

Even so, I was unprepared for the first thing I saw when I stepped into my room this evening:

Oh my God, I thought. Unlike my room last February, there was a couch, a desk, and no bed from the vantage point of the door.

Well, here's what I saw when I took a few steps more. OH MY GOD.

I couldn't believe it. I was in a room of the Horizon Club of Shangri-La Singapore -- the premiere club, of a five-star hotel, in a first-world country. (I don't know if this room is in the "suite" category -- I'm sure pretty this hotel has much much snazzier rooms than this -- but this is the suite-est I've ever been in, or even imagined setting foot in for that matter!)

Sophistication melts away and promdi-ness sets in. Think the "I Think I'm Gonna Like it Here" production number from the musical Annie. Think the cliche "pinching myself in disbelief." Think of the promdi who has just stepped off the bus, in the city for the first time, gawking up at the Makati skyline with the camera tracking around him from a worm's eye view to emphasize the bigness of everything.

I call up James and give him a breathless series of ten or so "oh my God"s, and "I wish you were here"s. I take pictures of the room from every possible angle. I log on to YM and put ito ang totoong OH MY GOD as my status message. I send James the photos. Then, still in the clothes I'd been wearing all day, and without moving my stuff from my luggage into the closet, I start blogging.

Two days ago, my boss's first line to me when he arrived at the office was: "Are you busy Thursday and Friday?"

"Just a few meetings," I replied. "Movable."

"Okay," he said, "you're going to Singapore for a so and so meeting..."

Cool. Nice opportunity to get out of the regular office routine, shop for a few things not available find in the Philippines, and have some good meals.

It wasn't a treat for the travel agency though. My boss confirmed my trip only late that afternoon, so they had only yesterday to put it together.

The plane ticket was fine. I was initially waitlisted, but they were able to book me.

The hotel booking, however, was another story. By some uncanny coincidence, a handful of companies had suddenly decided to hold conventions in Singapore the same days I was flying there, thereby filling up all hotels. In Sheraton, our usual hotel, the only available room was US$690 per night. The Hilton, where my two-day meeting would be, was full. All other hotels near Hilton were full -- and all other hotels far from it. "I've called 10 hotels," my travel agent wailed over the phone in panic. "Patay ako sa overseas calls."

Finally the travel agency found Shangri-La. The room rate quoted was higher than I remembered my room last February to be, and more expensive than our standard hotels. But hell, the office wants me here. So I give the travel agency the go-signal.

So back to today. Before my 6 PM flight, I have a full day of field work, which leaves me sweaty and drained. At the last minute before leaving for the airport, I realize that I didn't have my e-ticket. At the airport, I snap at a line-jumper entering immigration. In line at immigration, an officemate just won't shut up, not taking the hint from my non-stop texting that I'm not interested in chatting. And in the taxi from Changi to the hotel, I'm victimized by yet another nonsensical incessant talker in the form of a Malaysian taxi driver. (More on that in another entry.)

I was exhausted. As much as I'd enjoyed the flight (my first on Singapore Airlines -- more on that in another entry too), I was starting to feel feverish.

Which was why I was so happy when the taxi pulled up in the Shangri-La driveway. I was SO ready to kick off my shoes, take a nice shower, and go to sleep.

It was 10:30 PM. I walked up to the front desk and half-jokingly asked, "I hope you've held the booking."

The lady at the desk checked, smiled, and said, "Yes, it's still here."

But then, she handed me back my passport and credit card and, gesturing to another lady, said, "You're checked in under the Horizon Club. Grace will accompany you to check in."

Horizon Club? What was that? Was there a problem?

I asked Grace where we were going as she led me to the elevator. "The Horizon Club is the hotel's exclusive club." And went on to explain that the Horizon Club had its own check-in on the 24th floor, plus an exclusive breakfast area, free access to the Horizon Club lounge and to the business center, free cocktails in the evening, free internet in the room... I wasn't really listening anymore, I was still trying to digest that I was part of anything exclusive.

The elevator door opened on the 24th, revealing a fancy lounge full of important-looking Caucasians. To the right is the Horizon Club's front desk.

Linda checks me in and leads me to the elevator; my room is on the 20th floor. The 20th floor hallway looks just like the hallway leading to my room last time. Okay, I think to myself, Horizon Club is just about the privileges. The room's the same.

Not so, as I realize when Linda opens the door and I make no effort whatsoever to hide my drop-jawed amazement. What a hick, Linda must have thought as she looked at me, gawking at this room in faded collared shirt and jeans and sneakers, smelling of a day of fieldwork in the Manila heat, and with a backpack to complete the image that was nothing at all like those important Caucasians on the 24th. But she smiled pleasantly, maybe even amusedly, thanked me for choosing to stay at the Shangri-La, and left.

And the rest you already know.

Several thoughts as I sit here now, still in my stinky clothes, still with my luggage unpacked, still pinching myself that this is happening, but without any trace of an impending fever. First train of thought is ethics: What did I do to deserve this? Is it fair? Am I getting spoiled? Second is justice: it's only right, after putting me through two yakkers in the span of a few hours, God is fair. Third is mush: I wish James were here, and I only hope the next time the office sends me to Singapore only the Horizon Club rooms will be available. And fourth is good ol' gratitude: as much as P&G frustrates and infuriates and exhausts me sometimes, I can't deny that being with this company has given me incredible experiences I never would have been able to afford (or at least, never cared to pay for) myself.

And now, having articulated this unforgettable mix of awe, wonder and thankfulness, I can now unpack my bags, get settled, and start soaking in four days in this gift of an experience.

Photo-Op: Typographical Error, or Global Politics?

2007-04-19T17:35:00.000-07:00

It just occurred to me that having a blog now lets me to share my photo ops. There are laughs to be found in the most unexpected places -- just open your eyes. I've captured quite a few on my camera phone.

For instance, check song 3515 on this videoke list, spotted by some Hangad friends. A bit too far-fetched to be a typographical error, don't you think? I guess the typist's humor revolves around global politics.

More photo ops to follow. :-)

Mysteries of the Ting Sun dynasty

2007-04-19T16:25:00.000-07:00

P&G is a place where there's something new to learn every day. That's especially true for me, having gone through college with zero business units, and having spent six years in a company that didn't do much thinking. In just over a year in P&G, I've learned what an "index" is and how to compute for it, how to do correlations (imagine my MBA boss's dismay when he learned he'd hired someone who didn't know what a correlation was), and all the little acronyms and processes that make up this company's self-contained subculture.

A few weeks ago I learned a new kind of thing.

Nats Lim, fresh from her maternity leave, came to our floor with a photo album of her two-month-old twin girls. A bunch of girls flocked to her (as girls do), me along with them (as girls do), to "ooh" and "aah" at the photos. The twins were adorable.

My co-flockers happened to be Chinese (not surprising, since P&G is a virtual Chinatown). One of them asked, "May ting sun ba siya?"

"May what?" I asked.

"Ting sun," replied Tin Tang.

"Is that a Chinese word?"

"Yes."

"What does it mean?"

"Double eyelid."

I had first heard of double eyelids some months back in a Dove TV commercial. (Apologies to P&G, but I love those classy Dove ads.) The commercial shows a succession of girls in their early teens, each with superimposed text: "Wishes she were thin", "Wishes she were tall", and so on, leading up to the Dove self-esteem fund, a part of Dove's campaign for real beauty. I had seen the Caucasian version of that ad, but what struck me about this ad was one Chinese girl with a statement I'd never heard before: "Wishes she had double eyelids."

What was a double eyelid? I had read before that some marine creatures (frogs, I think) have a second eyelid, a translucent film over their eyes, to protect their eyes while in the water even when their eyes were open. But I guess it had to be something different.

"What's a double eyelid?" I asked Tin Tang.

"It's the fold on top of the eye."

Leave it to a P&Ger to demonstrate ting sun through a side-by-side.
(Tin Tang's photo used with permission.)

Aah. So that's what it was. I looked from the photos of the twins, to their mother Miss Lim, to my Chinese co-flockers (Miss Choa, Miss Sze, Miss Tang, and Miss Lao). Hardly any folds on them, if at all.

"So what's the big deal with the ting sun? Is it a lucky Chinese thing?"

It was an honest question, but they rolled their eyes at me.

"Not having a ting sun makes your eyes look smaller," Tin Tang explained. "It makes you look like your eyes are closed all the time, especially when you smile."

"Is it a big deal?" I was genuinely curious.

"Yes!" they all said together.

Miss Sze shared that relatives of hers -- boys out of high school, at that -- had undergone surgery just to give themselves ting sun.

"Do I have ting sun?" I really wasn't sure.

"Yes you do!" whined Tin Tang, "ang laki nga ng sa 'yo e, nakakainggit."

Having an enviable physical trait was new to me. Receding hairline, wide forehead, dark circles around the eyes, big nose, crooked smile, improminent chin, weak jaw, a tummy that won't go away -- but at least I have big ting sun. Haha. I took a self-photo with my camera phone just to see for myself. Yup, they were big all right.

I pressed on. "But isn't it nice? Doesn't it make your face look cleaner?" I meant it. I hadn't meant to come across as patronizing.

"Nooo!" Tin Tang was really whining now (nothing new, nothing to worry about). "I want ting sun!"

"I think you look fine," I said matter-of-factly. And that was that.

Going back to my desk, my thoughts drifted back to high school, when my male classmates would pine for chinita girls, whose eyes for some reason were so appealing to them ("Pare, chinita!"). I recalled how I'd heard, over and over, people wishing they had Chinese blood, if only to have fair complexions and skin that would never age. I thought of literary classics we had read in high school, where people of the far east were constantly described as exotic, and delicate as porcelain, with mysterious almond-shaped eyes.

Who'd ever thought that these China dolls wanted something the rest of the world had? God is fair -- you can't have it all.

First love never dies... even the gastronomic kind

2007-04-16T07:54:00.000-07:00

This was originally a much MUCH longer post, but I decided to cut it into two. Yes, sa lagay na 'to, this is already an "edit-down". Check back within the week for what would have been the post's second half.

My life changed sometime in the middle of high school when my parents dragged the family to a then newly opened restaurant on the fourth floor of the then newly opened SM Megamall. (Back then, Megamall was still a place you'd go to for a pleasant meal.)

I did NOT want to go. At the time, my gastronomic adventures extended as far as burger-and- pizza-land. And despite knowing I was neither a soup-eater, noodle-eater, nor exotic-stuff eater, my parents had ordered soup and noodles and other dishes I'd never heard of.

But I guess there's something about nicely decorated restaurants that makes you more open to trying food. And this restaurant, Sukhothai, was a nicely decorated place. Wood carvings and rich purple fabrics and mosaics of bits of colored glass that reflected light. So I tried the food.

A blinding flash of light and a heavenly chorus somewhere in the background, and with that meal my love affair with Southeast Asian food began. Starting from Thai food, it gradually expanded to include Malay, Singaporean, Vietnamese, and Indonesian cuisines. (Though as my friends know, it's always mysteriously eluded Philippine food, haha.) Up until today, nothing makes me happy the way curry, satay, phad thai, kway teow, rendang, and roti prata do.

Unfortunately, over the years, Sukhothai's prices got higher, and the quality of food went down. James and I would go to Banana Leaf Curry House, Penang Hill, and Krua Thai instead. Still, when Sukhothai closed its branches in Glorietta and Megamall a few years back, there was a certain sadness. How could I not feel sentimental about the place that started it all?

Now some days ago, while looking for a caterer for our June 9 event (more on that in another entry), a friend offered to give me a caterer's number. "No," I said, "I'm already getting Banana Leaf for the event." And she said, "Oh, okay." ...then added, "Kasi this caterer is the former owner of Sukhothai."

Oh. My. God.

I leapt at the number, called the next afternoon. Her name was Mrs Rose Garcia, and she was indeed the owner of the former Sukhothai (which, she said, was forced to close due to the malls' prohibitive rental fees). I just had to tell her: "Your restaurant started my love for Thai food."

Mrs Garcia and I stayed on the phone for 30 minutes. Apart from discussing the event, she told me about the new restaurant she opened last October: Thai Pad. It carries Sukhothai favorites, but now targeted office workers around Pasong Tamo. She invited me Thai Pad for dinner the next day. But I was too excited to wait -- James and I pulled up in front of Thai Pad that evening.

It was nowhere near as elaborately decorated as Sukhothai. Flat lighting, brightly painted walls, none of the carvings or fabrics. But after looking at the menu, I couldn't complain. Old familiar favorites from Sukhothai, but at less than half the old prices! Phad thai noodles for P95, chicken pandan at P31 per piece, tom yum goong soup for P86. Even the rice meals -- both with plain and fried rice -- were mostly less than P100.

After closing its branches in Megamall and Glorietta due to prohibitive rental fees,
Sukhothai is back -- at much lower prices! DAMN THOSE MALLS!

James and I ordered Thai iced tea, tom yum goong, phad thai, spring rolls, and of course chicken pandan. Honestly, I hadn't let my expectations get too high. With those prices, the servings would have to be too small. Or they might have cut back on ingredients and flavor. But each dish proved me wrong as it came. It was delicious thai iced tea; the old tom yum goong we loved; the same phad thai, in the same old very generous serving; the same flavorful spring rolls; and the same juicy chicken pandan with half-grilled corn kernels adding to the flavor and texture.

Mrs Garcia gave us a few complimentary dishes too, so we could try more items in her catering menu. We had chicken in crispy cups, which was ground chicken with corn kernels and shredded carrots in what seemed like tortilla cups (of course they weren't tortillas because it's a Thai restaurant, and how the hell should I know I just eat the stuff); takoh rice cakes (another old favorite, still as gooey as ever); and Thai halu-halo.

Happiness is a big bowl of hot, aromatic, spicy tom yum goong...
especially when it's only P86!

It was a thoroughly enjoyable meal, and our orders came up to less than P500. Not bad at all, especially compared to places like Som's which say they have good cheap Thai food, which I find is cheap but not all that good. Definitely a place I would go back to, and even bring friends to. In the future, I can just order phad thai and a piece of chicken pandan -- a satisfying meal that would come up to just P126.

Getting reacquainted with an old flame: Sukhothai's phad thai.

Just before James and I left the restaurant, I again told Mrs Garcia -- rather, Tita Rose, as she told me to call her -- how happy I was that Sukhothai was back with much lower prices. I told her I'd tell all my friends about it, to which she gave me an effusive "thank you."

So here I am blogging, and telling my readers (yes, I have readers, imagine my surprise!) to go and visit Thai Pad. You've never had cheap Thai food this good. :)

Thai Pad is at the corner of Pasong Tamo and Herrera, on the ground floor of a building whose name I forget... it's the same building with the Canon service center, across Hererra from Shell and across Pasong Tamo from Goldilocks. They're open Mondays to Saturdays from 11 AM to 9 PM. Call them at 815 1329. They also cater for a minimum of 20 people at only P290 per head, a steal considering it's 7 dishes -- just look for Tita Rose.

View from the top

2007-04-16T07:25:00.000-07:00

James and I moved into a condo along EDSA in September 2003. People would ask how the hell we got any sleep, living along EDSA, but our unit was on the east-facing side, which meant we had peaceful nights and a great view of Marikina valley. Still, the sun shining through our window every morning was a killer. Morning sun on your face? Nice. Heat? NOT.

Three and a half years later, we're still in the same building, but in a unit 15 storeys higher on the other side of the building -- i.e, facing EDSA. Even at that altitude, the occasional siren's wail still jolts us awake at midnight; and more than our cellphone alarms, it's the din of the morning rush hour that wakes us up in the morning. But who can argue with a 38th floor view that lets you see Manila, Rockwell, Ayala Center, Manila Bay, and the Manila Bay sunset from your floor-to-ceiling bedroom window? ;-)

When in Bora, stay at SUR :-)

2007-04-14T00:10:00.000-07:00

Might as well use my blog to advertise the family business. ;-)

Tired of the commercialized tourist trap that Boracay has become? Then next time you're in Bora, try SUR Beah Resort and experience Boracay's gentler side.

It's located along the beachfront near Boat Station One, near Sea Wind and Friday's, which means it's along the best stretch of beach on the island.

It's designed with lots of space for sunlight and sea breeze to flow through; and having only a few rooms and a friendly staff, it's clean, peaceful, and personal.

Guests who've stayed at SUR have loved it. In fact, we've had guests who have come back three or four times or more, for the location, the quiet, the clean facilities, the friendly service, and the value.

Click on the images to view / download pics, rates, and more information.

Book now, you'll love it too. :-)

Sur Beach Resort, Boracay

surboracay@gmail.com

+63 36 288 6844

+64 36 288 6843 (fax)

+63 928 781 1233 (mobile)

When's the last time you thought about the solar system?

2007-04-13T11:41:00.000-07:00

Friday is my coding day. So I wake up at 6 AM (not easy with Hangad practice the night before), leave my condo at 6:45 AM, and pull into my parking slot at 6750 Ayala at exactly 7 AM. Then, since the office air conditioning isn't turned on until 8 AM, I stop by Starbucks for breakfast and pop open my laptop to do some light work, or even just clean up my desktop (where I put unread e-mail attachments).

I usually go to the counter, order a basic black iced tea (tall, with less ice, no valencia syrup, thank you) and a sausage roll (yes, heated, please), head upstairs and sit at one of the couches. It's usually quiet for the hour that I'm there.

Not this morning. When I went upstairs, an American family was occupying the mezzanine's semi-enclosed carpeted area -- a man, two ladies (cousins?), three little boys and a little girl. They were noisily playing an educational game about the solar system. I couldn't really get what the objective of the game was -- all I could understand was that several cards, each with a planet or body in the solar system, were randomly distributed to the kids. One of the ladies (who seemed to be the game-master of sorts) was using it to educate the kids about the solar system.

"Which planet has rings?"

"Who can tell me about asteroids?"

"Jupiter is as big as 1,000 earths, and it has 14 moons."

"The sun is the biggest star." (Wrong.)

"Is the earth's surface more land or water?"

"Who's got the card for Uranus?" (The man tried to suppress a smirk with this one.)

I usually get irritated with noise, but I didn't mind this time because they were American. Just kidding. I didn't mind because it got me to thinking about how long it had been since I really gave thought to the solar system. (The last time, I think, was when they stripped Pluto of its "planet" status... and even then, only in passing.)

I used to love the solar system. As a kid I had a book of paintings of the planets and their moons, the histories of each planet, and even the legends behind their names. (I just looked at the pictures, though, and so I still don't know who Io and Ganymede are in mythology.) I loved it just because it was fun, and the pictures were pretty. And listening to these kids and their Mom / Aunt, I realized how caught up I'd gotten with day to day things that I don't get to think about fun and pretty anymore. The phrase "matters of consequence" comes to mind.

At the same time, thinking about the solar system rubs it in how small and insignificant we are. A few weeks ago, during a particularly boring training, I downloaded Google Earth (thank God for office-wide WiFi). That night I showed James all the addresses I'd pushpinned on the map. He said, "Makes you feel really small doesn't it?" And that's just Google Earth. Think what Google Jupiter would be like.

The family left Starbucks earlier than I did. Though it had was quiet after they left, I had enough thoughts about the fun-ness and pretty-ness and smallness and insignificance to last me the day. I got the office unusually bright-eyed today. No, not because of any "moral lesson" about "stopping to smell the roses"... but simply because there's nothing like side-nudging introspection to perk you up early in the morning.

Phone memories

2007-04-13T10:17:00.000-07:00

I bought a new phone last April 8—a Sony Ericsson K800i, otherwise known as Cybershot phone. I got it in Greenhills, along with a 512 MB memory card and screen cover, for a cash out of 11k, plus a trade-in of my previous phone (Sony Ericsson W800i, the first Walkman phone, for 6k) and two phones James had lying around at home (a Nokia 1100 for 1k, and a damaged Nokia 3315 for P200… better than nothing hahaha!).

I had been deciding between a Nokia 6233 and Nokia N70, but found out that the Nokia 6233 could store only 500 names (which was my issue with my Walkman phone) and that neither had great reviews. Good thing the billboard across EDSA from my condo flashed in my head—the one that heralded that the Sony Ericsson Cybershot phone had won some or other award-giving body’s “best GSM phone of 2006”—and, checking the reviews, found out what a great phone it was.

I’ve been happy so far. The body and display look great, the features are no-nonsense, and the interface is a huge improvement over my last Sony Ericsson.

Thinking about this made me think back several years to my first phone—bought after graduation in 1999, primarily to keep in touch with James who was heading back to Cebu.

James and I had had a big fight when college was drawing to a close. I was idealistic back then, with Philosophy and Theology on my mind, and a virgin to the seductions of consumerism and compulsive acquisition. He urged me to buy a phone—no, he urged me to let him buy me a phone—so we could keep in touch. Silly me insisted on a “simple lifestyle”—that we should save the money and get by with weekly snail mail. Hah! Anyway, I gave in just to make him happy—but I wanted to be the one to buy the phone. Not something I’d be happy with, but if it would help keep the peace, then what the hell.

He took me to Greenhills and having learned from my cheapskate Tatay, we scoured the entire tiangge (which was not the orderly tiangge we know today) looking for the best deal. I bought myself a yellow Nokia 5110 for around P6k. We took it home, and James did all the setting up, with me pretending to be uninterested. I didn’t have a SIM yet (Me to James: “What’s a SIM?”) then because Globe Prepaid SIMs (Me to James: “Prepaid? What’s Prepaid?”) were always out of stock. (Cut to five years later when I was giving away Globe Gizmo SIMs because no one wanted them, mwahaha.) James had asked his Dad to buy one in Cebu (they were P300+ at the time), anyway James and I were flying to Cebu the next day for vacation.

I’ll admit, I quickly learned to love that phone. To this day, I feel sentimental when I see a Nokia 5110. It was functional, it was sturdy, and it came in cool colors (with lots of fake ones in Greenhills).

It's a classic. You just had to love that Navi-Key.

I didn’t love Globe though—no messages were getting through (this was right before they implemented a P1/text tariff), and besides, they cheated me out of P200 with a defective prepaid load card—but the phone. So how ironic it was—with my hate for phones in college, and the crap Globe put me through—when I joined Globe! Hahaha!

But I think I’ll need a whole different blog entry—maybe even 10 of them—just to ask whether Globe is crappier as a service provider, or an employer. So back to phones.

Between then and now, I went through 4 more phones:

Nokia 6210 (2001-2003). I got it because WAP was new—and because I was feeling the first consumerist urges to keep up with the Joneses, and phones were getting smaller and Bermuda Yellow was no longer cool. This must have been my favorite phone ever. Totally functional, totally fast, no-nonsense and professional, easy to use, totally sturdy… imagine it working after I slipped and fell on my butt on a sidewalk (thanks to Decolgen Forte just minutes earlier), and it flew out of my hand and bounced twice—once off a metal telephone cabinet and once on the concrete pavement.

Nokia 6610 (2003-2004). Again, keeping up with the Joneses… everyone had MMS! And I wanted a colored screen for colored photos and wallpapers. I liked this phone too… great white body and no major glitches… but it wasn’t as sturdy as the 6210. It scratched easily, and it just didn’t feel as strong.

Nokia 6660 (2004-2006). I got this because I’m a sucker for employee handset promos. This must be my second-to-the-worst phone. Slow, hanging software and lots of useless stuff loaded into it (these two things, in my mind, have pretty much become Nokia’s equity); and something went wrong with my speaker so I could never hear who I was talking to unless I was alone and everything was quiet).

Sony Ericsson W800i (2006-2007). Silly, silly, silly me—thinking that there was merit in building my equity as a musician by getting a walkman phone. Nonsense! The PC software used for loading MP3’s into the phone was even less reliable than iTunes, and I gave up updating my playlists after several headaches. And to that a totally counter-intuitive interface and a tiny phone book memory that had me staying up till 4 AM trying to figure out which 300 names I could afford to delete from my phone book. I was more than happy to give this one up.

Sony Ericsson K800i (2007 to the present). I talked about this earlier. Ahlaveht! And thank God for online reviews. I think I’ll have this phone for a pretty long time.

Now, watch out for my blog entry on ranting about Globe. Bwahahaha!

You had me at hello… not again

2007-04-13T10:10:00.000-07:00

My first encounter with the movie Miss Potter was its streamers above Food Choices in Glorietta. A big close-up of Renee Zellweger! She won my heart after Bridget Jones, Roxie Hart, and that yellow-green gown at the Oscars some years back. With her face on the poster, plus some or tagline about an “enchanting tale”, fairy that I am, I couldn’t help but be curious.

James and I saw the trailer when we watched 300. Apparently, the movie was about the Beatrix Potter, author and illustrator of the children’s book The Tale of Peter Rabbit. Apparently the movie told the story with a mix of real life and animation, a la Mary Poppins, to get into the author’s vivid imagination. It had me just giggling and squealing with delight, with its farmyard animals coming to life under Miss Potter’s paintbrush, bringing back childhood memories of a read-along book and tape Tatay have given me about Peter Rabbit, his brothers Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cottontail, and the mean Farmer MacGregor.

Speaking of MacGregor—the movie also starred Ewan, reuniting him and Renee for the first time since Down With Love. Renee, Ewan, and cuddwy cartoon bunny wabbits… how could I resist? I had agreed to sit through nearly two hours of Spartan violence with James… he had better sit through storybook nonsense with me.

Who can resist animated versions of these cuddwy bunny wabbits?

James and I caught the last full show at Eastwood last April 9. Over dinner, I had checked www.RottenTomatoes.com through my phone, and saw that Miss Potter had only gotten around 60% good reviews. Not spectacular, but not terrible either. And anyway, it had Renee, Ewan, and the cartoon bunnies! So we pushed through.

I had been looking forward to a magical movie that left you feeling giddy and like a child again. That was what the trailer had promised—the story of an author struggling to get her children’s book published in a less than childlike world. What a surprise when the book got published within the first half-hour of the movie—leaving me wondering what the plot's central conflict was for the rest of the film. Well, there was none, and for the remaining hour or so, all we had was a narrative with that neither left anything to the imagination nor offered any gripping tension to hold our attention, of a woman who went from eccentric to love-swept to philantropic, but who never really gave us any reason to care about her.

No reason for me to care about her.

And you know those movies where the trailers look great, but then when you watch the movie, it turns out that all the good scenes were already the ones in the trailer? I don’t remember what the past ones were, but Miss Potter is definitely one of them. (James remembers I bitched about The Prince of Egypt in the same way.) So much for a magical movie about a woman’s imagination—if I’d wanted magic and imagination, I could have just watched the trailer 100 times.

And the acting! It was Down With Love all over again with the campiness and the sheer lack of depth. But at least in Down With Love, it was deliberate, Renee was fabulous and Ewan took off his shirt. I said it earlier—we didn’t care about Renee’s character in this movie.

And just to stereotype myself as a Comm Major, just let me add—the movie’s camerawork called way too much attention to itself, and the editing was poorly-paced. (Hah! My four years of Comm amounted to something after all.)

So there. Nowhere as crappy as “You had me at hello”, but a letdown nonetheless from one of my most adored actresses. What's the point in my writing about a movie nobody will go see anyway (not when 300 is still playing on its nth week)? Nothing--I'm just really disappointed in one of my favorite actresses. Now excuse me while I go wash down the aftertaste with five or so doses of Chicago.

My yearly fix of spirituality

2007-04-07T18:22:00.000-07:00

April 6 to 8 marked my eleventh Easter triduum in Ateneo.

The Easter Triduum is a series of services held in Ateneo each year during Holy Week. On Holy Thursday, there's a Mass and the celebration of the Lord's supper (a.k.a. Last Supper) with a re-enactment of the washing of the feet. On Good Friday, it's a service with a really long gospel reading, veneration of the cross, and Stations of the Cross around campus. And in the evening on Black Saturday, there's the Easter Vigil. (I don't know if I'm capitalizing the right words here.)

My first encounter with the Triduum was way back in 1997. Fr Nemy had invited me and Mariel, then ACMG's choir heads, to lunch at the Loyola House of Studies. It was a Friday during Lent then, and I was telling Mariel I'd be in trouble because I didn't eat seafood. Well, it turned out to be a good meal... leave it to the Jesuits to serve steak in their mess hall on a Friday in Lent. Fr Nemy had asked Hangad and ACMG to lead the singing at the Triduum, where we would be joined by a few members of Bukas Palad, Himig Heswita, and Tinig Barangka.

And he had asked me to play the piano, along with a string and wind ensemble. It was a huge honor for me -- and a daunting task that made my jaw drop. I was then a sophomore, and since entering college, I had attended Ignatian Masses and ordinations and been spellbound Fr Arnel playing the piano along with Prof Serge Esmilla and Mayos Esmilla leading a talented ensemble of violinists, violists, cellists, and flautists. With Fr Arnel being assigned somewhere else in the country, they needed me to take over.

What an experience that first Triduum was. It my first time playing with an ensemble --a nerve-wracking exprience at first, but a hugely fulfilling and educational one once I got through it. But more than that, I could also feel the music and services feeding each other with energy and meaning, bringing the musicians and the congregation in an upward spiral of joy.

Things have changed through the years. Around once or twice, Fr Arnel has been in town and taken over the piano. Recently, the event has been moved from LHS to the Church of the Gesu. More and more, it's become a Hangad event, with the other choirs having their own activities for Holy Week. The congregation has gotten bigger every year, as more people have heard about it. And this year, the event was televised live over ABC5.

But even with these slight changes year on year, every year for the past 11 years, the Triduum has been a marvelous experience I look forward to. In recent years, in fact, it has been the spiritual highlight of my year. And the services have never stopped energizing the music. There is always wonder in seeing a respected priest kneel to wash strangers' feet; in a sparse Good Friday service commemorating Christ's passion and death; in seeing queues of people slowly advancing to kneel and venerate the cross; in a totally darkened chapel that suddenly becomes awash with candlelight at the beginning of the Easter Vigil; in a haunting Exultet that hails the glorious night of nights; in a series of readings and psalms that proclaim our story as one of salvific love (which actually inspired "Love Untold", my favorite song in Hangad's The Easter Journey); in a church that bursts into light, revealing a sanctuary decked with flowers, as the Gloria is sung; in singing the Alleluia for the first time in 40 days; and the words, "Thanks be to God, Alleluia, Alleluia", leading to a glorious final hymn as everyone happily greets each other "Happy Easter."

Invariably, people ask me each year -- "Are you going to Boracay over the Holy Week break?" Each year, I shake my head, and I think I'll have the same answer for a very long time. The Triduum is one experience that no vacation can ever replace.

Overcoming Inertia

2007-04-06T20:42:00.000-07:00

I'm finally starting my blog.

It's been months since I told myself I'd start one. In retrospect, having hesitated this long, too many blog-inspiring moments have flown by.

On one hand, there were moments of utter exhiliaration -- my first experience as a member of a rock band; or a dinner in Singapore with Indian officemates, with fantastic food and fascinating revelations on Indian culture.

And on the other, there were moments of downright bitchiness -- such as when Philippine Airlines lost my luggage, or when I decided to re-christen a supposed five-star hotel in Davao as "The Grand Chaka Hotel."

Each time, I would get fired up and tell myself I'd start writing. But each time also, I would find myself undecided about which blog site to use; at wits' end making sense of the blog site interfaces; and deciding that I didn't have time, and that I'd rather watch TV instead.

Well, minutes ago, James told me for the nth time that I should have a blog ("And dami mong sinasabi, mag-blog ka na nga!"). So fine, might as well stop making excuses. James told me to use Blogger; he guided me through the blog-building process (not without rolling his eyes several times); and it being morning # 3 of a five-day weekend, there's loads of time.

So here we go! I don't know what or when I'll be writing next. But for sure, the way my life goes, there won't be any shortage of exhiliaration, introspection, and of course, cattiness to make for happy writing.