Sleep Tight

I woke up rather late today. I reached over the bedside table to switch my phone off. The first message I received froze my yawn. Both my Tita Val and Tita Vilma texted me that my cousin Cheryl's baby boy George died.

George was born at just 26 weeks old to my cousin Cheryl and her husband George on December 2. His twin sister Cherlize was born on December 1 and weighed 1 lb. and 5 oz. George weighed 1 lb. and 8.9 oz. According to my cousin, they were critical but stable.

About two weeks later, Cheryl texted again that baby George's bowel was leaking so they had to do surgery to fix the problem. Again, we took everything up to God that he allow my newest nephew to survive.

However, this text contained sad news for us all. Apparently, the doctor tried to separate baby George's fingers because they were stuck together but he bled. It was difficult for us and I could just imagine how much more difficult it was for my cousin and her husband when I know they have always wanted children. I remember what my mom told me when we first received the news that Cheryl was having problems during her pregnancy. She surmised that some people try so hard to have children while others are so desperate to get rid of them that they either get aborted or are abandoned immediately after birth. Such a sad, sad situation this is.

To Cheryl and George...heaven is great at taking care of children. They will fully experience all of the beauty of life up there whereas we can only get a taste of it. We can only do so much for them but when God calls them home even after a brief stint on Earth, we have no other choice but to say "Go."

Zhu Ni Shengri Kuai Le, Ni Bei Lei

Our youngest friend Anna Banana turned 20 (yah, just 20) last December 9. A late but hearty birthday dinner followed at the Superbowl in the Megastrip!

That's the birthday girl!


Em looks a bit pale, don't you think?


Sarah's missing...would've been a great shot!

Guess Who's Home for Christmas

One of my friends who's the daughter of a neurosurgeon once told me that the reason why people tend to forget memories of so long ago is that our brain loses a certain amount of neurons per day. Goodbye neurons, goodbye memories of yore. Perhaps I have been losing more than the usual number of neurons coz I can't even remember how much of these brain cells spontaneously combust per day.

About an hour and a half ago, I had one of my most memorable experiences of this year and I fear that if I put off writing about it tomorrow, I might not be able to mirror the same feelings of excitement and happiness that are enough to act as stimulants to keep my brain from going zzzzzz. Gosh if I could do this every night, my caffeine would dramatically drop to extraordinary levels. Then again, my savings would plummet to an all time low.

So what the heck am I talking about? In two words - Lea Salonga.

I know, I know, I wrote about her just a few entries ago when I watched the musical "Baby." But, as my sister calls it, I am an "aswang ni Lea." I have unshamefully declared that I am a huge fan and a great admirer or her work. If she were a rock star, I'd be more than a groupie probably. Perhaps my dream job after wanting to become a lawyer would be becoming her child's nanny...not that she's pregnant.

Anyway, tonight was her Christmas concert. The first time I laid my eyes on that humongous tarpaulin strategically positioned in EDSA-Guadalupe, I knew I HAD to watch it. This Christmas concert was going to be the first time Lea would perform in Araneta Coliseum - the BIG DOME as they call it. A performance in the Big Dome is an important point in any concert artist's career. It stands as living proof of an artist's command, talent and standing in show business. One of the greatest challenges is filling the coliseum.

I wanted to be one of those people present on the night Lea sings for the first time in concert at the Big Dome. Sure she has lit up different stages from London to New York and even LA but it is always good to receive the same accolade in the home court. Her previous concerts in the PICC have always been brimming with people but the image evoked by an Araneta Coliseum concert is more universal and withstanding. Of course, she wouldn't be able to single me out from the crowd but I simply wanted to be one of those in the audience who would make her realize her dream. So off I went to my mother, dropping hints here and there...some subtle, others blatant. How happy is when she finally bought me and my sister tickets..but of course declaring beforehand that this was to become my Christmas present. No objection here!

My sister and I got to Araneta at around 6:30. We were pretty early...actually, very early. There were no people yet inside although the rafters and upper boxes (free seating areas) were already full of people. My sister kept on whispering to me "Manang, I don't think Lea can fill this." I gave her my darting dagger look and stuck my tongue out. The coliseum was huge and I actually got kind of nervous. What if the turn out was poor? How would she feel then? I know I'd feel bad.

So my sister and I entertained ourselves by looking at the people around us, above us, below us. When we got bored, we'd call our mother (thank Heavens for Sun!)...which we did...several times, as a matter of fact.

After less than 10 minutes of sitting down, we saw Ligaya Salonga, Lea's mother, walking near the stage. We called up mom to tell her that she and Ligaya had the same pink-almost-peach shawl. As my sister talked to my mom on the phone, my eyes began wandering again. It went up to the rafters, down to the lower box, crossed to the stage, settled on the first three rows of seats near the stage, back to the upper box then...ooooh! My eyes darted back to the stage. I sat back for a moment, forehead furrowing and eyebrows meeting. That...that couldn't be...can it? I moved my head forward a bit, eyes still focused on what I was seeing. My eyes must be crazy...but no, they're not. I leaned back and elbowed my sister. With my finger pointing to a three people huddled near the stage I said, "Is it just me or is that person Robert Chien?" My sister followed my gaze and she was murmuring "Of course not...it's not him...wait, can it be? Is it Robert Chien?" My sister and I sat there, still as tigers waiting to pounce on their prey. Then the bespectackled guy we were looking at pushed his eyeglasses up his nose and my sister and I gasped and said in hushed yet excited tones "Oh my goodness, it's him!" Ladies and gentlemen, we have just gotten a first look at Lea's husband!

Sorry if this may seem like such an anticlimactic moment but my sister and I found it pretty wortwhile looking at him. I never expected to see him there. I remember watching their wedding and bawling so hard. As I slowly stacked a miniature Barad-dur of wet tissue beside me, I mumbled as tears flowed from my eyes "Robert Chien, you are so darn lucky for marrying Lea Salonga."

He was fair and looked every inch the Japanese-Chinese that he was. His hair was longer than it was during their wedding. He was dressed simply in jeans and a white collared shirt and looked like he lost a bit of weight...or the shirt was just good in making him look that way. He actually was pretty cute...no wonder Lea fell for him. The glasses looked pretty good on him too.

Until the concert started, my sister and I entertained ourselves by playing optical volleyball between Lea's mom and husband. Or if I wasn't doing that, I would channel Ligaya Salonga's spirit and play the part of the nervous mother, looking around with anxiety at the empty seats. When the orchestra started shuffling in at around quarter to 9, I knew the concert was about to start. I looked around and I gasped since the seats which looked like gaping mouths before now had squishy butts squeezed into them. I silently cheered "She's done it...she's filled the Big Dome!" as if it were a war cry.

The orchestra started with the usual overture after which Lea emerged from the top of a giant staircase. She looked elegant in a sparkly top, black slacks and heels and began singing "I'll Be Home for Christmas." Sure I have seen several times but I found myself screaming to no end. The opening number was actually a combination of both "I'll Be Home for Christmas" and a fast-paced version of "Jingle Bells."

All of Lea's numbers were breathtaking. I have been to several concerts and most of them bank on special effects and amazing choreography to keep the momentum going. Lea had none of this. All she had as weapons were a magnificent backing from the orchestra and her crystal clear voice and these got us soaring till the end of the show.

Her guests included The CompanY, Ogie Alcasid, Eric Santos and Christian Bautista. The CompanY sang "The Twelve Days of Christmas" with Lea after which Lea left for a costume change. The CompanY did a classy (acapella) version of the Viva Hotbabes song "Kikay" which got everybody in stitches. Lea's friends from the musical Baby also sung a couple of songs with her such as "Sasakyan Kita" by Gladys and the Boxers, "Jumbo Hotdog" of the Masculados and of course the pitted "Ocho ocho" and "Ispageti."

Christian Bautista, I have to say, caught me by surprise. I am not alien to his amazing voice but I was floored by the fact that he looked very attractive in person although he was too thin that he looked like a scarecrow. He and Lea sang "We Could Be In Love" which was originally a duet Lea did with Aladdin co-star Brad Kane. Their voices blended beautifully and I found myself turning into a Christian Bautista fan inch by inch. I finally saw the reason why thousands of teenage girls from Indonesia and South Korea were hoarding this Filipino guy's album. He was dubbed as the Filipino version of Josh Groban and he did sound good.

After Christian, Eric Santos took the stage. Probably I was just expecting too much from the Star in a Million Grand Champion or I still had Christian-itis. Whatever the reason was, I was greatly disappointed by Eric's performance. It felt so bland to me and his voice, in stark contrast to Christian's, sounded muddled and scraped. It was like eating banana with the peeling still stuck to it. Lea joined him onstage to sing "A Whole New World" from Aladdin and as Lea began to introduce the song, I gripped my armrests as if my life depended on it. Oh no, Eric was about to murder one of my ultimate favorite duets. When they did, I wanted to scream "Stop in the name of all that is beautiful." But then someone from the bleachers screamed "I lab yu Eric!" I changed my mind. I wanted to live long enough to see the rest of the show.

Ogie Alcasid was the most entertaining of all of Lea's guests. Aside from the fact that he kept on promoting his chain of hotdog stands which I believe were called "Ogie Doggies," he and Lea began pitting their schools against each other. Lea was dressed in blue while Ogie had a green tie on. Anywhere you go, the Archers and the Eagles always get into a fight. My sister, an Archer, leaned over to me and whispered "Too bad, no Dragons." I glared at her and said "When the Dragon joins the battle, we'll be having fried Eagle and barbecued Archer for dinner." Just a digression, if you Reader don't know who the Dragons are, shame on you!

Ogie also sang an alphabet of Christmas songs which started with songs beginning in "A" ("Ang pasko ay sumapit...") until the letter "Z" ("Zilver bells..."). He and Lea also sang Jim Brickman's "The Gift" which Lea originally did with her Korean ex-boyfriend Michael Lee.

But then, the best part of the show, undoubtedly, was when Lea sang her wedding song "Two Words" to her brother and musical director Gerard and his fiancee violinist DJ Francisco. Before Lea sang "Two Words," she actually first sang George Canseco's "Ikaw." In the last line of the song, Lea crooned with her eyes closed. Rob, who was sitting on the front row, immediately bounded out of his seat and dashed to the backstage. My sister grabbed my arm and muttered "Is he singing?" Oooohhh I got excited!

Lea sang the first verse and the chorus. When the second verse came, Rob entered the stage and sang. Lea looked on with surprise and the entire coliseum roared. I was frozen on my seat, trying to capture everything on my camera phone. I didn't get anything visually but I could hear everything clearly. I had always known Rob had a good voice but I still enjoyed their number very much. As I looked at my childhood idol and her husband sing to each other, I just felt so happy that she had finally found the man she was created for. Call it severe autism but I was simply happy for her.

Lea during her wedding early this year (left) and singing "Two Words" with Rob during the concert.

The entire Christmas concert was worth the price and the waiting. I had rarely thoroughly enjoy myself in a concert but this one never had any dull moments. Lea certainly made my Christmas worth it and when she thanked the crowd for making her Araneta dream come true, I was truly glad.

N.B. I wandered into another blog (http://alex-a.blogdrive.com) which is where I found the concert pictures. Just giving credit where it is due.

Summer in November

My friends Anna and Em planed in from Manila for a visit during the sem break. Anna carried with her a list of things to do. One of the items she failed to write down was to go to Boracay. Naturally, we could not let them pass up an opportunity to go to one of the hottest beaches in the world! Thus we donned our swimsuits in November and pretended we were soaking up the summer sun. There really was not much difference - it was pretty hot in Boracay!

Feeling photographer: One of the first shots I took upon our arrival.

When I was there, I started drawing up my own list: What's Crazy and Crappy about Boracay.

What's Crazy:

Tattoos

Anna and Em got temporary henna tattoos on their ankles. The tattoo artists usually charge a hundred pesos for a tattoo but Anna and Em got them for only half the price. Anna had to have hers redone about twice since she kept on messing it up. By the time she was done with her second retouch, the tattoo artist was asking for her name.

I also wanted to get a tattoo on my nape. I was browsing through their catalogue and found a dolphin design I wanted. I later on decided against it. I might be barred from the school entrance gates when the new semester begins.

There is this one place in Station 1 where they have glitter tattoos done although they cost much more and last for a lesser period of time than henna tattoos.

Dressing Down

In normal circumstances, when you go out of the house to go somewhere, you have to put on newer clothes. In Boracay, I brought mostly old shirts and shorts and no one cared whether I looked like I had just gotten out of bed or what. On our second day in Boracay, we went swimming at 9. By lunchtime, I just put on my high school jersey over my bathing spot and tied my soggy hair in place with a scrunchie. I waddled around the place, visiting shops and sitting by the beach, in the same getup and no one seemed to mind.

Nothing beats lying on a hammock by the beach at 10 PM.

Banana Boat Ride

Banana Boat Rides in Boracay cost 200 pesos per person. The ride lasts for 15 minutes. It's not cheap but the money seems pretty worth the adventure, especially since when you get in the middle of the water, the drivers can turn over the banana boat so that everyone gets dumped into the water. However Doi, Anna and Em were not particularly keen about that even if we were wearing life jackets. So we pretty much stayed 40% dry during the ride.

While we were being pulled around during the ride, another banana boat was out in the open with us. I could only watch with envy as the riders of that banana boat screamed their lungs out when they fell into the water. I promised myself that when I go back, I'll try the Flying Fish although it costs a little bit more at 500 pesos per person. Just add a little bit more and I get two Kitche Nadal CDs.

Sand castles

At night, Doi, Anna, Em and I would go out for a walk along the beach. We spotted sand castles and other sand art created by children no more than 10 years old. I was pretty envious. I could not make a simple sand castle myself and second graders could create structures like these!

Anna, Doi and I with the really cool sandcastles.

While I was looking at the sand castles, I suddenlt had an image of Chen Ling and Qi Luo walking down a beach, hand in hand, after they both had built a huge sand castle. Qi Luo told Ling that when the tide came, the sea would have washed the sand castle away. Ling then compared sand castles to dreams. Dreams get shattered once in a while but like sand castles, they can always be rebuilt and the new ones are always different from their predecessors. And like sand castles, dreams become much more fun and memorable when they are built with another person.

The kids who worked on the sand castles usually did so in pairs. Maybe as they toiled under the heat of the sun, I'd like to think they had other things in mind that they believed they could shape into anything they wanted, just like the sand on their hands.

Swimming

This has got to be a no-brainer. After all, Boracay is an island. Who can resist the feeling of fine, white sand between their toes? Or the smell of the sea? And most especially a refreshing dunk in cool, crystal clear water?

How can you say no to this? Doi herself has difficulty doing so!

I have never been alien to the beach since I've always lived near the coast but Boracay has always been a favorite hideaway. As my mom whispered when we got there "I've been here in several occasions but Boracay never fails to leave me at awe every time." I was half-listening to her words since I myself was caught in my thoughts. I was restraining myself not to just jump over the side of the boat. The water seemed to whisper, siren-like "Come to me!"

After seeing this pic, my mom once more contemplated how she would look like in a bikini.

When we did get to swim, the feeling was unexplainable. The last time I had taken a dip in the waters of Boracay was the day after my senior prom in high school. Lately, most of the swimming I have been doing has been pool-related. Swimming in one of the best tropical beaches in the world was something I sorely missed. I missed getting tossed by the waves. I missed licking my lips after a dive and getting bits of salt and sand. I missed feeling sticky. I missed looking around and seeing miles and miles of water.

Trying to pass ourselves off as Japanese tourists.

On our second day we went boating. My mom requested the boat driver to stop in the middle of the sea so that we could jump off and swim around. I dove into the water sans my life jacket and it was the most exhilarating feeling ever! My friends joined me, including Anna who was pretty scared of the water simply because she declared she sucked at swimming.

See Anna? It ain't too late for swimming lessons!

What's Crappy:

Food

Boracay is not particularly well known for its food. I have tasted better cuisine somewhere else. If I remember correctly, the only gastronomic delight I particularly enDoied there was balut.

Dollar rate

Staying in Boracay would cost a lot. Buy junk food and softdrinks in mini marts found in the Caticlan terminal because it is cheaper there.

Escort service

The second time I went to Boracay was when I was around six years old. I was with my grandmother and my older cousins. One of the things I distinctly remember was the sight of about four or five Caucasian women roasting themselves with the sun's ultraviolet rays dressed...er...lesser than usual. Now this apparently has been banned in Boracay much to my relief.

However one thing which has not changed is the escort service offered by some Filipinas to foreign guests. It was not a rare sight to see a tall white man between 50 to 60 years with older with his arms draped around a small, sun-kissed Filipina or, in some cases, Filipinas. Whenever we would see things like this, Doi and I would look at each other with eyes narrowed, surmising how foreigners now have a new name to associate with Filipinas. By the time we left Boracay, Doi and I had agreed one of the things that these foreigners had lost was the power of discernment. These words mean more than what they seem to convey.

Here's a little story: One morning when I woke up, my mom told me that during the night, something happened in a house near the one we slept in. Fighting eruped between a couple. The girl was Filipino and the guy was obviously foreign. By the sound of the yelling, the screaming and the crashing, a fight had erupted characterized by both verbal and physical blows. The girl received most of it.

The way I see it, prostitution in Boracay should be examined by the Aklan LGUs. If this should go on unguarded, the reputation of the Filipina would suffer greatly. We raised up in arms when a dictionary associated the word "Filipina" with "maid." I do not want to see a time wherein we would have to bellow because we Filipinas are to be made synonymous with the flesh trade. As I saw one scantily clad Filipina after another walk side by side with a foreign patron in Boracay, I was filled with absolute rage and utter helplessness. I felt angry because the Filipina's dignity was of very little worth. I felt helpless because their main reason for doing so is persistent, permeating and seemingly infinite. The reason of lack, however, is never enough justification for degradation of character, morality and respect. I may be hit for being idealistic or self-righteous but I would want to walk down the street and know that every person I meet respects me, and every Filipina they encounter. Believe me or not but I do know what I'm talking about.

My dad and sister were pretty jealous when they saw these pics of mom and me.


I'm sorry if you're jealous. That wasn't my intention.

A Little Bit Overdue

As much as possible, there should be no category when it comes to friends. This idea is utopic in the sense that it really cannot be helped. You get to meet a lot of people in your life and some of them may remain mere acquaintances while others become more than that. Others get to be so close to you that being friends sometimes is not enough to describe the relationship.

One of my best friends is Doi. In one of my previous entries, I mentioned that in the previous summer, she spent more time hatching shrimp than with me and our other friends. Doi is pretty much like any other person. She enjoys a good laugh and enjoys eating, despite her small frame. Music, movies and TV are a given for her. She does not walk sideways and has a pretty close relationship with her mother (what an understatement).

However Doi is not just any other person. Doi stays clear of coffee and counts on numerous glasses of water to keep her awake. She sleeps with a pillow or blanket on top of her head. She likes to wear black. Her radio is always tuned to NU107. One word which can never be used to describe her would be "cute" and one word which would fit her well would be "sarcastic." The speed of her eyeball movement is unbroken. She's a frustrated guitarist. She's quiet only when she's mad. She's highly opinionated and irrepressible. She's smart in all aspects - from the classroom down to the basic rules of the street. And most of all, she is the strongest person I know.

I'm not going to lie and say that the first time I met her, we immediately clicked and bonded that in a matter of days we knew all the slumbook details about each other and even formulated some sort of secret handshake. We actually did not get along at first. Just call it a classic Physics phenomenon of "like poles repel." Perhaps one of the greatest miracles is how we became friends. In high school we did our thesis together along with our friend Sue. During discussions, our arguments would rival Miriam Defensor's temperament that our thesis adviser once told us "Could you three please talk outside? You're giving me a heart attack."

The key to Doi's strength is that she has experienced the rudiments of life at an early age. In one of those nights wherein we sat at the dinner table and just chatted about the mundane and the sublime, the trivial and the profound, we concluded that if her life (even just at 21) would be the subject of such dramatic shows such as "Maalalaala Mo Kaya" or "Magpakailanman," the actress portraying her would have won an acting award. But what makes her amazing is the fact that she accepts and moves on. You may think "What is so amazing about that?" Well when you count the number of people all over the world who have either entered a mental asylum or committed suicide, I think I've made my point. Doi is driven by her faith, her love for her mother and her desire to become someone better. For all these reasons and more, I'm glad that she's my friend and I'm proud of what she has achieved.

Last September, Doi passed the Chemistry Licensure Exam. I have seen for myself how hard she worked for this examination. As the old saying goes "God helps those who help themselves." Once I was driving my Lola to thoe hospital and we passed by her school. I almost hit the car in front of me coz I was too busy pointing the banner out to my Lola.

Doi on the day we learned she passed the board exam.

I'm Saying a Little Prayer

It's not easy having children whether it involves bearing them or raising them. I read Sylvia Plath's Bell Jar on the plane home during the start of the sem break. Instead of the usual effervescence and jubilation, Plath's description of childbirth was filled with rancor and brutality. Plath writes with unmatched precision but her only flaw was in her failure to see that the beauty of childbirth came from a mother's willingness to bear the discomfort, the pain and the burden all for the sake of an unborn child.

My tita texted me today that my cousin Cheryl is having pregnancy problems. She is about six months into the family way and is in danger of delivering her twins prematurely. I do not want her to lose her babies because I know how much she and her husband George want to be parents. They mean the world to her and I know she would do anything just so they could stay alive and be delivered normally.

My entire family and I are praying for Cheryl. As Romans 8:28 says "The Lord works for the good of those who love Him." He works for the good of all of us, most especially for Cheryl and George. But His reasons for the way He works may or may not be obvious. We can always bank on His promise of faithfulness and He always knows how to turn a tear into a smile, defeat into victory and grief into happiness.

Acknowledgement: Photos taken from the official website of Anne Geddes (annegeddes.com).

Got Hit By Flying Daggers

For the past two weeks, I have been pining for just one movie: House of Flying Daggers (Shi Mian Mai Fu). The movie opened during my exam week last semester. As I rode the train day after day, I saw the same poster of a stern looking Zhang Ziyi stare at me and I wanted to make a mad dash for the moviehouse.

Upon arriving home, when I learned that "House of Flying Daggers" had yet to hit local theaters in my part of the country, I almost did some Fred Astaire shoe flicking in the middle of the mall. For almost a week now, I have been clamoring like a little girl that I want to see that film...testing my mom's patience and my dad's eardrum tenacity. "What are you excited about this film anyway?" asked my mother. I'd then babble in an endless string but the only constant words heard would definitely have to be Zhang Zi Yi.
My sister and I have been fans of Zhang Zi Yi for a long time. She is the only Asian actress I like more than Zhao Wei. Before "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon," I already knew of Zhang thanks to her debut movie, "A Road Home." Of course, I enjoyed watching Rush Hour 2 because of her kicks and punches and I sort of got tight-lipped when she played a less prominent role in Hero...of course after a little contemplation, to star alongside Asian bigwigs like Tony Leung, Maggi Cheung and THE Jet Li (my first Chinese boyfriend) was already a feat rarely seen in someone who has more fingers than movies to her name.

I had seen the trailer of "House of Flying Daggers" by accident. My sister was channel surfing and when she chanced upon AXN, Zhang Zi Yi's face flashed on the screen. She froze and set the remote down. A few seconds later when the trailer showed her dance sequence in the Peony Pavilion, I thought aloud "That can't be Andy Lau, can it?" Moments later, my sister was mumbling "Manang, who's Takeshi Ken-shr-o? He's cute." That pretty much got us hyped up to watch out for the movie.
This actually was not the first time I heard of Takeshi Kenishiro. Last summer, I spent a considerable amount of time strengthening my hyperextended calf muscles by doing some cycling with my friend Sue. I especially enjoyed doing that since she lived near the beach and our bike route always gave us a fair view of the sea. In one of those trips, our friend Dang joined us and while we ate cashew nuts in Sue's house, waiting for the sun to set a bit until it was not too hot to bike, Dang asked us "Have you people heard of Takeshi Kenishiro? He's supposed to be the ultimate Asian hunk." I raised an eyebrow and Sue did the same thing. "Ultimate in what sense?" Dang then went on to explain that Takeshi was touted as the ultimate Asian hunk because he was 1/3 Chinese, 1/3 Japanese and 1/3 Korean. Sue and I looked at each other with puzzled glances. Dang's math made a heck lot of sense but as we racked our brains, we could not figure out exactly how he got that percentage from each race. How much did he get from whom? Come to think of it, I was never really good with fractions or Math even. What I get from Internet sites is that Kenishiro was born in Taiwan but was of Taiwanese-Japanese parentage.
As for Andy Lau, he's pretty much a household name in my side of the world...well, in my opinion, that is.

The cast of "House of Flying Daggers" with Director Zhang Yimou: Takeshi Kenishiro, Zhang Zi Yi and Andy Lau.

When the opening credits of the film began to appear on screen, I was almost out of my wits with excitement and my dad was pestering me to buy him popcorn. When the first lines were spoken by a couple of soldiers to Captain Leo (Andy Lau) and his partner Captain Jin (Takeshi Kenishiro), my dad muttered under his breath "You didn't tell me this was not dubbed in English!"
Captains Leo and Jin are members of the police force. Set during the decline of the Tang Dynasty, the present emperor's reign is beset by trouble in the form of renegade groups which aim to destabilize the government. Makes you think that times do not change indeed. One of the most powerful revolutionary groups is the House of Flying Daggers. They believe that the government is insufficient in its attempts to address the needs of society, especially when it comes to the poor. Ala Robin Hood, they "steal from the rich to give to the poor." Again much like the present scenario, though in our time and age, the rich steal from each other to make themselves richer. The poor are forgotten.
Being one of the greatest threats to the present administration, the police concentrate most of their energies on toppling the House of Flying Daggers. They manage to kill the leader of the group but a new one is selected among their ranks as quickly as the former one's life was snuffed out. Leo and Jin believe there could be no more opportune time to strike than this when the House is still reeling from a near fatal blow. Intelligence reports reach their ears that the new showgirl at a brothel called The Peony Pavilion is the daughter of the slain leader of the House of Flying Daggers. This girl named Mei (Zhang Zi Yi) was a dancer who entranced the Peony Pavilion's numerous guests with her exotic dances despite the fact that she was blind. Leo and Jin decide to capture Mei and plan to force her to reveal to them the hideaway of the House of Flying Daggers.
Despite torment, Mei refuses to speak. Leo concocts another plan. He disguises Jin as a wandering warrior called Wind who chances upon the captive Mei and decides to rescue her. Wind has to earn Mei's trust so that she can bring him to the hideout of the House of Flying Daggers. Leo, on the other hand, lies in the shadows and waits for the right moment to strike. On this journey, the fiery Mei and the free-spirited Wind find themselves falling for each other but both are wary that lies lace the growing attraction between them.

Leo warns the younger Jin: "Don't ruin our plan by turning a game into reality." Jin retorts with a sly grin, "Who cares as long as the plan works."

Once more, Zhang Yimou's "House of Flying Daggers" was a perfect work of visual poetry. The storyline in itself is not fantastic nor extraordinary but the execution is breathtakingly flawless. Zhang Yimou created a stunning tableau of elaborate costumes, striking cinematography, precise choreography and of course, intense music.
Having seen and enjoyed "Hero," I naturally embraced "House of Flying Daggers" in the same way. Zhang Yimou particuarly enjoys experimenting with colors and seasons that in the course of watching the movie, I envision him as a painter with artwork similar to the ones created by Jackson Pollock. The camera angles particularly capture breathtaking scenes of wide fields surrounded by forests at the edges which come in shades of green, red and orange. He also adds more movement and dynamism by employing the different seasons from refreshing spring to downright cold winter. Putting the shades of nature and human emotion together results in such awesome imagery which is rarely seen in films nowadays. The movie is filled with movement whether it be in the swaying of a blade of grass, the unfurling of pure silk, the fury of a snowstorm, the flight of an arrow, the bending of bamboo, the clashing of swords and even the slow cascade of a single tear from brimming eyes.

Mei dances for male customers in the Peony Pavillion.

As in any of her movies, Zhang has never failed to impress me. I've always thought of her as an iron butterfly. Her swift movements are tempered by grace. Portraying a blind warrior, her blank stares devoid of expression are easily superceded by the intense passion exhibited by the rest of her face and her body movement. The contrasting characters of Kenishiro and Lau complement each other. Lau is quiet and brooding. His movements are sure and refined, contributing to a more mature nature evident in Leo. The much younger Kenishiro is playful and reckless, giving Jin temper and turmoil characterized by youth. In contrast to the serious and controlled Leo, Jin acts much like his bow and arrow, shooting in any direction with ferocity and power. Looks like Legolas has finally found his match.

Andy Lau is the shrewd and cunning Leo.

Takeshi Kenishiro (Jin) tries to figure out how to get out of this mess.

The imagery employed so ruthlessly in the film speaks much about the nature of Asian culture - the delicate intertwining of fact and fiction, history and legend. While watching the movie, my parents must have said "Sobra naman 'to" too many times that if they were turned into electoral votes, they could figure prominently in the US election. Exaggeration is a trademark particularly of Chinese films but this is once more a unique representation of the culture of Asia. Watching a movie such as "House of Flying Daggers" brings into life the beauty of storytelling, where not only words are given importance but also imagination. It is evident that Asians have always banked on the amazing expanse of the human imagination and artistry. Our legends speak of this, our structures stand as testament and our art has become the eternal mouthpiece. The intricacies of Asian civilization have resulted to an extricable link between the world we see and the world we want to see. The West might sometimes view this as escapist but Asians always find reasons to take pride in their identity, especially when it has to do with beliefs and traditions deeply ingrained in their way of life.
The way I see it, for us Asians, life is one big epic. Our words are whispered through songs in the wind. Our daily hustle and bustle could be translated into graceful choreography. Passion is fire and water. Grief is ice and stone. Legs become wings and eyes become windows. In the end, life becomes a battle, a new day is eternity and every man, the hero.

Birthday Dinner

It was my Tita Little's birthday today. My mom and I trooped to her house for dinner. I was a little bit disappointed that my youngest niece (so far) Yana was not there. The last time I saw her was in June, a few weeks before I left for school. When my sister was home for her sem break about a month before, she was raving about how rambunctious Yana had become. It was even evident in her vocabulary.

I hung out with Nene Loida and (Atty.) Manang Gracious. The little kiddies were missing and we had no one to chase after. A little bit later, Lance and CJ arrived. CJ looked so pretty in her pink dress. Naturally she didn't recognize me. The last time I saw her all she cared about was sucking her thumb. Now she couldn't get her eyes off my Minnie Mouse t-shirt and was particularly hellbent on grabbing my robot wristwatch. She wouldn't even let me carry her! So I spent the rest of the night pestering her till she yelled to no end. Her murderous gaze drifts past the camera lens. If she could bit my fingers off, she would...except that she doesn't have a lot of teeth yet.

Atty. Gracious took some pictures using my cellphone. Perhaps she had too much lechon that Loida, Manang Joy (CJ's mom) and I ended up looking ethereal.

Last Week

Sem break has officially started. Time to rest my worn out little bones and shut my baggy little eyes. Though I will still be doing some school-related things while I'm here (just think thesis), I think I will get to spend more time with my pillow for the next three weeks.

I got home last Friday. My eyes were puffy for a lot of reasons including lack of sleep. I was dead-tired, given that my last week of school was immensely gruelling for the reasons enumerated below. This was how we looked like a good one week before:

Just so you know...the food on our plates is courtesy of Albergus, not Hen Lin!

No picture to serve as a testament to our horrible transformation but a description of the experience should lend enough details to send your imaginations puffing.

1. The weekend: Attended last Info Eco class in the morning. Was home about two hours past lunch. Remaining time was divided among three subjects: Business Intelligence, SIC and Advanced OS. Encoded about 3,000+ records for my data mining project for Business Intelligence. Began work on SIC documenation and reviewed for Advanced OS exam.

Breaktime from 9:30 PM onwards...my last glimpse of Mars!

2. Sunday: Attended church to ask for forgiveness (blame Mars and Chen Ling's "charming hipline") and request for Divine Intervention for stormy week ahead. Finished data mining analysis tests. Reviewed for Advance OS. Continued working on SIC documentation. Began drawing up schedule so I coul go on class trip to Tagaytay and not miss my morning flight on Friday.

3. Monday: Went to school early to test HR System for SIC but didn't get to do that. Spent the morning switching online photo albums and polishing SIC documentation. Back in the lab by 1 to do testing but had to stop since server was switched off at 1:30 for exam use. Toyed with SIC documentation and later studied for Advanced OS. SIC system still bug-filled.

Jostled with Ortigas yuppies at 6 pm for slot in almost-bursting MRT. Inseparable from OS book an hour later. Minor seizure attack at about 8 after spotting Ryan Agoncillo during Krystalla in between mouthfuls of sinigang. Studied for Advanced OS till 2:30 am.

4. Tuesday: Advanced OS test left me with temporary brain damage. Spent two hours imagining what could possibly be the difference between NFS3 and 4. Dragged my bag and steaming head out of the room with the thought that if I were a guy, I would have become an expert in "pambobola" by now.

Ryan Agoncillo sighting restore brain capacity to former glory.

Eyes glued to laptop till early morning for BI project and studying for BI exam. Last CD I listened to before going to sleep: the Love Ko 'To CD which came with the Jasmine Trio.

5. Wednesday: Lost all hope about getting to go on Tagaytay trip. Printed BI data mining project and two papers. Lugged limp body to school to do SIC tests. Shoulder about to break due to laptop weight. SIC system still incomplete.

Took BI exam till 9 with Jasmine Trias still crooning "pamparampampam" in my head. Headed to masters lab at 9:20 for SIC. Visited Mini Stop across the street at 9:30 for some popcorn and water. Spotted Hiram shooting (the ABS-CBN vans are such a giveaway). No sight of Kris Aquino's cleavage. News of Hiram shooting down the street made almost the entire male population disappear into thin air (one word was heard: "Heart").

Exchanged telenovela trivia with Leigh who worked a few computers away from me. Worked till 12 midnight while singing along to Smokey Mountain songs. SIC system still unfinished. Dags about to pull her hair out. Promised to go to school early the next day to finish SIC system. Too sleepy to feel nervous.

Raced down the stairs from the 4th floor of uber-dark school at 12:15 am. Just a way for overworked grad students to loosen up....by scaring each other nuts. Pats was not the least bit amused. Got home at 1. Slept on and off till morning.

6. Thursday (last day!): Sulking because Tagaytay trip was impossible. Got to school before 9. Jolted awake by a frightened Leigh because the computer where all our codes were crashed. Shaken out of my wits by Dags who was still stuck at home because documentation wouldn't print.

Started SIC presentation an hour and a half late. Praying CMA wouldn't bellow at us (and he didn't!).

Carried laptop out of the school at 1:30 pm only to be greeted by Tagaytay bound classmates. Had to bite my lip to stop myself from crying. Waved goodbye to everybody and prayed as I walked that I would pass Advanced OS. Had a little "drama session" with Em, Mich and Anna a bit later.

Addendum:

BREAKING NEWS!!!

Four days later...got phone call from Anna and text from Affie. The entire class passed Advanced OS. And...someone made a surprise appearance during Tagaytay trip, scaring the heck out of everybody! Must've been the "mumu" during our little trip from the fourth floor on Wednesday. Pats still was not the least bit amused!

Thesis Talk

It has been a week since my thesis defense. As of this writing, I am in school, waiting for my friend Anna who is bound to start her defense in about half an hour. I got to school before her and when she entered, I have every right to believe I looked exactly like her a week ago. On second thought, I think I looked far worse.

The entire masters class of 30 drew lots for the defense schedule in the latter part of September. There was no premonition of anything awful to happen that day. In fact, I was almost convinced it was about to pass me by as another regular day in my life which would end up unscraped in the bottom of my life's trash bin. So when my teacher Mr. P. called out that the lots were ready to be drawn, I drifted over to him like a zombie. I was half thinking "I studied statistics. What is the possibility of me getting the '1' lot?" I picked out a teeny weeny piece of roughly cut yellow paper which lay strewn on the table like cobblestones. When I opened the piece I selected, the reaction was somewhat delayed, perhaps because lack of sleep had greatly extended the time it would take a stimulus to travel to my half-fried brain. All I remember was seeing a vertical black line and I turned the paper around. WHAT???!!! I actually got number 1??? My brain went from fried to simmering. No it can't be! I just read it wrong. There must be another vertical line here somewhere...or even a little round figure which looks like Humpty Dumpty. But no! In one of those rare moments in my life, I could say I was first in something. I mean, I was never picked first during PE class when we played volleyball or basketball. Between my sister and me, I was not the first to learn how to tie my sneakers' shoelaces. In any activity which involves random numbers, I never got 1...not even when I played perya games or in Bingo! But no, when it comes to the one thing which would virtually dictate my life's outcome in the next eight months...I had to be number one!!!

So what followed was getting my nose buried in front of my computer. I was working on a topic which was relatively new so there were no dusty books yet available in the library to sneeze into. I spent every day downloading new PDFs into the computer and reading them till my eyes ached. Though I love to write, I now felt like I was actually forced to do so. I grew sick of MS Word and I found myself eyeing the little icon which said "Starcraft" on my desktop about a gazillion times. I later on decided to delete it...the icon I mean, not the program! When my written proposal was due a week before the defense date, I found myself doing a dramatic moment (take your pick "Maalaaala Mo Kaya" or "Magpakailanman") because there was something wrong with my paper and I had to undergo a serious perspective realignment. I cried a lot (What an understatement!) but after about an hour I was fine again, typing in front of the computer while munching wafers and playing Utada Hikaru mp3s. Attribute it to a phone chat with my parents and repeated murmurings of "Lord, help me" as I wrote.

Good thing I was able to finish my proposal on Wednesday morning (it was due on Thursday). By that afternoon, I was so tired I could barely lift my butt from the sofa. I just lay there with a pillow and a blanket as I watched Samurai X with my sister, thinking how pathetic Cori was for wasting away because Kenshin left. Later on, we watched the delayed telecast of the Amazing Race and as I witnessed Nicole break down in the bike ride detour, the reception was interrupted all of a sudden. My sister and I decided it was time to end the day and we slept at 10 PM, 4 hours earlier than my usual sleeping time.

Defense happened last week and I was a nervous wreck as I stood in front of Mr. P. I rattled as I spoke and he apparently enjoyed my look of utter fear. The ten minutes I spent standing there with my Powerpoint presentation was almost an eternity. When I was done, I stood there trying to look pensive and controlled when in reality, my insides were like rambled pieces of a jigsaw puzzle mixed with Dinuguan. I thought "Another minute of silence and I will end up like Nicole on that ski slope!" Mr. P cut through my silent scream when he said my thesis was "theasible (feasible thesis)." If I did not have self control, I would have bolted out the door and made a mad dash to the chapel. But of course, it was not utterly perfect. There were still modifications to be made but passing was enough.

I hope Anna does all right. I'm going back there in a little while when it's her turn. Actually if I had my way, I would want everyone in the class to pass!

Ain't Going on 30 Yet

When I was in high school, I watched movies every weekend. It was a great way for my parents and I to spend Friday nights and relax. I never missed a single good movie. As a matter of fact, when my classmates would ask me if I have seen this movie or that, my answer would be more often than not a "yes." This has changed a lot since I went into graduate school. The last movie I saw was Spiderman 2. What's even funnier is that I was forced to watch Spiderman 2 by my younger sister. What was worse than having to endure the overly-sugar-sweet-enough-to-make-me-puke movie was my sister tagging me as weird because I yawned more than the number of webs Spiderman spun. I can still recall her voice pounding at my ears "You didn't even find that romantic at all? What is seriously wrong with you?" Oh no,the image of red-haired Kirsten Dunst running off into the New York sunset wth pigeons flying off into the sky, arms full with her heavy wedding gown as she dashed towars Peter Parker's apartment (This can't count as a spoiler now, can it?) gave me goosebumps...and almost hurled me into the theater's loo. Don't get me wrong...I don't have anything against Kirsten Dunst or romantic angles. I liked the fact that the movie was full of simple lessons which people oftentimes overlook. I simply have everything against the romantic element of the movie. Haha don't get me started on the scene where Spiderman made a web for MJ to rest on after he rescued her from Mr. Metal Octopus with Schizophrenia. The night will never end.
So why did I simply not see another movie to rid myself of the horrible images that watching Spiderman 2 forever imprinted in my mind? I simply did not have the time. Everyday I was in a constant, cosmic battle for supremacy not only with my computer keyboard...but with my alarm clock as well I had papers to submit, teachers to please, quizzes to study for, overflowing trains to squeeze into...not to mention, nymphomaniac passengers to avoid. I see movie posters pass by me everyday and I think "That I wanna see" but then I end up not doing so. In contrast to my high school status as Joan Rivers of movies, I now even had difficulty remembering what a movie theater looked like inside.
But all this changed two weeks ago. That week had been one of the worst in my entire life (thesis, nothing more) and I practically felt spent and worse than a worn out bongo drum. My mom called me and ordered me to watch a movie or else she would get really mad with me. Now how many daughters can get as lucky as I am? And to think that I adamantly refused! But due to parental pressure, I sallied forth to the mall with my sister in tow. We saw two movies that day. The thrill of sitting on the soft chair with popcorn beside me and seeing faces a hundred times as big as mine was relieving that yesterday, I saw another movie again. So for two weeks, I saw three movies - the Nicholas Sparks novel "The Notebook," Jennifer Garner's laugh-out-loud flick "13 Going on 30" and the Tom Hanks starrer "The Terminal." "The Notebook" was a pretty good film and I admit I watched it because I wanted to see how they were going to butcher one of my favorite Nicholas Sparks novels. The cinematography was good but it was too passionate for my taste. However I found little tears rolling down my cheeks whenever the scene shifted to the aged Noah and Allie in the same way that the book reduced me into a little pink marshmallow. Laugh about it but those scenes made me remember Mamang and Papang, my late paternal grandparents. Though the movie was not exactly torta, it lacked the emotional depth and immortal quality which could only be effected by the words of Nicholas Sparks.

If I dismissed "The Notebook" that easily, the other two movies have stuck on my head like dried gum on a sneaker's sole. It's been a week since I saw "13 Going on 30" but it still keeps on coming back to me as if I had last song syndrome.

If Spiderman 2 made my sister think I was a total loony, "13 Going on 30" would have utterly convinced her that I fit well in straightjacket. When we went to the washroom after the movie, she started pointing at my now sagging eyebags and howled horrendously. I looked at myself in the mirror and I saw that Jennifer Garner had morphed my eyes from little pockets into huge sacks. My sister was having a fit and as she pointed her wrangly fingers at me she said "What is wrong with you? You have sniffles because of a comedy?"

Jennifer Garner makes 30 look good!

It is true, "13 Going on 30" was a funny movie. Watching it made me think of my years growing up in my maternal grandparents' house. We used to live in a room in the second floor of the house. I would teeter across the hall and after a few paces, I would get to the rooms of my two older cousins who were sort of my older sisters. Seeing 13-year old Jenna Rink conjured memories of Manang Apple wandering out of the house in hot pink spandex, plastic hoop earrings, pola dot stockings and teased hair which smelled of Spray Net...or of Manang Maya plastering her walls with Brooke Shields and Phoebe Cates posters and singing to songs of the New Kids on the Block and Spandau Ballet. When she began dancing to Michael Jackson's "Thriller," I thought about my mom's vinyl collection which is currently gathering dust in the living room. When Jenna's next door neighbor and best friend Matt whipped out his Casio, I remembered my very first Yamaha mini organ which could play anything from Endless Love to (again) Michael Jackson's "Beat It."
As the title implies, "13 Going on 30" is a nice square off of "The Parent Trap" and "Somewhere in Time. Jenna Rink is a few days shy of being thirteen and is in a peculiar age when everything is so confusing that the greatest miracle would be fitting in. She wears retainers and is best friends with her plump neighbor Matt who spends his time taking pictures andd playing keyboards on his Casio. Jenna desperately wants to become a member of a group consisting of the most popular girls in school that she does their homework for them. On her 13th birthday, she invites them to her house for a party. She wears makeup and stuffs her shirt with tissue to get the needed lift, trying her best to imitate the models in the magazine who are described to be "thirty, flirty and thriving." But then the group of poppy girls play a trick on her and lock her up in the closet. As she cries out of desperation and hurt, she wails "I wanna be thirty, flirty and thriving." When she wakes up the next day, she's 30 years old, lives in an upscale Manhattan apartment, has a hockey jock for a boyfriend and works as a fashion magazine editor - the life that she supposedly wants.

At first Jenna loves the attention, the money, the clothes and the career as much as she loves the fact that her lift is now au naturelle and no longer just stuffed tissue. As the movie progresses, she discovers that she does not talk to her parents anymore and has long since avoided contacting Matt. Her relationships lack substance and depth and her ambition has begun to swallow her slowy, inch by inch. Her 13 year old mindset tries to salvage some aspects of her life which she has totally neglected but then there were still areas which were too far out to be pulled back in. Yes, she was thirty, flirty and thriving but still the same lost little girl of thirteen.
I laughed endlessly while watching the movie. But I also cried uncontrollably for a lot of reasons. First of all, I missed being thirteen. I missed worrying about basic algebra or simply getting the volleyball over the net during PE class. I missed gushing over Mark Owen and I missed thinking about whether or not I was going to get through high school. I missed worrying about the simplest things and I missed having enough time to dream and change my mind. Bottomline is, I missed being fearless and carefree.

At age 13. My love for food is very much evident.

Now I am at an age when my dreams are put to the litmus test. The world is now more worn and the challenges are new and intimidating. I have grown to become more careful when it comes to my decisions but the world is cruel to people who want to have sure footing. More often than not, it is a careful blend of foresight and an "I'll cross the bridge when I get there" thought. Now is my time to take action and to mold the world to what I want it to be. The question is, how?
Stories of success hound me from newspapers to the little anecdotes my teachers in university tell the class. The tales are endless and odd in mixture but most of what I get is anything but fancy daisy prints on lace and cotton. It's all about surviving in a dog-eat-dog world where the nice girls always finish last. One of my grandfather's friends gave him a book which he later on passed on to me to read. It outlined the laws of power and I found it in an interesting read because it invoked a lot of details on political history but I barely reached halfway when I put it down and pushed it back in my shelf. The world that I once saw in shades of pastel has now become a tinge of gray. My friend Sue once teased me that I had tendencies of becoming a megalomaniac. True, I can be driven and hellbent especially when it has to do with something I want. This is the world now. Grey. Survive. Hard. Ruthless. Fear. Win.
As those bead of cold sweat form on my temples, a tinker from a music box stirs in the silence and jolts me from my stupor. In the same way that Jenna came to a realization that she had lost herself at 30, I contemplate and say to myself "Do I want to be like that?" Would the chubby thirteen-year old me with thick bangs and a scraped knee say to her 30-year old counterpart "I want to be just like you?"

This is a fun question. If I were asked who I want to look like when I'm 30, I'd say Zhao Wei. Fine, she isn't 30 yet but is almost at that age!


My sister shot me an obvious retort "Hello?! Welcome to the real world!" I am pulled back to the real world again, the image of daisy prints on lace and cotton dissipating in the distance. She is right after all, that the world is cruel, the world is harsh, the world is dark and grey. But she forgets that the world has mornings, the world has rainbows, the world has rain. I want to survive, I want to win, I want to get what I want...nothing has changed. But since I am at this point in my life when I finally am charting my path and actually preparing to get my knees down on muck, everyday I bend down to get my hands dirty, my 13-year old face will always fill my eyes and say "I want to be just like you."

Now don't get me started on Spiderman. After all when I was watching it, I'd bet my thirteen year old self would say "Why on earth are you watching that?"

P.S. It's getting late. My thoughts on "The Terminal" next time.