Of Valentine's Day Lists and Queues

I should have known today was the wrong day to go grocery shopping. But to be rather honest about it, I really thought that all the lovers of the world would be congregating in restaurants or cafes and not in the grocery store. As Master Yoda goes, "So wrong I was."
I was picking up some last minute things for my friend's wedding tomorrow when I was asked to drop by the grocery store to pick up a dozen eggs. The lines in the check-out counter were kilometric and even if there were hearts dangling all over the place, I could say "all the loving'" was the the last thing everybody was feeling.

I lined up at the express counter which allows payment for baskets or carts carrying 15 items only. It was exactly like the rest of the supermarket - bursting with people jostling for space, toddlers crying and kids going through the gondolas near the counter, asking mama to buy a stick of gum or a bag of candy. A guy and his best friend were ahead of me, carrying a basket of chips and some prune juice (or so I think it was prune juice). I cradled the eggs on one hand while I started texting with the other. I was dead-tired since school had started early in the morning and all I wanted to go home, have dinner and then walk the dog before going to sleep. I was suspiciously eyeing a cart half-full with groceries which was parked right beside the express check-out counter, wondering what in the world it was doing there.

The next thing I know, this lady of about 40 elbows her way past us and starts pushing the cart in between the two guys ahead of me and the girl standing in front of them. "Excuse me," she said. "That's my spot," she indicated, pointing at the microscopic space between the girl and the two guys ahead of me.

Bewildered, I glanced at the sign in the counter to check if I was indeed in the right queue. The sign remained the same, still screaming "Express Counter, 15 items or less." My eyes ricocheted to the lady's half-full cart. I am no mathematician but there was no way either beyond or below the stratosphere that the items inside the cart would amount to 15. It was more like 15 sets of 15.

She kept on jabbing her cart at the eensie-weensie space in front of the two guys. One of them, a guy in a brown shirt with closely cropped hair let out a very polite protest. "Ma'am," he began to say, "this is an express lane. Only fifteen items are allowed per transaction."

I eyed the lady who was now teetering close to an uproar. Her eyes bulged as she started pulling items out of her cart. "I know," she said curtly. "That's why I'm transferring my items to a basket," she declared.

She should not have said basket. She should have said basketS. Yes, that's with an "S" as huge as the Rio Grande.

She and her husband started pulling out one basket after another, filling each basket with, you guessed it, fifteen items and then lining them up in the express counter. The two guys and I watched with eyes aghast as she did this rather mechanically, dropping one item after another into one basket, two baskets, three baskets…four…

I had never been so flabbergasted in my entire life. Well, no, maybe I have been before but what I meant was, I had never been this stumped in the longest time. We all know very well what the point of having an express counter is. The name precisely implies its purpose. But this lady was being smart about the entire set-up and was working around a prohibition, much like a lot of people in this country. In fact, much like a lot of lawyers in this country. Haha. Anyway, if she was tired, so were we. If she hated long lines, so did we. If she wanted to go home, so did we. If she had a long day, she could take a look at mine and realize it was equally as intense. We were in the same boat, pari passu as my Banking teacher would say. It just so happened that the sign technically allowed us to fall in line right there but the same could not be said for her. But, no! She was going to have her way and we either had to take it, leave it or face up to her. And man, did I want to stand up to her, to tell her she can't just push us around like that, not when the sign has clearly chosen our side, no matter which court in the land takes jurisdiction of our potential dispute.

I wound my fingers around the egg crate and did a mental countdown that my mom told me to do whenever I felt my internal fuse box starts to spew fumes of some sort. "Patience," I told myself. When part of the plastic crate went "creak," I stopped with the squeezing lest I crack one of the eggs. I bit my lip so as to diffuse the anger that was now welling up within me.

"1…2…3…" I began to count when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, I just burst like a bubble - and started snickering. It wasn't a sarcastic, sinister kind of laugh. It was laugh that was initially born out of audacity and was now nurtured by nothing but sheer amusement. I stifled my gurgles with my handkerchief and turned away from the sight of the lady and the two men before me. True, this lady was mean and unfair but, in a way, she was also outrageously, creatively funny. And besides, it was Valentine's Day and the world needs some love going around.

The two men ahead of me were fuming mad and moved to the express counter beside us which had an even longer queue. I followed suit, still with my handkerchief practically glued to my mouth, still fending off sporadic snickers. The line moved slowly until I finally got to the cashier and paid for my plastic crate of eggs. As the bagger handed me the plastic bag with my purchase, I eyed the the counter where I had originally stood earlier.

The lady still stood there, two people away from the counter, her baskets clumped around her like eggs arranged in a mother bird's nest.

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Since tomorrow is Valentine's Day, I figured I could at least ride along with the lovey-dovey feel and the deluge of pink and red. Back in college, my friends and I used to have a movie marathon come February 14 (of the weekend closest to that day). We'd rent the sappiest, cheesiest romantic movies, pile up on the chips and chocolate and lug around huge bottles of soda then soak ourselves in a jacuzzi of all the schmaltz possible, non-stop from morning till…er…early the next morning.

Now since I am practically drowning in all the saccharine possible, I'll just pour on more sugar and get as mawkish as possible as I go through my list of favorite romantic books and movies and, of course, sappy love songs.

Though I've never been a huge fan of the romantic genre when it comes to my books, there have been a number of standouts in my bookshelf - and nothing beats the classics. Wuthering Heights is as sweeping as the lush moors which bear witness to Catherine and Heathcliff's turbulent love for each other. Pride and Prejudice is quirky and entertaining in its own right - no matter how quaint it may seem at every page - and I indeed have lost count of the number of times I asked myself, "Will Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy end up with each other?" Nicholas Sparks churns out one charming story after another but my favorites have to be the book-turned-movie A Walk to Remember and The Rescue, a poignant story about a troubled fireman, a single mother and her autistic son. An interesting pick is Train Man, a Japanese novel of sorts which actually looks like an Internet forum, complete with posts from fictional netheads and even graphics. It follows the travails of a quiet, nerdy guy who falls for a girl he meets on a train in Tokyo. Not knowing how to ask her out, he asks for help from an Internet forum where anonymous people all help in, pitching in advice bits here and dating tips there.

In terms of movies, rom-coms are among my favorites but I also like the serious ones. One of my ultimate favorites is the monochromatic classic Casablanca. I love the contrast between the sardonic yet sentimental Rick (Humphrey Bogart) and the sweet but tortured Ilsa (Ingrid Bergman). The movie's dark conclusion on the airport runway, along with Rick's trademark swipe at Ilsa ("Here's looking at you, kid."), will always make this movie memorable. Roman Holiday is generally light, fun, predictable and made me pine for my own Vespa. However what makes it a choice pick is the movie's final scene, after Princess Ann (Audrey Hepburn) ends her press conference and walks out, leaving newsman Joe (Gregory Peck) all alone to traverse an empty hallway. The miniseries version of Pride and Prejudice did not disappoint. Neither did Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle who were both born to play Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett, respectively.

A little drama always makes a movie a little bit more endearing. Who could forget a Lloyd Dobler (John Cusack) standing outside Diane Court's (Ione Sky) bedroom window, holding up a boombox playing Peter Gabriel's "In Your Eyes" in the movie Say Anything? Rain also adds a bit more drama to any film. A perfect example is another favorite, the Korean film The Classic where university student Ji-Hae (Son Ye Jin) manages to run from building to building while staying dry, thanks to her secret crush Sang-Min (Jo In Sung), who holds his now-dripping jacket over her head the entire time. The movie itself was actually a good combination of both light and heartbreaking scenes. By the end, I actually felt rather bipolar in a nice way. In the tradition of quirky rom-coms, Tootsie will always be cute, endearing and everything adorable. But my top pick would have to be the superstar-packed Love, Actually, a movie I love watching over and over again courtesy of Hugh Grant dancing, Andrew Lincoln playing Christmas carols on a radio for Keira Knightley while flipping flashcards, Colin Firth slow typing and mumbling awkward Portuguese when he proposes to Lucia Moniz with the entire community in attendance...the list never ends.

To complete the schmaltz attack and the Valentine fever, music has to enter the picture. Apo Hiking Society's Panalangin is easy on the ears yet bursting with optimism, especially in the new version of the song courtesy of Moonstar88. One of my favorites, Take That's Back for Good, has poetic prose for lyrics while Jon McLaughlin's So Close is, well, enchanting. Side A's Forevermore is one of my ultimate favorite love songs as it is brimming with hope and promise. I keep my fingers crossed that someday, I'd get the chance to sing it for one or two of my best friends on their respective (future) altar dates. That and, maybe, Endless Love (we could borrow Mr. Schuster for a while).

Love songs though do not always have to be sweet and sappy. I also like stirring, emotive songs sung by hauntingly beautiful voices such as You're Still You by Josh Groban, Every Little Thing by Dishwalla and Yuki no Hana (Snowflower) by Japanese singer Mika Nakashima. But in terms of a song being both "haunting" and "beautiful," no other song fits the description to a perfect G-clef other than You by The Carpenters. There is nothing grand about the music or the lyrics. As a matter of fact, it is the song's innate simplicity that makes it absolutely perfect in my scale (pun absolutely intended). After all, lines like "You are one who makes me happy" and "You are one of the few things worth remembering" are certainly quite tough to beat as they are rather plain to see but beautiful when heard.

Fine.

Perspective Reorganization

I've been home for barely a week.

In a rather strange/funny twist of a consequence, I've also barely spent time at home ever since I got back. The only time I'm with my entire family is either during breakfast or dinner. My dogs probably wonder why I'm gone in the morning and come home late at night. And I keep forgetting to tell my mom that the fresh coat of green paint she had applied on one wall in my room is not as bad as it looks from the earlier pictures she sent me through MMS.

As a lot of people know, my grandfather has been in the hospital for the past two weeks. He has been wheeled in and wheeled out like this for the last three months. Before I came home, the last time I saw him was in January. He was doing very well and could hoist a Monobloc chair by himself, limping gait and all. Now he's confined to a hospital bed 24/7 and I have to get used to the fact that he cannot even scratch his own foot when it feels itchy. To be honest about it, scratching his foot is just one of the less serious things he can no longer do.

In another stranger/funnier twist to our current hospital adventure, my grandmother also got sick with pneumonia last Wednesday! The doctors allowed both my grandparents to be confined in the same room although my grandfather's constant infusion with steroids makes him predisposed to infection thus the need to keep the room's built-in plastic dividers constantly unfolded. It does get pretty hilarious at times, especially when I sit in one corner of the room and I see two beds with two people lying in them and IV tubes snaking about in metal poles right beside them. Sometimes when my grandmother needs to go to the bathroom, she drags her IV along with her and stops about 6 feet away from my grandfather and starts waving. In fact, my sister and I are planning on making them one of those can-and-string contraptions so that they don't have to shout at each other all the time. For the meantime, we make them sing duets and I think it becomes some form of lung exercise. Sometimes I get the feeling that the nurses wonder if we do have an idea of how serious my grandparents' respective medical conditions can get but then, just like Patch Adams, we believe laughter is a really good form of medicine. After all, in occasions such as this, I have learned that it really helps to couple one's faith with a huge dose of humor just so the "ups" rise higher than they normally could and the "downs" are not as low as expected.

Actually other lessons have been learned in the process. I do not think of this as a form of escapism. I'd like to call it something like perspective reorganization, a fancy term for what others may call viewing the glass as half full when it can also be seen as half empty. I do not deny that there are a lot of things going around which can make the heart seem heavier but I refuse to be weighed down by negativity. My cousin Striker took me out to dinner tonight in Maki with his girlfriend right after his hospital shift ended at 9 PM. It was good to finally get out of the hospital and have some fresh tempura and as he drove me home, I exchanged more stories about chewy cookies, sotanghon, baked oysters and fried chicken with his girlfriend who, apparently, was a foodie just like him! That (and a vision of Mrs. Fields cookies on a plate) certainly worked to ease the stress, tiredness and frustration off my shoulders. Next time maybe we can go out for some nai cha after every shift.

Apart from that, here is a rundown of the other good things about practically living in the hospital:

* New version of family reunions
- My entire family usually gets together on birthdays, weddings or holidays or other occasions which call for a celebration. This time around, my family came up with a shift schedule wherein we each take 4-hour shifts to keep an eye out for our two senior patients. This is just to make sure that at least one person is on hand to be with the both of them. But that does not mean you can't drop by during another person's shift. For instance, last week and yesterday, I got to spend some time with Manang Apple since I've really missed hanging out with her. I also get a kick out of playing matchmaker when it comes to Manang Gracious and a certain other person. Sometimes, M.B., one of my cousins, joins us vicariously when she entertains my grandfather's request to play old love songs in her morning radio show. The best day of the week comes when a family member brings food like pancit and arroz caldo...although there is no greater hit than Aiyi's truly amazing taco pizza which, I believe, is making me pudgy! Yum!

* Catching up on reading
- During my shift, when my two wards are in lullaby land, I do two things: catch up on my reading and the movies I've missed. I've been on an Audrey Niffenegger hiatus since January and I am soooo happy to be finally reunited with Clare and Henry. When I'm done, I'll be seeing some Jodi Picoult, David Baldacci, Mary Higgins Clark and Nicholas Sparks. Yehey for the bookworm!

* DVD marathons
- My grandmother loves to watch movies, especially anything which stars KC Concepcion. So I've seen "For the First Time" one too many times for comfort. I also have some musical selections for her like "Hairspray" and "Mamma Mia," both of which she really enjoyed. Tomorrow we'll probably be watching another Tagalog flick and it will surely be interesting because my grandmother does not speak Tagalog. Neither does she understand the language. Yipee for the team of translators!

* American Idol with guest judges
- Last week it was different to watch American Idol with my grandparents. My grandmother was ranting about how she didn't get my taste in music or TV shows. For instance, she looked baffled when my sister and I did a standing O for Adam Lambert. She thought he was from Ghostbusters or something like that. My grandfather, on the other hand, was more critical than Simon Cowell as he made thumbs down gestures at the end of every number. He fell asleep halfway through the show, though. Yahoo!

* Bonding with our Creator
- It's great to bond with my grandparents over a meal or a good conversation. But nothing beats praying together. I've never really prayed with my grandparents on a one-on-one basis before. Throughout the week, I sat on my grandfather's bedside and I read to him from my Bible. If I was up to it, I'd ask him questions. Sometimes he'd answer me, sometimes he'd tell me to read on. Sometimes he'd finish the passage for me, just like what he did in the morning of Good Friday when I was reading a passage about the two thieves crucified with Jesus in Calvary. The word "paradise" all together had a brand new meaning for the two us. Yes indeed!

* A 58-year old love team
- Come June 11, my grandparents will officially hit the the 58-year mark of being married to each other. Their marriage hasn't been perfect, that's for sure. What amazes - or surprises me - is that after 58 years of being together, they can still wake up in the morning with new realizations about each other. Yihee!

* Giving back
- Call this a case of role reversal. My grandparents have given their children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren so much. It's time for us flip the coin or put the car on reverse. At the point of our lives when we needed them, they were always there for us. Taking care of them is, for me, not an obligation. It is as natural as a river taking its proper course - in the same way that in a person's life, everything has to run through the same route.

Bowled Over by Down Under

"Marley and Me."

I frowned at my sister. We were standing in front of the ticket booth in Glorietta, trying to decide what flick to see when we chose to drop by the cinema on impulse. After all, we had both been itching to watch a decent movie for the past three weeks in order to block out the recurring images of Tanging Ina in our heads but our weekends were always full.

"Noooo!" I protested. The last three weeks have been really artery-stretching in terms of stress and this particular Saturday was no exception, especially when you get called on to recite with absolutely nothing in your hands except the warm, smooth feel of the surface of a wooden desk in contrast to your cold, clammy palms.

"I wanna see Australia," I declared. After all, even if the Marley puppy is really cute, the goo goo eyes do not even have a sliver of a chance against one of my biggest crushes in the world in terms of stress relief. After much cajoling, she did give up on her puppy love and needless to say, when the end credits to "Australia" started rolling up the screen, she got much more than she bargained for in terms of the animal kingdom.

Nicole Kidman and Hugh Jackman both headline Baz Luhrmann's Australia. The title is practically a give away if the actors don't do the job. Nicole Kidman is Lady Sarah Ashley, an English aristocrat as formal as her thoroughbreds. Her husband owns and manages a cattle ranch calle Faraway Downs in the Land Down Under. She flies to Australia to be with Lord Ashley and is met by Drover (Jackman), a man who works for her husband in the ranch on a commission basis and vaguely reminds me of a buffer, way better looking version of Aragorn. After enduring a long, dusty ride through Australia's unforgiving terrain (where she has her first brush with a kangaroo both in action and in death), she finds her lifeless husband lying on the kitchen table in Faraway Downs, allegedly skewered with a spear by an aborigine nicknamed "King George." Sarah is introduced to the hired help in Faraway Downs - among them an alcoholic accountant, an Asian cook, an aborigine woman and her daughter and Faraway Downs' cattle manager named Fletcher (David Wenham of The Lord of the Rings, 300). Fletcher has apparently fathered a child with the aborigine woman's daughter, an intelligent little boy named Nullah who is actually the grandson of "King George." Nullah is labelled by the Caucasians as one of the "creams," a derogatory term used to refer to the "stolen generations," a growing population of children of aborigine women sired by white men. Such children are usually taken away from their mothers and brought to "mission centers" where they supposedly are educated and cared for.

Through Nullah's stories, Sarah discovers that Fletcher also works for Carney (Bryan Brown of The Thornbirds), her husband's rival in the cattle business and Australia's biggest supplier of beef. Fletcher had been secretly transporting some of the cattle to Carney's ranch and had also tricked Lord Ashley to believe that Faraway Downs was operating at a loss. She fires Fletcher but is left with no one to help her with the cattle. To bring in money for Faraway Downs, she has to deliver the cattle to Darwin for loading to a ship. She turns to Drover who, at first, turns her down as he supposedly hates being tied down to anything or anyone. But then a man can change his mind when the price is right...which, in this case, came in the form of Sarah's prized capricorn.

After journeying through the desert with a lot of setbacks in the form of bushfires, stampedes and poisoned water courtesy of Fletcher's sinister mind, Sarah manages to make her delivery. Throughout her ordeal, she forms an extraordinarily strong bond with Nullah and falls in love with Drover (come on, who wouldn't?). She seems to have settled in Faraway Downs in an almost idyllic, slow mo-perfect fairytale ending with the flowers and the white-washed house but Fletcher persistenyly snaps at their heels as he schemes to acquire the cattle ranch. As if that were enough and with the second world war brewing above their heads like the dust in the Australian outback, Sarah realizes she could be losing more than just Faraway Downs as Nullah yearns to be with his grandfather to learn his heritage through a coming-of-age ceremony called a walkabout and Drover still battles with commitment and settling down. And, as they say, commitment used to be the good guy.

Clocking in at almost 3 hours, Australia is not a pain to watch. The storyline was, for starters, pretty simple and straightforward. With the brain functions set aside, it was relatively easy to be swept away with the film, thanks to its epic-like appeal and old Hollywood glamour. As usual, Baz Luhrmann did not disappoint. Australia stands out like a white dress in a rack of red when compared to his earlier works as it actually attempts to be normal in the sense that there is a near-absence of Luhrmann's theatrics and exaggeration. But Luhrmann still manages to be grand and ostentatious despite the seeming normalcy with his breathtaking cinematography which he perfectly couples with his signature slow-mos and close-ups. The action, drama and romance are all so real, I almost felt like I were part of the movie. I loved his shots of the horses whipping up dust in the outback as they ran around Faraway Downs, the shots of of Sarah, Drover and company as they steered the cattle through the outback, the aerial shots of the cattle stampede during the bushfire in the cliff and the last shot toward the end of the film where Drover's small boat with the white sails carrying the half-aborigine, half-Caucasian children cuts through thick smoke and a mass of charred ships. To really hit the nail on the head, the cinematic experience of watching Austrlia is further enhanced by a rich musical score punctuated by occasional aborigine chanting, giving the film that swell that comes with the approach of the tide.

Nicole Kidman is engaging as Sarah. One notes her character's subtle development as she starts off as a distant, well-bred aristocrat thrust into the wild, untamed world of the Australian outback and later evolves into a woman who finds her own strength but never loses her heart. The first half or so of the movie is bursting with her seeming endless supply of faux pas as she glares and gloats at Jackman, sings a jumbled, operetta version of "Over the Rainbow" in terms of both lyrics and notes and attempts to do telekinesis on cows. What I love about her character is that she is not melodramatic. She is deeply hurt when Drover walks out of her life and is heartbroken when Nullah is taken away from her and yet she remains in complete control of herself and her pain. I was so thankful she didn't hurl herself at pillows or pound at the wall like a human hammer.

Hugh Jackman was not new to the scruffy-looking, sweaty, tanned character that was the Drover. He always fits such roles to a T and the predictability was not necessarily a liability as far as he was concerned...but then again, I profess I am biased. The screen could almost spontaneously combust everytime he came up, whether he appears with or without facial hair. In one particular scene which featured a missions ball in Darwin which Sarah attended, it became pretty easy to identify all the girls in the theater. In almost all movies where a scene involves a prom, a party or a ball of sorts, the girl always makes the grand entrance ala Cinderella. In this movie, the roles are switched as the limelight falls on a clean-shaved, slick Hugh Jackman in a white suit. My sister started wriggling like a glow worm and pinching me like crazy. I myself almost yanked the armrest off from being swoony when I realized that a buzz had started in the theater and all the other females were also doing their own versions of pinching, punching, silent screaming and, yes, armrest-wrenching. Jackman's scenes with Kidman were always tender and heartfelt and they never seemed over-extended or mushy.

The runaway scene stealer though was Nullah (Brandon Walters). He had beautiful, soulful eyes which lent Nullah sensitivity, intelligence and a dash of mischievousness every now and then. To me, Nullah's character was a pillar in the movie as a spine is to a book. His mixed heritage pretty much indicated how he both belonged to the country of his ancestors and the new world which the Caucasian settlers brought with them. He loved his aboriginal predecessors but also shared a strong bond with Sarah and Drover. Among all the characters in the movie, he had the best lines, the most memorable being "I'll sing you to me" which always left me feeling like I was shot in the heart or something.

Addendum: The song which plays as the credits roll in the end is really nice. It's called "By the Boab Tree" by Angela Little.

From Book to Movie: Twilight

"I'd never given much thought to how I would die — though I'd had reason enough in the last few months — but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this.
Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I loved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something."

Amidst mist, mountains and Bella's somber narration, "Twilight" became the movie which used to be a mere visualization confined to the corners of my imagination. Perhaps becuase of my previously doomed love affairs with books-turned-movies (like The Lost World, For One More Day, A Walk to Remember and The Da Vinci Code, just to name a few), I have learned not to raise my expectations to levels as high as Emmett Cullen's leaps and bounds through a dimly lit forest. That mindset, together with a generally good cast and an ear-worthy soundtrack, made the movie version of the popular Stephenie Meyer novel good enough for my ratings scale.

What I noted about reviewers who deadpanned "Twilight" into butcher fodder was the aversion for the new, unfamiliar portrayal of vampires as pale creatures with a conscience, an alternative diet, Sweet Valley sappiness and a passion for supersonic baseball. These are elements of the plot which are not to be taken against the movie because, after all, they were all merely channelled from the book...and the book was a hit. What the movie sorely lacked though was the book's subtle hints at depth, such as the underlying theme of an endlesss search for redemption, which were overlooked all in the name of Bella and Edward's love story about a vampire who has sworn off human blood but falls for a human whose scent was, in his words, just his "brand of heroin."

The reel Edward (Robert Pattinson) is not as dreamy as Bella's description of him in the book but then again, Bella is all of seventeen and, just like any other teenager, very prone to exaggeration. He is not as horrid as some fans have initially described but he has just the right combination of "good," "lethal" and "dangerous" to his looks. Add that with pretty impressive acting chops and brooding eyes, it becomes a no-brainer as to why Pattinson is teenage world's newest poster boy. He perfectly captures Edward's dual personality of being both Debussy-sensitive and racecar driver-edgy. He does channel images of James Dean and River Phoenix in some angles, especially in the scene where he stepped out of his now-famous Volvo with Bella in his side and sunglasses over his eyes. Sighing then does become inevitable.

In the book, Bella was not whiny or frilly. Neither was she grungy nor rebellious. She always seemed grounded and balanced, characteristics which Kristen Stewart puts forward rather well in the movie. Emily Browning (The Spiderwick Chronicles), one of the early favorites for the role of Bella, was not an odd choice but she certainly looked a bit too exotic for the Bella I imagined who seemed to be straddling that gray area between plain and pretty. Stewart is far from plain but neither is she movie star gorgeous so she did fit the role pretty well. Her deep voice gives Bella strength, character and maturity which set her apart from her peers in the book. This was perfectly illustrated in one scene where Bella had to pretend to be sick with living with her father in Forks so that she could escape from the nomadic vampire James who was hunting her down. She was pulling clothes off her closet and stuffing them into her suitcase without the usual drama and high-pitched yelling just like Bella in the book - a young girl forced into maturity a little too early.

Central to the movie's plot was Pattinson and Stewart's chemistry which bubbled, frothed and simmered like a fairytale witch's cauldron. I admit to holding my breath more than just a couple of times in the entire duration of the movie, like in scenes where Bella and Edward danced to Iron & Wine in the prom gazebo, furtively swapped microscope slides in lab or talked to each while standing on tree branches way above ground level. However, some scenes were a disappointment, like the famous meadow scene which seemed a bit dated and wanting. Another scene which almost got me wrenching my armrests off the chair was the part where Edward said one of Twilight's most quoted lines: "So the lion fell inlove with the lamb." It was bordering on cheesy and corny that I found myself cringing with embarrassment. Conspicuously absent was Bella and Edward's verbal banter as they picked each other's brains, something I looked forward to as I turned every page of the book. True, Bella was always ranting about how "beautiful" Edward was physically, but I think what brought them together was not really the oggling but the verbal exchange.

Other letdowns included Edward's "sparkle scene," when he stepped out into the sunlight to show Bella what vampire skin would look like uncovered. I did hope for a bit more sparkle, the kind which does not let the audience go looking for it and then end with an "Oh there it is!" The sparkle effect was too subtle for comfort. I also had a problem with some actor choices for the roles. For instance, Rosalie Hale (Nikki Reed) was described as the most beautiful person in the world and honestly, she just did not measure up to it physically. As a matter of fact, I found Alice Cullen (Ashley Greene) a lot prettier than her (I don't think I am biased just because I do love Alice in the book). The movie also started a tad bit too slow for me for the first 1/3 but after that, the pacing did pick up rather well. The speed effects also seemed dated and were reminiscent of a slightly improved version of "Charmed." They also have to work on the makeup blending. The faces of the actors are too white compared to their necks and I vividly remember the very first scene where Carlisle Cullen (Peter Facinelli) appears in the hospital right after Edward saves Bella from being flattened by Tyler's van. The minute he pushed the doors open and walked into the ER, I almost regurgitated my dinner as his face looked as white as the hospital walls. Snorts and snickers then resounded all over the theater. I mean, if a doctor who treated me looked as white as that, I'd have no doubts that he were indeed undead!

Surprises came in the form of Taylor Lautner (the Quileuete Jacob Black) and Jackson Rathbone (Jasper Hale). Jasper had a hidden charm which surfaced as he kicked around a baseball bat in my favorite baseball scene and Lautner proved that he was more than just a pesky kid. I was actually concerned about having Lautner play Jacob since he was a central character in "New Moon" and his relationship with Bella was a prime mover in the second book's plot. Apparently he and Stewart also have a certain charm together which could be good enough for the next movie installment and I could see a lot of Jacob's dry humor in him.

With all that in place and a definitely bigger budget to boost production, 2010's New Moon definitely has to be a movie that the saga's fans can really sink their teeth into. For the meantime, I'll be busying myself with overtaking all the Volvos I meet on the road just to check out if the driver looks a little too pale for comfort.

Seriously Freaked

It feels a bit different to be involved in something mundane for a change...especially since my summer break still has me running around restless. But now, I can at least allocate some time to allow my freaky nature to rear its naughty head once in a while. So here goes...just me on being seriously freaked!

****************

She's muh gurl and she'll always be THE gurl!
I am just seriously freaked that Melinda, MELINDA of all people(!), gets the cut in this week's American Idol. No, seriously freaked is not the right thing to say. I think it would be more appropriate to say that I am seriously bereaved I almost feel like reaching for the lacy black veil/shawl nestled within the confines of my mother's closet. What was America possibly thinking - and hearing - last night?! Muh gurl Melinda is the bomb and she deserves that place in the finals - every inch of that stage and every watt of that spotlight! I have liked her and Jordin the most since their respective first auditions but I have to say I have always liked Melinda a bit more than Jordin. Jordin is bubbly, young, pretty and has great pipes but Melinda can sing any song into smithereens. I mean, she blows familiar songs apart and recreates them into something she can claim as her own. And she does all this without a bubble of air in her head and that sincere smile on her face and that makes her totally endearing. My mom and I had it in our guts that she was going to be the next American Idol but all it took was one wrong click in the Yahoo homepage and my cutesy hope gets slashed to bits.
I had been hoping for a Jordin-Melinda slugfest come Wednesday next week. Blake was pretty good last night but he just paled in comparison to the two. Blake is a magician and a circus all rolled into one but he often sings flat (in terms of tremolo and pitch) and his beat boxing becomes his only saving grace.
Melinda, in my opinion, is the overall entertainer without the unnecessary frills and the magic wand. She is nothing but pure unadulterated talent who narrowly missed the standing ovation she justly deserves.

Melinda Doolittle will always be THE gurl to beat!
P.S. If Blake gets the American Idol next week, I think I'll be crawling on the floor with a broken heart. My mother has just threatened to boycott 'Idol' following the Melinda cast-off.
P.P.S. At around this time last year, Elliott Yamin made me cry like a baby. Tonight, he did it again.
P.P.S. Paula looked awfully funny dancing to Maroon 5. Maybe it was because of her dress but from the back, she seemed to looked like Whistler's mother.

****************

He's back and the wait is killing me (pun intended)!
After two years of contenting myself with my MISA DVD replays (please don't ask how many times because I have lost count) and staring at his picture, my favorite Korean actor and one-half ultimate dream squeeze So Ji Sub has just finished his mandatory military service at the district office of Mapo in Seoul. When I was in Seoul two years ago with my dad, I remember wandering across the street from the Mapo District Office by mistake. I still clung to some remnant of sanity, dignity and embarrassment so I quickly ditched the idea of walking into the office, kidnapping So Ji Sub and stuffing him into my luggage with his arms and legs sure to rip the zippers apart. The minute I got home, I almost got clobbered by Sue who did nothing but growl at my face for about five minutes.
Ji-Sub has is about to begin work on a new series with Ji Jin-Hee (of Jewel in the Palace and Spring Days) called Cain and Abel wherein both actors play brothers separated when they were children. Jin-Hee is the older brother who grows up to become a detective hunting down an assassin which actually turns out to be his long-lost younger brother played by Ji-Sub. Well, like I was telling a friend of mine from Singapore who also loves Ji-Sub, I've always thought he'd make one fine, convincing psychopath, killer eyes and all.
Now I'll have something to look forward to on the tube!
For the meantime, MISA will more than suffice. *hugs box of tissues and thinks of taking heart reinforcement pills*

****************

He's so fine and soon the world will see why!
The other half of my ultimate dream squeeze a.k.a Mando-pop star Wang Lee Hom has just embarked on his first international big screen venture - with no less than the acclaimed Ang Lee at the helm of the movie project.

The cast of Lust, Caution with director Ang Lee: (from left to right) Wang Lee Hom, Tang Wei and Tony Leung

A couple of months ago, I heard that Ang Lee was going to direct the movie adaptation of the popular Chinese short story by Eileen Chang called Lust, Caution (�F.‰ú) and that Tony Leung (of In the Mood for Love fame) had been cast as the lead actor. Leung plays government official Yee who works for the puppet government of Japan-controlled Shanghai during the 40s.

Weeks later, in the middle of a rather crazy week, I came across an online article that Wang Lee Hom had been chosen to play the second lead actor and the news got my brain functional again. Wang was to play Kuang Yu-Min, a student, revolutionary and boyfriend to Wang Jia-Zhi (played by newcomer Tang Wei), a spy sent to lure Yee into an assassination trap. I don't know how Lee Hom will do since he's more of a singer than an actor and on top of that, he'll be working side by side with one heck of a pillar Tony Leung!
Today, while acting as travel agent for my entire family, I decided to check if there were pictures from the set of the movie and lo and behold! There were pictures and a link to the first trailer too! I need to get used to Lee Hom's shorter, tidier "Jose Rizal" 'do (which I'm sure his mother would love) but he still looks mighty fine, I didn't even mind that he did not release a new album in December of last year, unlike what he had done for the past two years.


Hmmm...now my sister's birth month has become a bit more interesting this year.

I could get used to Lee Hom looking like this. ^_^

Spidey Porridge, Anyone?

The minute the credits began to roll and the lights switched on in our neighborhood friendly movie theater, the first question I asked my sister was "What was that?"
Spiderman 3 just didn't leave my legs in a twist...even if I have six less than what the neighborhood friendly spider has.

I am not a huge fan of any of the film's predecessors nor the comic books and I admit, I found the second installment of the arachnid movie rather revolting in terms of...er...cheesiness. So I went into the movie theater with absolutely no expectations, a heaping of objectivity and well-polished glasses to immediately spot Topher Grace the minute his wit scurried onscreen.
After almost 3 hours of being enclosed in a place as dark as Venom's slick pseudopodia, I left feeling more confused than ever. Seriously, what was all that about? They say too much of something is not a good thing and I guess the third installment of the film is a good example of that. I just thought there was too much going on in the entire course of the story that it all pretty much bound the movie in a cocoon too tight to render it unrecognizable. In the first place, there were too many villains for this movie to handle: the Sandman (Thomas Haden Church), Venom/Eddie Brock (Topher Grace) and of course, the only better looking person in the movie after Topher Grace, Harry aka Goblin Jr. (James Franco). Some films are able to pull off this kind of stunt of having one too many antagonists to really test the mettle of the superhero in question but Spiderman 3 had trouble juggling all three. Maybe I was just having memory problems but whenever one villain appeared on screen, I would instantly forget that there was another villain in existence. It was only when the other villain would rear his bleached head again would I then realize "Oh, right, you're still alive."
Spiderman 3's web of a plot eventually spun out of control thanks to its unamusing attempts to be funny. Case in point were "bad" Peter Parker's attempts to channel Fred Astaire, Eminem and David Beckham all in one go. For some reason, no one in the movie theater was chuckling, not even the kids. I thought those scenes would be funny in some other movie at some other time...just not in this one. My sister's expression was even funnier in the dimly lit theater. She was rolling her eyes and groaned "This is like the movie that would never end." But as if that were not enough, the "bad" Peter Parker had to strut around as if he were in a shampoo commercial, flipping his hair all over the place. He looked like half the boys in my 5th grade class when Casper was everybody's favorite movie and every girl was mooning over Devon Sawa. The entire act was just not funny anymore. Add that to Harry and Mary Jane's "Twist" interlude when the two were making scrambled eggs and Peter's rather awkward tango ensemble with Gwen Stacy (Bryce Dallas Howard) in a jazz bar, I then found myself wondering if I were watching a movie or That's Entertainment.
The movie's attempt to tackle several conflicts and resolve them all in almost three hours left it in tricky knot a bit too difficult to unravel. Naturally, Spiderman has to deal with the villains Sandman, Venom, Goblin Jr. and of course, the usual band of city crooks and criminals who are no match for the web-slinging hero. Aside from that, he also has to wrestle with impending narcissim and his tendency to be too self-absorbed, negative qualities which eventually get magnified when he plays momentary host to Venom. As if that were not enough, he has to watch out for his best friend Harry who is still on the Spiderman warpath but whose vengeance is momentarily interrupted by short-term memory loss. A new twist is also added to the events surrounding the death of Peter's Uncle Ben which makes the hunt for the Sandman more of a personal vendetta for Spiderman. The plot gets more tortuous when you factor in Parker's relationship issues with Mary Jane Watson (Kirsten Dunst), the love of his life, who begins to nurse insecurities because of her own career issues and the fact that her superhero boyfriend is becoming the darling of New York along with every girl who resides in it. It is also not to be forgotten that Harry the best friend is also still inlove with Mary Jane and even attempts to steal her from Peter again in the latter course of the movie. Top this off with the movie's only gem in my opinion, a rather poignant lesson on forgiveness, which disappointingly does not really make that much of an impact and ends up bobbing helplessly in the quagmire thanks to the movie's convoluted mesh of a plot.
Many movies have attempted to carry numerous conflicts in one setting and have succeeded in tying everything up neatly in a slick bundle. It just so happens that where other movies succeeded, Spiderman 3 sloshed and failed. It tried too much to be everything in one movie - action, fantasy, romance, comedy and even a mini musicale - but the formula just did not work that the film just seemed so disjointed. In the movie's last leg, when Harry eventually joins Spiderman as he battles Venom and the Sandman, I found myself wickedly waiting for Superman to show up. That was how hodgepodge-y it was in my opinion.
Sorry to Spidey fans but Spiderman 3 just got washed down my neighborhood friendly waterspout.

Cartoons and Cheesecake

Something gastronomically interesting I learned this week:

When you're feeling absolutely wretched for one reason or another (I know I have been acting like the blue Care Bear with the raincloud on his cute tummy since the previous weekend), a huge slice of blueberry cheesecake washed down with a glass of water CAN BE the perfect comfort food.

I say "CAN BE" because your stomach is not made of the same stuff as mine.

Or is it?

****************

Sue and I have been friends since we were in grade school and the reasons why we have remained as such all these years vary from the usual to the unusual. One reason would be our (still undying/unwavering) fascination for Disney cartoons.

A couple of days ago, while waiting for our Oblicon professor, Mini and I almost spontaneously launched into this talk about Disney cartoons as well.

We then went on to enumerate three Disney cartoons which we liked the least. Mine included the ones listed below. The last time I saw these titles would be a good fifteen to twenty years ago.

1. Snow White because:
a. Snow White has this shrill, high-pitched voice which makes her sound scarier than the Witch/Evil Queen.
b. Prince Charming has redder lips than Snow White.
c. Snow White puts on too much eye makeup.

2. Dumbo because:
a. Like what Mini said, the multi-colored elephants in Dumbo's dream in that scene where he had a little too much to drink were scary (think of what It did to clowns).
b. Of that scene where Dumbo's mom was cradling him with her trunk because she was locked up. That was just a little too much for my 5-year old heart to handle.
c. Of those mean, jealous, ugly, old elephants!

Poor Dumbo! *sniff sniff

3. Bambi because:
a. BAMBI'S MOTHER DIED!!!
b. I couldn't understand why Bambi's father had to be away most of the time.
c. It was a little weird watching a fawn talk.

Although the irony of it all is that when I was seven, I was once cast as the only girl to play a dwarf among six other boys (whose names I can still call out aloud) in our school production of Snow White.

****************

I had been pining for blueberry cheesecake for two months, I think. A couple of times, I would have dreams wherein I would be sinking my teeth into the best blueberry cheesecake in the world. I would wake then wake up feeling absolutely crazy for two reasons: 1) I want the cheesecake so bad and 2) when I was a child, I read a book which said that dreaming of food and eating usually happens to people who eat too much. Uh-oh.

So one day, just to cater to that longing for something sweet, I bought a junior-sized chocolate cake to share with my sister because the bakeshop where I usually buy the cheesecake said they no longer had it in the menu. As I put forkfuls of cake into my mouth, I thought that it was not as satisfying as cheesecake but I guess, it was good enough in its own way.

Two days later, I went back to the mall to get a bunch of new pens to use for school. I passed by a branch of the same bakeshop and lo and behold! They had cheesecake right there staring at me in the face! I couldn't go ahead and buy it because there was still a lot of chocolate cake left to be consumed. I left the bakeshop muttering a lot of "shoulds."

About a week later, when the chocolate cake was no more than a mere memory, I was happily sinking my teeth into the cheesecake that had haunted my very dreams for several nights.

An interesting interplay between settling and waiting can occur in the most outrageous of circumstances.

****************

Aside from being horrifying in terms of losing one's mother, Bambi had its fair share of funny moments.

I especially enjoyed this one scene towards the middle of the cartoon wherein winter has finally come to an end and spring has just made its entrance. Bambi is now sporting some form of antlers, though not as grand as his father's. His friends Thumper (the rabbit) and Flower (the skunk) have also grown up. The three of them then embark on a little expedition of some sort, each animal walking with head held high to the tune of an interesting background music.

Somehow, the "expedition" makes a different, unexpected turn (pun definitely intended).

Flower is the first to go when he gets distracted by another female skunk. Thumper scoffs at him for being too soft but apparently Thumper talks too soon. Then, as the viewers all know, Bambi isn't alone for too long either.

I remember that as a child, I found the entire chain of events absolutely funny.

Perhaps I never did quite understand how exactly it would feel like to lose a skunk.

Someone's Fallen for Maxi

The morning sun lay its blanket of gold across the street, at times glittering even more as it streaked past branches of trees. It was almost time for school but in the still practically deserted street, he walked alone at a comfortable pace, neither tentative nor hurried, pink backpack bouncing softly on his back with every step he made. His eyes would occasionally sweep his surroundings, sometimes stealing a glance at the trees lining the sidewalk or perhaps old paper posters half-torn from the concrete walls of houses. Nevertheless his glance would return, a compass unguided and unmanned, to check what was before him, to see how much further he had to walk. Yet in the entire duration of this albeit mundane journey, as if it were taboo, he never dared turn around and look back, a sacred rule never meant to be broken, an act too dangerous to commit.

Just a few feet away he spots a figure, leaning casually against an owner-type jeepney. He flinches just a bit, just a little bit it's almost negligible. The sun could be playing tricks on my eyes again, he thinks to himself. His pace remains the same, neither tentative nor hurried, pink backpack still plopping rhythmically against his back like a soft kick a baby gives its mother inside the womb. Eyes still dart from side to side, though less frequently, lingering a bit more to the left but quicker, furtive glances dedicated to the right. The jeepney and the figure grow bigger and clearer as he draws closer and as he walks on, his gaze is nowhere but ahead. The street is still deserted, surroundings still quiet and the sunlight still beaming silently past the trees. He is a few steps away from the jeepney and the solitary figure who is now smoking a cigarette. Pace maintained, he soundlessly walks beside the jeepney and the figure and within a few seconds, he has gone past it like a paperboat.

He walks on a little bit more and all the world is still absorbed in half-slumber, except the sun still shining brightly. He is flooded by ripples of uncertainty, rendering his legs unresponsive, which had gone by uninterrupted all this time. He slows down, a significant degree of tentativeness now evident his pace. His eyes are now downcast, sweeping the ground from left to right like marbles swirling in an empty glass. Pink backpack is now thumping an almost indiscernible sound with every step and eventually hangs still, doing nothing more than grazing the back of his carrier like second skin. After a time too brief to be a moment, too long to be insignificant, he walks on in a pace neither tentative nor hurried. But not after he almost twisted his head to look back.

And with this, Ang Pagdadalaga ni Maximo Oliveros faded into darkness but never into film history oblivion.

There were so many underlying themes for the film which was so beautifully and exquisitely crafted. The movie title and the synopsis boast of no complicated storyline. It is actually rather straightforward and almost unoriginal: a young gay boy (Nathan Lopez) hitting puberty infatuated (or inlove, as the case may be) with a dashing, honest policeman (JR Valentin) who, in turn, pursues the boy's father (Soliman Cruz) and brothers (Neil Ryan Sese and Ping Medina) who dabble in petty thieving. But that is exactly where the magic of Pagdadalaga begins. It is never what it seems.

For one thing, it is not a gay film. It is, as its director and cast have repeatedly claimed, a coming-of-age movie. One of its actors, Ping Medina who plays Maxi's Kuya Bogs, even said "Nagkataon lang na bading si Maxi" or "It just so happened that Maxi was gay." In my opinion, Pagdadalaga was not out to defend of ridicule homosexuality, nor was it trying to justify it in anyway. Such issues involving the justification of homosexuality were not tackled in the film. It was merely trying to illustrate a young person's coming-of-age and in that attempt, Maxi could easily have been a girl or a guy.

But the fact that Maxi was gay made all the difference in the sense that his "straddling both worlds" turned him into a character with a greater universal appeal and identification. If the main character were a straight boy or a straight girl, only a selected audience could identify and empathize completely with the character of Maxi. There are some issues concerning girls which are not experienced by boys and vise versa and that in itself already presents a certain limitation to the reach of the film. But because Maxi was gay, there was a certain duality which was effectively presented. He was undergoing physical changes which would be masculine in nature because, after all, he was endowed with the physical attributes of a man. But another aspect of himself was also going through tumultuous change - his feelings and emotions which were those of a woman.

Plot-wise, though the film may seem to invoke other movies of yore, it is never just that. What sets it apart from any predecessor which may claim duplicity is that Pagdadalaga is characterized by sheer authenticity. While watching it, I remember thinking aloud and whispering to my sister "It's almost like I'm part of the movie." The script was not put-on and was always natural and free-flowing. It was as if someone installed hidden cameras in the slum areas of Sampaloc, secretly took footage of the local tambay engaged in drunken conversation with his shirtless, pot-bellied neighbor and then turned it into a movie. Take for instance this conversation which Bogs had with a female neighbor who obviously fancied him.

Bogs: Oy, libre ka ba mamayang gabi?
Girl: Oo naman. Para sayo, libre ako kahit anong oras.
Bogs: Ah ganun ba? Kasi ako hindi! (roaring laughter)

I have heard conversations of the similar nature in different instances (such as when buying adidas or barbecue from the roadside vendor) but when used in films, they always come across as fake and scripted as if the actors were trying to make it all too obvious that they were acting (duh!). These and other conversations in Pagdadalaga are always realistic and spontaneous. There was a considerable amount of profanity and diatribes in the language but in this case, it did help in firmly establishing the characters in the movie.

The relationship between Maxi and Victor, the policeman was also not as superficial as it would seem at first. It was not just a simple case of infatuation or an onslaught-of-puberty crush even if when viewed from the third-person perspective, Maxi was obviously enamored with Victor the first time they met. In some sense, both were trying to right a wrong done. Victor obviously was a policeman trying to correct the notion that all cops were dishonest, abusive and corrupt. Maxi was someone who cleaned up after his brothers and his father. He cooked their meals, did the dishes and laundry, made sure the house was always clean and organized, mended the holes in his brothers' clothes...sometimes Bogs would even ask Maxi to braid his hair! Because they shared these traits, they naturally did the same thing for each other. Maxi tried to save Victor from getting the ire of his father and brothers. Victor, on the other hand, did his best to shield Maxi from the bad influence of his father and brothers, as well as society in general.

Maxi's relationship with his family was also not a movie stereotype. In fact, it was as humanly authentic as it could be. Maxi's brothers and father earned a living by stealing cellphones and selling the pilfered items. His Kuys Boy sports a "semi-kal" hairdo and stabbed someone. His Kuya Bogs could rival Rapunzel when it comes to the hair and Dennis Rodman in terms of tattoos. His father has a pot belly, swigs more than one bottle of Tanduay in sidewalk drinking sprees and owns a cellphone he definitely cannot afford to own legally. If this were a typical movie, the father would occasionaly be drunk and beat Maxi to death, swearing he could never have a gay son. The brothers too would be no different. They would be carousing around town, indulding in their own selfish pleasures. But not in this film. Maxi enjoys a very loving relationship with his father and brothers. They never seem to be afraid of physically expressing their affection for each other. Maxi always gets hugs from his father and when he is with his brothers, they would walk side by side, sometimes with one kuya's arm around him. It appears that Bogs or Boy do not even care what others would think seeing such masculine men like them having a more than effeminate younger brother. When Victor broke Maxi's heart, he ran into his Kuya Bogs who, instead of ridiculing him, gave him a hug.

This made me think of people's duality, like Vito Corleone in The Godfather. People would look at Vito Corleone and say he was a heartless and evil man, the Devil incarnate himself. But to his family, he was a dear old man who enjoyed his wife's cooking, watering his plants and playing with his grandchildren. Same goes for Pagdadalaga. Maxi's father was not exactly Mr. Rogers and his brothers could possibly give Marilyn Manson serious competition. People see them as a thieving bunch, the greatest scum of of the universe. But to Maxi, they were Papa, Kuya Boy and Kuya Bogs. He loved them to pieces and they loved him back fiercely. That is perhaps the greatest and truest manifestation of being unconditional.

Perhaps one of the reasons for Pagdadalaga's appeal is its ability to project the truth and nothing but the truth, never over exaggerrating it, never undermining it. It is so sincere it is heartbreaking and poignant. The conflicts tackled are nothing new, such as when Maxi's father laments about how living an honest life has led him to watch his wife die because he could not afford her medications. That situation has been used and abused, hung on a clothesline in the blazing sun to dry and left to the mercy of vultures. But in Pagdadalaga, it struck home, a chord all too familiar and painful. Add that with a series of shots taken of people who live in Maxi's neighborood: a little boy playing in murky, smelly, almost-solid water from the "estero," two plump ladies squabbling in loud, high-pitched voices by the roadside, an old lady with a network of wrinkles on her face smoking a cigar. The visual tableau is shockingly stunning, brutally candid.

The ending was nothing short of perfect. It was as a real ending should be - subtle yet true. It had none of the whitewash and unbelievable benevolence of mainstream films. And it effectively delivered the quiet yet striking message of the film: Things will never be the way they were before and if forgetting were possible, then we would be forever rid of what makes us weep yet what once made us laugh, what once made us learn.

N.B. Can't get enough of Maxi? Fret no more because Maxi has his own blog (http://maximooliveros.blogspot.com). He has posted pictures of his papa, Kuya Boy and Kuya Bogs as well as his brand new slippers. He has an entry on meeting the cute Makisig of Little Big Star. In his profile, he does not hide that he is a fan of Sandara (Park) and Claudine (Barretto)!

Thoughts from Somewhere

Got a little tired from studying so I'm writing again. First off, I was not the least bit surprised upon seeing that Garci is back in the headlines once again after a brief hiatus (which I am sure he totally enjoyed). Not only is he hogging the newspapers, he's also the star of the 6 PM news, which I have recently begun to regard as the best telenovela ever, given the seemingly exciting turn of events. What's lacking is a dash of amnesia and telenovelas on primetime would definitely lose their luster.

Speaking of exciting turn of events enough to flip my eyelids backwards, Garci's wife Grace (who I have to give credit for living up to every letter of her name...it's not easy being the better half of THE most-wanted man in the country today) denies that Garci placed a single finger or toe outside the country. Yeah, I roll my eyeballs in disgust. Probably the talk of him doing his own hyperextended version of Jules Verne's classic could have been stretched to some point but him not leaving the country? I know the Philippines has 7,107 islands (and, as we all have memorized by now, even more during low tide), making it perhaps one of the best places in the world to play hide-and-seek next to Antarctica. The Singaporean government has acknowledged that GMA's phone pal had indeed entered its territory and between Lee Kwan Yu's progeny and Garci's better half, the choice as to who I should believe is rather obvious. Besides, if Garci had never left the country, somehow, someone would have gotten to him earlier than now. I have firm faith in our chismax network and noses which could sniff better than the K9s which have become a staple sight in malls. Besides, Garci would not be particularly difficult to single out when in the crowd...except when he's with politicians because by then, they would all reek of the same stench - the people's tears.

*****

GMA was in Busan, South Korea last week for the APEC. She met with Bush, who is also in the same politically tense situation as her in his home country. She also met Korea's president and prepared to discuss several key issues with him regarding governance, especially since Korea is regarded to one of the world's model nations in terms of development and stability.

I was with my dad and we blurted out the same thing: "Be serious about dealing with corruption and start cleaning up your act!" I am curious though as to what the South Korean leader said to her.

*****

My two nieces gave me an interesting "gift" before I left last weekend. Handwritten in pencil on a piece of paper torn off a nine-year old's notebook were the lyrics to Sugarfree's "Makita Kang Muli." Seems like they both wanted me to learn the song since they would spontaneously launch into a duet, crooning the now-familiar "Ohhhhhh..." opening just about anywhere. As I am writing this now, I am singing the extremely addictive "Ohhhhhh" in my head.

Speaking of addictive, I also find myself singing "Pamparampampam" from Kitchie Nadal's version of "Love Ko 'To" minus the fries.

*****

In other music news, Wang Lee Hom, my bane if post-teen obsession with a musical genius were a serious sin, is putting the finishing touches on his new album, which I heard was going to consist of mostly English songs, thus putting a temporary halt on my struggle with Pinyin lyrics. I read that he collaborated with Korea's pop icon Bi (Rain) which would seriously cause some serious stir in the music scene. Personally, I have gone by unaffected by Bi's charms. The guy is a fantastic dancer but I have more proclivity towards watching him rather than listening to him. He's smooth on the dancefloor but has yet to convince me of his singing prowess. Lee Hom, on the other hand, is first and foremost a musician despite all the slashes added to his name, and a rather multifarious one at that. It would be rather interesting to see how his work with Bi would take fruit.

*****

There's something I don't understand about people in airplanes. Whenever I take a flight, I always make sure that I request for a window seat. I am not exactly claustrophobic but I am not a fan of heights. When the airplane does its usual drops in any part of the flight, I tighten my tummy and look out the window because it gives me comfort to know what's going on outside. But if the plane runs out of window seats, that is absolutely fine with me.

What really gets the little furnace in my head roaring is when I walk into the plane, look for my seat and find that someone (and that someone is always older than me by at least fifteen years) is already seated conveniently in my seat. This happened on my flight home. I found a guy in his 40s already squeezed into the window seat I had requested so I asked him politely to give me my seat. He half-stood up, hesitated and then sat down which totally left me flabbergasted...and my temple throbbing. He asked if he could stay there and naturally, though floored, I could not say "no." Call me selfish or what but that was just unfair. If he were a senior citizen and looked a quarter of Dumbledore's age, I would have relented without a whine but he looked pretty healthy enough...and his appetite during the flight was a manifestation of it too. In the first place, I would never ever ask someone for a window seat even if I desperately wanted it because it was my fault I did not check in early in the first place. And second, I would never squeeze myself into a seat other than what is printed on my boarding pass! Just because he got in first does not give him the right to pick a window seat of his choice, slither into it and refuse to leave when the designated owner has arrived. In my opinion, he refused to leave because it was convenient for him...which, in turn, was inconvenient for me. It's a simple matter of good manners, respect for others and proper discipline. You don't take what's not yours. It's like when I was in Korea and I remember one of our companions asked our tour guide "Do you have squatters here in Korea?" The tour guide looked puzzled and asked what squatters were. When he was given an explanation, his response still rings in my head vividly: "Why would anyone want to do that?"

And just so you know, I ended up sitting in the middle, almost smothered by two guys. And did I mention I was completely robbed of armrests?

*****

Watched Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire last week and left the theater beaming. HP4 made up for all the shortcomings of its predecessors, especially the first two movies. The direction was "bloody" brilliant as well as the cinematic shots. As promised, the movie was a lot darker. Despite the minor deviations from the book, I was all too glad the script preserved JK Rowling's (sometimes acerbic) sense of humor. I was just a little miffed that they did not even show how Krum, Fleur and Cedric hurdled the first task. I also found myself counting how many lines the other champions had, aside from the incantations. Fleur had four but the other two were just repititions of what she had said in the earlier scenes.Cedric had the most lines (naturally!) while Krum only had two (sniff, sniff)...in fact, the last line was rather negligible because he was whispering it to Hermione's ear. On second thought, as described in the book, Krum was the exact opposite of vociferous which added to his good bad boy appeal. Did I mention his eyes?

The theater was packed with high school students, majority of which were from my sister's old high school. It was like being in a screamfest. First time Malfoy came up onscreen, the theater was barraged by an onslaught of girlish screams I could swear I saw fissures issue from the wall all around us like a network of messy cables. It was like being in grade school and watching Casper all over again (those Devon Sawa days) only this time, the screaming was more sporadic in nature (Cedric was a runner-up). My favorite characters in the film were Krum, Ron with his unparalleled squealing and the Weasley twins who, in my opinion, romp away with being the best scene stealers ever.

*****

Movies in my "To Watch" list:

1. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
2. Sayuri
3. Ang Pagdadalaga ni Maximo Oliveros
4. Welcome to Dongmakgol

An Innocent (and Not-So Innocent) Venture

Her huge, doe eyes downcast, Chae-Ryn bites her lip and feels her knees tremble both with apprehension and excitement. Paralyzed by fear, she could barely lift her head. As she eyes her feet nervously, she sees another pair of feet slowly come towards her. Young-Sae's. She makes a noiseless groan. Everything is about to start. She practically forces herself to look up just in time to see Young-Sae extend his hand towards her direction. Chae-Ryn swallows hard and everything lands in her stomach like a cannonball - her feelings of panic and dread, memories of her mother and sister, her hope that perhaps tomorrow could be so much better. Furtively, she drags her right foot and makes her first innocent step.

My sister and I got home from church earlier than usual today. She had the beginnings of PMS cramps and could no longer stand to meet with friends for GG meeting. The moment we got home, she threw herself into the bed and curled up into a huge ball of arms, feet and a rather squishy derriere (which she likens to J. Lo's insured rear end). As I was throwing my shirt into the hamper, I remembered that I had just gotten a new Korean movie. I grabbed the black plastic DVD case, stood in front of her with the DVD clutched in my hands like a prized war booty and shouted in my loudest voice ever: "Look!" She sneaked a glance at me and the ball she had rolled herself into almost came untangled in an instant. "Play it now, please!" she begged, her voice throaty perhaps due to the pain from her stomach...or the anticipation from waiting for me to pluck the DVD out of its case and load it into the player. I lay on the bed beside her in a pile of fluffy pillows and watched as the movie credits began to roll: Innocent Steps.

The moment I saw the Innocent Steps DVD on sale, I made a mad dash for it. My sister and I have been itching to see this movie ever since the early part of this year, being extremely fascinated with Korean teen box-office queen Moon Geun-Young. Moon was the one of the reasons I did not completely fast-forward the 2000 drama series Endless Love 1: Autumn in My Heart, the other being heart-slayer Won Bin. I had never seen anyone cry so naturally and effortlessly at that. She became more endearing thanks to the 2003 hit comedy flick My Little Bride with funnyman Kim Rae-Won. Her flair for drama has not dampened her feisty and spirited side, which she showcased with Kim. She has the innate ability to act cute without being extra irritating, it's almost synonymous to eating honey without getting stung by bees. She looks younger than her 19 years but when she steps into her acting shoes, I believe she can be at any age at any time.


Moon with Choi Woo-Hyuk in Endless Love 1: Autumn in My Heart (above)
and Kim Rae-Won in My Little Bride (below)

In Innocent Steps, Moon plays the role of Chinese immigrant Jang Chae-Ryn who was brought to Korea as the new dance partner for leading DanceSports instructor and competitor Na Young-Sae (Park Geun-Hyung). With the competition a few months away, Chae-Ryn undergoes intense training under the careful scrutiny of the perfectionist Young-Sae, especially since Chae-Ryn apparently has an almost zero dance background. Under the tutelage of Young-Sae, she slowly learns every possible technique in ballroom dancing and discovers a huge potential for raising a thunderstorm in the dancefloor which she never thought existed. Though this is predominantly a dance flick, there is the unavoidable presence of certain cliches which are necessary to spice things up a bit - a jealous and scheming rival, some form of comedic sidekick and of course, the two main protagonists falling for each other. Nothing you can avoid especially when Young-sae, in an effort to make Chae-Ryn internalize the intensity of the dance, tells her "You must love me when we are dancing." Just typing that got my eyeballs rolling.


Baby-faced Moon as Jang Chae-Ryn

My sister and I were particularly excited about the dance scenes. Looking at Moon Geun-Young's seemingly innocent face, charming smile and hunched posture, it was very difficult to conjure images of her executing the flashy and swift movements that are characteristic of ballroom dances such as the rhumba, samba and the cha cha, let alone looking like one. From the movie stills, Park Geun-Hyung's almost 10-year seniority was also evident. In fact in the movie, he was accused by a friend of "robbing the cradle big-time." But what is amazing about Moon is that she can become a totally different person once she slips into dancer mode. The cute 19-year old flutters to the ground like a silk robe being shed off. A grown up woman emerges, chin lifted, eyes sparkling with newfound confidence. It's not just the smoky eye make-up or the sequined short costume which suits her perfectly. Even in sweats, a t-shirt and ballet flats, Moon could slip in and out of her dancer mode way faster than my computer could switch users. Moon was exactly like Chae-Ryn, it all just lay inside her quietly but ready to burst out at the intended moment in time and slip back into hibernation when the need was no longer present.


Whipping up a frenzy with Park Geun-Hyung who plays
her mentor and eventual paramour Young-Sae

The movie was not just about the looking the part well. It was also about playing the part and it did so brilliantly. The dancing itself did not disappoint. The first dance scene was devoted to Park and another partner. I remember gawking at Park as he swayed to the music, movements swift and sharp yet tinged with hints of gracefulness, knives cutting through an air of clouds and feathers. Moon herself was a sight to behold as she moved her arms, snapped her neck, flicked her hips, kicked her legs and pirouetted across the floor, all to the precise beat of the music. When she was doing the rhumba with Park, it was torture to take my eyes off the sight of them both in such an atmosphere of magic. In an objective note, Moon's rendition of the samba was not as fetching especially since her hip jerks were barely perceptible, perhaps drowned in the rapid execution of movements in the dance. But nevertheless her samba rendition was, in totality, a very entertaining watch.


Young-Sae initially deplores Chae-Ryn's horrible posture (left) which she eventually corrects (right).

The rest of the movie, like I said, could be pretty much likened to lampreys attached to a shark. There is really nothing new about the love story or the slick acts of envy-driven people, although there were times I felt the plot was careening dangerously into a crevice of cheesiness. However I could pretty much let the rest of it go with their heads intact, except for one: the fireflies. When Chae-Ryn arrives from China, one of the first things she removes from her suitcase would be a bottle containing firefly larvae. She likens the metamorphosis of the firely, and the entire process of lying in wait for the perfect time to emerge from its cocoon, to her own awakening and realizations. As early as that, I was not buying the entire firefly story but towards the end realized their rather awkward purpose as homing beacons. I am sorry but the fireflies worked really well for The Classic, my ultimate favorite Korean film. But for Innocent Steps, I wish they were given a more significant job perhaps as guest performers in a flea circus.

But in the end, the story is not about fireflies, eyebrow-crossing dancesports costumes, extremely conventional villains or the nearing overusage of Ajuhssi (Korean for "Mister") committing serious cradle thieving. It is not labelled a dance film for nothing and in that aspect, the DVD player really should be prepared for more meetings with Innocent Steps.

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.

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.