And the Hottest is...

(with excerpts from my journal entry dated April 26, 2012, a Thursday)

We haven’t turned on our refrigerator for almost a week already. Para tipid. Mahal kasi ng kuryente. Nag-defrost kami since ubos na rin naman yung food na nakaimbak sa ref. Pero hindi pa din muna kami mamamalengke.

What we’ve been doing lately is when it’s time for cooking the day’s meal, tsaka lang kami bumibili ng ingredients. Meron naman kasing mga tindahan dito sa amin na parang talipapa (limitado nga lang). At least sariwa pa ang mga pagkain kahit papaano. Mas mahal man nang konting barya ang presyo, at least mas tipid pa rin kumpara sa konsumo ng kuryente ng ref na maghapon-magdamag umaandar.

As for cold water or ice, e hindi naman kami mahilig uminom ng malamig na tubig. Kung gusto namin ng malamig na inumin, pwede namang bumili ng yelo sa mga tindahan sa tabi-tabi.

The sun is shining so brilliantly outside again. Ang init na naman sa maghapon.

Natatawa ako sa mga nagbabalita sa TV. Lately kasi, halos araw-araw nila ina-announce kung ang araw ngayon ba ang naging pinaka-mainit na araw so far sa taong ito. Ano kayang point nun? E ano naman ngayon kung ang araw na ito ang pinakamainit so far for 2012? E kung na-endure na naman ng lahat yung temperature na ‘yun, how does that help us viewers?

Buti sana kung umaga pa lang ina-announce na nila na today WILL BE the hottest day for 2012.

“O, mga kapuso, kapamilya, kapatid, etc. Ngayon ang pinakamainit na araw sa taong ito ha. Kaya maligo kayo… (Aray. Ahehe.) Doble ingat sa sunog. Uminom ng maraming tubig. Yung mga pets nyo, mga aso, pusa, kambing, manok…ilublob nyo muna sa drum ng tubig. Ano pa ba…? O yung mga pulubi dyan, yung mga mahihilig mamalimos sa kalye, huwag na muna kayo mamalimos ngayon ha. Yung konting baryang mapapalimos nyo, kulang pa sa ospital pag na-heat stroke kayo, etcetera, etcetera….”

Mas may silbi pa, right?

If the announcements were made BEFORE the fact, at least may warning ang mga tao. Pero, since HINDI PA nga possible yun—yung i-announce in advance ang magiging temperature ng isang lugar—nase-sensationalize lang ang isang trivium (singular form of “trivia,” btw) which was simply meant to communicate na naging napakainit ng nakalipas na maghapon, which in turn, was obvious to everyone during the day anyway. Nilagyan lang ng number.

“Ah, kaya pala sumakit ang ulo ko, kasi umabot ng 36 degrees ang temperature kanina…” Geez, what difference is there if the temperature has reached 35, 36 or 37 degrees?  So, pag 35 degrees lang, hindi sasakit ang ulo mo? Of what use is that?

Just me. 

O di kaya, bakit hindi na lang nila antayin matapos ang tag-init, and then tsaka nila i-announce, “And the hottest day on record for 2012 is… (drum roll)…April something-something!” Yehey! Clap-clap-clap. “Congratulations, April something-something, you are sooo hot!” “Oh, thank you, thank you! I would like to thank Fanny Serrano…for my hair and makeup….”

Bwiset.

Sa init ng panahon kung anu-ano na naiisip ko. Ahehe. Chapter!

Great Singers and Unhappy Videomakers

(with excerpt from my journal entry dated November 29, 2012, a Tuesday)

It’s past 5 a.m. I just woke up, still sleepy. But I have to wake up early for the…. I slept around 1 a.m. last night so I have no right to complain. It’s my fault that I lack sleep.

You see, I was about to go to sleep around 11 p.m. but then I saw this Youtube video, something about Indonesia vs. the Philippines. And another video that went something like Malaysia is better than the Philippines. I forget which one I saw first, but they turned out to be just stupid viral videos made by opinionated unhappy people.

There was this video titled, “Why Vietnam Hates the Philippines,” but when I got down to watching it, it started to show a gist of the history of both countries, and as I was not in the mood for history lessons, I scrolled down to the comments section, and most comments (from Filipinos, I suppose) were asserting that there is no hatred between the two countries, and that Filipinos don’t hate Vietnam. I think there was one Vietnamese guy who said there’s no such feud going on between the two countries, etc.

Man, so many noisy people out there, coming up with stupidity and hate claims. But then that’s their space. I guess if someone posted a “positive” video on these, there would still be haters and naysayers who’d have a field day in airing their views. But then, while the world cannot get rid of racists “just like that,” racism does not make the world go ‘round.

I was already very sleepy when I chanced upon those videos, and then the “versus” videos shifted from who’s the better nation to who’s the better singer, Filipinos or “them” (in last night’s most memorable case, Indonesians).

One video featured Regine Velazquez, Jaya, and Lani Misalucha singing “The Greatest Love of All,” and they were singing with their voices in full effect, and man, it was rousing. Nawala antok ko. Ahehe. But the author of the video added remarks to the video saying the singers weren’t singing—they were “screaming,” etc.

The author then went on to show three Indonesian singers (who are probably very famous in Indonesia). They were singing in Indonesian so I didn’t understand a word, but their singing was restrained, with not much high notes that compel them to “belt.” They’re actually very good, too, but the author who posted the video was praising them to high heavens. And then he concluded that the best singers in Asia, and in the world as well, are from Indonesia.

Ahehe. Geez, I don’t know what the guy was on to. Had he asked all the singers in his video who were the better singers, he’d probably have a fit. I was laughing so hard.

I then turned to other videos, and I was moved by Aeta children singing with angelic voices. Some of the children wore ragged clothes. They were probably beggars who were asked to sing for a few coins. So talented but very much neglected. They’re singing pop songs that did not really bring out the full beauty of their voices. Although the tone is unmistakable, still it’s sad that they’re more exposed to a culture that, albeit inspires them, doesn’t really alleviate their condition. Maybe it’s because for the longest time, most of us have been looking down at their songs, their culture, their way of life…because of the color of their skin? Paking syet. Racism does get in the way of people reaching their full potential.

I saw another video showing a 6-year-old girl touted to be the next Charice Pempengco, and she sang Whitney Houston’s “Saving All My Love for You,” and the comments were unanimous:  She sings really well for a 6-year-old, but her song was rather inappropriate for a little girl. One even wondered, what kind of parents would let their children sing such songs?

But then you and I already know that she did not understand half the meaning of what she was singing. It kinda reminded me of Abigail Breslin’s “Superfreak” dance number in “Little Miss Sunshine.” Just where does the malice lie with such videos?

In one audition video, the same girl sang “And I am telling you...” (I forget the title of that song), and when it came to the part where the words go, “And you, and you, and you…” she sang, “And choo, and choo, and choo…” Oh well. Hehehe.

Madness and Expectations

(my journal entry dated February 24, 2012, a Friday)

I have no idea what to write today, but I begin anyway. It’s one of those days when you just let the openness of your mind and your circumstances (assuming they affect the writing) have their influence on your writing. And that’s it. I take comfort in the fact that while I may not have anything to say worthwhile, I am privileged to have my say anyway. I’m “voiced.” Or “voice-enabled.”

Now, how shall I use the privilege? Hmmm…

Now, why is that? All these bits and pieces of everything, “voice-enabled” in their own big and small ways, some make sense, most seemingly don’t, yet all are privileged to be here, to be happening now.

I’m wondering if each one shouts, “Happy to serve!” from time to time (just like what SM employees do at their groceries). Okay, so maybe not everyone’s that “happy” to be of service. But they serve anyway. A common purpose.

Like these marble slabs that make up this floor I’m sitting on. So faithfully they are cemented to each other, so faithfully they don’t move to make up the floor that they are supposed to be. But then if people are as dead as these marble slabs, they’d be faithful too. I guess. Somehow when you stick yourself to a routine, you have to “die” a little. Or “die” little by little.

Kaya nga, there’s this notion about belonging to the rat race. Those who belong there are “zombies” daw. From my own experience, you have to be a zombie or a robot to take on, or to be able to take on, boring routine crap other people impose on you everyday.

But I’m not putting down people who find happiness and contentment in routine labor. When people say there is dignity and fulfillment in that, I agree. Kahit naman yata the most “alive” geniuses on the planet have to stick to a routine in order to be productive. Or prolific. The difference, I think, is whether you do things for yourself or for others, and secondly, if it fulfills you. The second condition, I think, is what makes our labors worthwhile.

Just now, I’m thinking of this lovebird we keep as a pet. His (or her?) partner died many years ago. People say lovebirds ought to live in pairs and if not, they die. Well, our lovebird has survived many years already—without a partner at that. Is there a Guinness Book of World Record for that?

With just him (or her?) living all by itself all this time, just where is the “love” in “lovebirds”? Perhaps it’s just us humans who insist on calling them lovebirds. And with such labels come expectations, and sometimes these expectations tend to be limiting and unfair.

If the bird knew it was a “lovebird” (with all the expectations associated with being one), would it have survived all these years? Perhaps, it’s all a misconception. Maybe they’re like the Philippine Eagle who finds just one mate for life. Perhaps I have to change my pet’s name/classification into “widowbird” or whatever. Which I’m not about to do.

Or perhaps I should just set it free. Except that I don’t know if it will be safe out there. Or maybe I should just leave the cage door open so that it’s free to come and go as it pleases.

All these years, living in a cage day in and day out without a partner, if it has not lost its sanity yet (bird sanity, that is), maybe it’s already on its way there. To cuckoo land. Ahehe. A lovebird turning into a cuckoo. Gets?

Or maybe it has already turned into a zombie bird, having “died” a long time ago, and now trapped in an “un-asked for” routine existence. Perhaps it’s just like Gollum or those nine Ringwraiths in "The Lord of the Rings." They’ve become content in the care of a master, one who tells them what to do, or at least confined in set perimeters of what they can do. I don’t know.

We also have a pet rooster in the backyard. It’s over a year old now (in human years) and people around here have been asking me when I’d have it slaughtered and cooked into Tinola. Well, firstly, it’s the family’s mascot. Secondly, and on a personal level, I’d like to see a chicken die of old age for once. In most parts of the world, chickens are either slaughtered for cooking or “killed” in cockfights.

He’s still feisty. With just a cord tied around its leg, that rooster is not “insane” yet, I guess. If not for the little children around the house, I’d set it loose. But if I give him freedom, would that turn him into a mad chicken on the loose? Some people are that way. Too much of this, too much of that, they go crazy. I guess madness reigns when the right conditions warrant it.

Judging Kevorkian

(with my journal entry dated March 27, 2012, a Tuesday)

I was channel surfing last night and then I got to HBO and saw an old man trying to get into his car. There was an angry crowd addressing him about religion or spiritual beliefs. And the man said to them, “I, too, have religion! And his name is Bach! Johann Sebastian Bach!” and he got into the waiting car and drove off.

I guess that was the hook for me. J.S. Bach. That spirit who can appease believers and nonbelievers alike.

The movie was “You Don’t Know Jack,” about Dr. Jack Kevorkian who was the rallying figure for the legalization of doctor-assisted suicide in the United States. I think more than the legalization, what he was after was for doctor-assisted suicide to be seen not as some form of murder or homicide or whatever. The word that resonates in my head is “release”—release from the pain and suffering  with as much humanity preserved, what with the patient having been given the choice—the right to decide over his/her life.

All the time I was watching, I was thinking a lot. Arguments for and against the practice in my head. The movie did not present Jack Kevorkian (brilliantly played by Al Pacino) as mad or maniacal. Well, to a certain degree, he was passionate. His arguments are intellectually provocative, coming from a sound mind who also happens to be a poet, artist, and musician (he plays the flute and he played Bach on the flute in the movie).

I think the least I can say about him is that he’s fascinating. He has his faults as much as the next man, or genius, if you may, but I’m thinking the movie was not made for us to side with him or make a stand on the issue. Foremost, I think it was made to make us rethink about life and the liberties (or restrictions) we have over it. I wouldn’t want to be his judge.

Subjective as it may seem, morality, to my mind, is not, and has not always been, an individual decision or acquisition. STANDARDS OF MORALITY ARE ALWAYS MORE THAN THE SELF. You have a sense of right and wrong individually, but somewhere at the back of your mind, you believe you will be judged and that you cannot get away with everything (try as hard as you might to deny it).

Maybe you can defy your neighbors or your loved ones or societal conventions. Or maybe you can even get them to change their minds about you, even side with you. But there will always be your conscience to contend with, a higher power if you will—some guy in robes hovering above each of us, perhaps.

In the end, Dr. Kevorkian was judged and imprisoned based on technicalities (I think). Not that he was “morally” wrong and found guilty, but simply because he broke the law. He deliberately conducted a last doctor-assisted suicide of a patient suffering from Lou Gehrig’s disease (if I remember it right), had it videotaped, and then had himself interviewed and the video shown on national television, much to the outrage of conventional society.

By doing so, Dr. Kevorkian thought he could “persuade” the public to see it his way through provocation. But what it all boiled down to was that he broke the law. The US Supreme Court judge said that living in a democracy entitles one the right to have the law “rethought” by discussion, debate, public demonstration, etc., but not by breaking it to provoke public denouncement or approval (or something to that effect). The judge ended the decision with a “No one is above the law” pronouncement, and that was how Dr. Kevorkian was judged.

It all happened in the 1990s. With the film focusing on the doctor’s “misadventures,” we get to hear his side of the story.

I do not agree with him on most points. I don’t believe suicide is moral (even that by Socrates drinking the hemlock). But then, who knows, right? Feeling the pain of “a severe toothache in every bone of your body,” I’d probably contemplate suicide, too, for all I know. I’d probably think: Why this cross to bear? And why bear it for much longer?

Perhaps it’s what defines us. For a moment in time, we carry a burden. Either we carry it all the way through, or “choose” not to. The way I see it, life is about the choices we make, and NOT whether we are able to make a choice at all.

But then you can always argue: I choose to choose. Well, that’s just semantics. Ahehe. That doesn’t really paint a complete picture of you, does it? In the end, it still boils down to the QUALITY of the finished work, NOT IN THE ABILITY TO CHOOSE to finish the work.

So, which one is it? Which decision would you choose to define you?

Jeepney Drama

(excerpt from my journal entry dated December 18, 2011, a Sunday)

I didn’t get around to writing here yesterday because I was busy. I mean I should have woken up early para makapagsulat dito kaya lang it’s either tinanghali ako ng gising or masyado lang maraming preparations for our barkada’s Christmas party sa Tagaytay. But I think I should start with the events of the other day, Friday, which was also my last day of work sa _____, Ortigas.

It was not really remarkable, just one of those usual work days, except that on my way to Ortigas, something happened I did not expect. I was a drama king. Ahehe.

When I got off the bus at Baclaran, I boarded a jeepney for MRT. At the driver’s seat, may dalawa pang nakaupo sa harap bukod sa driver—the driver’s assistant and an old man.

Noong umaandar na kami, may pinara yung driver na matandang babae. Akala niya sasakay. Pero imbes na sumakay yung matandang babae, nagtanong muna siya sa driver kung papasok daw ba ng MRT yung biyahe niya. To this, the driver replied: Hindi daw kakasya yung jeep niya sa MRT kasi maliit lang daw yung MRT. Tapos iniwanan niya na yung matanda; pinaharurot niya yung jeep niya habang nagtatawanan silang tatlo sa harap.

Sa comments nila, they were making fun of the old woman. Sabi ng matandang lalaki, maliligaw daw yung matanda kasi daw aalis-alis daw ng bahay, hindi naman daw alam kung saan pupunta. Daldal nang daldal yung matanda samantalang tawa pa rin nang tawa yung driver at yung assistant niya.

Nainis na ako.

Since malapit lang naman ako sa harap ng jeep nakaupo, dinig na dinig ko sila, kaya nagsalita na rin ako. Sabi ko, “Kaya nga nagtatanong e, kasi hindi niya alam.” And that was it. I stared at them sharply, daring them to talk back to me.

The driver and his assistant immediately shut up, but the old man who was still making all those stupid comments just to be funny kept on talking. He probably didn’t hear what I said (kasi nga, he’s talking).

But quite honestly, I don’t really mind the old man talking out of his head. He’s old and a bit on the senile side (I think). But the driver and his assistant were young. And that kind of disrespect for the elderly (and a stranger at that) was something I just cannot tolerate. That’s why I told them off.

But the stupid thing I did after this was that I started crying. Not crying as in bawling or sobbing. Just silently shedding tears and wiping them as discretely as I could. I was probably so furious that it happened.

The driver’s assistant kept stealing glances at me through the jeepney’s front mirror, but I couldn’t care less what he thought. Man, it was not cool. I couldn’t wait to get to MRT already and get off that jeepney….