Gran Turismo

(excerpt from my journal entry dated June 18, 2012, a Monday)

I was channel surfing last night and chanced upon TV5 (a French cable channel), and I happened to see a group of hill-like buildings along a rocky coast on the Mediterranean. The buildings were bright white and were structured in such a way that reminded me of the Hanging Gardens of ancient Babylon.

It was a feature on Nice, one of the luxury destinations in Europe. It’s amazing, really, how the rich throw their money away just to pursue their fairy tale bliss. Those villas are just…I don’t know…enchanting, straight out of fairy tale books.

It’s funny, though, the way the narrator handled the voice-over commentary. She’s simply irreverent. The tour guide of their ferry, she described as a “chatterbox.” And when they came upon a small island somewhat connected to the mainland by a small strip of land, our narrator said that the island used to belong to this very old family who later sold it to U2 vocalist Bono, about whom she commented: “It just goes to show how a lot of money can make people dotty.” Dotty? I looked it up in the dictionary, and there it says “dotty” means “crazy, eccentric, etc.”

When the feature was almost over, our narrator then remarked that pagkatapos daw maglaway ng mga turista sa karangyaang nakita nila [translation mine], it was up to (name of tour guide) to bring the tourists back on firm ground. How candid that was!

I wondered what she has to say if ever she does a feature on the Philippines. I mean there are those of us who seem so eager to hear what English-speaking people have to say about this country. Candid as they are, the French probably have a lot to say, too, and then being the way they are, I’m pretty sure they’d have the flair with words. Ahehe.

Quite frankly, it is getting tiresome to be reacting all the time or to be concern all the time about how white people think of us. It’s not like we can gag them up or censor whatever negative things they have to say. Duh.

After that feature, it turned out that it was just one segment of a show, somewhat like the French version of our “Unang Hirit,” except that their features are more well-researched, -written and -produced.

I guess I was watching a replay. It was carnival time then, and I thought carnival time is always around Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday), the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday. But then, I could be wrong.

Cannes Film Festival

Next feature was the Cannes Film Festival. Before this, I didn’t know that that festival is held somewhere by the sea. Onlookers who’d like to see their favorite stars walking the red carpet can do so by getting on one of the boats or ships that were stationed by the sea then. There’s even a contest of some sort as to which ship has the best view of the festival.

There were coastguards patrolling the sea among the ships, trying to maintain peace and order. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a “UFO” appeared, although the “UFO” (so says the video narrator) was clearly identifiable. It was a man who probably just wanted his 15 minutes of fame, said the narrator. The man was in a wet suit, with two large hoses attached to his flanks connecting him to this floating device behind him. Water blows from the ends of the hoses, keeping him hoisted up in the air. The coastguards chased after him, and then admonished him not to disturb the business by the shore.

And then there was this “island”—a floating “plot” on which there were a house, some parasols, fake trees, etc. A local fisherman observed that such “islands” used to be bigger, but this one is much smaller. I don’t know if he was complaining. Whatever he was talking about, he lost me.

Venice

After that segment, the next feature was on Venice, Italy. Mainly, the story was about how Venetians are getting “choked” out of their lives by the overwhelming effects of their tourism industry.

A Venetian old-timer served as the feature’s guide. He walked around the city, showing shops that sell items that “tourists want, but Venetians don’t need.” One such shop sells Venetian masks for the Carnival, and—guess what?—they’re all made in China! Wtf! Ahehe.

Stores that used to sell fruits and vegetables have now been converted to fruit/veggie stands-cum-tourist gift shops. Our old-timer guide went to one such shop and asked the owner, how come the fruits/veggies section of the store has gone smaller than the gifts/souvenirs section? And the man answered, “I’ll tell you why, but not in front of the camera.” That was very smart.

It turned out, Venice is selling out its historical buildings to corporations to be converted into hotels, casinos(?), etc. The locals, of course, are complaining. There are just 60,000 citizens in the city, compared to 20 million tourists!

A Venetian woman said that most Venetians nowadays avoid going to St. Mark’s Square around February for the masquerade. It’s filled with tourists and they feel resentful that their government is milking the opportunity to the last drop.

I’m wondering, if ever I’m to visit Venice, I’d probably do it in December, which is the lowest off season for tourists, during which time, the walkways are almost deserted. I just want to see Titians, Tintorettos, Canalettos, etc. And yes, the buildings, too. But for the carnival? No, I don’t think so. I’m introverted, remember?

The feature ends with some Venetians lined up along the banks of the main canal, holding up a very large banner for all those on the big ships entering the canal to see. “BIG SHIPS…YOU KILL ME!” their banner reads. They claim that the big ships entering the canal have adverse effects on the banks—although I’m not sure if I understood it right.

At a signal, they all raise their arms up at the big ships in the canal, and then they wave about their middle fingers. Ahehe. I sometimes wish I can do that to some unwelcome tourists in this country.

La Lanterna, Trieste

Next stop is Trieste, another Italian destination. There’s a beach resort there called “La Lanterna,” where the lovers go to be separated from each other. Literally. There’s a wall that divides/separates the men from the women on the beach.

Both the men and women who frequent the beach find the separation to their liking. The women say they can do whatever they want without worrying about the men scrutinizing their legs or breasts or the fat on their bodies. Same thing with the men on the men’s side. It’s a festival of beer bellies on their side of the wall—they lie there on the sand like albino sea lions.

One man was asked, “Do you think about your wife while here?” He answers, “No,” and then he laughs. The men say they enjoy the peace and quiet, without the women nagging at them. True enough, it seemed more peaceful on the men’s side. On the women’s side, the women chatter a lot. Yet they say that, away from the men, they are there for the peace and quiet also. Go figure. Ahehe.

The wall that separates the two was built in 1903. It’s become a tradition since then. People say it was erected to protect the women and blossoming girls from the lewdness of the men. But for the men, the wall is also a symbol of a rite of passage. Boys younger than 12 stay with their mothers on the women’s side. At 12, they transfer to the men’s side.

There was once a move to tear down the wall. Of course, it was met with opposition. There would be a revolution, the people said. Tear down the Berlin wall, but not this one, they added. One woman said, “If they tear down this wall, I will go away.” For the women, the wall accounts for the strength in character of Triestian women. Even without their men around, they say they are strong.

It’s really a good thing that I saw this show on TV5. It’s more satisfying, really, than just getting your info from the more popular travel shows all the time.

Amalayer!

(my journal entry dated November 16, 2012, a Friday)

The latest buzzword—if that’s how you call it—is “amalayer,” which I believe is a Filipinized contraction of “I’m a liar.” Not that I agree with the spelling because it’s too Tagalized. Besides, “layer” reminds me of an egg-laying chicken. But since that’s what most people understand now, I guess I’d just go with the flow.

It’s from a viral video on the net showing a female student giving an MRT lady guard the dressing down kasi ipinahiya daw siya ni lady guard kaya, ayun, nagwawala siya complete with all the theatrics she could muster.

The first time I saw it, I thought it was funny. Kasi, Inggles nang Inggles si Ate, and I thought she was doing a parody of Anne Curtis in a TV drama. The first time she said the “amalayer” outburst, I thought she said “I’m liar?” without the determiner “a.” Subsequently, she corrected herself and said, “I’m a liar!” with the “a” this time, but “liar” still pronounced as “lī-yerr,” which kinda got me a bit disturbed (in the ears). But then, that’s just semantics, and I’m not dwelling on that.

The reason why I focus on this “issue” now over the more important things out there (as far as I’m concerned) is that it’s a fine example of how the local showbiz industry is giving its public role models that are “poor”—to say the least about it. Not that Anne Curtis is "poor," but the stuff of materials that they show on local TV and the movies (in which Anne Curtis belongs) are just not uplifting either. The kaartehan does not help; the kilig factor does not help; the trying-hard-to-be-Hollywood glamour does not help.

If you wish to escape reality through local mainstream entertainment, it just doesn’t work—at least not for me. You have overexposed actors playing cliché characters in predictable storylines concocted following jaded formulas, what do you expect? It’s all fake—it sucks at make-believe. And you wonder why reality shows are “in” these days.

Unfortunately, the “fakeness” is what has streamed down the masses’ consciousness. You have stupid politicians and stupid showbiz personalities building up stupid mountains out of the littlest mounds, and the masses think that’s the way to go: be drama queens, show it on Youtube, then celebrate the mediocrity.

And in the end, it is the mass of voters who get all the flak for being duped into electing sooo self-serving politicians into office. That is not fair.

The masses need to be taught the way. And since Filipinos are generally EQ-oriented (as Sec. Robredo said), to do so would need GOOD ROLE MODELS. Role models that inspire them by deed and example, not propaganda, press releases or vulgar displays of power and attitude.

Sadly, the latter is the case with Ms. Amalayer. The lady guard said in the news that Ms. Amalayer was telling her to GET DOWN ON HER KNEES AND BEG FOR HER FORGIVENESS IN PUBLIC. Whoa! Marimar, ikaw ba ‘yan? Lol. It’s a familiar scene only in telenobelas and the movies, as far as I know.

Yet underneath this absurd comedy is the tragedy that stupid television is now dictating—or worse, even taking over—reality. For all I know, Anne Curtis would not do that in real life and in public; only in stupidly conceived TV dramas, she would.

But the stupidly misled fans probably would. The stupidly misled public would. All just because the EQ-oriented populace saw their idols doing it on TV.

Now, I’m not saying that what Ms. Amalayer did was all wrong. For all I know, maybe it really was righteous anger on her part. What went wrong, however, were her manners and motives. It gave me the impression that the why and how she did it were no different from the whys and hows politicians and celebrities do the dumbest things just to hog the spotlight to themselves.

I guess that’s the difference between Mr. Carabuena and Ms. Amalayer. The former was being true to his emotions, the latter was being true to her impressions. Unluckily, they both got caught on camera in a one-sided light. And the public who saw their videos badly needed the break from the humdrums of the dumb and common.

Cats and Rats

(my journal entry dated September 21, 2012, a Friday)

For some time now, the cats and rats in our backyard have been “playing” cat and mouse with one another—what else would they be playing? Recently, they’ve been doing it up in our ceiling, and so, from time to time, you hear their scratching and running noises up there, sometimes at night, sometimes at early dawn.

Come to think of it, those cats aren’t really our cats. They’re the offspring and grand offspring of what were formerly our cats (or were they really our cats to begin with?). Anyway, we don’t take care of them as we do our other pets; they take care of themselves.

We throw food scraps in the backyard and they eat from it. Sometimes, methinks, they go to other people’s backyards and feed there—I don’t know. Sometimes, they chase after the rats that also feed on the food scraps we throw away, which is a good thing, really, since those rats are such pests they get in our house sometimes and “promenade” here. I think they have a nest in one of the rooms, probably the library.

I once learned that these sewer rats are not native to the Philippines. They’re actually from Europe, brought here to our shores by the ships that came with the Spanish conquistadores, if I remember it right.

The real Filipino rat is actually the very cute, very furry, and very clean Cloud Rat that lives up in trees in remote forests in the country. They were thought to be extinct, but then there have been sightings of them recently, a Norwegian couple even got a picture. Great!

Southern Luzon Giant Cloud Rat
(image taken from http://rodents-marsupials.knoji.com/facts-about-cloud-rats/)

I was watching a cat in the backyard from our kitchen this morning. I don’t like that cat much because it has this habit of rubbing against your leg (begging for food scraps, I suppose), and then when it doesn’t get what it wants from you, he claws at your legs or even bites your heel.

The first time it happened, I thought it was just an isolated incident. But when it happened the second time, from then on, I make sure that whenever our paths cross, it better scamper away, or else I douse it with water. Nanay’s diabetic wound was actually caused by a cat that scratched at her leg, and I don’t want a repeat of that to anyone around here.

But cats remain fascinating for me. Their quiet, I-don’t-care-about-you “royalty” and quick and nimble ways are traits I really admire. I wonder if it’s got something to do with walking on all fours?

Yeah, right! Like, walking on all fours would definitely make Queen Elizabeth more royal. Lol. What I meant was, I wonder if their being quick and nimble have something to do with walking on all fours.

I saw this cat leap up to the roof, and I thought, “Hey, I can do that, too.” I think the reason why it looked easy for them to do that is because they’re on all fours—they launch their leap from the ground crouched tightly, with their hind legs bent with enough buwelo—whereas we humans leap with our bodies still upright and our knees just slightly bent, avoiding the embarrassment or humiliation of looking like a “lowly” animal.

And they’re also very difficult to kill—what with their nine lives. Cockroaches are also difficult to kill. I guess that goes to show that the closer you are to the earth, the farther you are from the grave.

Whatever that means.

Ready?

(excerpt from my journal entry dated September 7, 2012, a Friday)

Punta ako Ortigas ngayon. Mag-i-invest. Naks! Maliit lang naman. Para na rin kay Tatay. Tapos, kapag lumago, at least kahit paano, may panggastos siya.

I was thinking of that old man and his wife that Eat Bulaga! visited in their Sugod-Bahay portion some weeks ago. Sabi ng matandang lalaki, nag-iipon daw siya ng pera para pag dumating daw ang panahon na mamatay na siya, kahit paano may panggastos siya pamburol at pagpalibing.

It’s a morbid thought, but makes a lot of sense. Lahat naman tayo mamamatay e. Una-una lang. Mabuti na ‘yung handa.

When I brought up my plan with my sister, nainis pa siya. Bakit daw ganun ako mag-isip. E sabi ko, hindi naman kawalang-galang ‘yun. Nagiging handa ka lang naman sa sigurado rin namang mangyayari. Syempre, ako mismo, ayoko rin naman mangyari ‘yun agad-agad. Pero, just in case na mangyari nga ‘yun, sigurado ako na kahit si Tatay mismo, ayaw niya na mataranta kami kasi hindi kami handa.

Andami kasing Pinoy ang hindi handa sa buhay. Puro day-to-day lang ang iniisip. Kapag nakahawak ng malaking pera, bili dito, bili doon. Parang walang bukas. Parang hindi sila mao-ospital, mamamatayan, o magkakaroon ng kahit na anong emergency. Ayoko ng ganung buhay—isang kahig, isang tuka. Tapos, laging nagse-self pity. Laging nagpapa-awa sa ibang tao para tulungan sila. Kinaiinisan ang mga taong ganun.

Ang siste: paano pala kung kamag-anak mo? Pag sinabihan mo naman, ikaw pa ang masama. Tumulong ka nga naman daw, e bakit daw isinusumbat mo ang tulong mo. Ewan.

I wonder how the Jews do it. I wonder how the Chinese do it.

We have much to learn from them. They thrive on extended families. Nagtutulungan sila. Pero ang alam ko, may limit ‘yung pagtulong nila sa kamag-anak nila. Hanggang tatlo o apat na beses lang ‘ata. Papahiramin ka nila ng puhunan. Kung malugi ka, pwede ka pang umutang ulit. Meron ka pang dalawa o tatlong chance para makapagsimula ulit. Leverage. Pero hindi pwede abusuhin. Kasi nga, may limit.

Nang nagpunta pala ako sa Chinatown one time, napansin ko sa isang restaurant doon, may announcement. ‘Yung meeting daw ng “council of elders” nila, na-move ang schedule. May “council of elders” ang Chinatown? Anggaling a.

Naisip ko, hindi ka naman siguro magiging miyembro ng konseho na ‘yun kung wala kang malasakit sa community mo. Ganun dati ang mga sinaunang societies. May mga wise old men and women ang nagga-guide sa buhay ng komunidad.

E ngayon, ano? Mga pulitikong nananalo lang sa eleksyon. Dinaan lang sa pera at palakasan ang pagiging lider. Wala na ngang wisdom at malasakit, corrupt, kurakot at KSP pa. Ewan. Chapter!