This I can do

*my column in the August 21, 2011 issue of Cordillera Today

I received a message from an online acquaintance on Facebook.com last week – some guy was looking for a documentary filmmaker for a project. I sent that guy a message online and I got a reply. Later that evening, I received a call from one Illiac Diaz.

Diaz was, not sure if he still is, an actor turned... and this I got from “Googling’ him – social entrepreneur, environmental hero, designer, inventor, etc., etc. I knew him first as that guy who designed those odd- looking dome-shaped tsunami-proof houses made out of recycled materials. I thought then, well, that’s cool. He’s being talked about lately for his latest brilliant brainstorm – using plastic bottles to make “solar light bulbs” that can brighten up a room with light equivalent to that emitted by a conventional 55-watt light bulb.

So last week, I was on the phone with him to talk about that particular latest project. But what made a bigger impression on me was the idea behind the idea. We have been reading a lot about how we can all do our share in protecting the environment and live an eco-friendly, sustainable lifestyle. We have been told that we can convert gasoline-fuelled cars to LPG, to lessen harmful emissions in the air. Or, for the more financially-able, there are hybrid cars now that can switch from gasoline to electric power with the push of a button. We know about those fluorescent light bulbs that while four to five times more pricy than regular incandescent bulbs, consume much less electricity and last longer. How many of you out there are using solar panels to heat water? Or closer to home, have you bought yourself one of those trendy, eco-friendly shopping bags from the shopping giant up the hill to lessen the use of plastic bags?

But see, most of us don’t even have cars to convert to be more eco-friendly to begin with. Maybe in the long run we can save some money from using fluorescent light bulbs, but right now, today, we can only afford that P30.00 incandescent bulb, and not that P200.00 eco-friendly one. Most solar panels I looked up can cost you around P140.00 per watt. That means having solar panels that would run a 300-watt refrigerator would cost you... you do the math. The point is, most eco-friendly efforts out there are just unrealistic for most of us. There are things we mere mortals can do. Sure, reducing, reusing, recycling non-environment-friendly materials is doable for most of us. Segregating our garbage, assuming that the city we live in has a proper waste management system, can go a long way in protecting the environment. But what can the majority of Filipinos do to help protect the environment?

That’s where Illiac Diaz is coming from – he brings the concept of sustainability closer to the masses. And his ideas and efforts can realistically have a positive impact on the environment simply because most of us can actually do it, and not just a few privileged households in exclusive subdivisions. 

I was asked recently by a corporate giant to put together a website to trumpet their so-called environmental efforts. The project was simple – they will give me literature about and images of their sustainability efforts and I will publish them on the world wide web. It has been months since and the website is not up yet because I have yet to receive materials relevant enough to be considered real efforts. Sure they have a sewage treatment plant – as if letting toxic liquid waste seep into the ground is acceptable, and having such a plant is a great effort on their part. Sure they use energy-efficient light bulbs, bit is it really to help save Mother Earth or to pay less money for electricity? Sure they turn off some lights during the annual Earth Hour, during which they hold a concert to pat themselves on the back for the effort, knowing fully-well that the ensuing concert consumes a lot of electricity to power those stage lights and sound system.

Too bad our group could not afford to go on a week-long caravan with Illiac Diaz to promote his plastic bottle light bulb idea to do a video documentary on it. I had to take a rain check, a reality check really, since there was no budget for the documentation and our group just couldn’t afford to do it pro bono at the moment,  to skip work for a week at the moment, for skipping work for a week for us means skipping eating for a week. It’s one of those realities that, no matter how much we believe in the idea, how much we love the environment and how much we want to participate in protecting it, we could not ignore right now.

So I thought I would at least write about it, so you’d know about it. That I can do. Now, what else...     

Virgo rising

I can only speak of his story from the time he joined to tell the story of Timoune in the play, Once on this Island in 2006. I did not know him or of him before that. He was coming in with a clean slate and with nothing else but sheer talent and passion for his craft - any theatre director’s delight.

One of the two roles he played in that musical was Agwe, the God of Water, who early in the play takes center stage with a song that sets Timoune on a journey. A veteran of choirs and singing competitions, he was a theatre novice at the time, yet he performed the role with such aplomb, such conviction that one might think that he has been on stage all his life. He is a joy to be with during rehearsals, engaging the staff and fellow performers in playful banter and would occasionally fill up the room with his booming, baritone laughter. But once onstage, he totally shuts out everything else and devotes his whole being to telling the story. Always eager to take in anything that would make him a better artist, he listens to directions attentively and accepts criticisms graciously.

While he is aware that God has gifted him with a wonderful singing voice, he knows that there is always room for improvement, and he works hard to further develop that gift. And he generously and readily shares that gift with anyone who wants it. He would always be seen giving advice to his fellow performers, imparting all that he has learned in years of vocal training, both formal and informal.

He never settles for mediocrity, and for him, and this is one of the reasons I love working with him, there’s no such thing as a minor production, or a small gig. He treats every single performance as a performance of a lifetime. Whether it’s at the ballroom of the Baguio Country Club, or a cafeteria along Session Road, or on a makeshift stage out in the open in some park. And he expects nothing less from the people he works with – he would encourage, push, and motivate everyone around him to always strive for excellence, whether it’s a major production where he’s getting paid a decent professional fee or a pro bono performance, where the only compensation he will get is the audience’s applause.

Since joining Open Space five years ago, he has been seen as Pilate in the musical “Jesus Christ Superstar,” Judah in “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat,” and as one of the storytellers in “Kafagway: Sa Saliw ng mga Gangsa.” Earlier this year, we did a series of performances at the Art Park of Camp John Hay, which showcased his versatility as a vocalist: one night he would be heard singing classical arias, pop hits in another, and Broadway favourites the next. And it almost never fails - someone would come up to him after each performance, ask about him, where else he performs, if he has a recording. One Russian tourist, in town for a few weeks, perhaps missed visiting much of what Baguio had to offer for after hearing him sing one night, she made it a point to be there every single time this artist went on stage. A senator was driving by the Art Park one afternoon while he was onstage singing, and the senator stopped, got out of her car, and just stood there, with eyes closed listening to his wonderful voice. Weeks later, the senator requested a command performance, an encore just for her and her friends.

One might come to the conclusion, with all of the above, that he may currently be a big name in the industry. That perhaps fans crowd around him wherever he goes. But no. Not yet anyway. In one singing competition here in Baguio, the judges didn’t even think his voice merited a spot in the finals, when perhaps the real reason was that this guy was just too good to be true for them, too good to be in a competition set in the middle of a tiangge in the park. Or maybe it’s because while there right in front of them was world-class talent, a voice that reaches deep inside of you and stirs up emotions you didn’t even know you were capable of feeling, what they were looking for was just another pretty face.

Yet unheralded he may be, but not for long, for Virgo is rising. Lloyd Virgo, baritone, that is. With his recent performance in the qualifiers for Pilipinas Got Talent, where he left the judges in awe with an inspired rendition of “Nessun Dorma,” Lloyd Virgo may finally get the recognition he deserves and reach a much wider audience hungry for real, pure talent.

Lloyd Virgo is rising, and it’s a very good sign, for this Baguio-based talent deserves it. And we are very lucky to have him in our midst. 

The games we play

*my column in the July 31, 2011 issue of Cordillera Today

Maybe it’s because the travesty has gone on for a very long time that we long for the revolution to be magically instantaneous. Like the way the first rain of May immediately wipes away all memories of summer

.  

For more than three centuries we were enslaved by the Spanish colonizers, but just barely a year into Andres Bonifacio’s reign as Supremo of the Katipunan, the Magdalo faction led by Aguinaldo felt that it was already time for a change in government. Corazon Aquino became president of our country after more than a decade of martial law, and the following year, a series of attempts to overthrow her government were launched.

After a decade of rigged elections, unabated unjust killings and disappearances, “un-moderated” greed in government and other dishonourable and despicable acts committed by the very people to whom we entrusted our lives, Noynoy’s pitch, “Daang Matuwid,” struck a chord, and we, the people, decided it’s time we corrected the mistakes of the past decade, and elected him to lead us. And now a lot of us have given President Benigno Aquino III a failing grade. No less than Archbishop Oscar Cruz revealed early this year that there are moves to replace Aquino, then just a little over six months into his 6-year term, because of incompetence. Aquino was elected with the highest percentage of votes in the country’s post-EDSA history, yet the impression that we get today, a year after he took his oath of office, is that there is a clamor for change yet again.

Aquino, a failure? It’s way too early to make that judgement, I believe. I personally did not vote for him, but despite the obvious lapses of his regime, I am prepared to be pragmatic, and recognize that 12 months are not enough to make a 360-turn from the direction Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo took this country down to from 2001 until June 30, 2010.

In the same way that while I did not personally vote for the current local leadership in Baguio, and though I have misgivings about some of their self-serving pronouncements that give the impression that a year into their terms and they’re still campaigning, and the direction our local executive and representative seem to be taking the city down to, it is too early to make a judgement. Maybe they’re right. I sure am hoping they’re right. And that soon, the city will be able to breathe, live a good life again, because “we stopped hauling garbage to Capas, Tarlac,” because of the “rehabilitation” of the Rose Garden, because of all the construction going on in the city, because they questioned the legality of the citizen’s initiative that is Panagbenga Park, etc.

In 2004, after a decade of musical chairs up in City Hall and the sudden transformation of Baguio from being a city in harmony with its natural environment to being a poster child for unsustainable development and the site of a hideous concrete tree, we said, “tama na, sobra na, palitan na,” and replaced the local leadership. Yet, a year later, we did nothing as sour-graping politicians and suspicious capitalists silenced our voices and removed our chosen one. Again in 2007, we let our voices be heard as we declared that we are never going back to traditional politics. But when we finally felt the effects of more than a decade of misdirected efforts – including sitting on the Solid Waste Management Act that resulted in a garbage crisis, we wanted all the problems solved in a mere three years. Never mind that we were already headed towards solutions, never mind that most of did not do our share to solve the crisis, we wanted the problem solved for us, immediately. And when the solution didn’t come fast enough, we decided to play Trip to Jerusalem again.

The first half of the game’s not even done yet, too early to tell if a substitution is absolutely necessary. Don’t leave the arena just yet, or better yet, keep on playing the game – remember, we chose the game and who we wanted to play with. Don’t judge P-Noy just yet, and Mayor Mauricio Domogan and Congressman Bernie Vergara too. But keep watching, keep playing. At the end of the day, we must remember that after all, we’re in the same team. Sometimes the captain’s replacement is unnecessary, sometimes we, the other players, just need to step up and play better. Just like the Azkals - when de facto top guys Caligdong and  Younghusband could not deliver, we saw how Schrock stepped up to lift us all up. Of course the Azkals lost in the end in this match, that only tells us that it can’t happen overnight, but their gallant effort gave us hope that one day, we’ll get where we want to be.  

We keep going for instant gratification, and look at us, still in a losing game. But that’s no reason to quit –keep playing, keep cheering, voicing out suggestions from the sidelines too. It’s way too early to give either a failing or a passing grade. Stay in the game – then after the cheerleaders finish entertaining us with their routine during breaks and at half time, then we can decide whether to go ahead with the current game plan, or change tactics, or players. 

Auditions

*repost of my column in the May 29, 2011 issue of Cordillera Today

What song are you singing? Will you be using a minus-one or do you want our pianist to play for you? Stand on the “X” on the floor in the middle of the room. Project, and remember to always face the panel while you’re singing. Break a leg.

These were the words we would say to the thousands of performing artists who auditioned for the musical, “Miss Saigon,” from the late 80’s to the early 90’s. The series of auditions were held to cast the production of the hit musical in different parts of the world – from London to Stuttgart to Toronto to Amsterdam. For those who don’t know, Lea Salonga, then already an established performing artist, wasn’t pre-cast, she wasn’t discovered by Oprah - she auditioned for the part. So did Monique Wilson, Michael Williams, Isay Alvarez, Robert Sena, etc. Dulce auditioned too, but was deemed over qualified. The most established artists got was skip lining up to register for the auditions – but just like everybody else, they had to submit their CV's together with their headshots, get a slot in the audition schedule, and show up at least half an hour before their scheduled audition.

I share this now in light of a recent conversation with noted tenor, John Glenn Gaerlan, about how young local thespians seem to have developed an aversion to auditions. For them, after being in one, two or five plays, auditioning is already beyond them. And when they do audition and don’t get the part they want, they take it personally and against the people who deemed them not right for the part.

I remember this particular local theater practitioner who auditioned for one of my musicals years ago whom I cast in a supporting role. After learning of his role during our first reading of the script, he never showed up again. It turned out that he wanted to be cast as the lead, and when he didn’t get the role he wanted, backed out. I would meet him again years later, in an aborted production of a popular musical that was to be produced by a local civic organization of which his mother was a member. He showed up during one of our rehearsals with his mother, one of the show’s de facto producers, perhaps expecting to be cast automatically in the production. When I asked him to prepare his audition piece and to let me know whenever he’s ready to audition, again, he backed out.

I once auditioned for Raymond Red’s first feature film, “Bayani.” I was given a supporting role. Years later, Red was about to do his second feature, “Sakay.” I called him up and asked about it, deep inside hoping that he would just give me a role in it. I thought that since we’ve worked together before, he would already know what I can deliver and therefore not require me to audition anymore. He said that he had a role in mind for me, then asked me to audition for the part.

Marlon Brando auditioned for the lead role in “Rebel Without A Cause,” and we all know who got the role eventually. Al Pacino had to audition for the part of Michael Corleone in “The Godfather.” In that same movie, two of the greatest actors of all time, Laurence Olivier and Marlon Brando were being considered for the role of Vito Corleone, which was eventually played by Brando. Olivier did not get the chance to read or audition for the part only because he was sick at the time.

Unless you get a part in a soap opera or sitcom that would last for eight or ten seasons, actors are hired on a per project basis, which would feed you for a month or two. There is no job security in this business, but it is not true that you’re only as good as your last gig. You are in fact as good as your last workshop, the last time you trained to hone your talent, the last time you studied your craft to have an even deeper understanding of it. Nobody else knows how good you are at any given point in your career, that’s why you audition. You may have failed in an audition with this or that particular director in the past, but you can always prove to them that you have gotten better at your craft since at another time. On the other hand, you may have worked with a particular director in the past, but prove to have stagnated as an artist since and be turned down the next time you’re standing on the “X” in the middle of the floor in front of him.

So to actors out there, just like Salonga, Wilson, Brando, Olivier, Pacino, go ahead, audition, and audition again. When you get turned down, strive to be a better artist instead of sulking. And remember, project! And remember to always face the panel. Break a leg.

Where's that packing tape? (Part 4 of 4)

*repost of my article in May 22, 2011 issue of Cordillera Today

One gloomy afternoon at the Baguio Arts Guild’s Greenhouse Effect Gallery at the Baguio Botanical Gardens, an emergency meeting was about to begin. Then the chair of the guild, the late Santiago Bose sat in the middle to deliver a statement. The issue was his decision to replace the current president of the guild and caretaker of the gallery due mainly to inefficiency. The gallery has deteriorated in the past couple of months, there’s no electricity and the gift shop is practically empty, so is the guild’s bank account. Bose called for new elections. The president cried foul, who then mustered enough “members,” majority of whom belonged to those who have given the guild up for dead in the past couple of years, and called for this emergency meeting. Bose, coming from a major surgery, obliged, traveled straight from the hospital in Manila to Baguio, and agreed to attend the meeting to state his case.

Halfway through his statement, the heckling began. He never had the chance to finish what he had to say. Instead, he just stood up, and calmly said, “I quit.” Something died in him that afternoon, and the death of the group that once united local artists, the organization that put Baguio on the international map as a haven for world-class artists, the guild that was Bose’s brainchild, began.

An arts festival was attempted by the guild later that year, which excluded Bose, of course. On December 2, 2002, we learned that the festival couldn’t decide on how to go about the closing ceremony the following day. That evening, Bose, after months of gloom, depression and loneliness following his decision to turn his back on his brainchild, was in an unusually upbeat mood, despite a lingering fever. Reggae music put him to sleep that night, and woke up struggling to breathe. I along with two other friends of his would rush him to the hospital later that morning. On the afternoon of December 3, 2002, he passed away, and the Baguio Arts Guild’s arts festival ended.

Amidst all the clutter of the past 15 years is a poster for “Sprikitik, Marabuntas, Smorstikens,” a multimedia tribute we held for Bose three years after his death. The title lifted from Bose’s “magic words” when performing tricks for children. There are also posters and programs for that first musical Open Space staged in Baguio. Letters we sent to schools to promote he plays “Pangarap,” “Once on this Island,” “Jesus Christ Superstar,” Ang Paglilitis ni Mang Serapio,” etc. Photos of performances at UP Baguio, SLU-CCA, UC Theater, Tayug, Lingayen and Dagupan in Pangasinan, Candon, Ilocos Sur, Daet Camarines Norte and Lipa, Batangas. Photos of our children through the years growing up in the backstage of various theaters, of them onstage as performers in some productions, of them helping to make props and set pieces for plays.

But the boxes I bought for the move weeks ago remain empty.

I pick up a copy of the first straight play I wrote, “Manifest Destiny.” I think I like my original title for this play, “Anino.” It’s a play about Rizal’s life through the eyes of his brother, Paciano, an unsung hero. On the first page, first line reads, “PACIANO (to JUAN): ‘Nandito ka na naman. Wala ka nang mapapala sa’kin, hijo.’” I'd like to tell this story one more time. 

Pack that packing tape along with those packing boxes, I guess we’re gonna stay in this house for quite a while longer.

Just a while longer.  

Where's that packing tape? (Part 3)

*repost of my article in May 15, 2011 issue of Cordillera Today

I am looking at a copy of the souvenir program for the play, “Manifest Destiny,” staged in 2001 – I am amazed by the number of advertisements in it, a rare occurrence in Open Space’s journey as an independent theater group in Baguio.

With corporate sponsors and the local government continuing to ignore theater and pouring in their support for beauty pageants instead, we were limited to plays with minimal casting and production requirements. In the remaining years of the 20^th century, we staged a series of collections of monologues, “Sex, Drugs, Rock & Roll,” “Tonyo/Pepe,” and “Mga Ina ng Bayan.” But things were looking up: ticket prices to plays went up from P25.00 to P35.00. We can now print posters and souvenir programs on newsprint.

On the eve of the new millennium, the Baguio Arts Guild was resurrected with the 1999 Baguio Arts Festival. While most of its original members have given it up for dead, one of its original founding members, Santiago Bose, almost single-handedly kept it afloat. We “unofficially” participated in the festival: Ferdie Balanag has just returned to Baguio after a couple of years’ absence, and itching to get right back on the local art circuit, invited me to collaborate with him on “Saka-saka”, a performance art-piece which was performed under, around and on the mulberry trees in the garden of Martha Lovina’s residence in Mines View.

The following year, 2000, we opened a gallery - The Workshop for Creative Survival. The name was borrowed from my mother’s series of workshops for the underprivileged and children of political detainees in the 80’s. There we held workshops, performances and exhibits. Ferdie and I re-staged “Sex, Drugs, Rock & Roll” at the gallery in what was perhaps Baguio’s smallest theater with a maximum seating capacity of just 12, this time bringing in another local actor, CJ DeRaedt.  We didn’t get a full house. My sister, Carina Altomonte, after teaching a visual arts workshop during the summer of 2000, had her first solo exhibit at the gallery, which I dubbed “Out in the Open,” now the title of my column here. Her exhibit was followed by another solo show, this time by Rene Aquitania, which opened without his works which weren’t ready on opening day. Though that day didn’t end without a spectacle: an impromptu performance in the middle of the street featuring the cutting of Rene’s long hair that had the gallery’s neighbors calling the police to stop the performance. The gallery ran for several months, but as in most artistic endeavors, we couldn’t sustain it financially.

We brought out that packing tape and closed it down and decided to once again just focus on our first love: theater, under Open Space.

The early years of the new millennium ushered in the digital revolution: digital stills, digital videos, digital graphics, etc. Open Space’s succeeding productions then explored these new tools coming up with fresh approaches to play production. Ferdie would later put up a multimedia outfit, the Workshop for Infinite Media, with which Open Space collaborated in our production of the musical, “Pangarap.”

But just as the local arts scene seem to be having a renaissance, politics reared its ugly head once again one gloomy afternoon at the Greenhouse Effect Gallery of the Baguio Arts Guild.

Where's that packing tape? (Part 2)

*a repost of my article in the May 8, 2011 issue of Cordillera Today. 

In the late 90’s, there were hardly any active independent theater groups in Baguio. We in Open Space hoped to fill that void. Our first production in 1996, “Sex, Drugs, Rock & Roll,” which opened at the (then) BCF Theater as part of their Golden Anniversary celebration, seemed to have revived local interest in the art form - former school-based theater artists came out of hibernation and soon an umbrella organization for both school-based and independent theater groups was proposed.

UP Baguio took the initiative of organizing the first conference of local theater artists. But politics and parochialism got in the way – nobody seemed to trust anybody else, and my participation was questioned for not being “truly taga-Baguio.”

Naively believing that a play can survive without the support of the academe, we staged a play in the summer of ’97, “A Prelude To A Kiss,” at the Mountain Breeze Theater of Camp John Hay, which would later be the venue of a proposed casino that would topple the reign of traditional politicians who were pushing for it. We held auditions and a number of members of St. Louis’ University’s Center for Culture and the Arts, free for the summer, auditioned, and made it to the cast, to the dismay of their director, who did come to watch the play and called it “immoral” because of that one kissing scene. They would also much later be dismayed upon learning that some of their school’s alumni have joined our group. As for me, I felt really sad to learn that they would rather let the talents of these people who were not connected with the school anymore stagnate rather than be showcased for the benefit of the community.

The production was a box-office flop, but we didn’t mind for it proved that Baguio was teeming with thespians, all they needed was recognition, opportunity, and a venue. We moved on.

In the meantime, Baguio’s rapid urbanization surged forward, and while more and more concrete structures were erected all over the city eclipsing its famed beautiful skyline, the Baguio Arts Guild, and with it the local arts and culture scene, slowly crumbled. A re-organization was done, an interim set of Board of Directors was put in place, tasked to overhaul the guild’s organizational structure, who in turn elected a triumvirate who will do the actual work which included me, sculptor Kigao Rosimo and the late Santiago Bose. We had differences in opinion as to how the guild should move forward, so we eventually gave way to Santi who singlehandedly held the reins of the organization for the next few years.

In 1998, after obtaining the permission of Malou Jacob and the late Rene Villanueva, we staged the twin-bill “Tonyo/Pepe,” which featured monologues on Antonio Luna   (written by Villanueva) and Jose Rizal (by Jacob) at the Bulwagang Juan Luna of UP Baguio with myself playing the role of Luna and Amar Chandnani as Rizal. This was the time when a school principal, after receiving our letter inviting their school to the play, was so shocked to learn that the ticket price for the show was pegged at a ridiculously low price of P25.00. She remarked, “Twenty five pesos?!? Ang mahal naman! Akala ko piso lang ang ticket kasi taga-Baguio lang naman kayo!”

The Bulwagang Juan Luna can comfortably accommodate an audience of about 350. At P 25.00, provided we have a full house, we can gross P8,750.00. Less P3,000 (then) for venue rental, a few hundreds for printing expenses, a couple of thousands for production expenses (costumes, sets, props, food and beverage, etc.), add in rehearsal and other pre-production expenses and you get an idea about how much is left for the cast of seven and production staff of five.

I felt bad that the school principal thought that for Baguio-based theater artists, a one-peso ticket price was just right. But, after a couple of years of living here, I was just also glad to be called "taga-Baguio."

Where’s that packing tape?

*a repost of my article in the May 1, 2011 issue of Cordillera Today. 

We’re moving house again, and while we, my wife and I, don’t really look forward to the packing and unpacking, I am quite excited to have that feeling of a fresh start, a new leaf, chapter, a clean slate that moving into a new house brings.

I bought used boxes and packing tape from a grocery store one morning few days ago to get the packing going. But I was scheduled to be out the rest of the day, so the first packing session was to be done by my wife. I came home that night to find that nothing was packed yet, but a lot of stuff was brought out that covered almost the whole living room floor. Apparently, she started to work on the wrong batch of knick-knacks: photographs and memories of our life as theater artists for the past 16 years. So she spent the whole day looking through them instead of packing them up – and I spent the next couple of hours going through them again with her.

An envelope full of newspaper clippings, photographs, souvenir programs of productions past. I pick up a clipping, “X-Men” in bold letters on one Sunday edition of Sunstar Baguio in 1996, a feature article written by Vince Cabreza about a month after I decided to move here for good from Manila. I was producing and directing a performance-art piece called “Sex, Drugs, Rock & Roll” with Baguio actor Ferdie Balanag, my very first theater production in Baguio. We were in our early to mid-twenties then, and that may have been how we came across, generation x-ers out bite the bullet: theater and the fact that there’s no money in it. Well, at least for the artists, mostly. Marketing agents have been known to rake it in selling tickets. The cover photo featured me and my girlfriend then, my wife and the mother of three of my children now, RL, in our 90’s signature tattered denim pants and jackets standing at some back alley off Session Road, looking the photographer straight in the eye.

I didn’t really give up much in Manila for Baguio, I was just glad to leave the dirty, dog-eat-dog urban rat race for the laid back, quiet life up here. Though there’s much more money to be made down there, I didn’t really care then. I was in Baguio the previous year for a couple of weeks shooting a movie and I told myself that one day I was going to move here for good. So there, a year later, here I was – rehearsing plays in the afternoons, shuttling between Rumours, where one goes to socialize and discuss art and fashion, and the now gone Perk Café at the top of Session Road, where one used to go to get drunk, let loose, and discuss the latest episode of the sitcom, “Friends,” or listen to the at times angsty, gritty, in other words beautifully fitting soundtrack to our lives then courtesy of Vin Dancel, Jenny Carino, Badjao, the late Gian Leung  (may his soul rest in peace, along with Tihani’s) Hannah Romawac, among other budding musicians then.  

Ferdie and I spent afternoons and evenings in some abandoned campus we’ve claimed as our rehearsal space to put together the production. Post-earthquake Baguio was transforming right before my eyes at the time: the first flyover was being built, the first Panagbenga was being staged, Baguio the way I, and everybody else, knew it was being distorted to satisfy certain people’s belief that development and growth can only be achieved at the expense of the environment and everything that is beautiful about Baguio.

In the blink of an eye, merely three or four stage plays later, Baguio beautiful was gone – the courteous cab drivers in their 70’s Toyota station wagons now replaced with speeding and smoke-belching AUVs driven by maniacs; every place within the city being a mere five-miute drive away became a thing of the past the day it took me an hour by jeep to get from Trancoville to the Cathedral; the magnificent skyline now replaced with imposing concrete structures; and rustic Camp John Hay was being sold to a developer out to turn it into a “world-class” resort – the advent of Baguio as a bustling, overcrowded, polluted, highly urbanized city was upon us.

*To be continued     

Anastasia's turn

*a repost of my article in the Mar. 27 issue of Cordillera Today. 

After surviving the six hours in a cramped seat from Baguio to Balintawak, then another two and a half hours to traverse the length of EDSA to Pasay, then another hour to get to Las Piñas, I finally arrived at this salon and there she was – in her trademark denim shorts and no-nonsense t-shirt, seated in front of mirror, getting all dolled up by a hairstylist. And there, right before my eyes, with make-up and a hair style that can do in a few minutes what nature took all of 16 years to accomplish, this once baby girl was being transformed into a young woman. She kept on checking on me from the corner of her eyes, as if to make sure that I was watching. But of course I was, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.

“Papa, I’m done,” she sends me a text message, she probably didn’t realize that I was just there behind her the whole time. She turns around and smiled at me, and there’s my daughter, so beautiful, all ready.

It’s just gonna be me and her today, this much I told the usher when he approached me at my seat to tell me to get ready to put on the sash bearing the school emblem for Anastasia Sofia when she’s called onstage to receive her high school diploma.

Standing in the middle of the aisle in the school gymnasium, waiting for her name to be called, I watched her onstage – smiling, so happy, beaming with pride - and for a moment I felt sad that I wasn’t around when she performed right there in a school play, or cheered on her team during the intramurals. I wasn’t there at times when she needed help with a particularly challenging homework. I didn’t get to bring her to school in the morning, or pick her up in the afternoon.

But I am here now, walking toward her at centerstage. Her eyes sparkled as I placed the sash around her, embraced her, gave her a kiss, and offered my arm to her which she held tightly as we stopped for a while in front of the school photographer to capture the moment.

Later, we were at some restaurant for dinner, talking about what the rest of her life’s gonna be like – what she wants to do, who and what she wants to be. I remembered having this same talk with her older brother just a year ago, and I imagined how soon I’m gonna be having the same with her younger brothers and sister.

Follow your heart, always, I reminded her, and what matters most is that you’re happy.

What I didn’t get to tell her is that I hope she and her sister and brothers know that as they journey through life, when they stop to check, from the corner of their eyes,  to see if someone’s watching them, I will do all I can to always be there.

Congratulations, Anastasia Sofia, I am so proud of you.  

Sailing on the wings of a cloud...

*a repost of my Feb. 6, 2011 column in the Cordillera Today


“…Where to, well, nobody knows...” For those born in the early 70’s, it was the time of transition from being clueless teen-agers to angsty young adults. At the time that band called Fra Lippo Lippi filled the local airwaves, the lyrics in our heads were, “wake me up before you go-go,” “children behave – that’s what they say when we’re together,” or “gotta catch a plane at 7:30.” For the lanky 17-year olds in our neighborhood at the time, reciting the poetry (because we sang  them out of tune) of this new band meant the end of being a kid and the beginning of being mature, grown up. Naks, as we used to say. Of course we never knew what Fra Lippo Lippi’s lyrics really meant. But we sang our hearts out anyway.

The band’s name is also the title of a mid-19th century dramatic monologue by Robert Browning. With “Fra Lippo Lippi,” the Victorian poet paints a portrait of real life painter, Filippo Lippi, who faces the Augustinian conflict of whether to live “a religious life committed to the Church or a life of leisure.” The monologue also poses the question of whether art should show a real or an idealized image of life – Rent or Mary Poppins, an Amorsolo or a Bose, “if you’re not here by my side” or “die everyday to be free.”

The song, “Light and Shade,” became a hit in the Philippines in 1987. The chorus told us to “Sail on the wings of a cloud / Where to, well nobody knows” and to “cry, cry if you want them to see / Die every day to be free.”

“Be proud to wear the colours that you call your own
Be loud, speak out when you want the world to know
Be strong, hold the flame for everyone to see
Be real, if you want to love”

Nice. For us, it was a fitting introduction to the real-life angst-filled decade that was to follow – the 90’s when no one ever bothered to tell us “life was going to be this way / Your job’s a joke, you're broke, your love life's D.O.A. / It's like you're always stuck in second gear / And it hasn't been your day, your week, your month, / or even your year.” The time when, with one hand in our pocket, we asked what if God were one of us?

I missed their sold out concerts in Manila back in the late 80’s, but two decades later, they’re back. Well, he’s back – since only the lead vocalist, Per Øystein Sørensen, is. It will be nice to revisit those lyrics now that most of us have gone through so much more than doing head spins and slam dancing after bottles of The Bar. Presented
locally by Jenny Manansala-Bautista of Waltrix Productions, Sørensen takes us back in time on February 12 at the UB Gym.

I’ll be there, with kids in tow, it’ll be nice for them to hear the songs we sang when we were their age. And perhaps this time around, when we sing, “He will paint the endless sea / A mystery to me,” I’ll have a better idea about what’s it all about. 

Here we are today

I’ll leave New Year’s resolutions, inspiring messages, you know - the niceties, to the others, there’ll be lots of that from other columnists in the first days of the New Year.

So this is how it’s going down, it seems – get elected, mess up some, get re-elected, mess up some more, get replaced by an overwhelming majority, then whine about how the new guy seems to be taking forever to clean up the mess, then get re-elected – in the US of A, that is. Alas, poor Barrack, he’s just  not a miracle worker. Never mind that it took two Bush terms to create the mess, the whole world expects him to win the war against terror; restore order in Afghanistan and Iraq; lead the country (and the world with it) towards a 360-degree economic U-turn all in one term. Or he’s out. Miss Palin is already salivating, and if she does end up as the next White House resident, let’s not be surprised if she places all blame for the mess in Afghanistan, Iraq, the economy, etc. on Obama. So unless he any of the Herculean tasks above done, that’s probably how things will play out next year Stateside.

Well, that’s how it already played out in this tiny little overly-populated highly-urbanized city. The Centennial mayor assumed office with a looming garbage crisis. The deadline for an acceptable garbage management system was fast approaching, thanks to the inaction during the past several years before that, and the garbage did hit the fan soon after. None of the things he did or did not do mattered anymore since then – fact was, the streets of Baguio had piles of stinking, rotting uncollected garbage. He was not able to clean up the mess in his three years as chief executive, and so he was booted out. A new set of officials were elected. Let me correct that – an old set of officials were re-elected. The same people whom we quite overwhelmingly said no to just six years ago because, let me refresh your memory here: allegations of widespread corruption, lack of vision, for trying to ram a casino down our throats, and selling out to a on-street pay parking company, among others.

And here we are today. We still don’t have a solid waste management system in place and so stinking, rotting uncollected garbage still litter our streets, despite the promise to solve that problem in a mere couple of months. Perhaps last year’s election season exhausted the pundits, the media, the bloggers, and the online rabble-rousers that this thing’s going unnoticed these days. But seriously, we can’t really blame the “present administration” alone for this, in fairness to the present City Hall occupant, it just can’t be done overnight – and even if it can, things done overnight often turn out to be duds.  I put “present administration” in quotation marks, yes, and also the word “alone” after that, for “the present administration” is not the only one to blame for the crisis, but also the past ones. That crisis started in 2001 when the Ecological Solid Waste Management Act was passed in congress, and hardly anything concrete was done except for concrete flyovers and pine trees. Sure the Centennial Mayor should have probably focused more on that problem, so ok, let’s put him in the loop too.

Oh wait, before I get the flak for focusing on who’s to blame instead of on finding a solution, allow me to say that perhaps the best way to find that solution is to look at the root of it all. Besides, that’s why the people elected the present officials into office – because all of the city’s current woes were blamed on the previous administration. The people bought it, some of them were bought, and now…

…well, as I said, here we are today. 

Broken Cane and Dreams

I never really thought much about what dreams meant before, except those that almost ushered me out of this world – bangungot. I get those a lot. 

For those who are lucky enough not to know what I’m talking about, it’s usually like this: the dream begins just like any other dream, then it slowly gets weirder and weirder and scarier and scarier and then you find yourself, in the dream, in a situation where you’re either being choked, strangled, suffocated, and then you start having a hard time breathing, then you’re there somewhere between two dimensions – the dream and real life, and in both places, you can’t breathe. The dream continues, with you not being able to take in air, you’re aware of that, and in real life not only are you not breathing, you also can’t move. To hell with Big Bang theorists, but I am grateful that I am naturally equipped with self-preservation instincts, and I believe that that’s by intelligent design – in the dream I start trying to get myself out of that situation that’s preventing me from taking in air, and in real life my body’s doing everything to wake itself out of the dream. 

A lot of times, I wake up just in time. I know that if I stayed in that in between state for a few more seconds, I’m outta here.

It’s Nightmare on Elm St., the reality show. I’ve gotten so used to these nightmares that at times, lying in bed waiting to fall asleep,  I know if I’m gonna have one that night. I remember one particular nightmare I had years ago. I wasn’t living here in Baguio yet, but was staying at one of those old cottages in Camp John Hay just before they bulldozed those down in the late 90’s to make way for those luxury log cabins up in Scout Hill. We were shooting a film here and I was sharing a two-bed room with a fellow actor. It was one of those times when I felt like I was gonna have one when I fall asleep. Sure enough, after staring at the ceiling for some time, I fell asleep, and in my sleep, I dreamt that I was staring at the same ceiling, in the same room, in the same bed. It was as if the what was happening to me in real life was moved into a different dimension – just like a touring play where they the whole stage set-up to a different venue for the next show. Suddenly, a woman appeared through the ceiling, grabbed me by the collar and started pulling me up towards the ceiling. The sensation of levitating was so real, then I looked down and saw my roommate across the room, sound asleep in his bed, and myself (my other self?), asleep,  right below me. Then it came – I started having difficulty breathing and when I looked down at myself again, I saw my body struggling for air. I (the one being pulled up towards the celing) tried to scream, but no sound came out. I remember ordering my body to make a sound loud enough to make my roommate wake up. Then I realized, that I, up there, and I, down there, are one, though at the time mysteriously separated. And I thought, I, up there, may not be heard by my roommate screaming for I, up there, is in another dimension, but if I try hard enough, my actions up there can move my body down there to do the same. Did that confuse you? It was so clear to me that night. Then, after struggling for a few more seconds, I, up there, actually heard myself, down there, scream, it was loud enough to wake my roommate up. I actually heard the sound, saw my roommate being roused, seeing me, getting up, walking towards my body down there, and shaking it and then I woke up, gasping for breath. I up there and my body down there were one again.

I wake up in the middle of the night a lot, gasping for breath. Medical websites tell me it’s sleep apnea. So perhaps the bad dreams were just coincidental. I for sure am still now sure whether it’s the sleep apnea that triggers the nightmares or the other way around. Then lately, during these episodes, I realize that dreams aren’t nightmares anymore, rather seemingly regular dreams of open spaces, sunsets, smiles, laughter, trees, loved ones - and yet I still find myself in between dimensions – in a dream not being able to breathe, and here in this world, paralyzed in bed, unable to move nor make a sound, struggling to stay alive, or here.

It’s been almost a year since I injured my knee, I tore a ligament, according to a couple of doctors I consulted. It’s gotten better several times, and I’ve re-injured it as many times. My wife bought me a cane a few months back when I started really having a hard time walking. I’d pick that cane up every now and then whenever I twist my knee the wrong way again finding myself unable to walk unaided. The other night, I dreamt about that cane being broken in half. Oddly enough, the mere sight of the broken cane in my dream brought me to that half-asleep, half-awake state again, unable to breathe.

Luckily, for the nth time, I woke up just in time to catch my breath. I found it hard to go back to sleep that night, thinking about that broken cane in my dream and though I’ve formed my own conjecture, the next day, instead of my usual morning fare of coffee, cigarettes and browsing Facebook for anything interesting happening on and beyond my computer monitor, I found myself searching the world wide web for anything that could tell me what it meant, or maybe confirm my speculation.

Typing in “search: ‘broken cane dreams’” brought me to Dreammoods.com which told me that, “To see or use a cane in your dream, suggests that you are in need of some support and advice. The cane may also represent someone you trust and can rely on.” I thought so, it’s pretty obvious what a cane may represent.

Let’s see, what are the canes in my life?

Family – my children, my wife. My life revolves around them. And while I do all I can to provide for them, it’s really me who lean on them a lot. To rephrase an oft-quoted line from a movie, “they complete me,” in so many ways.

Family – my parents, two surviving grandparents, brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles and cousins. At the end of the day, they let me know that I’m not alone in this journey, that I belong.

My art – in all the forms I express it. And like the ripples a tiny pebble makes in the vast ocean, my art lets me know that I matter in this universe.

Friends – all of them, all my life. From that friend I sang songs all afternoon up a tamarind tree as a child; and 

the one I fashioned masks with to fight all evil and become superheroes; and that one with whom I crossed that threshold between childhood and being a grown-up; and the rest who remained and the ones who left and returned. And yes, even those who believed bridges were burned, if only they knew that in certain cases, some of them never actually needed a bridge in the first place to get to the door, which, for better or worse, never really closes.

So what’s with the dream? A broken cane – not some manananggal strangling me, nor was it anything remotely scary at all, yet how come that image turned into a nightmare that left me almost out of breath?

And if it did mean what it supposedly meant, which cane in my life was it about? Ahh, there you go, see, breaking any one of those canes is indeed more terrifying than anything else in and out of this world.

Did I break the heart of a loved one, a friend? Did I compromise the integrity of my art in some way?

The broken knee has gotten better, since I hurt it, sigh, again, a couple of weeks ago. After a day with a cane, I can do without it again. Whenever this damned knee gets better, I always feel like I will never have any real use for that cane again. It gets tucked away somewhere out of sight, neglected, forgotten. And then something happens, and I find myself almost totally helpless without it.

I must take care of that cane, no matter what, for better or worse. Not only because I may need it again sometime in the future, but also if only to show my gratitude for all the times it propped me up when I’m down, or helped me move on, climb up steps or get down on my knees. 

It’s comforting to know that as long as I catch my breath, when I wake up, a cane’s there to always help me get out of bed. 

One less car

*a repost of my Nov. 21 column in the Cordillera Today

The signs say – “Motorcycle and Bicycle Ban Along Session Road Is Strictly Implemented. Violators Will Be Apprehended.”

In recent days, police visibility along Session Road has multiplied, particularly during afternoon rush hour. I’m sure this will help drive away so-called petty criminals such as pickpockets and snatchers (hopefully out of the city, and not just a couple of blocks away from the heart of the city), it’s quite obvious that their top priority is the apprehension of motorcyclists in the area as two-wheeled vehicles are banned along Session Road. I am wondering though if this only applies to private (i.e. non-commercial) motorcyclists as the delivery morotcyles of the numerous fastfood restaurants there are still around at all hours of the day. They’re the ones who should be banned for I am sure I am not alone when I say that a lot of these fastfood deliverymen are notoriously reckless with their motorcyles, weaving in and out of traffic dangerously, swerving between lanes carelessly, making u-turns at pedestrian lanes, etc.  I believe the among the reasons for the ban are the added noise and air pollution these two-stroke engines produce.

And now, I just learned, that there is also a bicycle ban in place too. Er, huh?

While the rest of the sensible world, in this age of ozone layer depletion and global warming, are advocating the use of bicycles as an environment-friendly, not to mention healthy, alternative to oil-powered modes of transportation, here we are banning its use. Just a few weeks ago the debate was how to reduce air pollution at least within the Central Business District, now the talks are about why were discouraging one of the things that can actually help do just that. For every cyclist prevented from bringing his bike to Session Road, that’s one more commuter who would be forced to either ride a smoke-belching jeepney or taxi to get to the center of town.   

One of the comments in an online forum said that the ban is actually anti-poor, for while those who can afford to buy motor vehilces can freely drive around town, it deprives those who can only afford to buy a bicycle their right to use the city’s roads. That’s also true.  

So instead of promoting, encouraging the use of an alternative more of transportation that can help ease the traffic congestion, air and noise pollution along Session Road – they ban it. Just like that.

How did such a ban come about? I really don’t know what the rationale behind it is. But take a look at our city officials – top to bottom – do any of them bike? Right.

You want to ease traffic along Session Road? How many vehicles parked and double-parked along that road carry only one person? Can you imagine if most of those persons rode bikes instead? How much less space their parked bicycles would occupy?

And I write this column after seeing a photo in of our local newspapers of a police officer removing the license plate of a vehicle apparently belonging to our good congressman for double parking alone Session Road.

Ay, apo.