Everyday, lines from plays past play in my head, and this morning it's from The Artist, the final monologue in the series by Eric Bogosian -
"They call that "being responsible," man. Everybody's scared, man -
they're afraid they don't do what they're supposed to do - BANG - they're homeless.
That's what the homeless people are, man.
They're the warning to all of us, "Stay in your cage, don't rock the boat."
It resonates stronger these days, at a time when expressing your frustrations, fears and anxieties may be deemed as boat-rocking. Unless it's blowing smoke up someone's ass, then your opinions and you are fine. Because it doesn't matter if you actually have the P50 million to pay an assassin, or even meant to hire an assassin at all, whether you wanted it or wished it, or if it's not even about that at all but more about your feeling of helplessness and desperation facing a fearful present and an uncertain tomorrow, or if your concern is about the more vulnerable and displaced not being given a fighting chance, or even totally left out of a system designed to favor those who are already in much better positions, "stay in your cage, don't rock the boat."
A man is walking down the road in front of our house, I'm on the balcony having a cigarette and coffee. It's only the second week of the Enhanced Community Quarantine. I know that look on his face. I know what that heavy gait means. The small reusable bag could not have any more than a couple of kilos of rice, a couple of cans of sardines, a small bundle or two of vegetables, another kilo of bulilit, maybe, yet the weight on this shoulders, in his heart... that time when the stash of coins in cans and found in pockets of jeans in the laundry is the source of funding for the day's food on the table, looking at the array of fish at the market, you choose the kilo that offers the most meat, not the tastiest, having to save up for a mere weekend McDonald's treat for the children, check out exhibit opening schedules and time rehearsals just before then so the cast would have some refreshments after, move house every three months or just after using up the usual two months advance one month deposit requirement give or take an extra month or two... so yeah, I know that look on his face, I had it and on occasion, have it. And during those times, a little boost, no matter how little, matters so much, just the news that the Mayor wanted to engage artists in a meeting to discuss ways to help those in this sector who are in need, and that few hundred care packages have been made available by the Mayor's office.
A lot of artists have that look on their faces, and many of one person's essentials are luxuries for them - like social media presence. I tried to speak for them, and back to that boat, the ones who aren't on it and are treading water, and offered to help reach, at least to the best of our capability, those who weren't within earshot of Facebook or could navigate their way around online forms or could not make their way to City Hall or into Baguio at all, and the boat rocked. I didn't think someone whose not aboard, treading water, could cause the boat to rock, but apparently it did.
Here's another line from the musical Rent, spoken:
An aging, sickly yet still rocking bassist living in his humble unlisted abode beyond the city limits. The single mother who makes a living off of tourists in search of Instagramable coffee mugs with ethnic trimmings who happen to live on the wrong side of a police tape that defines an area in total lock down. The visual storyteller who classified himself unqualified for some relief because he's not tech savvy enough. The carvers and weavers who didn't even know there was such relief available. The group of mothers in a mining community down in Itogon who could hardly sell their woven tapestries pre-Covid19 who are isolated, displaced. They were the ones I thought needed those care packages way more than those who are online, could navigate their way through online forms, swing by City Hall sooner before the packs ran out.
I do apologize if my sentiments caused an uncomfortable sway. The fact is, today, I may be one of the more fortunate ones who could somehow weather this storm better than others (though that way it's dragging on puts the sustainability of that fact in question), but I've been there, and still find myself there from time to time. I know how and have actually had to be creative enough to make that one can of sardines or meatloaf be enough for a family of seven.
But beyond that, what we, that's myself and my family who took turns delivering those care packages to as many displaced artists as we could, learned and realized was this: what was more valuable to the recipients than the actual contents of the bag was knowing that in these trying times, someone had them in mind, that they mattered.
A role I've performed the most number of times, Jose Rizal, in Malou Jacob's monologue, Pepe, says:
"Malinis at walang bahid dungis ang kailangang maging alay
upang ang handog ay maging karapat-dapat"
Now I am reminded of the matinees in gymnasiums filled to the rafters with children laughing their heads off in the first half and the teachers with tears in their eyes in the end.
It will take a long time before we could perform in front of an audience again. That's the curse of the theater artist in the time of a pandemic. Just my luck, after years of absence in the local theater scene, this was the year I decided to return.
I was particularly looking forward, after having resigned as consultant to the city's creative desk and as a member of the creative council, to be part of this year's Ibagiw as a participant. While it was an honor to direct last year's, but that meant not being able to exhibit or perform as an artist.
The festival would have to be restructured, of course, due to the current circumstances, but I was surprised and saddened by the information I received that the title, Ibagiw, will be dropped by the Council for Baguio Creative City, along with the theme that was approved prior to my resignation. Essentially because it came from me. It would have been better to be told that the change in the title of the festival was because Ibagiw was not a good one, inappropriate, or because the incoming director/s has/have come up with a much better one (that shouldn't be difficult, really). This kind of mirrors our dysfunctional political system that places self-serving interests above those of the constituency - throw a predecessor's initiatives into the garbage can, doesn't matter whether it's good or bad, just because it was a political opponent's initiative.
Recently, the daughter, Kathy, of one of the greatest actors and indeed persons I've ever known, Jose Mari Avellana, posted photos from a production I was fortunate to be part of in 1989, which reminded me of one of my favorite monologues from a play. The following are excerpts from another monologue from Edmond Rostand's Cyrano de Bergerac:
What would you have me do?
Find a powerful protector: and choose a patron,
like the dark ivy that creeps round a tree-trunk,
and gains its support by licking at its length,
to climb by a ruse instead of rise by strength?
No, thank you!
Dedicate, as others do
my poetry to bankers? Become a buffoon
in the base hope of seeing a less than sinister
smile quiver on the lips of some Minister?
No, thank you!
Dine each day on a toad?
Own a belly worn out with crawling? Show
a skin that’s dirtied quicker than my knees,
and with a supple spine do tricks to please?
No, thank you!
...Try to get myself named the high Pope of councils
held in the taverns by imbecilic scoundrels?
No, thank you!
...Not be terrorized by the morning papers?
Not say endlessly: ‘Oh, could I but see
myself in small print in the ‘Mercury’!’
No thank you!
Calculate, show fear, grow pallid,
prefer to make a visit than a ballad?
Get myself presented, write petitions to the king?
No, thank you! No, thank you! No, thank you!
When I accepted the responsibility to direct Ibagiw, I did not think I was entering a pageant.
Pageant contestants could be vicious.
Much could be said about my performance as creative director of the festival and the festival itself, I cannot do anything about that. But I take comfort in the memory of what we experienced during those months of preparations and those nine days - the gratitude for being given the opportunity to tell a story and acknowledgment of the importance of art in a society, the sincerity and purity of most everyone's intentions, and most beautifully, the sense of community among the participants and the trust and respect for each other that came with it.
It's yours, Ibagiw, I was told. I beg to disagree. It belongs to the community.
The word may be deleted from the upcoming posters, streamers, press releases, budget, etc., but the spirit would live on. It must live on. It will.
The second half of Cyrano's monologue:
But...to sing,
to dream, to smile, to walk, to be alone, be free,
with a voice that stirs, and an eye that still can see!
To cock your hat on one side, when you please
at a yes, a no, to fight, or – make poetry!
To work without a thought of fame or fortune,
on that journey, that you dream of, to the moon!
Never to write a line that’s not your own,
and, humble too, say to oneself: My son,
be satisfied with flowers, fruit, even leaves,
if they’re from your own garden, your own trees!
And then should chance a little glory bring,
don’t feel you need to render Caesar a thing,
but keep the merit to yourself, entirely
in short, don’t deign to be the parasitic ivy,
even though you’re not the oak tree or the elm,
rise not so high, maybe, but be there all alone!
It's the first Monday tomorrow as Baguio transitions to slightly less restrictive directives to keep the city safer. A lot of us would be able to leave our houses and go to town. Some of us would know exactly where to go and what to do, others, not really. A lot of us would be walking up or down Session Road just like the way that man did in front of our house that day - with a bagful of essentials and the weight of the world on his shoulders and in his heart.
Keep treading, stay alive, get through this. And when we do, kitakits sa dulo. We've got stories to tell.
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