I am Randy's Existential Trip.

2012-01-04T00:56:00.033+08:00

Dear Filipinos,

Stop Claiming that You're Spanish!

You (probably) aren't.

Location: All over.
Mood: Venting. Perhaps a bit ranting.

It happened again. I met a Filipino guy more Asian looking than I am, claim that he was Spanish.

Uhhmm. No. I wouldn't bet on it.

I am sick and tired of Filipinos claiming this all because they have a Hispanic name. I was about to write a rant - which I justify not just as mere venting, but also a public service announcement - but I realized I've done this a long time ago.

As such, here's a modified version of a presentation I did for a class I had during the Winter of 2010 (Dr. Margo Husby's GNST 500) . This is ripped, truncated, and modified from what I handed to be marked.

Boldened sections can serve as cliff notes. The first person (I, We, Us) is used for both my Filipino lineage, and my Canadian identity - as much as possible I have made this distinct. Yes, the writing is sloppy for an essay, because it isn't one - as I said, it's fleshed out notes from a presentation/speech I did on the 6th of March 2010. The audience? Non Filipinos.

Almost every Philippine born Filipino I have met claims to be a product of the intermarriage between Spanish colonial officers and Indigenous Filipinos. That they are Spain's descendants. That they have Mestizo Or mixed Heritage. First evidence they have is the name. Indeed, such Spanish names feature prominently in my own history. In my Dad's side the family names of Fernando, Diaz, and Perez all stand out. Whilst in my Mother's side Rubio, Bello, Bueno, and Manzano take prominence.

But, the reasoning that these Hispanic names must mean a Spanish heritage is flawed! Mating was not a prerequisite to adopt the Spanish name - merely converting to Christianity and swearing allegiance to Spain was enough.

As a second piece of evidence, Filipinos might mention that their parents, and their grandparents, and great grandparents, and so on and so forth, all their known ancestors were landowners – part of the propertied class with vast tracts of land. This is also true for both my Father’s and Mother’s side. They come from completely different regions – having only met in University - but they share that in common.

But again, this is not a surefire way of saying I have some Spanish in me because historically, in administering the colonial empire, the colonists usually would favour certain local leaders to expedite the process. I mean, why reinvent the wheel? Why dismantle whatever local fiefdom or kingdom is there when you could just make their leaders swear allegiance to Spain? It is just as likely that my grandparents from both sides are the descendants of a local tribal leader, as much as they could be a Spanish Colonial Officer or some other Spanish settler. This same logic, applied to every Filipino who claims to be part Spanish, compels me to call bullshit on such claims.

Most importantly, and the main basis for my doubt, is the fact that: It is very trendy in the Philippines to say that you have some European in you, that you are a product of the Spanish Colonial Era.

Simply put, it’s Filipinos being racist. We Filipinos call it “The Colonial Mentality” – that everything foreign, Western, from the Global North (to borrow a Development Studies word) is always better.

In fact, such thinking is so pervasive, that on occasion, the cultures of surviving indigenous tribes are disdained, labeled as primitive and backwards, while on the other hand, it is very cool to claim that your ancestors were Spanish.

Even today, the existing Philippine standards of beauty are still more aligned with light skinned, European features. This is reflected in who gets to be a celebrity, a star: They tend have direct Caucasian ancestry – though for the most part, a lot of them nowadays are actually repatriated children of the Filipino Diaspora – people with actual Caucasian Ancestry. Don't believe me? Just do a search, watch Filipino shows available online, check out who does modeling in the Philippines. They are very white. The short of it is that Filipinos simply LOVE white people. I would even go so far as to say that they want to be white! Check out the skin whitening products available in the Philippines. Check out Manny Pacquiao's wife and her nose job.

And no, dear white people of the audience, I am not trying to make you feel guilty. The privilege that Filipinos give to your features is in no way a slight against you; it is not your direct individual fault that this is the case. If anything, I'm blaming Filipinos with that so called "Colonial Mentality" for thinking this way - they are after all, elevating European/White features above all as the gold standard, well after Colonial control has long vanished.

Still, I cannot put enough emphasis on this: It is very cool in the Philippines to say that you have Spanish Ancestry. In the Filipino context, it is a boast, plain and simple

If you have Filipino friends, you probably have heard of similar claims.

Now, it could very well be that they DO have Spanish grandparents.

But truthfully, unless they have unambiguous proof, as in they actually have a relative that was part of the Colonial administration, CHANCES ARE, IT IS AN OUTRIGHT FANTASY.

In a way, Filipinos who do such a thing are also in effect identifying themselves with power and status. Perhaps not so prevalent anymore, but the power base and the elite of the Spanish era definitely had mixed ancestry. In effect they are saying: “Look, I had powerful and influential ancestors!”

However, the Philippines is not Latin America. Such extensive mixing did not happen.

Evidence - Genetic Evidence - suggests that only about 1% to 4% of Filipinos have varying degrees of European Heritage from the Patrilineal Lineage, or the Father’s Side. It’s a very tiny minority! It’s not like Honduras where the majority are actual mixed race people, or “Mestizos” in the Spanish vernacular.

I say again: unless they have unambiguous proof, chances of a Filipino claiming to be a Mestizo is an outright fantasy. That’s only 1 in 100 to 1 in 25.

To put these chances into perspective, think of all the Filipinos you've met: If 25 of them say they are certain they have Spanish ancestry, then 24 are lying, deluded, or just uninformed.

That's a lot of lying, deluded, or uninformed Filipinos! And that's using the higher estimates. 1% means that out of 100 Filipinos laying claim to some Spanish blood, 99 are liars, delusional, or simply mistaken.

Now, I am critical, because I can be. I am westernized enough to be able to question such claims and ultimately criticize this Filipino Colonial Fetishism – yet Filipino enough that I can get away with it. If you are white, you may not get off as easily. If you want to offend a Filipino, when they go “my Grandparents were Spanish” - despite not looking the part by having the prototypical South East Asian features - you only have to tell them “Oh I’m sorry, I just don’t see it!”. I guarantee that you will certainly lose a friend.

Although it may seem that I am painting a bad picture of Filipinos, do not forget, that we - and I am now speaking as a Canadian and a westerner - we fetishize and positively “Other” distant cultures too – and I’m not just talking about just being open minded, friendly and welcoming. I mean, we fetishize cultures.

Just check out "Stuff White People like".

It’s a very entertaining cultural observation of left leaning, democratically inclined, and globally conscious westerners – be they Caucasian or not. Sometimes it can get a little too biting, but Professor Jared Diamond agrees!

In his work "Guns Germs and Steel", he cautions against Fetishism because it can be dangerous. Especially when expressed in a manner that makes it sound like as though it’s just a few degrees shy of using ‘the noble savage’ label, which really is an underhanded compliment. I emphasize this because too often have I heard “Northern” born people say: Filipinos are so nice.

Correction: The Filipinos you’ve met are nice.

I guarantee you that we – Filipinos – are just as diverse as any other population in that there will be people who are nice, and those who are *ahem* not so nice.

But I digress.

All I’m saying is that, European Canadians do this fetishizing too! Positive kind, but fetishism nonetheless. Not just in a manner of elevating the indigenous cultures of elsewhere mind you, but also of laying claim to their own lineages. How many Fifth or Fourth Generation Canadians, who although practice none of their heritage, still make blatant claims of being German, Irish, Scot, Polish… wherever. How many people claim these exotic lineages, yet practice none or very little of the culture?

Same deal. Because it’s so cool to be from far and wide, we go and say, we’re from elsewhere.

Now, here’s the thing where European North Americans have it good: You have records. Pop on to Ancestry.com and bam! Even if you date back to when the first colonizers/settlers, there’s no denying, you have such a lineage.

Filipinos on the other hand, have no proof.

Not only are Philippine records unreliable, they tend to be non existent.Two nearly back to back revolutions late 1800's and early 1900's, plus a World War kinda does that to public records I guess. And in a country terrible for keeping records at that.

And this is very painful because I’m the kind of person who doesn’t want to subscribe to a fantasy, so I had to have proof. I don’t want to say like so many Filipinos “Oh, I have Spanish Ancestors” without any shred of proof, especially when subscribing to such an idea would situate me in a position of believed superiority. Note the distinction: believed and not factual – I’m not saying a Spanish ancestry is superior – merely that, Filipinos THINK it to be superior.

Ok... ok. I admit that I may have done that in the past - I may have stated that I too had Spanish ancestry. But hey, living in the Philippines where such a claim was common, it's hard not to claim solidarity with something that will make you instantly cool.

..(large portion that is concerned only with the presentation cut out)...

Enter the National Geographic’s Genographic Project.

It takes so long to explain such an extensive program, so you guys will have to do some self research and reading.

...(also omitted)...

Anywho, the gist of it is, you purchase a kit, you take a DNA sample through epithelial cells inside your cheek using a cheek swab, and then you send it back. The vials have a specific barcode that you can use to track progress of the analysis online.

You can either choose the Y Chromosome Analysis, which would determine your patrilineal line – your Father’s father’s father’s father’s father’s father’s, FATHER and so on and so forth into Africa - or your Mitochondrial DNA, which will determine your matrilineal line – Mother’s mother’s mother’s mother’s mother’s MOTHER and so on and so forth, into Africa.

Ultimately, I chose the Y chromosome Analysis – my Father’s lineage. I did this, not because of any favouritism in my part, but because therein lies a sort of Family mystery. Unlike some Filipino names that are either clearly Spanish – Fernando, Perez, Diaz from my Father’s side like I mentioned; or Rubio, Bello, Bueno, Manzano from my Mother’s side. It also isn’t some native indigenous word that translates to something else like Makisig which means “Strong” or “Powerful” and Catacutan which means “To be feared” – nothing as awesome as these.

It’s not even drawing from something more recent influences like Japanese, Korean, English/American, French. So if my last name is not a native indigenous word, it isn't a Spanish name as far as I know, and certainly not English or anything else, then what the hell is it? I have a sneaking suspicion that it is Hispanized Chinese.

Certainly, this is the case with some famous Filipino names like Cojuangco. Due to records, they have absolute certainty that they had Chinese Ancestry. Perhaps back in the day, there was one Kho Huan Ko, who landed in the Philippines, converted to Christianity, and either a transcribing error by mistake or by design, voila! He became Mr. Cojuanco with a Christian first name. Perhaps...

Similarly, my Dad's last name, Gulinao, has three syllables that can be broken down into three possible Chinese names. Go Li Nao. Could this be the case?

If my Dad's lineage is Haplogroup O or B, then my father's lineage is Asian, and that might lend some credence to my hunch.

Anyone care to hazard a guess?

http://www.flickr.com/photos/adogcalledstray/4580227298/

Now, no discussion of the Genographic project is complete without some criticism.

If you look at the family tree, it would seem that the Asian story is still underrepresented.

In Europe, in the Nordic countries in particular - a place where you'd think it to be a very homogeneous, they've traced two Haplogroups. Asia on the other hand only has two known Haplogroups so far. Does that mean Asians really are that homogeneous? Or is the knowledge base still incomplete? Whatever the case, this certainly wouldn't answer my other questions such as, what kind of Asian am I, to be exact? The strategic location of Philippines still leaves many options. Was he Taiwanese? Indonesian? Malaysian? My Genetic trail stops 35,000 years ago. When did HE move? During the last ice age? Or during the more recent Philippine-China Trade? By “recent” I mean anywhere during the last 300 years. The results they give cannot answer where or how, or when exactly that one ancestor of mine arrived in what is now the Philippines.

Most importantly, it gives no actual answer to my name. I'm still just speculating as to the origins of the "Gulinao" name: Be it transcription error that originally was Guliano, Giuliani, Giuliano, Galeano, etc; Or, as I mentioned, Hispanized Chinese.

Finally, the choice of Y Chromosome or Mitochondrial DNA testing only yields ONE line - a choice between your father's father's father's father's father... and so on and so forth into Africa. Or your mother's mother's mother's mother's mother... and so on and so forth into Africa . It doesn't take into account all the other lineages that eventually converge into me. I suppose I could test some relatives to test my father's mother, or my father's mother's father, but that would get costly real quick.

Anyway, when I told my Dad of the results, I discerned that he would have been happier if the result had said Spanish, instead of Chinese. But being a man of science, he probably was still more interested than slightly disappointed. For him, who has a masters in Animal Sciences, specifically in Animal Breeding, such scientific results are very fascinating. When I let him read the first draft of this speech, he also said, "Hah! You go and tell the world, Son. Go ahead and shut up those flatnosed, stubby legged, dark Filipinos who claim to be something they aren't!" he said.

Admittedly, I'm taking liberties at what he exactly said. I assure you however that it was that brutally frank - I do take after him. Now, there is nothing wrong with being flatnosed, stubby legged, or dark. And my Dad certainly does not disdain such features - you are what you are. But if you are claiming to be something are not, then you probably need to be put in your place. This is not a quarrel against one's actual lineage, but rather a beef against false logic, pretentiousness, and what I would term as self hating racism.

In fact, if you're a Pinay, with such features, Rejoice! ROWR! White boys will be all over you! I'm told they find it "cute".

The point however is that, it's very disconcerting for me and my Dad - self proclaimed men of reason - to hear Pinoys and Pinays lay claim to some imagined Spanish heritage.

...(large portion concerned only with the presentation is hacked out)...

And just to show you how reasonable I am, allow me to now discount my own findings (or more appropriately: The findings of Nat Geo's Genographic Project)

The more I thought about actually proving my own patrilineal line, the less it mattered. The novelty of knowing, did not really fade, but I found less and less utility for it.

Especially since I could really only use it in making this scathing cultural observation against Filipinos - which is something I already do on a daily basis, what with my self deprecating humour.

Most importantly, even though one segment of my genetic bloodline says Han Chinese, I don’t feel that way. I was born into - and spent the first 15 years of my life - immersed in the Filipino culture. There is no trace of anything Chinese in my family, save for what Filipinos in general have already assimilated from Chinese culture - which isn't saying much because Filipinos love to take a little something from every other culture they sample. And that means a mish mash of everything. As most Filipino tour guides say in describing what is Filipino Culture: "... born in South East Asia; traded with the Chinese prior to western influence; spent 300 years under Spain; about 50 years under the Americans; 3 under the Japanese; and nowadays will jump in bed with just about anyone!"

And that, dear Filipinos, in my opinion, is Filipino identity.

It isn't in your blood, it's in how you think.
But even if you will it, it won't happen. So my dear Filipinos, please stop claiming you have Spanish blood, since you - we - probably don't.

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Annotated Literary References:

Arendt, Hannah (1963) Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil. New York, NY: Viking Press.
Hannah Arendt’s dissection of Eichmann’s personality and in a sense an analysis of the social mechanisms which allowed the Holocaust to occur.

Cristian Capelli, James F. Wilson, Martin Richards, Michael P. H. Stumpf, Fiona Gratrix, Stephen Oppenheimer, Peter Underhill, Vincenzo L. Pascali, Tsang-Ming Ko, and David B. Goldstein (2001) A Predominantly Indigenous Paternal Heritage for the Austronesian-Speaking Peoples of Insular Southeast Asia and Oceania. Stanford Human Population Genetics Laboratory. Accessed 12 March 2010 http://hpgl.stanford.edu/publications/AJHG_2001_v68_p432.pdf

Diamond, Jared (1997) Guns, Germs and Steel: The Fate of Human Societies. New York, NY: Norton
The famous book by Professor Jared Diamond where he scientifically and definitively dispels any racist interpretation of genetics, human migration, and civilization.

Dorai, Francis & Bell, Brian (2005) Insight Guides: Philippines. Singapore: Insight Print Services.
A superb tourist guide which gives decent background on Philippine History, the Philippines’ present culture as well as its social mores.

Frankl, Viktor (2000) Man’s Search for Ultimate Meaning. Cambridge, Mass: Perseus Publishing

Masson, Anne (Producer), & Mehta, Deepa. (Director). (1998). Earth: 1947 [Motion picture]. Canada/India: Zeitgeist Films.
A dramatization of the partition of India in 1947. This film succintly illustrates how even an ethnically close group of people can turn against each other when their cultural differences and disagreements are given emphasis – even if they had been close friends and neighbours before.

Rizal, Jose. (1996). Noli Me Tangere. (Translation by Maria Soledad Lacson-Locsin). Makati City, Philippines: The Bookmark Inc. (Original work published 1887).
Written by the Philippine National Hero, Jose Rizal, it is not only considered to be a landmark revolutionary literature with its biting social commentary, but also an accurate depiction and novelization of Philippine social mores during the height of the Spanish Colonial era. To this day, it has great relevance; to understand this book is to understand the Filipino psyche.

Sartre, Jean Paul. (1946). Humanism of Existentialism. In R. T. Matthews, & F. Dewitt Platt (Eds.), Readings in the Western Humanities (pp. 311-315). New York: McGraw Hill.

Weiner, Matt (producer) (2008) Mad Men Season 2 [Motion Picture Collection] USA: AMC Films

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Addendum:

Another good book, which I unfortunately had not yet come across when doing this presentation nearly 2 years ago is Rafael Vicente's "WHITE LOVE and other events in Filipino History".

Google Preview here: http://books.google.ca/books?id=5PZXhmERFYMC&printsec=frontcover&dq=white+love+filipino+history&hl=en&sa=X&ei=wFIDT8rwEM3UiAKPk72aDQ&ved=0CC8Q6AEwAA#v=onepage&q=white%20love%20filipino%20history&f=false

2010-12-11T01:48:00.006+08:00

Shouldn't have sworn...
because I broke it!

Location: TBA

Well, I uhh... screwed up didn't I? I totally forgot I had sworn to at least finish talking about the revelations (oooOoooh... sounds heavy!) I had when I did my 2006 2007 trip.

"Put it in a book and sell it," she said.

Unfortunately, I'm not marketable. At least what I have to say won't be. I wasn't about to pull punches.

It shouldn't matter, because I could just work on it now, right?
That's true! ...were it not for the fact that I'm leaving for the Philippines again. YAY!

Mid December to Mid January, I'll be gone.

Anyway, cheers!

I intend to add a few more colours to this map:

From this page: http://forge.codedgraphic.com/lakbayan/

Click for My Actual Assessment!!

2010-03-29T04:03:00.012+08:00

A Promise.
I, Randy, do solemnly swear to finish this story by Fall of 2010.

Location: Calgary

Narration: Nothing special. Just realized that I haven't touched this in a while.
And OMFG! I rule with the metaphors today.

I like history.

I like it for many reasons.

One of those reasons, and a reason that is relevant to this post, is because it has already passed and is rather immutable. If you actually look far enough through vast sequences of causality, you might just conclude that history happened, happened for a reason, and could not have happened any other way, given what has come prior.

Sure, depending on who's looking, who's doing the interpreting, and what point of view is being assumed, there certainly is room for reframing. However, beyond reassessing the true causes of an event, the motives of the parties involved, and the ultimate significance of an event, there really is no changing what has already happened.

Revisionism notwithstanding...

The reason I say this is because first of all, I just realized that I am not an "at present" blogger. I am not a diarist. I am not a play by play announcer. Most of all, not only am I terrible at predicting the future outcome of events, I am especially terrible at judging how I will look back at myself.

Perhaps it's a self preservation instinct of sorts: To withhold strong, opinionated judgement of a present act or activity, even an opinion or a position, is in a way a means of protecting myself just in case something I am so proud of doing presently would prove to be an embarrassment at a later date.

I also am quite private, despite the amount of stuff shared here. Whatever I share, is now so long ago that it probably cannot be used against me.

More importantly however, it is probably the Existential in me talking:
"Dude, I'm just figuring things out as I go along. Can't really ask me to judge the future significance of this event when I'm still at it... eh."

That said, my Philippine trip's anniversary is closing in on its third year (counting from its end).

It is now history.

In some ways it is bad. Time has its way of eroding a few key details, even to the most profound and life changing of memories.

But in so many ways this is also good.

Wash away the sediment of fine minute detail shrouding the foundation of any experience and all that will be left is the etched landscape, the indelible mark left in the bedrock of your soul.

I will forget a few key things here and there, but at least what I will narrate is what has stayed with me all this time, what has been reified as the lessons of that trip, and the things which truly matter.

The tone will change in that certainly, this will echo the sound of memoirs. Linearity will also be thrown out the window. Regardless, I look forward to getting back at the swing of things. Target time: Fall 2010. (I didn't say I was going to do it fast!)

And yes, I know, some people make trips every year, every season, or hell, every month. I'd like to accuse of them as bourgeois, but really, you don't need much to travel nowadays - be it leisure, observation, or social involvement. I really have just been spending it on one pastime that I'm debating whether it's time to give it up. 1, 2, 3, although at least sometimes I win.

2008-02-01T13:24:00.000+08:00

p

A Year Behind

January 31, 2008

Location: My Own Desktop, Calgary, Alberta, CANADA

Composition: Impromptu. With great regret and self disappointment

I am now officially a year behind.

I disappoint myself with this self imposed project. It would be great if my lack of motivation was due to motivation being at a premium - that I were so busy I just couldn't take the time to sit down and put my thoughts and experiences online.

Unfortunately that's not the case. Motivation is just lacking overall. I just don't seem to have the lust for life at this time.

I suppose I was busy for a solid two months with some job I thought would be nice to do. But now that's come and gone, I have no excuse.

2007-12-31T11:38:00.000+08:00

T, N49

Calls to Home II

Composition: Homesick for the Philippines.

Location: My Own Desktop, Calgary, Alberta, CANADA

In a previous post where I narrated a call I made to the Philippines, I put in the title of "Calls to Home".

To be honest I don't remember anymore if it was intentional that I referred to the Philippines as "Home", or whether it was only accidental.

Was I going for the ironic suggestion that despite 10 years (almost 11 now) of existence here in Canada, I still consider the Philippines my one and true"home"? Was I going for some kind of poetic writing effect? Perhaps in wanting to sound like a hopeless romantic who pines for where he formed his childhood memories, I made the conscious choice to put that in as the title. Certainly, the latter part of that entry would suggest this to be the case:

"...in order to spend the rest of our lives exclusively with a special someone, we usually cite the one criteria that we HAVE to be in love.

Why can't we be then in love with a place? I mean, when we pick a place to settle, we're pretty much saying that we're going to spend the rest of our lives there."

Considering I wrote that to close the entry, it's not so much a stretch anymore to think that I may have been going for the sentimental effect.

On the other hand, it could have been an unconscious mistake; a Freudian slip of sorts. Frankly I don't remember wanting to hide a latent meaning to what I was writing. Now, whether that was an effect of my inebriation at the time, or just because a lot has happened since then (the original entry was made in August) , I really don't know. One thing I do know though is that if I were truly going for the hidden suggestion, then I was too successful in that I caught it only now. Then again, I'm not that good of a writer, so the possibility that it was subtle enough to escape my notice until now is somewhat unlikely.

Whatever the case, I'm using that thread title again but now with the outright intention to suggest that in the 4 months I spent in the Philippines, I felt a certain sense of being "home" more than any of the nearly eleven years I have spent so far here in Calgary, Alberta.

It's a feeling that I am unable to justify fully at this time.

But justified or not, I felt "home"sick so I gave Cousin Marco a call in his cell, just minutes ago. It's the 30th of December here, so that would make it the 31st there*, New Years Eve. I predicted that there would probably be a gathering in the Gulinao Property and that they would probably all (or at least mostly) would be there. Well, my predictions were correct, and like what happened last year, and every year before that, there was a gathering, and at least an animal was slaughtered for the occasion. The afternoon would see them having goat.

"Talaga? (Really)" I asked, "Ano anong putahe gagawin?(What dishes are being made out of it?)"

"Marami! (Lots!)" Marco replied, "Yung isa my gata, yung common caldereta, at yung adobo, tapos syempre susubok kami ng papaitan. (Well, there's one with coconut milk, then there's caldereta, then adobo, and then maybe we'll see and try if we can make papaitan out of it.**)"

"Oo nga pala (Oh yeah)," Marco continued, " 'Andito kami sa puno ng Caimito, sa pagitan nung babuyan at kusina (We're doing the cooking here under the Caimito tree, in between the pigpen and the outdoor kitchen)"

I closed my eyes and I was there again. With Uncle Captain's*** Roosters crowing in the background, I was there all over again. Amazing how one phone call brings me back and perks me right up - alleviating some other bad feelings.

I later browsed through the photos I took and found this one for reference.

The animal in the above photo is a pig, and those two guys are strangers to me (volunteer helps), but it doesn't take much for me to imagine what the scene may have looked like. Also, that photo is year plus a few days old, during the Barangay Hall Christmas party. Exactly a year ago was Janelle Marlyze's Christening.

Holdonasec...

A year ago? Has it been that long? Hard to believe, but that's how life goes I suppose. Time passing by is inevitable, and I have to realize that pretty soon any sort of life decision wouldn't matter anymore, and that procrastination could postpone any self imposed projects permanently.

Cryptic? I know. I'll elaborate later.

*- I have this thing set to Philippine time, which is Standard Time +0800 UTC, as opposed to Alberta which is - 7 hours UTC

**- That he said 'try' is significant in that papaitan is an Ilocano specialty, and when done in the Tagalog region, I find that it somewhat always ends up being a lighter, slightly more diluted, version.

***- Local elections were recently just held, and My Uncle, the Kapitan, won once again. Good to know that the leadership of Tumana is in good hands, and what's more significant for me is that I could still call him Captain Uncle, Kapitan, or just "Kap".

2007-12-10T10:24:00.001+08:00

T

Suicidal
Battling with Seasonal Affective Disorder*

or

Why I haven't been writing too much.

Location: My own depressing existence in Calgary, Alberta, CANADA

Composition: An offshoot of a post I made in some other private forum a week ago. Some parts are verbatim, some parts I tinkered with to suit this one person monologue of a blog.

I really should put into consideration the weather and the general year-round climate of a place if I were to pick somewhere to settle down. I am solar powered. Not having Sunshine does me a lot of damage.

Last year, I WAS NOT here, where I am right now in Calgary, and I had loads of fun. Hell, that's the whole point of this blog - that was the one event that spawned this medium I dub as a one man monologue. "Randy's Existential Trip" I call this, where I embark on a journey to find myself.

Still, because the likely available livelihood and the resulting realistically obtainable life comforts I could attain in the Philippines weren't likely to suit me, I didn't think it was a place where I could settle down, despite the tropical climate completely agreeing with me and all. Alberta ain't so bad, despite the winter, I thought. I'll give it another chance. Well, at least that's what I assumed at the time; having lived in First world Canada and thusly spoiled by her riches. Every day since however, I have been reviewing that position.

Hence the new tone you might have noticed. What tone?

The tone where I pit these two places as if this were a contest. Alberta, Canada and the Philippines vying for a place where Randy will choose to settle - or at least a place to live out a few decades. It is in this respect Alberta is failing. Bad. And it's all because of how I'm feeling right now.

Hopefully I'm not being emo. Emo kids are lame.

But these thoughts; how I'm feeling. So hard to turn away from. It's nagging, constantly there. Just fucking there.

I can't turn it off. It's less troubling than it is annoying. It's winter and I love winter driving. I usually would head out to slide and (since I drive a FWD beater this year, with the Lancer being sidelined) practice my rally style left foot braking at this time. And I have been doing so, with the hope that focusing on something would take my mind away from these nagging thoughts.

Yet, they don't.

Still there.

And no, "these thoughts" that I mention - they're not necessarily suicidal per se in that I wanna "off" myself.

But rather...

A general lack of enthusiasm for existing.

Sad? Oh man, I wish I were sad. Sad was Grade 10. Sad is juvenile. At least sad means things matter enough for you to care to be sad.

This on the other hand? Completely different. It's numb. It's as if nothing mattered enough to be the reason to exist. Being a guy who's secular, I have no arrogant beliefs I can draw from. No stockpile of trite and hackneyed spiritual cliches that give meaning and purpose to the life and existence of those feeble minded enough not to find one for their own.

And in case you feel like it, don't give me one, it'll just piss me off. I don't mean to offend anyone.

I'm a guy who lives for the moment. Moments whose purpose and meaning I have assigned myself.

Yet the moments I have right now, are barely worth living for - at least that's the rationale. Ok, so this summer when I had a lot of good weeks, every day didn't really amount to being good. SO what sustained me? The future - whether mere moments away or the decades ahead that I imagine.

Right now though, nothing. I either have no motivation to think about it at all, or have no imagination at this time.

It'd be great if I were just pessimistic. At least pessimism means I'm trying to imagine some kind of future different from the here and now.

Nothing physical, nothing emotional, and nothing traumatic at all is bothering me. And that's what's so troubling.

I just can't seem to stand not living every day where nothing stimulating happens. Something, anything at all would be nice. I guess it's my fault for not pursuing anything. But how can I pursue anything when I have no motivation at all. Not in this weather. Not without the Sun.

I'm sorry if this post is disjointed and largely pointless. It's a perfect reflection of how I'm feeling right now - disjointed and largely pointless. This too is the reason why I haven't been writing much. It's hard to be objective and true to your writing when you're not being true to yourself. And where you ask is myself? Gone in hibernation for the winter, as far as I could tell.

(28 Mar Update 2010) I'm not depressed in the medicated sense, and even if I were I wouldn't be because I am anti big pharma. That shit'll fuck you up.

2007-11-13T05:59:00.000+08:00

T, N48

Why Keep On Telling The Story?
Musings on Life, Identity, Society, Mortality, and how it all ties to this form of storytelling.

Part 1: Life
Part 2: Identity
Part 3: Social Commentary

Location: My Own Desktop, Calgary, Alberta, CANADA

Composition: I don't plan anything. Almost everything I write pretty much just determines it's own course. I may plan and make outlines, but then I wouldn't follow that anyway.

I visit a number of online Message Boards. All kinds of them; running the gamut from a forum for enthusiasts of a certain make and model of car, to something as generalized as a "Dear Abby" for adolescents and young adults.

As well, my level of involvement runs the scale from being a lurker, to even having been charged with moderator and administrative powers.

Now, if one were to make a list of all the forums I frequent, one thing would be conspicuously absent : Forums that cater exclusively to a Filipino crowd. This comes as a surprise to some. For all my pining and my longing to visit the Philippines again this winter of 2007-2008, I don't seem to seek out Filipino online discussions. I do check out other Filipino bloggers (see the links on the side bar), Philippine news, and the other issues regarding the Philippines itself. But other than that, I don't particularly belong to any online Filipino community. This is strange since there is not a shortage of websites with forums catering to the international Filipino. We have spread all over the world as foreign workers, migrant residents, and statesmen of all sorts. And it is for this reason why the Filipino has embraced the internet completely and wholeheartedly. It is a priceless tool for bringing together and communicating with other people from similar backgrounds who have found themselves in such disparate locations all over the globe.

For this lack of participation I have neither an excuse nor justification. I don't have to. I mean, I don't have any participation with any exclusively Filipino online community (except perhaps this blog as a contribution) because that's just the way it works out for me. I use the internet to connect with other people with the same interests - such as the case with my car hobby. Whether I bump into other Filipinos is just incidental.

Besides, this blog entry isn't about my online participation, but rather what I recently just experienced online.

Despite my not browsing too many exclusively Filipino Message Boards, I'd be lying if I said it didn't excite me to find other Filipinos perusing the same message boards that I frequent.

This is what brought on this blog entry.

Once in a while, in a forum with a specific interest, yet with an internationally diverse crowd, you would get "shout out" type of posts. And with enough Filipinos hailing from all over the globe in one forum, it is almost inevitable that sometime in that message board's lifespan there will be a "shout out" post to all the Filipino members.

These kinds of posts always excite me. I always make it a point to show off my Filipino identity by making entries in Tagalog, telling jokes of the variety that would appeal to Philippine humour, or perhaps telling anecdotes that wouldn't mean much to people of other backgrounds but would strike a chord with anyone who would consider their identity and sensibilities to be still mostly Filipino.

One time, just recently, whilst making many consecutive posts in Tagalog, in a forum that doesn't necessarily cater to Filipinos yet has quite the Filipino membership, somebody asked,

"No offense, but Provinciano kaba?" (translated "No offense, but are you from the Provinces?")

No offense?

NO OFFENSE???

"Now why would anyone start off a question with 'No offense' ", I thought. For me, what this means is that, in general, if they were wrong in their suspicions - as in if I were not from the Provinces - I could potentially have taken offense to that assumption. It is a 'loaded' remark, so to speak.

So that begs the question: Is there something particularly bad about being a Provinciano (someone from the provinces) ?

For some Filipinos, yes. Some.

It is a kind of Philippine Elitism. I have already made passing comment of this in another entry.

Manilenos (residents of Manila), and other Filipinos living in the more cosmopolitan urban areas of the Philippines, tend to look down upon the rural and Province dwellers. But not all city folk look down on the Province folk - in fact I worry that since I am making a post about it, that I might impress upon others that it's far worse than in real life.

Still, it exists.

"Promdi" is the derogatory label used. And what it describes is the caricature of the unsophisticated, sometimes uneducated, oft times a simpleton, rural dweller.

Although primarily a prejudice against someone's geographical roots, it is at the same time a class, and ethno-cultural prejudice. In the larger picture, it is a subscription to negative cultural and linguistic stereotypes; the decadent Visayan, the cheapskate Ilocano, the underhanded Capampangan, the vice ridden Batangueno... to name a few.

What's more sad is that these things are not just held as a belief, but they also sometimes come out in practice; Filipinos are quite capable of discriminating against their fellow Filipinos as I have witnessed during my trip (of which I was getting ready for, about this time last year)

It's sad and unfortunate. And just as unfortunately, I have so far failed to narrate too much of these negative things I witnessed.

One excuse I have is that I haven't really gotten around to telling the story of my backpacking, island-hopping adventure. (My last narrative entry was me having a haircut 8 months ago!)
I have so far strived to make the narration in the order as things happened, and I'm not about to break tradition.

Regardless of that fact, reading back some of my previous entries, it seems as though I was all praise - full of nothing but an idealized and romanticized view of the 'Motherland'.

Well, even Rizal, with his intense love and veneration for the Philippines, spoke unflatteringly of all the social ills he saw. In Noli Me Tangere, in dedicating his book to the 'Motherland', he wrote:

"...I will attempt to faithfully reproduce your condition without much ado. I will lift part of the shroud that conceals your illness, sacrificing to the truth everything, even my own self-respect, for, as your son, I also suffer in your defects and failings." (*)

Similarly, though not to the same extent and grandeur as Rizal's works, I originally intended for this blog to not only serve as a place where I could tell my story, but also where I can inject my own social commentary.

And so, a third reason to continue telling the story emerges: to analyze the Philippine condition as objectively as I can. For only in being frank and honest about our own grotesqueries could we ever have a chance of ever fixing them.

Enough of this self-indulgent, 'me me me' crap.

* - From the translation by Soledad Lacson-Locsin.

2007-10-27T09:43:00.003+08:00

N47, T

Reminders

Location: My Own Desktop, Calgary, Alberta, CANADA

Composition: Impromptu. Full on Sisig and some Corona Beer. I also have the TV on with Godfather Part I showing on channel 26 on basic Shaw Cable - "Speak Softly Love" occasionally punctuating the movie's soundtrack.

"O, may Sisig ako! (Hey, I brought home sisig)", was the first thing my Dad said the first time we saw each other today.

Ahhhh Sisig. That dish whose origins are actually from leftover lechon ( 1, 2 ) is in itself a perfect example of the admirable Filipino spirit of making the most of what you have - or what you have left.

It was around an hour ago, 6pm maybe. Both him and I just got back from work. Him from his job assembling gigantic fluid valves, and myself from my landscaping job where I either pilot a single axled, big block V8 dump truck with a 12 ton gross capacity, or a measly wheelbarrow only capable of hauling around about 250kg of load per trip.

My parents and I, we never get to see each other until the end of the day during the weekdays. Until a full day's worth of hard work when we get home - that's the only family time we really get in this hustle and bustle Albertan boom economy.

Being the only occasion where we could really get together, you'd think we'd make up for it by having a grand dinner where we talk about the day behind us and the days ahead of us. You know, the stuff you see the Italians, the Spanish, the French or any other Latin culture doing all the time on TV and movies. Loud, boisterous, happy family dinners.

But no, we don't even have time for that.

No time to cook anything. Besides, being in a blue collar line of work means we're also too tired to prepare anything that takes longer than a few tens of minutes. And being in the lower tier income bracket we really haven't enough disposable income to devote to eating out in restaurants too much.

Just microwave something out of the fridge cooked by mom over the weekend.

Open up something canned.

Or maybe on the rare occasion, I may get to have those ready made meals. The kind where the bottom is black molded plastic and the top is clear cellophane that you're supposed to stab with a knife before putting it in the microwave. This is so the heated gases don't pressurize the cellophane to the point of explosion.

Whatever. I always make it a point to not to stab it anyway just so I could have some dinner entertainment. I may have to clean the microwave later, but at least I saw something pop and make a mess.

This is what passes for my daily life here in Canada.

This was supposed to be a place where I'm supposed to be having a much more improved quality of life.

But as I pause and reflect on that - as in, how exactly do I define "Quality"? As far as I remember, this type of rushed and pre-prepared dinners was daily fare when we were still in the Philippines. Mom worked in the capitol and had no time in the mornings or the evenings, and Dad too was busy being an in demand veterinary consultant. So I wonder: Am I necessarily living a better life as I would have if I were in the Philippines? As in, supposing I never moved? Or, maybe I did a re-migration?

It's hard to picture the possibilities for they could range anywhere from the most mundane to the most fantastic. It's hard to really picture anything, for if I learned anything during my travels, anything is possible, really.

Whatever the case, aside from taking home various sorts of images, impressions, and mindsets, I also took home a great deal of self realization.

One of those is the realization that I am actually quite low maintenance.

(oh, they just showed the scene during Michael Corleone's honeymoon in Sicily. You know, the scene where they show Appolonia's boobies)

Where was I? Oh yeah, low maintenance.

I found out that I could exist with very little provided that I get to experience two things: Some excitement once in a while, and the time to pause and reflect.

I found out that I could actually have less, yet still be happier.

As well, I especially remember the words I spoke in reply to the most commonly asked question as soon as I got back here in Canada.

The line of greeting usually went like, "Good to have you back."

"I'm not sure if I'm actually glad to be back", I'd reply.

(Sonny just got killed at the toolbooth. They cut out some of the more violent clips, notably the one where one gunman with the Tommy Gun fires one last burst point blank range to make sure Vito Corleone's eldest is dead.)

"Isn't Canada good enough?" they'd then question me.

"No, it's not that," I then would answer, "It's just that, it totally answered for me the question of 'Can I leave my Canadian life?' The answer is 'Yes, without a second's hesitation.' "

And why is that you ask?

Don't I have any vested interests here?

(Appolonia just blew up inside Michael's car - she triggered the car bomb that was meant for Michael)

Nothing that I can't leave behind.

(Below, my Right Hand Drive, Japanese import, 1992 Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution 1 that's disguised as a III. Photo by Ian Gulinao )

Even now, even after I've just dropped nearly 9 grand into a car that I find so hot, exotic, fast, and absolutely insane in its power and speed potential, I don't think I'd have second thoughts in turning it over - so long as it's for some profit or the same price that I've spent on it so far.

Ok, so maybe I haven't bonded with the thing yet.

My previous car, a 1988 Mk1 Toyota MR2 NA Hardtop, was something I've gone through hell and back. It was a car that I've assaulted blizzards of winter, the promise of springs, the heat of summers, and the gloom of many autumns. It was a car that I knew inside out and then some. I've raced it... I've cruised it... I've driven it for long stretches... for short jaunts... I've even crashed it! I went through everything with that car and knew her character inside out. It handled great, and it was a unique, funky, quirky car. I had the most fun with that thing.

It may have had rust. It was relatively slow and weak. It was less car through and through. However, she was MY car.

Racing photo credits Clockwise from Top Right: Matt Pearson, Shawn Bishop, Shawn Bishop. All posted without permission. Would gladly remove should the said photographers deem this unacceptable usage.

The Lancer Evolution 1 (disguised as a III) however, hasn't really inspired confidence in me - what with all the damned fixables and serviceables I'm finding right now.

Despite that, I'm giving it a chance.
Despite being a car that was the foremost reason why I'm not going to the Philippines this time.

In fact, that's actually why the car is fast becoming one of my biggest regrets; I fucking traded another Christmas and New Year spent in the Philippines just so I could have this car.

And what kind of car did I get?

(Photo by Ian Gulinao)
The suspension, in it's stiffness and lowness, is a tarmac setup meant for absolute speed that it'll be undrivable in the gravel and dead of winter without a few changes. The brakes also need servicing in the form of new Rotors, Pads, and a full brake flush. The underbody needs some undercoating - in Japan they treat cars so disposable, they don't bother to undercoat their cars with the rock proof tar.

And just recently, the 15 year old plastic radiator cracked.I have a full aluminum racing radiator on order, but the wait is killing me. The car, for all intents and purposes, is undriveable in this condition and will be until the rad gets here from Hong Kong. That's what I get for buying an exotic. They're not much. I can do them all myself - in fact I've repaired far worse from the MR2.

It's just that... Right now I'm not sure if my enthusiasm to have a fast driving and awesome handling car is enough to make me want to keep this thing. It's A LOT of car for the cash I shelled out, but I'm not so sure if I'm willing to put up with its quirks as I did with the MR2.

As pretty...

...and as hot as it may be.

Rally racing heritage. 250hp, 0-100kph in 5 seconds. Turbo, All Wheel Drive. Tommi Makinen, anyone?

(Photo by Ian Gulinao)

(Photo by Ian Gulinao)

So anyway... all these. These frustrations, setbacks, and regrets.

They're all swimming in my head right now that, for once, I was thankful the meal that my dad brought home turned out to be take out Sisig he got from Shun Fat, a Chinese Grocery store with a ready to eat meal section.

Despite heating it up in the microwave, despite adding mayonnaise instead of the authentic Ox brain, and despite it not being decadently greasy, it was enough to bring me back to a few months ago when I had Sisig in the Philippines.

I'm not even sure how many times I ate this dish whilst over there. Whatever the case, two instances stand out: During my last hour in Sabang Beach, Palawan (although I had the Tuna Sisig variation), and during cousin Marco's birthday with the Sisig that cousin Jojo prepared himself complete with sizzling plate.

This was food prepared with painstaking preparation and loving attention to detail so that it tastes just right. When it was eaten, it was done so in the loving presence of all involved.

None of this instant, ready made, reheat it up, and then consume, kind of food.

That latter kind isn't so much a meal as it is ingestion of necessary food materials for sustenance. Sustenance just so we could keep on functioning and serving this boom economy that is Alberta's.

I hunger for meals that are at least a bit more ritualized, where food itself is regarded with a bit more respect and art.

More and more the meaning of Tyler Durden's words strike a chord with me...

"Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need"
-The Character Tyler Durden, in Chuck Palahniuk's "Fight Club"

No time for self. No time for family. No time for any real personal fulfillment and development.

Hell, I haven't even got time to update this blog too often.

That's my gripe.

I'm learning more and more that material crap that's turning out to be not exactly all that fulfilling. The Sisig, being a dish of leftover Lechon parts, became a reminder that sometimes, good things could come out of un-extravagant things - you don't need opulence to feel good.

...

I'd like to end this on a happier note - to put a more cheery coda that summarizes my previous rap yet see it from a perspective that's more positive - but I can't.

"The things you own end up owning YOU."
-the character Tyler Durden, from the the book "Fight Club"

(Don Vito Corleone just had a heart attack in the tomato Orchard whilst playing with one of his grandsons)

I just can't.

(Tessio just arranged his betrayal of Micheal during Mama Corleone's funeral. Hey, despite being "impromptu" I do take a while to write things out because I revise, re read, and tweak it many times over)

----------------------

UPDATE: The Next Day.

Here's that good note.

Today, the morning after last night, I had brunch with the family. Kare kare with authentic Bagoong from Pangasinan.

Good stuff.

2007-09-18T10:46:00.001+08:00

P

September 17, 2006

Location: My Own Desktop, Calgary, Alberta, CANADA

Composition: Kinda excited from a recent purchase

It's my Birthday.

I bought myself a present.

Seller's photo.

More information later.

2007-09-02T07:12:00.001+08:00

T, N46

Why Keep On Telling the Story?
Musings on Life, Identity, Society, Mortality, and how it all ties to this form of storytelling.

Part 1: Life
Part 2: Identity

Location: My Own Desktop, Calgary, Alberta, CANADA

Composition: Sugar rush from Mom's baked Banana cake. I like saying that, "Baked Banana Cake, Baked Banana Cake, Bakedbananacake, bakedbananacakebakedbananacakebakedbananacake..."

The date was the 21st of May, 2007; just about a month after I got back from the Philippines.

The location was right in the heart of the Canadian Rockies, west of the Great Divide.

I was sitting in the passenger side of my brother's Subaru Impreza 2.5RS. We were heading eastbound very early in the morning, going back to Calgary after having spent the weekend in Kelowna for the Knox Mountain Hillclimb.

View Our Photos!

Check out this other Fan's video on YouTube!

As I squinted through the windshield, I saw the sun just barely peeking over one of the numerous sharp and jagged snow capped peaks that characterize the Rocky Mountains. I grabbed both my brother's SLR and my beater Canon Powershot A40, 5 years vintage, and snapped some shots of this special and rare experience.

How rare? Sunrise over any mountain (single or range) in Canada is something I've yet to experience too much of, seeing that here I am living east of the Rockies in Calgary. The closest mountain east of this city is thousands of kilometres away.

This suddenly triggered a few images from my Philippine trip. Having just come back a month prior, those memories were still very fresh in my mind. I thought of all the mountains I had seen whilst there. Whether I saw a sunrise or a sunset over them.
I then also thought of all the sunrises and sunsets I got to see.
What other land features did I see the sun emerge or disappear from? I asked myself. What about bodies of water?
Urban city scapes?
Who did I see and experience them with?
Then I thought of all the people who touched me during that trip...

One after the other memories came rushing forth. I may have been looking and admiring a Rocky Mountain Sunrise, but I was at the same time experiencing a recall cascade. It was like a word association game - just substitute words for experiences - that was unfolding inside my head.

This is the magic of memories.

We don't just store them inside our heads only to be recalled or relived later on. No. Memories are so much more than that. They become a part of us. With every new update to our archive of experiences and sensations; with every new addition to our scope of views; with every new image imbued in our mind's eye, we are irrevocably, irretrievably, and irreversibly changed.

For better or for worse.

And I am a changed person due to my Philippine experiences whether I like it or not. It is to that which I owe many a great changed viewpoints, realigned opinions, and reassessed priorities. It is to that which I blame for as to why there are things which I will never see, think of, or value the same way ever again.

But it doesn't have to be that I now 'see' everything from a whole new perspective. It could just very well be that I now see some things and get a certain feeling of...

Poetry.

Sunrise over a mountain isn't just another sunrise anymore.

2007-08-27T13:54:00.001+08:00

T

Calls to home.

Composition: Tipsy from Ruffino Chianti 2005, and full from Pizza 73's dry, tasteless, two for one, pizza.
Edited some words the day after for more clarity.

Location: My Own Desktop, Calgary, Alberta, Canada

I just called the Philippines today. I talked to my Cousin Jojo Dimapilis. I told him to give my regards to everyone. I wanted to talk to Cousin Marco Gulinao as well, but there was no answer form his personal mobile phone. I think he's in campus- studying for his BAR exams. He'll be taking it this coming September, so I wanted to wish him good luck.

Last week, I called Ate Mireille as well.

I've never been one to call long distance too much. I absolutely terribly suck at talking over the phone. But the desire to speak to someone from the Philippines was just too much that I just had to ring. We talked about stuff about my trip to the Philippines. It's so unfortunate that I really only actually spent about 24 hours with the Gose family (at least those still based in Manila).

Anywho, Ate Mireille is going to get Married the 16th of December. In Boracay.

And here I am planning a way to get there. I told her, half jokingly, to invite me just so I have an excuse to visit the Philippines and flee the Canadian winter.

I hate winter.

A week ago a co worker asked, after I ranted how in some ways Calgary sucks, why is it that people wanted to leave 'this' city (meaning Calgary). He mentioned that if every other place is the same in that it has its share of intellectuals and morons, fashionistas and beatniks, professionals and blue collar joes, elitists and socialists, dumbasses and keeners... if every place is the same in these respects, why prefer one place over the other?

The next day I then replied:
"Saying that every place is the same due to having an equal representation of most socioeconomic groups, is just about the same as saying that we, as individual persons, are all the same because we have eyes, ears, a nose, and a mouth."

I then continued on by philosophizing how, in order to spend the rest of our lives exclusively with a special someone, we usually cite the one criteria that we HAVE to be in love.

Why can't we be then in love with a place? I mean, when we pick a place to settle, we're pretty much saying that we're going to spend the rest of our lives there.

So what if the place I do, do love has a lot of flaws? What if I'm in love warts and all?

Sorry if it's a little disjointed. Blame Ruffino.

2007-08-25T13:09:00.001+08:00

T

The Short Cryptic Entry
The one foreshadowed by the previous post.
Since this is short, I gotta make up for it with tons of subtitles, right?

Location: Right here

Composition: same as the previous entry.

A vast number of strange and powerful 'coincidences' have been happening ever since I started planning my 2006-2007 Philippine trip. Even now, after all that's over, more and more keep happening.

And they're so hard to ignore.

Not the so called logic I claim to possess and adhere to, nor my pessimistic realist attitude are enough to make me dismiss all of it as merely incidental. The foundation of how I believe the realities of the Universe is structured and how it works is being shaken. Where before I would only have seen it all as coincidence - a subconscious drive to pick out patterns from randomness - I now think providence and purpose.

More and more, as each day goes, I feel that higher forces are pointing me towards a path seldom taken. A path that I've flirted with in the past, yet have gone no further for my own reasoning labels it as foolish. But everytime I thought I was ready to 'surrender' to the easy and convenient choices made obvious by my present circumstance, something happens that tells me to...

"Defy. Your path lies elsewhere. Find it."

"A person is as free as they believe themselves to be."

-A message I got from a Fortune Cookie that came with take out Chinese Food. 25 Aug. 2007 The cookie was extra delicious, so it has got to be a sign, right?

Ok, so that's kinda lame. Here's are excerpts from a less lame source... my most favourite song of all time... probably the greatest song ever written... with perhaps the best chord progression and musical elements... with the best guitar solo ever... and the best coda ending of all time!

"...Yes there are two paths you can go by but in the long run There's still time to change the road you're on Your head is humming and it won't go in case you don't know The piper's calling you to join him Dear lady can't you hear the wind blow and did you know Your stairway lies on the whispering wind And as we wind on down the road Our shadows taller than our soul There walks a lady we all know Who shines white light and wants to show How everything still turns to gold And if you listen very hard The tune will come to you at last When all are one and one is all..."

-Stairway to Heaven, Led Zeppelin

2007-08-25T12:31:00.000+08:00

T

A Prelude to A Short, Cryptic Entry.

Location: My Own Desktop, Calgary, Alberta, CANADA

Composition: Impromptu

I've never been one for short, cryptic entries.

I've never been one for trite and hackneyed little snippets of thought that people sometimes post. I mean what's their purpose anyway? To leave the reader guessing? To seem perhaps more poetic, thoughtful, and deep?

I must confess that some of them can be very powerful and thought provoking; so long as they are used in an appropriate and tactful manner.

But when overused, they get very annoying and pretentious. It soon becomes clear that the sparing use of words was borne out of necessity - perhaps the writer could hardly get any out - as opposed to being a device for style and a desire to conceal a deeper meaning.

Despite all that, I still have got to say:

My entries have been too wordy as of late.
It's time I started a subscription to brevity.

2007-08-21T10:43:00.000+08:00

T, N45

Some Poetic Wall

Location: My Own Desktop, Calgary, Alberta, CANADA

Composition: Impromptu

Just a few days into this season's first landscaping project (I would guess late April), there was one Saturday afternoon where everyone else, save for the boss and I, decided to quit early - Saturdays being a day where we usually only work half the day.

Now, this boss is perhaps the nicest and most pleasant guy you'd ever know. So nice, you'd think of him as somewhat dull in character and a bit boring.

But behind what you may think is a man whose vibrant character has been wizened by age, is a wise man who knows many a great deal about life.

We were building a retaining wall made up of hollow concrete blocks specifically designed for the purpose of holding back earth. More like a dam as opposed to a wall really. Such design touches look great in multi-tiered and terraced yards with many elevation changes.

The blocks we use for this purpose have no need for cement. All that's needed is a base of sharp gravel that's usually four inches in depth. What you then do as a builder is to lay out the base layer of blocks where you wish the wall to go. You then level each and every block in a very precise manner - and precise is the key word here - where they will be exactly level front to back and side to side. After the base layer of blocks is done, you then fill up the void inside the blocks, between the blocks, and the space between the back of the wall itself and the earth you wish to hold back. The purpose of this gravel backfill is to hold the wall together better by making it more dense and, in the case of filling the space behind the wall, as drainage so that the wall does not get overwhelmed by unstable soil that's been oversaturated by water. Without this gravel the wall would be weak, unstable, and misaligned after a day's worth of rain. You then simply stack your second layer on top of the first, but minus the tedious and repetitive step of having to level in each and every block. Had you leveled that first layer all in properly, the second, third, fourth, and the upper limit of 7 to 8 layers should all just fit in nicely. Had you not, then your mistake gets exaggerated with every layer up. Each new layer of blocks magnifying the mistake you made at the bottom. However due to the non permanent nature of these interlocking blocks, it could be taken apart, and rebuilt again right at the bottom. Design changes, scaling revisions, and relocating where the wall will stand can be done. The ease of this depends on how many levels you've stacked and backfilled.

We landscapers, we tend to view this aspect of the job with mixed opinions. Some think it as the most tedious and repetitive "fiddly" job ever. These guys claim that the numerous small adjustments for small incremental improvements as boring. On the other side, there are guys who appreciate the fiddling and problem solving as a respite from the more labour intensive parts of the job that require only brawn.

Whatever the case, this is one of the few opportunities where conversations - REAL conversations - can happen. This is one of the rare occasions where no loud machinery is in constant operation, and where instead of being spread out around the jobsite, we the workers are almost in one general area within earshot of each other.

Since it was only our first few days back at work, the boss asked me how I was doing, how my trip was, and what I thought all about it.

I told him about the personal mental ordeal I had to go through my first few sleepless days here (in Calgary). And how, during those few days, all I could think of was my next trip back.

He asked why this was. Why I wanted back so soon. Was Canada not good enough?

Not necessarily, I said. It's just that it brought up certain aspects of my character, certain emotions I treasured, and certain lessons I will forever hold with me - all these things that are positive.

So if visiting a country can do so much good, then experiencing more of it is just better is it not?

I then told him of how I had this thought of...

...well let's just say this for now...

I then told him of how I had this thought of planning a future whereupon a great deal will be invested in my being very marketable over there, in the Philippines, as opposed to here, in Canada.

But of course I was just a visitor. I then continued on with how I did eventually realize that it's just vacation withdrawal symptoms. It's probably foolish to set in stone any idea I may have at a time when I was still going through 'withdrawal'. I shouldn't do anything drastic that would set me back in building a "real life" comprised of a spouse, property, and kids.

"Well, don't ever set anything in stone", he said. "But understand that if you want to act on a plan that'll take a good chunk of time, you have to do it now. How old are you again?"

"Twenty Five."

"Twenty Five?" he said, and with a pause continued: "You're still young Randy. But not that young. Now's the time to do something crazy. Don't get too caught up with playing the status quo. See, I work as a marriage counselor for new couples at my church..."

No shit, I thought. I didn't know that about him before.

"...and," my boss continued. "As a counselor, I have often encountered so many young couples who I could pretty much tell, got married, got kids, got the big house mortgage and car payments, all because that's the status quo."

He continued on by explaining that the (North) American dream has us chasing after that ideal of finishing school in your twenties. Getting a job, then getting married, then settling down, and then waiting for old age and retirement. These are all nice and great, he said. But don't ever ever do any of these because you feel like have to do so now, or because that's what people do, or because of parental pressure to give in to the same life that your folks may have led. Try anything and everything you wish, he pretty much said, while there is still time. Things will come and when you do have to settle, you will have tried enough things that you could just take your pick on what to do for the rest of your life.

"Besides," he said to conclude things. "If it (the idea you're cooking up) doesn't turn out to your liking, you'd still be a Canadian Citizen! You can come back anytime with the full benefits and social safety net that such a status may entail. I'd even give you a job if I'm still at this. At least you could say you did it."

We finished the small section of a wall we were working on at around four. As I topped the final layer of block with gravel, before the decorative solid block of a cap is set in place, I noticed that our short wall looked slightly straighter than all the other longer sections we had built previously.

Straight but, unfortunately, also lacking in visual appeal.

Compared to the other walls in the yard that curve sensuously in all directions, the portion we just finished was rather dull in appearance. And compared to our perfect little straight section, the walls with the beautiful curves had a lot of tiny little imperfections - no doubt a result of the added complexity of their design.

All the walls were too huge to take apart. They may be non-permanent, but corrections have to be done early-on during the buildup phase. By the time they're stacked 7 to 8 layers high, it would take too much time and effort to have to take it all down and start from scratch. No more, "I wish I did it this way instead of that". You'd just have to live with it because it's too late. And any effort to straighten kinks and misalignments, or add other crazy new design ideas for a funky ass curve you might have in mind, just wouldn't be feasible anymore.

I am becoming more and more existential by the day. I swear.

2007-07-03T02:36:00.000+08:00

T

Why keep on telling the story?
Musings on Life, Identity, Society, Mortality, and how it all ties to this form of storytelling.

Part 1: Life

Location: My Own Desktop, Calgary, Alberta, CANADA

Composition: Caffeine induced inspiration.

Yesterday, July 1st, was Canada day - her 140th.

As a result, today, Monday the 2nd of July is a statutory holiday. This is a type of weekend that everyone looks forward to having. So much so that it has even entered the North American vernacular: The Long Weekend.

Having an extra day off of work counts for a lot. And because it's summer, there's a lot more freedom as to the things you can accomplish.

This is a time to do your home projects. Finally you can cut that grass that's grown too long because you've been too busy. Perhaps you can weed that garden. Tend to your raspberries and strawberries. Prune that juniper that's so overgrown it's starting to look like a knocked over spruce tree.

Or maybe you can finally attend to some other home improvements that need finishing. Maybe finally finish laying that last coat of stain that your deck has been begging for since the previous summer. The deck's done? Maybe you can apply sealant to your driveway. And if you found spring to be too wet and cold, then perhaps you can finally do some general spring cleaning - in summer.

If not the house, then maybe the car needs some attention. All winter long your car's been battered by the elements. Mud, snow and slush. They take their toll on your paintjob. Now that it's summer, you can finally wax your beloved. Wash, dry, wax, and buff. Rinse. Repeat. You have the time - it's the long weekend.

Or maybe you have all these domestic chores done and only have obligations left to fulfill. For the family and or home oriented, this is the perfect opportunity to fire up the barbecue grill and roast up some dead animal of your choice. Wash it down with your favourite spirit, so long as it's Canadian brewed beer. Invite friends and family over. Soak up the sun in your backyard with your stained cedar deck, newly pruned trees, and freshly cut grass.

Single and renting? Even better, because events and gigs abound. Party it out downtown within your city, town or community. This is the time to have a drunken, bar hopping experience. Hook up, drink up, and party up. If you manage to still be single by sundown then you can end the night by watching a fireworks display visible from a popular vantage point for all to see. Chances are, it'll be free.

For the outdoorsy, this is a time to take out the RV, the boat, or the camping gear to head out away from civilization and explore the countryside. This is the time to go fishing, go exploring the wilderness, and enjoy Canada's rich natural wonders.

For those who have family elsewhere, this is the time to visit and perhaps have a reunion. Head out of town to see old friends and family. Catch up to old times, and reconnect with people you knew from your youth.

These are all examples of how Canadians usually spend the Canada day long weekend.

Me? I did not do any one of those things. Not one thing.

In another post I accused Canada of being boring. Well, it isn't. It's MY LIFE, as it has been lived so far in Canada, that is kinda boring. The place itself is fabulous. Just fabulous. There are many things to do, much to see, and lots of people to meet. I definitely haven't been taking full advantage of this tremendously lovely place where one can live an awesome life. But me? I've been, and I still am being, foolish.

To be direct, what I've been doing is subconsciously blocking myself from having too much fun in this country.

I think.
I mean, it's subconscious so I don't know for sure.
I can only guess.

But what I'm trying to say is: A part of me always holds back when I should be going all out. I end up repressing myself and stopping halfway just before I achieve full enjoyment of something.

It's not just expressed in my lack of participation to Canadiana - as it was the case this past weekend. It's deeper. More psychological.

I somehow feel guilty everytime I have fun doing something exclusively Canadian. I mean, there are hobbies and interests to be occupied with; but none of them are purely Canadian. Sure, there really is nothing "purely Canadian" per se anymore - it's a globalized world - however, if I do an inventory of the things I do and claim to enjoy, it could be anybody's from anywhere in the world.

Simply put, I seem to have a prejudice - to which I will not openly admit - against this country. I just won't let myself have fun all the way. For someone who is all-or-nothing, as I am, this isn't supposed to happen.

Ten Years ago, during my first summer here, my Dad's Ditse, Tita Sofia Dimapilis came here for a visit. As per usual custom for Calgarians when they have visitors staying over for at least a few days, to take them to the Canadian Rockies was requisite.

I remember, there's this one part of the Trans-Canada highway, just past the cement quarrying plant where, if you were heading from the Canadian interior westwards TO the Rockies, a layered rock face would be the first really obvious feature you'd see. From inside the car, it fills your whole window. I unfortunately have no photograph of that feature, despite the many times I've been there since. Not even the words majestic, imposing, and awesome can do it justice.

I distinctly remember Tita Sofia (aka Ofie) going, "Ay nako Randy! Ang gaganda ng bundok dito! Diba? (Oh, Randy! The mountains you have here... they're beautiful! Eh?)"

My response? "Meh".

I dismissed it. I shrugged it off as if I weren't all that impressed. Of course I was ONLY pretending not to like it - I was a bitter kid, like I've said before elsewhere. I pretended not to like because somehow, that lessened the sadness of being away from the dear and familiar.

That's what I mean by repressing myself from enjoying things here. Could the same resentments possibly be the same ones still responsible my inner issues with "enjoying Canada"?

In a word. NO.

They're not the same ones anymore, for THERE IS MORE.

A LOT more.

A lot more that I haven't talked about before, and I'm still not at all too sure whether I should openly talk about it here for it's a little too personal.

But, I have already spoken about it and I am too all-or-nothing not to go on. And to be perfectly honest, I love this catharsis of sorts that an online diary can provide. Little by little, this will be analyzed, and the reasons revealed.

Once again, retrospect as a literary device.

Never before have I tried a healing process as effective as a self confession. I could have written in a personal diary, but then that's like masturbating when you can have glorious sex. I need an audience. Even if no one is reading this I don't care. Doesn't make a difference to me. All I know is that someone else CAN read this and that's enough.

I can probably confide to a friend one on one - verbal communication. But then I would just inevitably hold back in an attempt to safeguard my ego. Besides, guys usually tell another guy as an advice for everything, "Dude, you need to get laid."

Yeah, we guys are lame that way.

Maybe a shrink is an option?

Well, I don't have the money for that. And besides, I like this format that is without time nor space constraints. I can ramble on for as long as I want. Set up revelations and key info at the pace and timing that I choose. Too, I get to sharpen my literary skills.

So all of that said... despite this blog being stale and months out of date... despite arguably having less and less relevance as time passes... and despite the fact that it doesn't really matter to anyone else whether this gets done or not...

I have to do this.

For if not for anything or anyone else, I need to do it for 'Me'. It's done my life some good, even though it is tangible only to me, so why stop?

It's a reality check/sanity check/medium for analyzing my own motives.

2007-06-21T15:17:00.000+08:00

Just an Update.
Alive.

Location: My Own Desktop, Calgary, Alberta, CANADA

Composition: Pretty drunk.

Summer will be officially here in a few days. The last time I wrote anything, it wasn't even spring yet. Now, spring has come and will soon make way for summer. Life has returned to this land, the trees have gotten their green back, and the city is once again flourishing with outdoor activities.

A lot has happened since then. And In some respects a lot has happened to different aspects of 'me' since my last post. While in other respects, almost nothing.

This blog falls into one of the latter.

Although I have been making improvements to the sidebar, I am nowhere near telling even half this story. I promise to get on with that, ASAP.

No one might care, but I feel like I must. I started it after all.

For, if not for you, if not for any audience (because who really reads my useless blather?) then I'm doing it for me; myself.

Cheers.

R.

2007-04-25T11:56:00.000+08:00

N44

Got the Rhythm back.
Sleeping well... but thinking straight?

or.. "suffering from Post-vacation withdrawal symptoms"

Location: My Own Desktop, Calgary, Alberta, CANADA

Composition: Here and now.

I have my sleep patterns in tune with this timezone now. A big help that the weather isn't all gloomy anymore like it was all of last week. With a definite difference between a warm sunny day, and the cool dark night, it's a lot easier to adjust sleep. I see sun, I stay up. I see dark, I sleep. But with depressingly overcast skies during the daytime, I end up doing nothing but nap and then curse at night for not being able to sleep. Sun = Good!

I'm working again too. For four months I only spent money; it's a nice feeling that cash is flowing IN again, instead of always out. It is the same summer job I did last year, and the year before - the year I finished school.

Yup. I'm settling into old patterns quite nicely.

Scary.

For four months I was living almost every day with a new and unique experience. I treasured, relished, and noted every moment that I spent in the Philippines during my whole stay. Good ones, bad ones. All of them provided me with experiential lessons.

And now what? I'm back here, following a predictable pattern of work, exercise, then some recreation. Doing all this in an orderly, peaceful, utterly dull and boring 1st world nation.

When my brother, along with my parents, picked me up at the airport, he said, "Back in the real world, eh?"

No. I don't think so. Fuck that.

THAT (meaning the Philippines) was the real world. Not here in Canada. The struggle in the chaos, disorder, and grotesqueries of the third world has more reality in it. It is closer to the life we humans were living before we felt compelled to put order into everything. Civilization, with all its modern trappings, rules, repressed behaviour, and set predictable patterns is just a human construct. Property lined, socially mapped, and city planned Calgary is just human creation.

Maybe it's not fair to Canada. I did go into the Philippines ONLY as a visitor willing to sample anything and everything, and only for a limited amount of time.

Everything I saw and experienced was novel. Or after ten years of absence, the things I have previously seen and experienced, were all novel once again. With a touch of nostalgia to boot!

I didn't go to post secondary-school there. Didn't try and earn money and build a career. Never had to make monthly rent or mortgage. Never had to commute through Manila's traffic on a daily basis. And I certainly don't know what it's really like to build a life there.

No wonder then that instead of coming back to Canada with a newfound appreciation for living in the 1st world - I come back with only the fondest of memories and an adventurous (perhaps foolish) desire to go back there and try my hand with those kind of challenges.

It's like a drug - the Philippines I mean.
The people. The sights. The sounds. The smells. The culture. The situations I found myself in.

They were all very addictive. It was an LSD that gave me an existential trip, baby. Yeah!

And I'm suffering from withdrawal symptoms.

...

I have to update this blog - I have been making steps into organizing the sidebar better. I also have to organize my pictures too. Oh, and I haven't really narrated anything about my backpacking, island-hopping trip, save for the teaser posts. Not to mention that I went to the capital for two weeks before that! Almost forgot..

I must get on with telling the story and the stories behind everything.

That might relieve some of the withdrawal symptoms.

2007-04-17T18:12:00.002+08:00

N43

Back in Canada
"...and I'm not at all sure how I feel about that."

Location: My Own Desktop in my room in Calgary, Alberta, CANADA

Composition: Hastily and perhaps without any tact.

After Boracay, I spent my last two weeks in the Philippines getting ready to come back here, in Canada.

I landed in Calgary on time at around 1935hrs on the 14th of April, 2007.

It is around 0400 on the 17th of April as I write this; that means that I have spent around less than 57 hours in Calgary ever since AC220 set down that Saturday evening.

Perhaps 57 hours is too soon to say anything - I haven't gotten over the jet lag after all (hence the odd time that I am writing this).

Too, I haven't fully acclimatized to the temperatures that are barely above freezing by night, and barely above two digits (in celsius) by day. Oh yes, the weather is also very, very dry.

The relatively little amount of sunshine I've been getting is also quite bothersome. I have Seasonal Affective Disorder. I think. I filled out a questionnaire a long time ago, and yes, it says that I do; though I haven't seen a professional about that.

There too is the greenery, or the lack of it. Having just come back from the lush and green tropics, I was immediately thrust into dry, dull, and boring brown prairie. Right from the air it was visible, and right then and there it depressed me. The snow capped mountains were visible to the west (and are visible on the ground), but that offered little relief to the depressing view of seemingly dead, leafless deciduous trees that greeted me on the vehicle trip back.

So, maybe it's too premature to say it; the trees will get their green back, life will return to the prairies, and spring shall once again paint colour to this forlorn scape - also I will adjust my sleep patterns.

But I am not having a good time so far.

This is FUCKING DEPRESSING - and no, I am not editing and sugarcoating that statement to something more palatable. I say fuck because I feel like it... fuckfuckfuckityfuckfuck

This is more of a "SHOCK" than the culture shock I experienced during my first few hours, days, and weeks in the Philippines. What I'm experiencing right now is shock that drives people to suicide or a killing spree.

There were moments, where I thought I convinced myself that, "Yes, Calgary is a great place. I should be glad to be back."

But no, in general I don't feel that way. At all.

I am not really looking forward to anything. Not really wanting to settle to an old routine that I didn't really like. The old life I didn't want. And a future spent here, that I just can't see myself in...

Depressing, I know. But that's really, honestly how I feel right now.

Right now I'm even thinking, "This is a fucked up place and I don't understand why the fuck people live here... it's too cold and depressing. What the fuck am I doing here? Why the fuck did WE move here in the first place? And WHY the fuck did I come back? I was in the Philippines already. I hatethisIhatethisIhatethisIhatethisIhatethisPLACE!" Add to that an analysis of the foolishness of the Philippine exodus of professionals and why the fuck that country can never get its act together - because everyone capable of contributing LEAVES!

-All that is racing through my sleep deprived head right now.

I really thought I would be glad to be back.. but no. I really am NOT.

I also really thought that I had things figured out even before my trip was over. But, as I'm finding out right now, I don't.

Good thing I didn't conclude things prematurely then.

Few things can give solace right now. And one of those things is not yet road worthy.

Maybe I should not have timed my comeback right at this very date? The sights, the sounds, the smells - the reminders are too much.

A relapse from ten years ago is not pretty.

Or maybe, I just need to sleep.

2007-04-03T14:11:00.001+08:00

Bye Bye Boracay...
Back in Sta. Maria, Bulacan.

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu

I stayed 5 nights in total in Boracay. I never planned to stay that long. Heck, I never planned to visit Boracay at all. Ate Mireille and Cris, Ate Michelli and Richie, and Ate Majalyne Macapinlac all told me I HAVE to pay that place a visit.

So I did, and had a grand time.

Now, I'm back in my hometown.

In less than two weeks time, I have to head back to Canada.
...and I'm not at all sure how I feel about that.

I've been to Mindanao, Palawan, Bohol, Negros Occidental, and of course, Boracay Island in Aklan... a lot of places visited by one person in only 3 weeks time of backpacking.

But these are only a tiny sampling of what this beautiful country has to offer. I want to see more.

Some other time perhaps...

2007-03-28T19:52:00.000+08:00

Boracay.
A Teaser Post.

Location: Pat's Creek Bar's Internet Cafe

Composition: here and now, baby!

I'm in Boracay.

I set foot here the 27th of March 2007.

When am I leaving? I don't know yet... and I don't particularly care when. So long as it's not too soon. Hah!

2007-03-23T18:07:00.000+08:00

Negros Occidental.

Bacolod City and sorrounding areas - A Teaser Post

Location: Bacolod City, Negros Occidental, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Magic pixie fairies whispering the words to my ear. Hah!

The Island of Negros would probably not have been on my list of "places to visit" had it not been for Cousin Mireille egging me on to visit her Manang Michelli (and Ate Michelli herself telling me I should pass by) .

Now that I'm here, I think this unique Island (split into the provinces of Negros Occidental, and Negros Oriental) has a charm all on its own.

Sugar is the key word here. It has affected industry, history, and architecture.

To this day, remnants of this past still exist. Actually.. come to think of it, I'm making it seem as if this is not Sugarland anymore by saying 'remnants'.

Truth is, this place still is Sugarland! Outside any city, the only crop you would ever see planted would be sugarcane. Observe any long procession of transport vehicles and the only commodity you would ever see would be sugarcane.

Sugar sugar sugar.

What a sweet place.

2007-03-23T17:27:00.000+08:00

Bohol.
The Chocolate Hills and other Landmarks - a teaser post

Location: Bacolod City, Negros Occidental, Philippines

Composition: Here and now.

Almost as soon as my feet landed in Cebu, I was trying to find my way to Bohol.

I only had two full days before my flight out for Bacolod - if I wanted to see what Bohol had to offer, I needed to get there fast. So, right from the airport, I took an airport car to Cebu's Pier 1, bought fast-craft ferry tickets (with a return trip to Cebu) to Tagbilaran City, and was there by nightfall.

The next morning I took a bus to Carmen - perhaps the best viewpoint to see the world famous Chocolate Hills (save for a balloon flight over the whole landscape perhaps).

Chocolate hills is best visited only as a day trip. I was too tired however, to make the way back that same day. So, I checked in at the Chocolate Hills Hotel and Restaurant and slept the night.

For the way back to Tagbilaran City Pier, I hired a motorcycle to take me back through the same scenic route. Just so I could check out Bohol's famous landmarks and other points of interest (even saw the Tarsier!). Service was so good we even made a stopover at Tagbilaran's post office so I could mail off a photo CD.

That night, in Cebu, I again regretted having plotted a route on paper. Backpacking is supposed to be more spontaneous than this. When you enjoy something, stay a while. When you have to go, GO.

The thing was, I bought plane tickets from one waypoint to the other because I took advantage of a sale that Cebu Pacific Airlines was having a few months ago.

Oh well. I'll do things differently in the future.

On the plus side, the next time I go backpacking around this beautiful country, I won't have to see Chocolate Hills anymore! You see it once, and that memorable image of perfectly symmetrical hills extending almost as far as the horizon should be enough for a lifetime.

The next time I go to Bohol, will be just for the beaches. I heard Anda, and Panglao Island have wonderful stretches of white sand.

2007-03-16T19:21:00.000+08:00

Palawan.
Sabang Beach and the Subterrenean River - A Teaser Post

Location: Rizal Avenue, Puerto Princessa City, Palawan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu.

I am writing this in Puerto Princessa, Palawan.

Although I left for Davao a week ago, Palawan was my first true backpacking adventure. In Davao, I lodged with a very nice and very friendly family. Although I had one day all to myself where I toured downtown Davao, it still didn't feel like a proper adventure.

Well, having just spent 3 nights and 2 days in Sabang Beach, Palawan - where I saw the Subterrenean River, made friends with experienced backpackers, and discovered the wonders of travelling on 1 part whim and 1 part guts - I can say, I FINALLY HAD AN ADVENTURE.

Though I wish I can see all of Puerto Princessa's charms up close, there simply isn't enough time. I left for Sabang only hours after having touched down at Puerto Princessa airport - and am back here at Puerto with only enough time to catch a flight tomorrow. Perhaps I can enjoy the nightlife for one night, but a flight tomorrow means I would have to cut things early.

Oh well. Gotta save some things for future backpacking adventures, right?

Here's the thing; when I was planning this trip and buying tickets, I had somewhat of a timetable to do things:
I wanted to get as far as I can from Puerto Princessa in the arrival day. Then, have a night at some remote beach, spend a full day there then travel back to the city the next day. That way, the 3 full days would be split between the two.

Well, it so happened that I became so enamored with Sabang Beach, and the other wonders it had to offer that, I only got back late today - my last full day in Palawan.

Next stop: Cebu.

At least that's what my plane ticket says...

I heard Bohol is barely an hour away via high speed ferryboat.

2007-03-12T09:47:00.000+08:00

Davao
A Teaser post.

Location: Skyline Village, Catalunan Grande, Davao City, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu. A Teaser Post.

I left Manila at 0500 on the 9th of March, Friday, and arrived here in Davao around 0700.

Since then I've been to the Geothermal Plant nearby Mt. Apo's slopes, swam the Davao Gulf from the white to beige coloured beaches of Samal Island, and saw the majestic Haribon or Philippine Eagle in the Philippine Eagle Centre.

Today, Monday of the 12th is my last full day and I'll be spending almost all of it in Davao's downtown.

Cheers!

Randy

"That's just the sulfur in the air that you're smelling... honest!"

Teaser Pics. Added: 16 Mar.

2007-03-07T10:51:00.000+08:00

Gallery

My older brother, Ian Gulinao, maintains an online photo gallery for me.

CLICK HERE!

What I do is send him the CD's I burn and he uploads it to his Pbase account from the comfort of his own home in Calgary.

That said, the Gallery might keep track of my whereabouts faster than this blog.

Cheers!

-Randy

PS. He only selects what he thinks are the best shots. Those are only a few hundred out of the thousands I take using the beater Canon Powershot A40 - 5 years vintage.

---------------

March 21 EDIT:

It seems like he's conserving his alloted space, so what you see are actually ones with severely decreased pixilation and not quite the best of the best...

Oh well.

I'll get around to selecting a kickass photo web host when I get home. Adjust photo, contrast... photo stitch as well for some photos that needed that "panorama" view.

--------------

March 26 EDIT:

The order also doesn't make sense; one gallery has me riding the then newly-inaugurated Pasig River Ferry then I'm on a car to Manaoag, Pangasinan.

I'll make sense of it all later.

2007-03-07T10:10:00.001+08:00

A Haircut and a Ballgame.
9th of February 2007

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu, recalling stuff from the previous month.

To commemorate the catharsis of sorts I went through, I finally had a haircut.

This too was in preparation for an extended stay in Makati, Metro Manila that I had been planning. Nothing perhaps gave away my being a balikbayan (expat) more than the long hair. While there are the obvious exceptions, the average Filipino male will strive to be clean cut - so, the desire to blend in won over my attachment to the long flowing mane that took me close to a year to grow.

I unfortunately forgot to take before and after photos using the same background and lighting - to fully illustrate that 'transformed' effect. But, if photos are what we're talking about, then I do take lots, so here's one... albeit a tad out of context to this post (taken in Laguna 17Feb07, with my cousin, Mikee Bueno)

The 9th of February was also Team Tumana's last basketball game. I have been forgetting to make any mention of this in previous posts. In any case, here it is:

The Samahang Kabataan, or S.K. for short (youth organization) of Sta. Maria organizes numerous sports events, centering around the larger celebrations of the Town Centre's Fiesta.

Tumana's Basketball entry had a largely poor showing during the round robin - resulting in their early elimination. The 9th of February was their last game, and I was there with camera on hand to take a few photos.

Uncle Tito invited the team, and everyone else involved, to the Gulinao Property for a post game, and post-season, celebration. Though he was largely disappointed at the team's final standing - Sports and Recreation being a point of pride among Barangay Kapitans (Barangay Captains) - he still made it a point to thank everyone for coming out.

The next day, the 10th of February, I left Sta. Maria, Bulacan for a two-week stay in Makati.

I have since come back from that stay, but there's just no time to tell everything that happened. Because two days from the time of this writing (today is the 7th of Mar), more things will happen. (Whilst in Makati, I was so busy experiencing the place, this was all I could muster)

Like I said, this is where I shift up and step up the exploration.

It may very well be that my next post will be in Calgary, Alberta, CANADA. Though, I won't be heading back there until the 14th of April (a month a few days from now), I simply will not have the time to visit the internet. From there I will be speaking of everything that has happened - and will happen from now on - in retrospect.

Until then.... so long.

Flickr Photoset.

2007-03-07T09:19:00.000+08:00

Some Clarity
"Less of the sensitive, whiny B.S., please!"

Mid February

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Notebook.

From the last week of January to the first few days in February, I experienced varying degrees of small epiphanies.

Small epiphanies which put me closer to reclaiming an identity I claim to have lost. How close? Close enough that i can probably say, "I have an answer to the question, 'Who and what am I?'"

But! I will save that to the very end of this trip. After everything else.

Really now, it wouldn't be as cool if I concluded things prematurely. As I scribble this in a notebook, it is still Mid February - I still have a full two months to go.

As a preview though, I can say this: It isn't like a sappy movie ending. It isn't a grand philosophical insight. And it isn't even a proper conclusion nor is it even a proper answer at all!!!
Just something I realized just now. Something I had failed to see all this while.

So, with some baggage lightened, some personal kinks ironed out, and the fog finally lifting, expect the pace of this blog to go uptempo. Also, expect less of the sensitive, whiny bullshit that's been dominating this blog.

Less talk, more fun.

Time to explore, baby, YEAH!

2007-03-06T14:57:00.000+08:00

Out of the Fog
Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES
Composition: Impromptu.

The fog that has clouded me for sometime now is lifting,
slowly revealing
behind it, not a new horizon
- for that itself may never be seen until you are there.
To where,
more than the destination,
I can see- beyond why- how it is, that here I now stand.
On hand
a brush. And with a motion
I paint my own skies. My sunrise red and my sunset blue.
My own hue;
my art, my life, my creation.

-R. Gulinao
6 Mar 2007

2007-03-06T11:56:00.002+08:00

The Town Centre's Fiesta
7-8-9 of February 2007

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu

Almost every town or barangay in the Philippines celebrates a festival called a Fiesta. While some of these are in celebration of a pre-colonial past, most are in commemoration or in honour of a Christian Patron Saint.

For Santa Maria's town centre, the Poblacion, the Fiesta is in honour of the Sta. Maria de Immaculada Conception (St. Mary of the Immaculate Conception). This is a 3 day celebration, usually falling on the first full week of February. Now this is NOT a fiesta involving the whole town but rather, just the town centre - every other barangay has a fiesta to commemorate their patron saint. However, being the Town Capitol, pretty much the whole town comes out to partake in the festivities.

Like the Fiestas I remember from my childhood, there were many events, contests, concerts, and parades held all in the name of the patron saint.

I was a bit slightly disappointed that my relatives didn't really give this event as much interest as I did. My cousins and my childhood friends have now gotten all accustomed, if not tired, of this annual event. This I couldn't get since, the whole town centre undergoes a complete makeover!

The most obvious is the visual transformation. Tassels and fiesta banderitas adorn the streets. A makeshift Carnival (peryaan) is erected on an empty field across from the Wet Market. And every homeowner will make it a point to dress up their house one way or another - perhaps recycling some decorations from the previous Pasko - to augment the glorious buffet that they will offer as a feast. Throughout this period, their houses will be open to anyone, invited or not, wanting to partake in the feast.

Filipinos may pride themselves with celebrating the longest and most festive Christmas, but Christmas actually is not the most festive celebration of the year - that distinction belongs to the Fiestas.

Fun times indeed.

But, I suppose my friends and relatives do have their reasons for regarding this event as an inconvenience. For instance, because almost everyone would be downtown, celebrating, the whole Poblacion turns into a crowded traffic nightmare. Not only that, this is when the swindlers ( manlolokos, and manggaganchos), street side con-artists come out. Add to that the pickpockets and other petty thieves.

So if the first Sta. Maria Town Centre Fiesta that I celebrated in a decade was a bit scaled down, compared to previous years, it was because I couldn't get anyone to go experience it with me.

Still, I managed to catch a few glimpses of one of the special events.

During one water delivery with Cousin Jojo, we got caught in the middle of a Marching Band battle.

We were dropping off a few gallons of his purified, "AquaJelz" brand, water to a preferred customer who lived downtown. We could already hear the bands, but paid no mind. But as we turned into our usual route out, we were surprised to find ourselves right smack in the middle of it all. I promptly climbed out and took some photos.

Awesome.

The next day, with my Uncle Tito, I managed to make a few rounds through a few households - consuming the delicious Filipino food on offer as a feast.

Yum.

2007-03-06T09:54:00.001+08:00

Our Old Jeep.

Sometime before the town centre's Fiesta...

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu

Fond and pleasing memories can be very strange. Why? Well, because sometimes, they can be evoked by the least fond or least pleasing of sights.

A few days before Sta. Maria's Poblacion Fiesta, I saw something that served as a very neat reminder of the early life I lived in Sta. Maria.

Her once bright red paint was now peeling. The sturdy bodywork, crafted by heavy handed pukpok (hammer-forming) technicians, was rusted through and beginning to fall apart in places. Her once mighty 1.8 Isuzu Gemini turbodiesel now a smoking, and polluting hulk. The driver's side headlamp held by clear tape. And the passenger mirror was completely gone.

Ugly.

Yet, she was still the Jeep that my Dad once owned.

The current owner, some guy named Edwin (in the photo), swears by this vehicle. He says ever since he got her from my dad a decade ago for 50k PhP (a bargain at the time), she had since earned her keep many times over.

Her underpinnings, her engine, her interior... everything, was still basically the same. Now aged and falling apart, it is inevitable that she may meet her final demise as scrap metal. But, Edwin says, he'll keep driving her for as long as she runs.

Though I was much too young to have really driven her, this Jeep nevertheless has a special place in my heart. She first ran in 1987 - then powered by a 1.3l Toyota 4K Gasoline engine. She underwent a cosmetic makeover and an engine change sometime in the early 90's. She served with us right up until we had to leave for Canada in 1997. All through the time that we had her, she served alongside another car (a 1979 showroom mint Toyota Corona), and numerous other service vehicles (either through my Mom's or my Dad's line of work). Yet, she was the mainstay.

2RBG, as we called her.

To be frank, I now view hand-assembled Philippine Jeeps with a bit of disdain. They are a shoddy piece of engineering, hastily crafted from Japanese 'surplus' junk, to say the least. They handle terribly, have ridiculous ergonomics, and are often plagued with teething problems and various other sorts of gremlins. I've been driving my Uncle Tito's jeep, and trust me, I know. As well, Marco's Mini was no different.

BUT, the hand-built nature of these things allow the owner some personal customizing touches.

2RBG was the first Jeep around our town to be fully enclosed. It used to be that almost all Jeeps would mimic the open-air nature of the originals; with only a tolda (vinyl top) to keep you out of the elements.

She was also unique in that she had a longer frame - a departure from the super short wheelbase orginal WWII era Willy's Jeep. We had a small luggage space behind the rear seat. Plus, the LandCruiser FJ40 imitation paint made her all the more stand out.

These fine details made her inescapably and undeniably OUR Jeep.

-----

Note: There are two classifications of the Philippine built Jeep. One is the kind meant for public transport - more commonly referred to as Jeepney or Pampasajero (for passengers). The other is just the Jeep, or Owner Type Jeep - patterned mostly after the M38, although like I said, personal touches give them a wholly different look nowadays.

Flickr Photoset.

2007-03-06T08:57:00.000+08:00

A First!
A negative experience of Philippine life.

29th of January 2007

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Written in a notebook immediately after the fact.

Today, I experienced a reality of Philippine life that I just could not view through an easy going and relaxed viewpoint. Prior to this, I viewed everything, even... nay especially the bad things, with such fascination - for I was experiencing something different or novel. Today however, I experienced something that wore that novelty thin.

Today, I got to experience the archaic filing and processing system still prevalent here in the Philippines and most other developing countries.

How archaic? Pen, paper, and filing cabinet archaic - and I'm talking about the primary system and not the backup. Being archaic, it also follows that such a system will be inaccurate and very slow.

I could excuse the traffic, the pollution, the crowding, and the effort I expend in having to access the internet. All these I can chalk up as "quirks" or unique challenges.

But when my already unique and difficult name gets bastardized to something far more unique and difficult, that's when I draw the line.

The story was this: I needed a certified copy of my birth certificate from Sta. Maria's Municipal records. This was easy enough to do; you just line up, get a copy, have it certified and voila! You got yourself a legal copy.

There was however a problem. A transcription error had occured during the time when my municipal records were being made. A letter "N" had become a letter "Z".

Oh yes! I suddenly remembered. This was a problem that cropped up when we (as a family) were getting ready to leave for Canada. Ten years ago I was only fifteen. This meant that as a minor, it was easy enough to let it slide. I remembered that far fewer documents and clearances were needed for my papaers to get processed. Instead of dealing with the Philippine census' glacial pace, we used the birth records of the hospital where I was born, had that certified, and then left for Canada.

Now, that same problem came back to haunt me. I NEEDED proof that I was born here, something that said the REAL NAME that my parents wanted to give me - and not some loser's transcription error.

To correct this error I was told, could take up to three months. When I was dealing with this problem, I had about two months left.

A solution however, presented itself when someone asked if I knew the exact hospital or clinic where I was born; I could just do the same thing I did 10 years ago.

I did, and with an aunt who worked at the Municipal hall, Tita Sofia Dimapilis, off we went to that very hospital to get a copy from the birthing records so we could have that certified by the Municipal Records Department.

Oh, and there was another snag at the hospital - they did not have a copier of their own! So, the waiting took another 30 mintues as an errand boy had to get out of the hospital grounds to photocopy the bloody thing.

All in all, I accomplished one thing in one day. By comparison, in Canada, I got my Alberta Health Care card, Social Insurance number, and a generalized I.D. all in ONE DAY.

Also, if I hadn't had an aunt who worked for the Municipal Government, nothing would have happened.

I actually cut the line and was given priority due to my kamag-anak (relative) in the system. What then of those who know of no one within? How long do they usually wait for?

----
Note: My case is not an unusual one. I remember during gradeschool, I had a classmate who went by 'Marifi'. Come highschool she started using 'Marife'. Her parents had intended to name her 'Marifi'. But when it was discovered that she had been registered as 'Marife' in the Municipal Records Birth Certificate - and consequently the National Records - she was then forced to use 'Marife' from then on. As well, even though she had finished 6 grades of elementary, with all the records and documentation as Marifi, the school still agreed to change ALL her records and such. It was far easier to do this than deal with the Philippine Census.

In highschool, apparently, another classmate who had been going by Christine Kate was forced to go by Christiane Kate for the same reasons.

Note 2: My name is still misspelled in the Philippine Census Record's archives (or whatever that thing is called). Do I wish to correct it? I do. But is it worth the hassle? Only if I require it again in the future, like, should I want to get repartriated or something. For now, I would rather not repeat this terrible and harrowing experience regarding Philippine Government's crap ass infrustracture.

2007-03-05T11:29:00.000+08:00

A Series of small, Contradicting Epiphanies

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu

----------

"...when I did, I hadn't noticed it."

Having uttered a statement I considered was so sublime in its simplicity, I immediately made a mental note of that very instance.

The location: a bookstore (Powerbooks?) in 'The Fort'. The time: evening of the 20th of January, 2007.

It was an answer to a question that Rose asked me.

She was sitting in one of the finely appointed chairs meant for browsers. I was standing beside it. She asked out of curiousity if it was hard adjusting to life in Canada.

I only said, "The first few months were definitely hard. I was yanked away from the dear and the familiar - it wasn't a pleasant experience, that's for sure."

She followed up by asking, "So, when were you able to finally adjust?"

"I can't say," I said, as I squatted beside the chair to better face her, "because when I did (finally adjust), I hadn't noticed it."

----------

"Do you ever miss Calgary?", Ate Yayi asked, as we threaded our way through Manila Traffic, during the weekend that I spent with them.

"Mnnn... Not really", I replied.

"Really?", she said, "Mireille was an exchange student in Highschool, you know. She went to New York State. Her first few weeks, she was always calling home and crying, saying 'I want to go home!' "

I replied by saying I probably don't miss it in the same way because going here was a conscious decision in my part.

The next day, at Chateau Verde, Cris was showing off his photos. I saw some of the photos he took the previous day and then some of the ones he took while he was visiting Mireille in Calgary.

Now, Cris takes awesome photos, and his photos of Calgary and sorrounding areas are works of art.

As I ogled at the images, I had a pang of longing for the place.

Liar, I thought to myself. You do miss it.

----------

"...OUR roads..."

"Fuuu... psshhh... these trucks." I remarked, censoring myself, inside Cris' car.

I wanted to launch a barrage of stronger expletives but contained myself. Besides, expletives are futile anyways - if it can't be heard by the party it is directed towards, then what's the point?

The newly engaged couple, Cris and Ate Mireille, were driving me home to Sta. Maria, Bulacan, the Sunday of the 21st of January 2007. We were following an overloaded longbed ten wheeler cargo truck.

"Look at these guys," I said, going off into a rant, "they overload their trucks, and because they're not allowed in NLEX (North Luzon Expressway), they take this route and screw up OUR roads. gah!"

I caught it as soon as I had said it - I referred to the roads in the possessive. Not only that, I included myself in the collective.

----------

A random recollection.

I must confess that I haven't done that much intensive reading regarding the philosophical movement of Existentialism. Nevertheless, I am aware of its general principles and some key works that use it as a principal tenet. In fact, I think I have been a follower for the longest time - prior to even me realizing that there was a movement and that it had a name. Why the heck else would I boldly proclaim this blog as "Randy's Existential Trip"?

Anyway, everytime I use the word, Existentialism, I think of a very profound, often quoted, passage from Kierkegaard's Repetition:

"How did I get into the world? Why was I not asked about it, why was I not informed of the rules and regulations but just thrust into the ranks as if I had been bought by a peddling shanghaier of human beings? How did I get involved in this big enterprise called actuality? Why should I be involved? Isn't it a matter of choice? And if I am compelled to be involved, where is the manager—I have something to say about this. Is there no manager? To whom shall I make my complaint?"

-Young Man

----------

A reminder of things past

A few days after my short stay in Manila, cousin Marco dug up a notebook.

It was a daytimer I had for the last highschool year I spent in the Philippines. For some reason or another, I chose not to bring it with me to Canada ten years ago - opting instead, to leave it in his care.

Beyond being a daytimer, it too was a time capsule of what preoccupied my mind during those times. It had poetry, scribbles, memes, random thoughts, and a lot of ballpoint artwork.

The usual topics of male adolescent sexuality, wishful daydreaming, whimsical fancy, and generalized jackassery could be seen in almost every page.

There were however a few things that I found troubling as I read it again for the first time in a decade.

It had a lot of teen anger. For some reason or another, I was angry, mad and absolutely enraged at the world and my existence. Now, nothing is new with that, I suppose. Every alienated young male with raging hormones probably goes through their own version of teen angst.

But what is significant about this is that, in another post, it seemed as though I was attributing an angst-ridden first few years in Canada - the maladjusted, depressed few years - SOLELY to being thrust into another culture without my consent.

The discovery that I had perhaps 'brought' the angst with me, to say the least, was very sobering.

----------

"So, when do you come back?"

One Monday morning (it would have been Sunday pm in Calgary), I found myself chatting on MSNmessenger with some guy I know from the Calgary Sports Car Club.

I was asking him how the winter's racing (rallycross and stage rally) season was going, and he was asking me how was my vacation so far.

After a few minutes of this he asked me, "So, when do you return to Calgary?"

I replied by typing, "I head for home on the 14th of April... this year."

His reply was, "Home being... there (in the Philippines) or here (in Calgary, AB, Canada)?"

I had to pause before rattling away at the keyboards for an answer. Did I just refer to Calgary as Home? Months ago, I used to refer to this trip as "Going home to the Philippines". Which is it?!

"Home equals there in Canada", I finally typed.

---------

2007-03-03T11:08:00.000+08:00

So much more

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu

There is so much more to this trip than this blog.

What you can read here are mere snippets from this chapter of my life.

In fact, I'll admit it: I don't write about everything.

People sometimes tell me things in confidence, and I obviously cannot break that trust by sharing with everyone else what was shared with me. As well, beyond mere words, there are activities I engage in, things I experience, and people I meet that I do not (or cannot and will not) disclose within these pages.

There are times when I feel I have bared too much of my own soul, but then I realize - you have merely seen but a glimpse of what I truly am.

There is so much more to me than this trip.

Now, I am not going to claim greater depth and poeticism in character - quite the opposite in fact.

I am a lot more random, impulsive, nonsensical whilst being no-nonsense kind of guy. I am also a lot more happy-go lucky than what I may have let on; a caution-to-the-wind, come-what-may, see-what-happens kind of guy. Sometimes vulgar, sometimes crass, and oft times unconventional, I take pleasure in giving the occasional middle finger to societal norms. I can overcomplicate and oversimplify matters, all at the sime time, merely by overanalyzing them.

A grand dreamer.
A 'hilaw na pilosopo' (half hearted philospher).
And an individual trying to define his own reality.

I am Randy's existential trip.

And if this trip is but a chapter in a book of my life's little journeys, then I have a long ways to go in finishing the volumes upon volumes that I want to achieve.

2007-03-02T11:48:00.000+08:00

A Weekend in Manila
Sunday, the 21st of January, 2007

Previous Part. 'The Fort' by Night
Part 4. Breakfast and Lunch at Quezon City

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Recalling events from a month ago with the help of some notes.

The Sunday breakfast at the Gose house consisted of Ilocano dishes - as per the usual practice. Tito Nanding just got back from the Ilocos region and we were having fresh fish, fresh raw seaweed, and other delicacies from his - and my mom's - native region in Ilocos Sur.

As we enjoyed lovely food amidst a lively morning discussion, Tita May (herself also an Ilocana) commented on a cultural observation that I will always fondly remember.

A great indication of the cultural diversity of the Philippines lies in the wide variety of food you can sample, she said. Each province has their own specialty dish. Failing that, each region will do a popular dish somewhat differently - perhaps having a minor cultural twist on the way things are garnished or presented.

Then, there too are the food products. Each province has their own special thing to offer. And perhaps this is best illustrated to the unitiated when travelling over land.

Indeed, I experienced this for myself the first two weeks I spent in the Philippines.

When driving from Manila to Northwestern Luzon, the flat plains of the Tagalog and Capampangan region make way for the linguistically ambiguous province of Tarlac. There you will notice streetside vendors selling freshwater crabs. Their signs inviting you to sample these still-moving crustaceans. After Tarlac is Pangasinan, where the common thing to see being sold roadside is bottled bagoong, salt, and other salted products. Then there's La Union, where you don't even have to see their specialty - you will instead smell it, for in this coastal province the roadside is dotted with stalls selling dried salted fish.

As Tita May put it herself, travelling the Philippines and experiencing firsthand its cultural diversity is such a departure to the North American Continent's practice of driving thousands of miles to another state - only to eat at the same boring McDonald's or some other burger franchise.

Food for thought.

Oh yes, Yayi was also celebrating her birthday that Sunday. And! Ate Mireille told Tito Nanding for the first time what was 'new' with her.

Cris picked Ate Mireille up for lunch at UP Diliman's Chateau Verde. It was his Mother's birthday as well.

I came along with them because it was agreed that they would be bringing me back to Bulacan.

As I met his side, I had only one thought: what an awesome family.

One thing that I remember fondly that afternoon, besides the relaxing garden-like setting of Chateau Verde, was a certain short discussion that I had.

One of Cris' sisters is married to a German - a gentleman named Andreas. They live in Germany and, as a family, are here in the Philippines for a vacation. Like myself, they are visitors to this land. And like myself, they have seen it all before many years ago, and are now (they're still here, as of the time of this writing, as far as I know) seeing it again for the first time since that last visit.

Andreas and I compared the differences we noticed and I was happy to hear that in Manila, he too thinks that some things HAVE changed for the better - garbage management and the Pasig River being the most obvious examples. As someone who had been gone for 10 years, it's sometimes hard to express exactly how I am so surprised by so many things that have changed (for better or for worse).

It also frustrates me sometimes to get dismissive remarks such as, "Dati nang ganyan yan! (It's always been like that)", out of some people when I am confiding to them an observation. Well, geez! Maybe it has always been like that - for the past decade! The past decade I DID NOT spend here!

I digress.

Anywho, the point is that: It was great talking to someone else who had similar observations.

Rip Van Winkle I am not, but it's close.

I also had a quick tour of the UP Diliman grounds - Mireille and Cris both being Alumni. A vague desire to study in this University entered my mind. Wonder if it's at all possible..? Hmn..

Anyway, I had a photo-op by the Oblation.

During the drive home, Cris was saying -perhaps jokingly, perhaps not - that I should just stay here in the Philippines. That they'd help me find a job. Hey! Maybe I could uhh.. hmn.
naah.. I'll keep things to myself until it's more than wishful thinking.

I made it back to Tumana, Sta. Maria, Bulacan in time for me to make it to a neighbouring barangay's fiesta - where some of my Dad's relatives live.

Flickr photoset.

2007-03-01T16:31:00.001+08:00

A Weekend in Manila
Evening, 20th of January 2007

Previous part. A Manila Bay Sunset
Part 3. 'The Fort' by Night

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu

The more time I spent in Manila, the harder it became to pin down what the Philippines truly is.
A third world country? Perhaps. Economic indicators would point to this as the case. As well, when passing by the dirty, smelly, and poverty stricken parts of Manila, this would be the easy conclusion to reach.

But during the evening of the 20th of January, as we rolled in to the parking lot of the nightlife scene at "The Fort", I saw a Porsche Cayman. Then, I saw some European Luxury barges. Then a few more exotics and lots and lots of dressed up Japanese GT's and Sport Compacts.

Third World, eh?

Beyond the visible indications of individual personal wealth, the place itself lent a different feel to this experience. The structures, the zoning, and the layout of the place also made me think question the Third World label.

What a day - and it wasn't even over yet!

That morning I woke up in the half rural, half developing, fully chaotic and crowded Sta. Maria, Bulacan. Then I had breakfast at the crowded district of the Chinese enclave of Binondo. Then lunch and sunset by the scenic tourist attraction of Manila Bay.

All that time driving through Manila's ridiculous traffic congestion to get from place to place, and bearing witness to the roadside opera of street vendors, street beggars, and streetside squatters - seeing the daily struggle that a vast number of Filipinos experience.

Finally, I found myself having dinner in a newly developed place (still under development at the time that I was there) looking not unlike Calgary's Eau Claire (the only other place that I've frequented which I can compare 'The Fort' as having a similar feel - a place found in the First World).

I was pondering these mixed impressions when I saw the women. Beautiful, gorgeous, women - Dressed, primped up for a night out.

Magagandang Pinay!!!. Rowr...!

Ate Yayi, who seemed to have read my mind, said: "Randy, the women here are very beautiful. We'll forgive you if your eyes wander."

We had dinner at a Hawaiian place called Polu-Kai. A lovely lady who had a very Japanese look to her greeted us with an 'Aloha' at the door. She wore something blue, and around her neck she had a Lei. I half expected her to Lei me too - but only got that greeting. Boy, would I love to have been leid by her. I need to get leid by a Filipina.

Anyway, we joined a couple for dinner at this place. Ate Mireille's close friend, Mirelle (yes, they have very similar names) and her husband were already there, waiting. Cris and Mireille sat opposite of this other couple, while I sat on the other end of the long table. There was a light commotion, and I saw Ate Mireille showing off something in her hands. What? Whu?

"OOOOOoooOOOH! I GET IT!"

It was only then that I fully comprehended it. Cris and Mireille are a couple! Yay!

I actually was already getting the clues all throughout the day, but all that time was just afraid to ask.

As the food we ordered arrived, Yayi raved about the great Filipino tradition of sharing food. I on the other hand didn't get the hint, and had what I ordered all to myself.

Talk about committing a cultural Faux Pas...

Ate Michelli, Mireille and Yayi's older sister, joined us later for dessert. She's now based in Bacolod with her family. Oh, and she had an open invitation for me to visit their place! Hmmn.

Mirelle's (the friend) husband (who's name escapes me now), asked me over dessert what it is that I do.

I did not want to say outright that I'm in-between jobs. (hence the ability to have such a long vacation) I also didn't want to say outright that the last job I held involved shovelling dirt, driving an 11 ton dump truck, pouring concrete, and sticking plants to the ground.

It's not that I was ashamed to say it... I just thought it was out of place to say it. I just met the guy. If I told him I'm here on vacation because of some sort of personal turmoil, he might have a completely different impression, y'know?

So what did I do? I still told the truth. I said, "Well, I uhh finished... Broadcasting. You know: producing, writing, setting up, shooting, and editing shows, news segments, docs... that stuff. But, the last job I held was my summer job."

I told him this incomplete truth. I did go through that - it was a fact. But what I neglected to tell him was that I think now of that industry as not befitting my character.

The discussion was shifted to winter sports, while some celebrities and gorgeous shampoo models a few meters away were in some restaurant cum danceclub.

After everything, Mireille, Yayi, and I went home to their place in Quezon City around midnight.

2007-03-01T16:25:00.001+08:00

A Weekend in Manila
Sundown, 20th of January 2007

Previous part. Lunch at Harbour Square
Part 3. A Manila Bay Sunset

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu

We picked the spot on the Baywalk by Figaro's.

It was just barely past lunchtime and we were already waiting for the sunset.

Ate Yayi noticed everyone else's boredom, so she set up a game of charades. Mireille and Cris were paired off, while Rose and I were the other team. The theme? English Movie Titles. I have since forgotten who won, but I do remember that fun was had by all. Oh, I also had a grand time trying to act out "The Empire Strikes Back" - a movie that Rose had not yet seen (and probably never will).

Some onlookers weren't all too sure what we were doing. We probably weirded out a few people - I suppose charades really isn't a game often played in the Philippines. In any case we passed the time, and had fun in the process.

I then went people-watching and observed that a great number of people were obviously tourists/foreigners. I wondered if I was a "visible" tourist too - I'm 100% Filipino by blood after all. Plus, I had opted for jeans instead of wearing the more suitable shorts, in order to blend in with the local crowd much better. Still, I think the long hair gave me away in a few instances. That and the fact that we were all speaking in English.

I almost forgot; the first time I got into Cris' car beside Ate Yayi, I spoke to her in Tagalog - in the anticipation that hey, this is the Philippines, it's the national language, therefore everyone spoke this, right?

Wrong. I can probably speak it better than they do. And I'm the one who's been gone from this country for a decade! Ika nga ni Ate Mireille, "Ang lalim naman ng Tagalog mo!" (Just like what Ate Mireille said, "Your Tagalog is different. It's deep and uses big words"). I guess it has to do with the fact that both their parents are Ilocano - only their native tongue, along with English, were emphasized. Also, in this country's professional sector, English is the language of business.

It's funny: I speak better Tagalog than they do, and they speak better English than me (after a few years of using English as a day to day language, mine now has a lot of 'street', tense errors, and everyday common mistakes run-ons. Lot's of run-ons. Too many to count sometimes. )

As we waited more for the sunset, I had a thought; What's the Tagalog translation for "chill" and "chilling out"?

After a short while, I realized that there isn't really a Tagalog word for the act of relaxation by soaking in your sorroundings. There's the word "Istambay" (contracted from "to stand by and wait") but what that really describes is to loiter - to be useless, worthless, and be unproductive. It is often used to describe the unemployed and the tamad (lazy).

Why is this the case? I thought.

Is it a culturally unwelcome trait to pause and reflect?

Yes and no. More than anything, I think it has to do with the hardships of a developing country. For the vast majority, there simply is no time to pause and reflect. Every waking moment is devoted for survival. The perception, I concluded, was that if you don't get on with the daily grind or keep pace with the rat race, then you're just society's ballast.

There is no better indication of how much of a struggle it is for the Filipinos in the lower classes just to exist and subsist day by day, I thought. That such a thing - istambay - is in the vernacular is actually quite telling of this.

I suppose nowadays things are changing. I was afterall, in a place developed and cleaned up largely to accomodate those wanting to watch the sunset and take in Manila Bay's sorroundings just for the sake of having done so.

Whatever the case, I couldn't ignore that there were only two kinds of people there; the well-off who can afford to take time off and chill, and those struggling to make money while everyone else took time off. Roaming the baywalk along with the joggers, dog-walkers, and tourists were the street kids - already beggaring at such a young age - and the street vendors working very long shifts just to make ends meet.

Dog owners don't pick up after their dog in these parts. They should. Dog shit is nasty.

Anyway, after a long wait, the sun finally neared the bay and the sky finally started showing signs of a more reddish hue.

Cris the photography enthusiast readied his camera and waited for the sun's finale for the day.

In the distance, a dragonboat team practiced their skills with the setting sun, an anchored ship, and the Mariveles Mountains of Bataan as a backdrop. (I had incorrectly assumed at the time that I was looking at Laguna's Makiling. Boy, was my geography all bonkers!)

I tried to stage a photo that might indicate a relaxed state. I took off my shoes amidst the same backdrop.

If somebody steals my shoes, I thought at the time, I'm going home barefoot! I promptly put them back on.

Sunsets by the sea are fantastic. In a space of a few seconds, you see it happen TWICE. It is an old trick of nature; after the sun's fiery red orb slips down below the watery horizon, it's there again!

So the second sun, the refracted sun, finally set, and it was decided we'd leave and go to "The Fort" - an old Military camp called Fort Bonifacio - in Taguig.

But before we left, I took one last photo of the Manila Harbor, illuminated for the night.

That's when I really took notice of her.

On the far right of the image, there's a caucasian girl reading a book. She had been there with us all that time waiting for the sunset. She was alone. Perhaps a backpacker? I felt admiration; what a brave soul, travelling all by her lonesome.

I'd love to be able to do that.

Flickr Photoset.

2007-03-01T11:48:00.000+08:00

A Weekend in Manila
20th of January 2007

Previous Part. Morning In Binondo
Part 2. Lunch at Harbour Square

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu

Note: Yeah, ok. So I tend to spell Harbor with a bonus "U". I'm used to the English-Canadian way. Sometimes however, I slip and just go for the "Harbor" spelling. Forgive my inconsistencies

There were five of us: Cris - whom I met in Calgary as Ate Mireille's friend; Rose - Mireille's close friend; and Ate Yayi - Mireille's younger sister.

We had lunch at the Dencio's in Harbour Square on the reclaimed land of the CCP Complex. The food that Dencio's offers is mostly traditional Filipino cooking as presented for the international crowd. Good food. I would have enjoyed it more (and more of it) had I not been nursing a stricken stomach.

Anyway, let's talk about Harbour Square.

Prior to this, I only knew of the CCP complex for The Folks Arts Theatre; aside from the CCP (Cultural Centre of the Philippines) itself. Also, there was my childhood impression of the seawall as a smelly, dirty place. A place where the homeless hang out and where petty crimes almost always invariably happen. It was a place that Dad would have told me to avoid.

These days though, it is full of places where one can dine and hang out. You can take your pick from a wide variety of establishments; from the affordable to the ritzy. In any case, whatever you sample, you can enjoy this view.

Apparently, I was told that in recent years, there have been ongoing conscious efforts to make the Philippines a bit more tourist friendly - and the Baywalk and Harbour Square are just two examples of this.

What a great idea, I thought. Not to mention of it as being something that the Philippines so desperately needs, and DESERVE. Manila Bay, and Manila's general location, gives it such tourism potential - it's just a shame that this country has not always been making use of these geographical blessings.

From Harbour Square we proceeded to the Baywalk - the seawall by Roxas Boulevard - to see a Manila Bay sunset.

Flickr Photoset.

2007-03-01T09:14:00.000+08:00

A Weekend in Manila
20th to the 21st of January 2007

Part 1. Morning in Binondo

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Notes

Despite a stomach that still wasn't 100%, I took a risk by spending the weekend of the 20th and the 21st of January in Manila.

Ate Mireille had planned a day and night out with her friends for the Saturday, and I could tag along. Originally, the plan was a weekend in Ilocos Norte. But that idea was shot down quickly because at least two days would be devoted just for driving to and from the place - two more days no one else could spare. Then Baguio - but that too didn't fly for the same reason. Then the idea of going to Tagaytay was explored - but I was just there a few weeks prior. So, finally, it was decided why not just a weekend in Manila instead? I have only seen it passing through the windows of an airconditioned motor vehicle a few times since I landed on the 30th of November 2006. As well, during my first 15 years in the Philippines, I have only been in Manila for specific purposes; Malls for shopping, visiting relatives who lived there, special functions and events... etc. In short, this would be the first time I'd be spending time in Manila devoted solely to nothing else but to have a good time and chill.

Funny how this trip is forcing me to look at the things that I have and haven't done - beyond me introspecting about where I've been, where I stand now, and where I'm going.

I hitched a ride to Metro Manila with cousin Jojo and spent the early morning in Binondo. He treated me to a congee place in that Chinatown of the Philippines. With us was his nephew thru Ate Jellie, Miggy. Marco originally was supposed to be with us, but having sold the trusty Mini Cruiser the night before, he was in no mood to travel.

Binondo. What a cool place! Though our time was short, I enjoyed my time just seeing the place and walking the streets. The shops, the visible heritage of the people, and the general atmosphere lent a different feel to the place. What feel? I wanted to say a Non-Philippine 'feel' to the place, but thought "No. For that too is the Philippines" - the Chinese heritage is an indelible part of being Filipino.

From Binondo, I went with Ate Jellie to St. Luke's Medical Centre - where she worked as a Dietitian, and where I had arranged to be picked up by Ate Mireille.

2007-02-28T14:51:00.000+08:00

Sick Again
15th to the 18th of January

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Written rant on a piece of paper

From the 15th to the 18th of January, I was once again, sick.

In a space of one month I was sick again for the second time. From Ilocos, I brought back a Cough and Cold that put me 'out of action' for two weeks. And barely a few weeks later, I had generalized weakness, stomach churning, and visits to the bathroom every so often.

The culprit? Gastroenteritis caused by oysters from Tito Nato's dinner.

I initially thought of it as a flu because I was coughing, had a slight fever, and then generalized lethargy.

From November of 2005 to November of 2006, I was completely sickness free. Nothing put me down for even a day. I knew it because I had the most rabid flu when I was in another city during the November of 2005 - from that time till my departure from Calgary, I was as strong as an ox.
(I wonder if oxen have a "I'm as weak as a human" euphemism when they're sick?)

But here, in a tropical country, sicknesses of all kinds abound.

All I remember during this time was the frustration and self loathing I had for myself and my condition. Ate Mireille had something planned that coming weekend, and I did NOT want to miss it. Not to mention that my time in general was ticking, and downtime due to sickness just wasn't a welcome experience.

2007-02-28T14:07:00.000+08:00

A Short Visit to Meycauayan
13th of January, 2007

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu

Another Balikbayan from Tumana, now a permanent resident of Calgary, Alberta, arrived for a vacation on the 11th of January. He had for me things which my brother and parents had consigned as pasalubong (in this application: gifts) . I received 1x Tripod for the vintage Canon Powershot A40 that I am using for this trip, 1x 1Gb memory card for the vintage Canon Powershot A40 that I am using for this trip, and 1x envelope for my Tito Boy in Meycauayan.

I do not expect to use the tripod anytime soon by way that it's a tad too bulky to be portable. And I'm not entirely sure how I'd bring it back to Canada either. The Memory Card however is a blessing. So far I had actually been conserving shots for fear of running out of memory, taking only tens at a time. But with this card, I can take pictures in the hundreds, even thousands (though that might compromise quality in my already low quality 2Mp vintage Powershot A40 - I needed a beater camera that I can beat on during this trip)

Since I had something for Tito Boy, I decided I'd use it as an excuse to visit them and spend a weekend with the buroknoys ( have no clue how that nickname to the Buenos in Meycauayan came about! Hmmn.. I'm weird, telling a familial esoteric joke online.. heh whatever).

I bribed cousin Marco to drive me there by treating him to Pizza Hut's family dinner - which the two of us scarfed down no problem. Our panulak (a liquid to wash down food) of choice was San Miguel Brewery's "San Mig Light". Being light beer, I had it with a slice of lime Corona-style. I think I'm starting a trend here! I've already introduced the practice of making a slice of lime swim inside a bottle of light beer to a few other people and they like it!

Anyway, the visit to Meycauayan wasn't really much. We had a jam session on Tito Boy's rooftop patio. Jared played the electric guitar. James used the acoustic as rhythm. And John Paul provided percussion with the drum-tambourine thing they had. While I did the beer-drinking duties.

Rock on. What a bunch of cool guys.
I had a vague wish that if I were to have children, we'd all be buddies just like Tito Boy and his 3 guys.

Oh, and Tita Tess, as always, was ever so kind to me. Oh, I also emailed my older brother, Ian, "Happy Birthday". I was a day late greeting him in the 13th, but in Canada, it would have been still the 12th - his birthday.

I came back to Sta. Maria the next day and made it in time for Tito Nato's post birthday salo salo (gathering).

There were oysters, roasted chicken, and more San Mig Light.

Flickr Photos.

2007-02-28T13:26:00.000+08:00

"I am Randy's Existential Trip"
...huh...?

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Do I even need to say it?

I just realized that I haven't explained why this blog has that statement on top of every page (thus serving as the blog title)

It's a reference to Chuck Palahniuk's "Fight Club" novel - later made into a movie with Edward Norton and Brad Pitt.

In it, there's an instance where the Narrator reads off passages from old Reader's Digest books wherein the scenario of "what if different parts of your body could talk" is explored. Organs personified.

I am Jack's (Joe in the book) heart; I pump his blood.

The story goes on with the narrator using this way of expression to denote different aspects of his emotions. I am Jack's smirking revenge. I am Jack's raging bile duct. This is done as a way of indicating the main character's general detachment from himself and his world. His grasp, all but gone. His control, virtually taken over by a destructive alter ego.

I love the nihilistic nature of this subversive, counterculture story of sorts.

And I've often used this expression in a lot of instances.

"I am Randy's Existential Trip; I am his search for meaning and I am what he has to share with you"

2007-02-27T14:21:00.001+08:00

Pinagrealan Cave
Spelunking! ...no, not the gay kind.

7th of January, 2007

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu

Kate De Guzman-Velasquez was as cute as ever, even after a few years of marriage and raising a child. A lucky guy, his husband, I thought. Her being a highschool classmate, she invited us (cousin Marco and I) for a quick dessert at their place in Barangay Bunavista that Sunday Afternoon of the 7th of January. It was from Marco - himself Kate's daughter's Godfather - where she learned that I was here on vacation.

We talked, caught up to the past ten years, and so on and so forth.

Now, people ask me about what it's like living in Canada all the time. And the same was no different with her. I however, got the impression that she wasn't just asking out of curiousity, but actually to explore the idea that they, as a family, may migrate there.

Hmmn... I'm dying to explore the Philippines and people here are dying to get out.

Marco and I said our goodbye's rather quick so we could hurry home to pick up our cousins, Fritz and Francis Gulinao. We were going to Pinagrealan Cave. We found out about this cave on an unplanned trip to Hilltop, a few days ago, and we couldn't just resist exploring this feature further. The two of us tried to go in the first time we saw it, but found it impossible without any lighting of any sort. This time we brought flashlights, non-slip footwear, and slightly more appropriate clothing (the kind you won't regret tearing).

The Mini Cruiser (baby FJ40) was hauling ass. Marco was giving her the lead foot. He really wanted to get there quick. We had left Kate's place past 2pm, and we were in danger of running out time. The 'park' where Pinagrealan Cave is situated closes at 6pm.

We got there around to 3pm and were disappointed to find out that a large group of people were there also exploring and had gone in right before us. So much for that "undiscovered" feel that we were looking for.

Well, it turns out that this may have worked to our favour. If it hadn't been for the knowledge that some people had gone in ahead of us, we may have not had the courage to have kept on exploring further and further inside. The cave is not like the popularized movie caves that I was expecting. It was not dry, and there were no cobwebs. Instead, the presence of an underground stream (itself perhaps responsible for creating the cave itself) made things very very wet indeed. There were numerous sinkholes and water filled passages that we had to cross. Some of them above my waist. At the time, I wondered, how much more water fills these chambers during the wet season? I was already pretty close to being up to my neck in water. I imagined a sudden downpouring of rain over the mountain above increasing the underground stream's flow and trapping us inside the cave.

And then there was the darkness. Our flashlights' batteries were on the weak side - so much for coming in prepared. To preserve the batteries and to keep ourselves from catching up to the group ahead of us (whom we could hear), we would halt and turn off our lights. Now, darkness inside a cave is darker than the darkest night. At night there's moonshine and starlight. In a zig-zagging cave, there is nothing beyond the opening. Your eyes could adjust as much as they can, but when there's no light to pick up on, there is absolutely nothing but pitch black. And even when the flashlights were on, we could see only whatever they illuminated - nothing else. Pinagrealan's walls aren't even the least bit reflective. (photos were aided by flash photography)

Oh, and there too were the sounds. Inside an irregularly shaped, naturally occuring, rock-walled tunnel, sounds carry on forever and reverberate in all directions. Had it been a cave that branches off into numerous little chambers, we could have lost each other easily. Good thing Marco let out a booming fart to ease the tension.

We made it to only about as far as 200meters in because from there on, it gets harder. To ease my disappointment that we didn't (and couldn't) plow through towards the harder parts, I told myself a Monty Python-esque joke. From where the cave transitions from easy to difficult, there would be a sign that reads "Experienced Spelunkers only from this point" - where, only openly, outwardly, and flamboyantly gay people would be walking through. Anyway, the point was, we were as far from being gay, so that's why we couldn't make it in any further... whatever. It was funny in my head.

The trek back out was a lot easier and faster. There was less of the "I don't know what the heck's ahead of me so I'm gonna take one step at a time very VERY carefully" factor, I suppose. There was less of the creepyness too. Our eyes and brains had gotten used to the mere snapshots of the terrain ahead that our narrow beam flashlights provided, that each step was taken with so much more confidence. As well, we knew that the water crossings couldn't soak us to our heads - at least not at this time of the year.

We met the fading light of day that greeted us at the Cave's mouth with such relief.

"Whew!" I exclaimed, "we made it!"

All in all, a very easy cave to explore. But the novelty of doing something for the first time ever - that of exploring a cave - makes it a very memorable part of this Existential Trip.

Flickr Photoset.

----------------

Upon further research:

Pinagrealan Cave Norzagaray, Bulacan This major cave in Norzagaray is a natural refuge used by Filipinos during the struggle against Spain and the Americans and during the last world war. Floral species observed on the hills encompassing the cave are limited to shrubs, vines, cogon and some types of plants that thrive on limestone with very thin soil substrate. A few unidentified birds are noted flying over the loose canopies of the thicket. Inside the cave, which averages about 4 meters by 2.5 meters in height and width, is a quite and crystal-clear stream which extends to some 200 meters to a point where the ill-equipped team can no longer penetrate due to deep water. Fauna observed include shrimps, biya, and bivalves. Sounds of nocturnal bats, which are few as characterized by unnoticeable guano excretes, are also heard. Stalactites and stalagmites abound after passing through two passages 10 meters from the portal, which converges some 20 meters to the underground stream. Numerous sinkholes, columns, uneven vertical fractures, domes, flowstones and fossilized flora and fauna are embedded in the limy sand-stones that form some parts of the cave wall. This subterranean network of caverns was the site of secret meetings of the Filipino revolutionary forces during the war against Spain in 1896.

Source Webpage

2007-02-27T13:04:00.000+08:00

Another Funeral
Binan, Laguna
6th of January, 2007

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu.

On the first Saturday of January 2007, I attended another funeral. This time it was for relatives on the Gulinao side of my lineage. I went there with my Uncle Tito's Family, Tito Nato, and Tita Ofie.

The deceased was my Dad's Tiya (Auntie) Rosa Ligaya "Osay" Espinosa - which would make her my Lola Tia (Grand Auntie) Osay - in Binan, Laguna.

Her final resting place was a departure from the usual Filipino burial method of having a concrete aboveground sarcophagus (a Nitso) . Lola Osay was instead laid six feet below the ground.

Somewhat distant relatives (Paquito Espinosa, Osay Espinosa's husband, is my grandfater - Arsenio Gulinao's Cousin) my Dad nevertheless knew them very well. He used to spend summers in Binan during his youth, helping his Tiya Osay in the market. As well, during his Masteral Studies in the University of the Philippines in nearby Los Banos, he would often visit and live in Binan.

I remember that we - us here in Sta. Maria, Bulacan - were always invited for the town Fiesta every year. And in turn they - relatives from Binan - would visit us as often as they can during our own gatherings here in Sta. Maria.

I was slightly disappointed that this tradition was not necessarily kept. Ever since my Dad (we as a family) left the Philippines, the link slowly eroded away - among Arsenio Gulinao's children, my Dad was perhaps the closest to this distant branch of our family tree.

However, when we got there, they were as warm and friendly as ever. My Dad's Father, My Grandfather, Tatay Arseng, was an only child. They all fondly remember him as the only link to relatives in the Northern part of the Tagalog Region.

As we made the trip back home in the dark, after having visited Cousin Maloy and wife Jubie in Paranaque, I had a thought: How very Filipino to still be very proud of having relatives somewhere else in the map. And it's not just about being able to say "Uy! May Kamag-anak kami doon! (Oh, we have family in that region!)", it is something far more. I think.

Flickr Gallery.

2007-02-27T09:41:00.000+08:00

A Snake!
Shot, Killed, then ATE a snake!
or... Randy the Dog Whisperer.

3rd of January, 2007

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Skeletal Notes.

I had just come back from the bayan (town centre) for internet access, having just finished telling the story of my trip to Ilocos in this very blog - speaking of something weeks after the fact, just as I am doing right now with this entry.

It was around midafternoon, around 3 o'clock. Marco was outside their living room, in their porch, reading a law textbook and reviewing for his BAR exams.

I stopped to greet him and had small talk about our adventure the day before. Afterwards, I proceeded to take the short walk home to the other house, in Uncle Tito's side of the property - where I am staying for this vacation. As I did so, I noticed something odd about one of the dogs leashed on the granary. Spot, a spotted dog of the Canis philippiniensis variety (Philippine Mongrel.. haha) was shaking, barking, whining and acting all edgy.

Now, Spot's always been an edgy dog. He's the kind of dog who'd bark when other dogs from a mile away are barking. He's the kind of dog who'd bark at at the wind, the trees.. whatever. Anything can set him off. Anyone else who knew Spot (yes, knew.. more on this on subsequent posts) would have just ignored him.

But, me, I'm weird that way I guess. I notice subtle animal body language. Spot's in trouble, I thought.

"Spot! Anong Problema? (Spot! What's up Dawg?)", I asked the dog, somewhat half expecting an answer.

He gazed at me, and then just continued barking in a whiny manner towards some leaves on the ground.

Then, there was movement at the spot that Spot was looking at.

I went for a closer look, and noticed a reptilian head facing off with the dog. Just a small reptile, I dismissed.

But Spot was really edgy. So he made a sudden movement which made the 'small reptile' move. Turns out, it wasn't a small reptile, but a sizable snake!

Marco was still within earshot, so I yelled, "Maco! May Ahas! (Dude! There's a snake here!)"

He ran towards me and asked, "Ows? Malaki ba? (No shit? Is it big?)" As he saw it for himself he remarked, "Bah! Malaki nga! (Holy shit! It IS big!)

He ran back towards their house to get something. During the few moments he was gone, and Spot and I were left looking at the snake, I had a thought of just grabbing it, a-la Steve Irwin. But then I decided against this, for I didn't even know what kind of snake this was in the first place. Well, it's a good thing I decided against this!

Anyways, Marco returned with a .22 Cal Semiautomatic tube-fed Remington Rifle.

He lifted the rifle to his shoulders, and from a standing position, he shot once.

BANG! Missed. The dirt splashed and raised a small cloud of dust, provoking the snake.

He shot again.

BANG! Missed again. Another small cloud of dust and another movement from the snake. This time though, it seemed ready to stand it's ground and fight. We couldn't just scare it off.

He handed the rifle to me, I shot it from the kneeling position for more stability.
Four years in the Army Infantry Reserve did teach me a few things in terms of marksmanship.

Breath. Relax. Steady. If the target is moving, put some 'lead' into it - shoot ahead so the target walks into your line of fire. Failing that, wait for it to stop.

Well, I got lucky and the snake stopped. Line 'er up. Smooth on the trigger and... BANG!

A HIT! 15 feet away from a long slender target and I hit it! Woo hoo!

The reptile thrashed about and tried to escape into some farmyard machinery. I couldn't get a second shot. So I saftied the rifle, laid it down, grabbed a stick and just went after the snake. Marco and I pounded it to death.

It died after a few minutes and we took measurements. 4 feet and 2 inches long.

Still unsure about what kind of snake it was, we were at least sure of 2 things. It's aggressive, and it was NOT a python. Pythons are far larger, hunt in the night, have a distinctly 'lumpy' head, and have very beautiful and colourful camouflage patterns. I would know if I saw one for the simple fact that we see them around the property all the time. And I wouldn't shoot it; I probably could have just grabbed it.

We took some photos, hung it to bleed, and waited for Uncle Tito.

After his shift at the Barangay Hall, he took one look at the snake and said, "O, eh, Ulupong yan ah! (uhm, guys? You just killed a Philippine Cobra.)"

So we had a dead snake. What do we do? We thought. I wanted the skin as a trophy, so we skinned the thing. And as it hung here, skinless, Uncle Tito blurted out, "Kinakain ng iba yan, ah. (You know. These things are edible)"

It was already skinless, and the next step in gutting it was about as straightforward as gutting an animal could get. We decided, we'd eat it! Might as well - it was fresh as fresh meat could get.

Marco chopped it up and cooked it dry Adobo Style. How was it? Well, to be on the safe side, he overpowered it with garnish and spices - it was far too slimy to be enjoyed for its own meaty goodness. The texture was a lot like old and tough turkey or really old chicken, but far more oily. And the skeletal system made it seem like I was eating fish.

We thought it would be best enjoyed with beer, so that's what we did. Fritz joined us in Marco's dirty kitchen* and we had a good time reliving that one moment of excitement.

*Usually, besides the normal kitchen, Filipinos who have the space create a wholly separate area where foods that smell, smoke, or splatter too much (typical in Asian cooking) can be cooked and prepared.

--------------
In retrospect:

Judge me if you want, but here's the thing.

If I encounter a snake - any kind of snake - in the wild, I'd probably just ignore and or get out of its way, if possible. I don't kill for sport, nor do I kill for fun. Though, I must admit, I felt a certain sense of primal satisfaction in having shot something which I perceived as a threat to one of our dogs.

Also, we don't make it a habit in shooting wildlife around the Gulinao property. There are at least 3 suspected Pythons roaming around our place at this time. Perhaps closing in to 5 feet long. At this length they are content to hunt small rodents, other reptiles, and some other birds roosting for the night. We too are content to have them around, keeping mice and rat population in check. When they get longer however, that's when they start going for livestock. By that point, my Uncle, as a farmer, has no choice but to put it down.

How do we justify this? Beyond being a threat to livestock and ourselves, pythons approaching 8 feet are quite old. They've probably reproduced many times over. As well, that's a size where the wild prey around our property cannot support them anymore - hence why they start going after the chickens. Remember too, this is not a place where you could just ring up Animal Services or some other social institution that deals with wildlife intruding onto human habitat.

Frankly, I had no other choice.

Photoset in Flickr.

2007-02-26T16:32:00.000+08:00

Hilltop Day Drive
2nd of January, 2007

Angat Water Reserve, Norzagaray, Bulacan

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, Philippines

Composition: Skeletal Notes

I was using up the last of the firecrackers we had left over from New Year's on a makeshift cannon when, Marco approached me and said, "Punta tayong Hilltop!"

Hilltop.

The name given by riders, hikers, and other people aware of its existence. Located in the highlands of eastern Bulacan. It is the one twisty road that's closest to my hometown. A place that my Dad used to ride during his motorcycling days. He also brought me here around 12 years ago to show me Angat Water Reserve's, Ipo Dam, and also the foothills of the Sierra Madre Range.

We used Marco's 2LT (2.4L Toyota Turbo Diesel inline four) powered Mini Cruiser - assembled using the pukpok (panel beating) method and brush painted red oxide; this is Pinoy simplicity in engineering at its best. While it had more than enough power to handle the steep ascent and enough nimbleness to take on the twisties, the Mini did have teething problems with its cooling system - teething problems are very common among hand-built grassroots motor vehicles.

When we neared the view to Ipo Dam, we stopped to admire a roadside water supply - mountain spring water piped by hollowed out bamboo. As I washed my face, hands and feet, we noticed something totally different about the place. Aside from the magnificent sorroundings of the watershed's untouched forest, it was the combined effects of an absence of traffic noise and the air's certain crisp freshness that lent a really "away from civilization" feel to where we were standing.

Yet we were only 45 minutes away from crowded and congested Sta. Maria, Bulacan.
And about 10 minutes away from Norzagaray's marble quarrying.

After soaking in our sorroundings we took the obligatory tourist shots.

On the way back we saw an inconspicuous sign that declared "Pinagrealan Cave".

"Cave?" we both wondered, "surely they jest?"

Resorts, subdivisions, and memorial gardens with names too fancy for their own good exist all over the Philippines. We assumed this to be the case. Yet, we were drawn in by our curiousity. We had to check it out.

The road towards this "cave" was narrow, and again, nondescript. But this was indeed a cave. There was drunken and shirtless caretaker who told us details about the cave. 2km deep? Historical? This drunk has got to be kidding, we thought.

But, our minds were made up, we have to see this cave.

We went in and found out that without any lighting at all, you could only get in to about a few meters in.

We decided that WE have to come back to this place.

Flickr Photoset.

2007-02-26T14:25:00.000+08:00

New Year's Eve to the New Year

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu

More than anything else, I timed this trip to coincide with the New Year's.

Even moreso than Pasko.

While my first Pasko in ten years was very special and happy indeed - my memories of Philippine New Year's celebrations register higher in the "kickass childhood memories" department.

Why? Well, it is in the way Filipinos celebrate it. You see, in here, it is celebrated with a BANG!

Literally.

Along with the traditionally lavish parties held in greeting the New Year, there also are firecrackers (paputok), fireworks, and various noisemakers galore. It helps too that Sta. Maria, my hometown, is centre to the Philippine paputok industry - so there never is a shortage to cheap, direct from the source, paputok.

The days working up to New Year's Eve, I was a kid all over again - playing with little Piccolos, kwitis (skyrockets with up to 70m vertical reach to deploy a sizable aerial warhead), triangulos (triangularly shaped firecrackers), and all sorts of other mini explosives.

I went beyond just lighting them up and hearing them go BANG! What I did was to experiment with their explosive powers and concussive capabilities by: trying to demolish rotting tree trunks, deploying the waterproof types on water, making cannons by launching projectiles out of metal piping, and also terrorizing the wildlife by putting them in tiny burrowing holes to see if a rodent or perhaps a reptile can be flushed out.

Yes, it was as though I were regressing and trying to catch up to the past 10 years of missed paputokan (merry making with firecrackers).

December 31st of 2006, however, was also slightly unique in the celebrations that happened in the La Hacienda Gulinao. Not only did we greet the New Year, we also celebrated My cousin Marlo's firstborn's christening - also Tito Nato's and Tita Mona's first grandchild - Janelle Marlyze.

Unique it may have been, but wholly different it was not.

When, in the past, it would have been a clan-wide potluck serving as an extension to the celebrations of Pasko - with the old house serving as the venue - this New Year's, it was Tito Nato's party and the venue was in his place on the other side of the property.

Tito Boy brought me back to Sta. Maria, Bulacan, in the morning of the 31st, in time for the mass Christening held at Sto. Nino Parish Church in the neighbouring barangay of Parada.

A mass christening? Yes, you read right. I hadn't meant to type "christening mass" as some might assume. I instead, did mean to say "mass christening" - a christening where many babies got christened on that same gathering.

No better indication of the high birth rates in the Philippines, I thought.

We got back to the Gulinao property around lunchtime, after most of the invited guests had arrived.

Just like back in my youth (one can argue I'm still in my youth, but anyway), I got to meet my near to distant relatives through my Dad, and various other friends of the family. Now, unique to this occasion was that I met my brother's highschool and elementary friends. (Cousin Jojo, Cousin Marlo, and my Brother - Ian - all went through elementary and highschool together) They were asking me about my brother. Why isn't he here with you, they asked. They said they all miss him.

In his absence, they gave me the warmth they were saving for him to me. (Bro, if you're reading this, you should have been there during this time. You would have had fun...) Such kindness I mused to myself, is so very Filipino.

As the afternoon went on, the guests thinned out, leaving only close and more intimate friends and relatives. Also, the drinking reached its peak at this point. I excused myself so that I could expend the 250 pieces of kwitis that I bought for this day (I would run out of ordnance before minight).

Cousin Pong also dropped by on the way to the neighbouring Town of San Jose Del Monte, to celebrate the New Year with his pregnant wife, Minette . Having come all the way from the province of La Union (a 6 hour drive away), Pong couldn't pass up sitting down to dinner with us, even if it were just so he could down a plateful of cold food.

Come late night, but still well before midnight, Tito Chody, Tito Nato, and Uncle Tito were all well liquored up. The alcohol had dissolved their inhibitions and they were spilling their guts and baring their gripes. Gripes regarding what? Personal achievements.

As Tito Nato put it, "Kayo, pagbubutihin ninyo! Kami kasi, anak ng mayamang may lupa. Kaya kahit wala(ng narating), kinaya naman. Kayo naman, anak na lang namin! (You all should strive for a better future. We here.. we're all sons of rich landowners. We may not have amounted to much, but our parents took care of that. You on the other hand, are just our sons)".

He directed it to all of us in my generation.

A short while later, Jojo passed out and so did Uncle Tito.

Good thing I paced myself otherwise I would have missed this:

------

The next day, I was glad to wake up with all 10 digits.

Flickr Photos of Janelle's first life event!

Flickr Photos of Greeting the New Year.

2007-02-13T15:47:00.000+08:00

Another Coffee Break
....or: Getting ahead of myself.

Location: Greenbelt Mall, Makati City, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu

Factoid: There is a Tagalog Idiom belittling change or small amounts of money.

"Wala yan! Pang KAPE lang yan!"

(Oh that's nothing! That's just Coffee break money!)

---------------------------------------

I am getting ahead of myself.

I should be narrating my (mis)adventures in the order that I experienced them, but this one just can't be helped.

In another post, I wondered out loud how come a particular coffee shop existed in the Philippines.

In that post I said these things:

"Philippine society, I would have thought, simply is not composed of enough coffee drinkers that I would expect can appreciate, let alone support, such a chain. I mean, how can Filipinos go from ignoring brewed coffee offered in doughnut shops and fastfood chains, to enjoying very EXPENSIVE gourmet coffee?"

I... uhm.... made a mistake. What mistake? The mistake of pigeon-holing a whole society, and nation for that matter, into one category. What category? The category of err.. incapable-of-appreciating-gourmet-coffee-probably category of people.

It's a mistake akin to saying: Canadians love Hockey.

...well , that's probably a bad example - Canadians DO love Hockey.

What I'm trying to say is that the Philippines is composed of 7,107 Islands, populated by about 85 Million people, spread about in 16 different and distinct administrative and governmental regions, and speaking 170 languages. Source (other sources state 168)

Out of all those places and people, there are enough who could probably enjoy gourmet coffee, yes? You know, the young urban professional, the highly educated, urbane and sophisticated, well-moneyed types who can afford, and patronize, the offerings of Starbucks - often in the triple peso digits?

Well, turns out, there ARE.

*Pauses to take a sip of his Sumatra*

Right now, as I type this, I am staying with my Tito Dodo in Makati - the Philippine's Premier Business District. It has also been dubbed the "Wall Street" of Metro Manila. These labels alone should give a hint: This is perhaps the most cosmopolitan city in the Philippines. And no, I'm not talking about the amount of foreigners roaming the place - of which there are many. I'm talking about the flavour - the architecture, the restaurants bars and food establishments, the high rise condo housing, and finally, the business shops. It is, in this respect, so international in its outlook, its execution, and in its sophistication.

No mystery then that, in the Philippines, this place holds the most Starbucks' stores.

Also, in my defense there's the fact that prior to our migrating to Canada, I was a promdi.

Promdi is a somewhat derogatory term used to describe those people, from the provinces. It is a caricature of the unsophisticated, sometimes uneducated, oft times a simpleton, rural dweller. While we (as a family) were not like that at all, I was just fifteen when we moved. Mangmang pagdating sa pamumuhay sa Maynila (Uninformed regarding Manila's lifestyle.)

My mental archive isn't just ten years out of date, it is also a little narrow in scope. It is that of a 15 year old's. When we left, the fine details of Philippine Urban life was still unknown to me - I was not aware (or did not care... either/or) about how trendy, fast paced, and westernized Metro Manila truly is...

It was in Calgary, Alberta, Canada where I got "urbanized" and truly exposed to city living. Only now am I finding out that Manila is a mega city like any other.

Virgin terrain in this Existential Trip.

Then there too is the tremendous disparity between the haves and have-nots in this country, and between the lifestyles in the provinces and that in Greater Manila Area.

I saved up for this trip by driving a dump truck, shoveling dirt, and digging holes during Alberta's Summer months. I kept the partying and gigs to a minimum - almost nonexistent in fact. I lived an austere few months just so I could save enough for tickets and pocket money. But even then, I could walk into a Starbucks - either in Canada or here in the Philippines - and not necessarily have to give up anything. I mean, I flinch at the cost because it's twice Tim Horton's or any fastfood coffee; but I CAN afford it easily with a construction Peon's wage.

Can someone here in the Philippines who shovels dirt, sticks plants to the ground, and drives around hauling cow shit in a dump truck walk without guilt into a Starbucks and drop three peso digits just for a Caffeine hit?

Truth is, Starbucks is a luxury that simply cannot be enjoyed by a vast majority of Filipinos - not even on a rare occasion.

-----------------------------------

That idiom might have to evolve.

"Wala yan! Pang KAPE lang yan! Pwera na lang kung mag i-istarbak ka!"

("That's nothing! That's just Coffee Break Money! Unless you want Starbucks' ".)

2007-02-05T10:54:00.000+08:00

Meycauayan, Laguna and then... Tagaytay!
28-30 of December, 2006

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu

December 27th was devoted to spending the afternoon and early evening with a nice girl.

When I got back to the Gulinao property in Tumana, I had a message waiting for me: My Tito Boy, one of Mom's brothers, wanted to take me to Tagaytay (official website), in the province of Cavite.

Only a few hours drive from Manila, Tagaytay's high altitude and generally cooler temperatures make it the the second most popular summer destination, after Baguio City in Benguet. The city is also known for its nature spots, fresh bargain fruits and vegetables, and of course, the breathtaking view from Tagaytay Ridge that overlooks Taal Lake and Taal Volcano located in neighbouring Batangas.

What was to be unique about this trip was that, this was one of the must-see places in the Philippines that I hadn't seen before. This was my first step in correcting the irony of being a foreigner in my own motherland. Off the top of my head, I can count the provinces I have been in prior to us migrating to Canada; The Greater Manila Area, Bulacan [my home province], Laguna, Tarlac, Pangasinan, La Union, Benguet, Pampanga, Zambales, and Ilocos Sur). That's just 10 out of 81 highly unique and colourful provinces.

I was in Meycauayan by the evening of the 28th of December, in time for dinner at Tito Boy's place. Plans were made, and the schedule became clear. We wouldn't go to Tagaytay until Saturday the 30th, and it that it would only be the five of us (Tito Boy, his 3 sons, and myself) making the trip in their vehicle - with Tita Tess going ahead of time the day before to visit her sister (on vacation from the Mid East) and parents at Laguna Bel Air.

For us cousins however, almost all day Friday (29th) was spent chilling at the nearby shopping mall of SM Marilao.

We left Meycauayan early enough the next day that when we got to Manila, traffic was still flowing at a relatively brisk pace - some parts of EDSA in fact, were almost empty.

Now, here's a note on the scale of the Philippines: my impression of the distance from Manila to Laguna was that it would be quite far. It isn't. It is actually no more than 40 kilometres. But in my mind, what I was actually remembering was the usual travel time of well over an hour (sometimes exceeding 2, during gridlock). When I moved to Canada, I got used to the norm that an hour's drive equals a hundred kilometres.

We got to Tita Tessie's parents' place in the community of Laguna Bel Air in Sta. Rosa, Laguna early enough that the very hearty and delicious lunch, which included Kare Kare, wasn't yet ready. We boys (John, James, Jared, and myself) then took this time to roam around this somewhat exclusive and higher end housing development.

As I looked around, I realized something strange: It did not feel like I was in the Philippines. The geometric layout of the streets, the design touches of the houses, the zoning laws, and the conformity rules in terms of fencing lent a very Florida or perhaps So-Cal feel to the place. Though I must admit, I have never been to either place myself - the point is, this place doesn't feel like a part of a developing country.

After eating lunch and letting it settle for a bit, we were finally off to Tagaytay in two vehicles - Tita Tessie's family decided they'd want to come too.

The climb towards Tagaytay ridge is very gradual, almost imperceptible. There are almost no zig-zag roads, no sheer cliff on one side of the road, and no mountain was carved to make way for any passes. One might notice the difference in plant life as the primarily talahib (elephant grass) vegetation found in the plains of Laguna turns into lusher greenery as you head up the ridge. Pineapple and Coconut plantations to the left and right of you.

But what I noticed was the weather. Where it was dry and sunny in Sta. Rosa, Laguna, it was cold, windy, foggy, and wet in Tagaytay.

And as we reached the ridge, I was very, VERY dejected from what greeted me: Taal Volcano was not to be seen. Fog was obscuring the very feature we had come for.

We went to this point, and to that park, but the view was the same. The little volcanic crater that held a lake within a lake hid behind a curtain of gray. By that point we were thinking of going back and just calling it quits. I was so disappointed. I came to see Taal but she wouldn't be seen. I took this photo thinking that this was the only proof I'd have that I was in Tagaytay.

But someone suggested we first eat dinner at one of the many fine dining places overlooking the lake.

We parked at Leslie's and I literally RAN to the back to see if the Taal Volcano was visible. And almost at that very moment the clouds parted, the fog rolled, and I saw Taal - like a prima donna performer finally emerging from behind the theatre curtains.

We snapped a few obligatory tourist shots as more clouds and the fading daylight threatened to cut our photo session short.

Afterwards we had the delicious Filipino Cuisine offered by Leslie's.

When we got back to Tita Tessie's Parents' place about an hour or so later, her father told me, "You know Randy, I have to thank you."

"For what?" I asked. He was the one who accomodated me, made me feel welcome, and even brought me to Tagaytay. Why was he thanking me? I wondered.

But the reason was this: He had been living in Sta. Rosa Laguna for such a long time, even shopping in Tagaytay for his groceries (literally, a few STEPS from where the lake can be seen).

All that while, he never got the idea to ever have a look OVER the ridge and to enjoy the breathtaking vista that is the Taal Lake. It took a visitor to give him a reason to venture beyond.

"Hindi ko alam, na mayroon palang ganyan kagandang tanawin, dyan dyan lang! (I didn't realize that there was such a nice view just literally in my backyard)" as he put it himself.

Related Flickr Photos.

2007-02-02T10:34:00.000+08:00

Pasko!
Christmas Eve and Christmas Day

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu, writing something a month after the fact. Helped by some notes. Edited and re-edited again.

For the past nine years, I have been celebrating Christmas in Canada - missing out in celebrating Pasko. Now, "Pasko", directly translated, means "Christmas". They are however, two completely different things.

You see, you celebrate Pasko if you're in the Philippines, and you celebrate Christmas if you're in North America. Technically the event being commemorated, and the set date, are one and the same. However, it is in the celebrations, traditions, values, and dare I say it, beliefs that makes Pasko so unlike western Christmas.

For Filipinos, the celebrations for Pasko begin well before Christmas day itself on the 16th of December. This is the beginning of the 9 day Simbang Gabi or Misa De Gallo.

I remember attending these masses at Tumana's Barangay Chapel - only a few houses away from where we used to live.

I remember going, not always with my parents but, with whomever I felt like tagging along with. Sometimes I'd go with my cousin and neighbour at the time, Jojo. Sometimes with my aunts and uncles. Friends. Anyone. It's as much a social thing as it is for Christmas, really.

I remember not always having the puto bumbong available through the vendors just outside the chapel. But in the few times I did sample this unique variation of sweet rice dessert, I liked it a lot.

I remember noticing with envy the lovely parols and the other decorations my neighbours would put up. Dad wasn't much of a fan of seasonal decorations, so we would put up only the barest minimum - a stark contrast to the mishmash of western and traditional Filipino decors everyone would put up.

I remember, when I was much much younger, caroling house by house around our neighbourhoods and raking in what I considered to be good pocket money at the time.

And I especially remember, making mano (ask for a blessing) to my ninongs and ninangs so I could receive my pamasko - EVERY kids' source of spending money for Pasko.

I remembered all these during Christmas and got that corny sentimental feeling.

Though I was unable to re-do everything I used to do as a kid during Christmas (I left when I was 15, still a kid and able to enjoy Pasko as a kid should) this Christmas was still the best Christmas I've had in 9 years.

Ooops! I meant to say Pasko.

Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve in Tumana always begins in Tita Sofia Dimapilis' place for Ate Jelly Dimapilis-Lu's birthday. She currently resides with her husband, Emerson Lu, and their children in Quezon City, but Tita Sofie always makes it a point to have her birthday in the old Dimapilis house.

Special occasions like this always turns into a family reunion of sorts for the Gulinao Clan.

Later in the night, we continued the Noche Buena in the ancestral Gulinao Property.

Christmas

Everyone woke up rather late, having already met Christmas day during the Noche Buena. Later in the night however, the celebration continued when all the boys, first cousins through the Gulinao lineage, decided to have an inuman.

From Left to right is Marco, Jojo, Pong, myself, Cocoy, and Maloy.

Our spirit of choice was the Fundador left over from the Barangay Hall Staff Party.

Now at first glance, we're just a group of relatives having a drink and catching up - the younger generation's reunion. But, it was more than that. Beyond being first cousins, we were all quite close childhood friends. We grew up sharing more than kinship through the late Arsenio Gulinao - my Grandfather through my Dad.

We talked about our lives, where we were, future plans, families (if any). And of course, all the other Paskos we had in the past.

A reunion.

A trip down memory lane.

A round of drinks with childhood friends.

And a Post Christmas Party-Party all in one.

Related Flickr Photos.

2007-02-01T13:35:00.000+08:00

A Feeling of Community
22nd of December 2006, Barangay Hall Staff Party

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan

Composition: Impromptu

Uncle Tito Speaking before the Barangay Hall Staff

My Uncle Tito, the Kapitan, hosted Tumana's Barangay Hall Staff Christmas Party in his place at the Gulinao property - the same place where I am staying.

And, like most large Filipino parties, there was lechon or spit roasted pig. As far as I can remember, the preparation is very simple: Step 1 is to select a young pig that is no more than 80 pounds, and, if male, must be castrated; Step 2 is to execute the pig by puncturing the carotid artery and letting all the blood drain (blood may be saved for other dishes); Step 3 is to shave and gut the pig (some internal organs may be saved for other dishes such as the sarsa or sauce); and Step 4 is to impale the pig and slow roast it over hot embers (no direct flame) for a few good hours - keeping the impaled pig constantly rotating.

I will spare you the photos of the more gruesome aspects of this process, but I can assure you that the slow roasting has a subtle beauty all on its own that I found fascinating. The roasting is so slow, you almost would not notice the raw flesh of the pig transform itself to a bright golden red. As well, the final product is very delicious - pork roasted in its own juices with a hint of smoke.

Uncle Tito himself donated the lechon, but the rest of the buffet for this feast was pitched in by the rest of the community in some sort of Barangay-wide potluck. Tumana's treasury did not have anything to spare, so it was up to everyone to make it all happen - and happen, it did.

There were no caterers, no servers, and no paid help, but everything went smoothly. Everyone fell into their assumed tasks, and a grand time was had by all, even me.

Especially me.
(Photo is staged. No! Really!)

But before I fell into such a merry drunken stupor, I did manage to interact with the rest of the people and got to experience first hand the true meaning of 'community'. Everyone knew everyone and I was pleasantly surprised that people also knew me. Well, they may not have known ME personally, but they knew me as the son of my dad, Reynaldo "Bonteng" Gulinao - himself quite a well known figure in Barangay Tumana prior to our migration to Canada.

This was the second time I experienced such a feeling of community here in the Philippines - the first time was in Ilocos, during my Lola's wake. Indeed, that was my first time experiencing such a thing in ten years.

Canada may be a friendly, accepting, and tolerant nation, but somehow this part was missing.

It is hard to grasp and difficult to pinpiont; for it is more than a sense of belonging.
It is also beyond everyone else around me saying that I DO belong. And no, it's not about blood and familial ties. It's something more

Roots.

Related Flickr Photos.

2007-02-01T10:46:00.000+08:00

A Cultural Observation:
Starbucks in the Philippines?
or: A coffee break from my Existential Trip.

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu

Today, I will deviate from over-analyzing my 'existential trip' to over analyzing something else...

In another post, I mentioned that the little things that make Philippine society all the more unique were the ones that somehow caught me off guard. I had already anticipated and prepared myself for the major differences that, when I encountered these one by one, they came as no surprise.

It was, instead, the small details of Philippine life not found in any brochure or travel advisory, or personal testimony for that matter, that told me "I'm in the Philippines."

Now, why is this so? What made these things so special so as to remind me that I am truly far, far away from North American society?

Re-reading that same post, I noticed one thing: ALL of them originated from western society. They are western ideas and practices, but re-interpreted for Philippine society. From my perspective, I had the expectation that they would be adapted here, unchanged. But such changes were needed, I now realize. If they had not been altered to suit the Filipino taste, they may not have been as successful in capturing the market.

And so, after this while, I had gotten used again (I say 'again', because I had been exposed to this reality before leaving for Canada a decade ago.) to the fact that McD's serves spaghetti and rice; that the said spaghetti is sweet; that Diet Coke is called Coke Light.. and so on and so forth.

There is one thing however, that is still a mystery to me:

The existence of Starbucks in the Philippines.

Yes - my dear readers (if you exist) who are either non-Filipinos or expats who haven't been back in a while - that multinational purveyor of exotic blends, designer beans, and gourmet coffee is in here and is widely recognized and well-established.

Why am I so surprised? Well, because of MY experiences and observations.

First of all, I am no coffee connoisseur. I can't tell the subtle differences between one gourmet coffee from another. Most times, in fact, I would prefer Cafe-Mocha over black coffee (I never have coffee w/cream). But if coffee is the only thing available, I only have one criterion for selection: strength. Light, medium, or dark; depending on how hard I want the caffeine to hit.

A coffee connoisseur I may be not, but a caffeine addict I am; I want a shot first thing in the morning, another one mid-morning, and depending on what I may be doing, another one mid-afternoon.

As well, my coffee-drinking habits evolved only after we migrated to Canada. And as such it reflects what North Americans do: frequenting doughnut shops such as Tim Horton's, Krispy Kreme, and Dunkin Donuts for the coffee, and not actually the doughnuts which comes only secondary to the coffee. It's like this: you have coffee, and then buy the doughnuts because they go together well.

That said, everytime I've been out and about here in the Philippines and I wanted a hit of caffeine, I go to either Dunkin Donuts or Mister Donut expecting a similar practice.

But every time I ask for coffee, I always get a strange look as if I am from another planet. From another continent and society maybe, but planet? Not quite.

Why the looks? Well, the reason is this: they never have a warm pot always ready - when I ask for it, they would have to prepare it specifically only for me. It seems as though the majority of Filipinos frequent doughnut shops for... Gasp! The doughnuts! And do you know what they have it with? Pop! (Aka: Softdrinks/carbonated beverage). They do have "coffee" listed in their overhead menu, but it appears to me as though no one ever asks for it but me. The same is true for fastfood chains.

As well, there are these two facts:Very few independently owned gourmet coffee shops exist; and the majority of coffee, if served in a household, will come from powdered instant coffee.

Now now... don't get me wrong. I am not judging but rather, establishing the facts as to why the last multinational company I would expect to establish their franchise here would be one that specializes in gourmet coffee. Philippine society, I would have thought, simply is not composed of enough coffee drinkers that I would expect can appreciate, let alone support, such a chain. I mean, how can Filipinos go from ignoring brewed coffee offered in doughnut shops and fastfood chains, to enjoying very EXPENSIVE gourmet coffee?

My humble opinion? Marketing.

It seems to me as though anything that's marketed properly, given enough promotion, and endorsed by enough famous faces, will become a hit in this society.

...suddenly my own ideas start brewing.

$$$Cha ching!$$$

2007-01-31T12:18:00.000+08:00

Falling Behind

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu

I made four major self imposed "goals" - if you will- that I must accomplish during my visit here in the Philippines.

First was to be on an island other than Luzon.

The second was to meet an indigenous tribe or people that still somewhat live traditionally - the way they have been living prior to the Spanish Colonization.

The third was a challenge to pass myself up as someone who never left; to blend in by soaking up the people's culture, tendencies, and mannerisms.

And the fourth was to chronicle it all.

As I write this I have exactly only two months left - having been in country for exactly two months.

Numbers One and Two I haven't done at all. That is, however, not a problem. I intend to take things up a notch by going Island hopping, Trekking, and perhaps travelling just for the sake of travelling come February and March; after I think I have sufficiently fulfilled Number Three. Which I think I am doing quite well on - with only the little things posing a challenge.

Number four however, is proving to be quite problematic. This blog is still a month behind.
I had anticipated this difficulty in a previous entry, but I did not think it would get to be this bad.

I HAVE to catch up before disappearing for weeks on end.

2007-01-25T11:15:00.000+08:00

Reunion with the Barkada
10th and the 17th of December, 2006

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu

For the 10th of December a highschool friend, Edgardo M, invited the highschool Barkada (tightly knit group of friends) to have dinner at his parents' place in Barangay Bulac, still in the town of Sta. Maria. It was his brother's, sister's, and grandmother's birthday - they all have their birthdays on the same date.

Besides myself and cousin Marco, only Emmanuel L, and later Marvic S, and Nelson C were the ones able to show up that rainy Sunday night.

I'll be honest, I would not have recognized Edgardo (Gary) if I had run into him in public. In the decade that I had been gone, we had all responded differently to maturing. Emmanuel, Marvic and Nelson pretty much looked the same. Gary on the other hand looked drastically different. I did not see him transition from being skinny to having a heavier build.

From my perspective it was like this: Gary from ten years ago. Then, "poof!", Gary of today.

Somewhat reminiscent of me taking in my hometown, don't you think?

In any case, I suppose the same is true when people see me again for the first time in a near decade.

"Tumangkad ka, pre ah!" (You grew really tall!), was the first thing he said. He continued: "Dati rati nagkakalapit lang tayo, ngayon, ang laki mo na!" (It used to be that we weren't that far off in height, now you're much much larger!)

Ten years does a lot to change a person's appearances.

...but it's probably not enough to actually change a person.

We may have been talking about the things that I have missed in the past ten years, but we talked as if I had been gone for only a few months at best.

I was welcomed and made to feel as if nothing at all had happened. Sure, the things they knew about me, and consequently the things I knew about them may have been ten years out of date. But they still treated me as the Randy they used to know, and it wasn't that far off the mark.

Later in the night, after the other guests had left, we viewed a photo collection of their last year in highschool. The year that I was sorry I missed. Well, after seeing the times they had together, I was all the more sorry.

A thought then occurred: were we really getting along this well, or was I somewhat regressing to as if I were 15 again - wishing I had delayed my departure to Canada for at least a year?

----------------

Exactly a week later, the Sunday evening of the 17th of December, my cousin Marco arranged another meeting with my (our) highschool friends.

The original plan was just to have a lalaking inuman at usapan (manly night of drinking and discussion), with me taking care of the beer and roasted chicken pulutan (finger food). Marco tried to get in touch with at least close to 15 people, but only 9 replied and only 8 could make the time to show up.

Despite that however, it was still quite a gathering. It felt, quite honestly, just like a proper welcoming party.

The venue was at Marvic S property in the neighbouring Barangay of Sta. Clara. When Marco, Danilo M, and myself arrived, there was a Karaoke Machine, a lot of food to make a full meal, and Marvic's parents saying hello.

One by one the others arrived: Emmanuel L, Jessie M with his wife and daughter, and Roy G with his girlfriend. Nelson C joined a bit later.

Roy, like Gary, had also changed a lot. The athletic Roy I used to know is now a Roy going through a series of stress related health problems.

Gary M wanted to come, but was in another province. I would have been more disappointed that he was absent had I not seen him the previous week.

We got full, got drunk, and talked, chatted, and sang merrilly through the night. I sang a drunken rendition of Led Zep's "Stairway to Heaven" and Queen's "We Are the Champions".

I once heard that you will never have friends just like your highschool friends.

This experience would prove that statement correct.

I may have left at a time when there was still more maturation, more self discovery, and more personal development left to do. But even so, these people made me feel welcome. It was as though as if I were there with them through the crucial transition from adolescence to adulthood. They made me feel as if I hadn't left. And I felt as if I hadn't left.

But the questions again arose to nag me days after the event.

Was I regressing? Was I merely projecting a 'what if I hadn't left' scenario? Was I merely subconciously masking a part of my identity altered by the 10 years spent in Canada? Is this why it was so easy to feel a sense of belonging?

I have a lot of personal issues, I know.

2007-01-25T11:06:00.000+08:00

My Uncle, the Kapitan

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulaca, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu

I have the privilege of staying with my Dad's youngest brother, Francisco (Tito) F. Gulinao, and his family.

Uncle Tito wears many hats. Ever since I was a kid, I had always thought of him as the one who followed the footsteps of my grandfather Arsenio Gulinao's multi-faceted livelihood of backyard livestock farmer, small mango orchard caretaker, and supervisor to the land owned by the Gulinao Family.

More recently, Uncle Tito has been getting involved with local politics. He started off as a member of the barangay council. Currently, he is the Punong Barangay or Barangay Kapitan (literally: Barangay Head/Captain). This position, as I understand it, was one he inherited as opposed to something he actually vied for; he was second in command when the elected Kapitan was promoted to Municipal councilor.

One December day, I tagged along with the Kapitan to witness for myself a day in his life of public office.

We got to the Barangay Hall around the time when the Sun's rays had stopped being pleasant and had already made the transition to where 'fierce' would be a more apt description.

Always first in the order of business are the...well, 'businesses' of the Barangay - a discussion involving the treasurer and secretary regarding the local projects, funds, upcoming programs, and most anything involving finances. After that comes the forum with members of the Barangay Council, the Kagawads, where issues and topics that should concern the office of the Kapitan are raised.

Following these organizational concerns would then be the concerns of the populace. This is where individuals with complaints, gripes, and special cases can approach the Kapitan. Some days this can take the whole day and night, and some days, very little happens.

The Kapitan presiding over a case

It is also not unusual for the Kapitan to be invited by other organizations within the Barangay (that aren't part of the Local Government itself) to speak or perhaps just to appear as a special guest.

My day spent at the Barangay Hall gave me a unique glimpse of the Local Government in my hometown, and indeed, the whole of the Philippines. The difference, if I were to pick only one to cite, between a developing country like the Philippines and a first-world nation like Canada would be INFRASTRUCTURE. The social services, social programs, and social institutions are what makes the first-world the first-world.

But for a nation like the Philippines that has a much, MUCH lower GDP, how does one establish such social institutions? When you have no funds, how do you get things going?

This is where the beauty of the LGU's (Local Government Units) come in.

Yes, the Kapitans, the Kagawads, and the Tanods (Local Police) are all paid, but only minimally. What I personally witnessed is that being a member of the LGU's is a largely voluntary position. Everyone I met also has another job or livelihood; this is an accepted fact.

They take on the position in service of the community. And personally, I would like to dedicate this entry to them.

Mga kababayan, Mabuhay po kayo! (My fellow countrymen, Hooray to you!)

--------

But of course nothing is without its disadvantages. Through no fault of the members of the Local Government, such an establishment can only do so much.

A primary example is that of local security. The Barangay Kapitan does not only preside over the executive matters of the Barangay, but also the local disputes and crime. Pag may lasing na nag huramentado, ang tatawagin, si Kapitan. (If there is a local disturbance, who do they call? The captain.)

"Ang problema ng iba, (Other People's problems)" Uncle says himself "nagiging problema ko rin!(also end up being MY problems)"

Complaints come at all hours of the day and night.

In an effort to take some workload off of the already overextended Municipal Police Force, the Barangay Tanods (volunteer barangay 'police') take on most the policing duties. This works most of the time, but sometimes you end up exposing individuals who have only received the most minimal of security training - and armed only with batons - to very dangerous situations against very unreasonable odds. As well, being a volunteer force, response time is largely slow.

So what do I think? Well, something has to be done, that's for sure.

Such a personal, hands-on, type of government may have worked well in a setting where there were only tens to a few hundreds of households to handle - everyone knew everyone else. But where households now number in the thousands, such a system gets overburdened.

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2007-01-23T10:32:00.006+08:00

Relishing Time

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu

I thought it would diminish after a week or so.

My first few days in the Philippines felt a lot like my first few hours. They were both marked by an overwhelming sense of excitement at the thought that I was seeing my motherland again for the first time in nearly a decade. Every scenery I saw, each person I met, everything I did, and the settings I did them in, somehow all seemed very special. No surprise - many things have changed, and those that didn't, I haven't seen in a long time. After ten years, all of them were novel once again.

Even the most mundane.

Jeepney rides, that I used to curse for being so hot, cramped, loud, and nauseating, I now relish. Nowhere else in the world, I would think everytime I ride, does this kind of popular transportation exist. The quirky side of Philippine culture that I used to criticize, I now view in a humorous light. These are the little details that makes Filipinos, FILIPINOS, I would say. The loud, crowded, somewhat unsanitary wet markets I was glad did not exist in North America, I was actually delighted to see and experience once again. The foods and snacks that as a kid, I thought I could willingly trade for western style cooking, I actually could not wait to taste. I even ate the street foods that everyone tells me I should be avoiding due to potentially unsanitary preparation. You only live once, I thought.

Enjoying some fried 'Fish Balls' from a mobile vendor that my cousin Jojo flagged down so I could have a taste.

These and everything else I encountered seemed to be cast by a strange light during my adjustment period. Everything just seemed so cool - even the bad things. Heck, ESPECIALLY the bad things. Traffic congestion, pollution, bad roads, beggars and street urchins, and such a disparity between the rich and the poor; you just don't get these in Canada. At least not to this extent. That I was witnessing the conditions of the developing world, no matter how deplorable they may be, gave me a generalized feeling that I, as a westerner, was privy to something that few people where I came from would ever get see - let alone understand and try to live with. Taking in the whole locale, good and bad, was a challenge I accepted and even enjoyed.

And then there too was the routine that I got into.

"Hindi ka ba naiinip?" ("Aren't you bored?") my friends and relatives would often ask when they see me repeating a pattern of lounging around the ancestral orchard, playing with the dogs, practicing my (basketball) shooting, writing in a notebook, and then going to the bayan (town centre) to access the internet.

"Hindi naman" ("Naw"), I would reply to this question.

"Sigurado ka? ("You sure?")

"Ay, o-o"("Of course!"), I would say honestly and matter-of-factly.

In another setting it would have driven me to near madness to realize that I had fallen into a lazy pattern. I would have called it a 'rut'. I like my routine, but only the personal rituals concerning the morning , grooming, and going to sleep. My automotive hobby can perhaps be included in this, but that would be about it.

Like a form of Adult ADD, I find it hard to follow a pattern of consistency and repeatability. Relationships, career paths, and obligations - I've gone from one to the next; unable to maintain one for very long.

Yet, being here right now in the Philippines, I can do things I wasn't able to do before and then some:

Watch the night sky go from one horizon to the other... Count the shooting stars in an hour... Notice the trees almost change shape as the changing shadows of the day hit them... Notice which plants like the high ammonia content of my morning urine and which ones die from it... Observe the individual eccentricities and quirks of every guard dog - in order make friends with them...

Such is the wonder of being here only for a VISIT.

My time here is finite and I am relishing each and every moment of it. I am aware of this both consciously and subconsciously. In a few months time I may be gone from this place and if I don't soak up as much as I can during my stay here, I will have forever lost the chance.

And isn't life in general like that anyway? When your time's up, will you regret not having done certain things? Will you wish you had taken more time to pause, reflect, and look deeper into the subtle beauty of the things around us?

So it goes.

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2007-01-16T12:42:00.001+08:00

The Little Things

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu

When I was planning and dreaming of my Philippine trip, I prepared myself mentally by asking my Ate Mireille, and everyone I met who had gone back recently, everything that might come as a culture shock.

I had been gone ten years after all. A lot can change in that time.

From their stories, I learned to expect the traffic, the congestion, the pollution, the population density, the economy, the crime, and the weather.

That it gets really hot and humid, even in December, did not take much adjustment. I spent my first 15 years of life here, so I have no excuse to complain about this fact.

That my Canadian earned dollars could go a long way, may have been somewhat a pleasant surprise, yet this was still no big revelation.

That when I go for a walk, no matter what the time, the town centre's streets would always be abuzz with people was expected.

That a trip that would take me an hour in Calgary, means twice, even thrice, that amount in Metro Manila and sorrounding areas was readily accepted by me.

That when I read the news, there would be as many people murdered in a day, as there would be in a year in Canada, was met in my part with near indifference.

That social services and other things I took for granted in Canada were missing, was accepted as an inevitability in a developing nation by myself.

No, the BIG differences did not faze me at all. I learned to expect all these even before setting foot in Philippine soil. Mentally I was prepared. As well, it was here where I was born and it was here where spent the first 15 years of my life. The major differences came almost as no surprise.

Instead, it was the little things that took some adjustment.

That in a convenience store, the coffee and donuts aren't self serve...

That in McDonald's they serve rice and spaghetti...

...and that after you finish your meal, you aren't expected to pick up after yourself...

That Diet Coke is called Coke Light...

That when cooked at home, fries are served with a dip consisting of one part ketchup and one part mayonnaise...

That almost all business establishments have armed guards...

That everyone, from children to senior citizens, and even the lowest wage earners such as mobile street vendors like magtatahos and magbabalots, have cellphones...

..and that everyone texts and texts aaaaaallll day long...

That the faces used for any advert for any product isn't just a model, but almost always a famous celebrity...

That anyone who happens to be Caucasian is called 'Kano (assumed to be American)...

That when people learn I'm from abroad people readily assume Sa isteyts (the United States)...

..or when I inform them I'm from Canada, and it turns out they have relatives in there, people would mention "ay, may kamag anak ako sa may [ilagay and lugar na pagka layo layo sa Calgary], kilala mo ba yon?"

("Oh, I have a relative in [insert a place far and away from Calgary] , do you happen to know them?")

That cybercafes here are only used by three kinds of people: Gamers, those with family overseas, and those sad sad people desperately seeking a mate thru friendster...

That when newsmen describe executions and assassinations, they call it "salvaging"...

That when I go radio station surfing, almost every station would be playing sickening love ballads...

That it is considered that maputi = maganda (light coloured skin = beauty)...

...and that a large part of the cosmetic section of a pharmacy would have skin whitening products...

That there still are macho and misogynistic tendencies...

I could go on endlessly...

It is when I encounter these little things THAT I'm reminded...

...I'm in Philippines

2007-01-12T11:23:00.000+08:00

Arrival in Bulacan

06 December 2006

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu - recalling things from a month ago

Bocaue was a crowded place when we arrived that late afternoon of the 6th of December. It was three weeks before Christmas and people were already buying their Christmas and New Years' fireworks in this Philippine Capital of the paputok (fireworks) retail industry (production happens all over Bulacan).

As we made our way past the heavy traffic, towards Sta. Maria, it greeted me:

Looming above my head, it announced a Welcome I had missed during the night of my arrival. Am I really in Sta. Maria? I wondered to myself.

The ridiculously congested narrow roads told me I probably wasn't - I imagine such heavy traffic and human density in places closer to Metro Manila like Meycauayan, Malabon and Novaliches. But not in my hometown.

And besides, I was just here a week prior, I thought. It certainly didn't look like this! Were there really this many business establishments? Were there really this much new housing last week?

But I was, undeniably, in MY Sta. Maria.

The first 14 waking hours I had spent the week prior wasn't even enough to familiarize myself with the place to notice all the changes, let alone adjust to the things that had changed in the near decade that I had been gone.

For the second time, I was being overwhelmed by the things in my hometown.

The moment I exited NLEX at Pampanga and sped towards the Ilocos Region, I got used to the thought that in 10 years, things don't change much. In Santa, things have remained more or less the same - parts of Vigan in fact have been that way since the 1500's.

But in Sta. Maria, things HAVE changed.

My adjustment period officially began during this time.

2007-01-12T10:48:00.000+08:00

Goodbye Santa, Ilocos Sur
06 December, 2006

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Recalling something from a month ago with the help of some notes.

I left sooner than I wanted.

I was planning on staying for at least a few weeks to enjoy the locale. But an impending cold, an incident with a local siga, and a promise to meet a nice girl in Bulacan made me decide to catch a ride back to the Tagalog Region with Tito Boy and John Paul the very next day after the burial.

As you drive towards the South, towards Metro Manila, one of the last things you'll see of Santa is the Cemetery.

"O, busina, Pol!" (Giver her a beep, Paul) Tito Boy prompted J.P.

beep!beep!
A farewell honk.

"That's it?" I remarked loudly, but to no one in particular.

An ever so slight uncomfortable silence followed.

A contrast to the first few kilometres where Tito Boy was ranting about some dispute.

"Langya din, ano," (Think about it, eh) Tito Boy mused- breaking the silence, "Kararating mo lang para sa mahabang bakasyon tapos nakipaglibing ka agad kay Lola 'yo" (You just arrived for your long vacation, and the first thing you did was to attend Lola's funeral)

I nodded.

"Your trip," Tito Boy continued in English, "will be very memorable for so many reasons."

Indeed.

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2007-01-11T09:57:00.000+08:00

The Burial
05 December, 2006

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu - recalling events from a month ago.

I woke up at dawn with what could very well be the whole of Santa already milling about my grandparents' place. They were being served tea, coffee, biscuits, and pandesal (breakfast bread), by the househelps and volunteers - who in between making sure the guests were comfortable, were already preparing a post-burial feast.

I put on the only black long-sleeved dress shirt, and the only non blue jeans that I managed to pack.

The funeral procession was going to depart no sooner than 0700. First stop, the Santa Parish Church for a final service. And then, Santa's cemetery, where Lola will be placed right beside Lolo.

Outside a horse-drawn carriage was already awaiting the white metal casket containing Lola's remains.

A few more moments later, the band that was going to lead the whole procession arrived and began playing the loudest, most off-key, musical rendition of funeral procession-worthy ballads.

During a lull in their performance, I requested a theme from the Godfather movie, "Speak Softly Love". Despite the absence of strings, and despite their terrible rendition of other songs, the strictly wind and percussion band made this one sound relatively alright.

All this - the food being served, the loud band playing music, and all the people socializing - made me feel as if I were in a fiesta as opposed to a funeral.

And I rather liked it. Just me I guess. I mean, if I were the one lying in a casket, I wouldn't want to see anyone cry over me - I'd want them to have a grand time. Serve them good food. Play loud music to them. Make them feel great when they see me off so that they may associate my departure with a festive atmosphere.

But then Tito Pete pulled me aside and remarked, "Is ALL this needed?"

"I don't think," he continued, "that my mother needs all this to gain entry to heaven. A loud off-key band, a fancy carriage - none of these are necessary. Aren't her good deeds enough?"

He continued by telling me how for his late wife, my Tita Grace, he had the simplest and most solemn of gatherings.

He finished by saying, "I told my sister, your mother, about this and she replied, 'That's the tradition!'. But to heck with tradition I say. It's time we looked at these things and see how ridiculous it is to have a party at a funeral."

I wanted to disagree with him. I wanted to tell him that, I think, funerals are more for the living than for the dead. And if those still alive wish to honour whoever it is who has died in any way they wanted to, then so be it - if it eases their mourning that way, then so be it.

Instead, I just said, "We think alike".

A lie? Nay. An omission.

I thought the very same thing, but on a different occasion.

That day he questioned the need for a feast and a band. The day before I questioned the need to say prayers from a script monotonously and repetitively - as if all that was needed to convince God to take in Lola. Also, at the same time, I respect where he's coming from. Being the eldest son, he just wanted quiet reflection and silent prayers for his Mother.

The procession from the house to the Church went without any incident - save for the confusion on when everyone was going to mount the vehicles to save them from walking the full distance (about 5 km). The service was, again, in the Ilocano dialect.

From the Church, it was just another kilometer or so to the cemetery.

This cemetery is no exclusive 'Memorial Garden' of sorts - it is instead, just the town cemetery - but it has to have one of the most beautiful views ever. To the east the mountains serve as a tombstone for everyone who has it as a final resting place. And to the west the sea and its secrets disappear into the horizon

After returning to the house, while everyone enjoyed the lunch feast provided, I snapped this photo in the mango orchard just behind the house.

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2007-01-09T14:01:00.000+08:00

Home Service
Funeral Service at home
04 December, 2006

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: written the night after the fact, but written in present tense to simulate a play by play analyis.

I think the lead is talking about my arrival now and how providence guided things so that at least, I'll be seeing my grandmother off. I think they're talking about how mom desperately wants to come, but wouldn't be able to - and that at least I'm here.

I think.

The service is in the Ilocano dialect, I'm still sweating Gin, and my stomach and sense of balance are still all haywire from last night. I didn't eat anything all morning because I couldn't hold anything down.

I feel like crap. I only understand a few words here and there, and I don't know what's going on.

We stand up.

They pause to read off of a booklet of a prayer for funeral services.

We sit down.

They say Hail Marys, Our Fathers and other prayers.

Then we stand up again.

I want to go have a shower - and by 'shower' I actually mean splash myself with water from a wash bucket with a smaller handbucket. Showers don't exist here.

I think I over-bonded with my Uncles - and by bonded I mean got totally wasted with.

We sit down again and listen to the lead say more things. I think they're talking about Tito Pete's arrival now. Or maybe how Lola is now off to join Lolo.

I think that's what they're saying.

My mind drifts back and forth from the topics discussed last night. I almost pass out from the heat and humidity of a few tens of people crammed inside the living room with stone walls.

Out of respect I stick it out. For my Mom, I manage to snap a few photos.
But I really, really want to go elsewhere.

I sit with the crowd. I stand with the crowd. I try and mouth off the Ilocano prayers being said by the crowd.

I pretend to listen to the lead's words.

This? This repetitive praying and scripted program is supposed to facilitate my grandmother's entry to heaven?

Then they let my Mom's brothers speak. Finally, I thought.

But they also say their eulogies in Ilocano. Having very little understanding of the words being spoken, I suddenly remembered from "The Alchemist" a very lovely thought.

Instead of trying to understand the words that you're hearing, listen instead for the emotions and you might just hear the Universal Language of the World.

I did, and the words disappeared as the meaning and the weight of their intentions became apparent from the intonation and body language.

"bye mom"

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2007-01-09T12:25:00.000+08:00

An Impromptu Reunion at a Funeral
03 December, 2006

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu - recalling something from a month ago, with the help of some notes

After shopping for supplies at the town of Bantay, I returned to find that my Tito "Pete" Pedro Bueno had arrived along with Loy, his third son. As well, more of my Mom's cousins - all of them hailing from all over the map - had arrived to pay respects to their departed Auntie Ninay.

Even an aunt from my Father's side, Tita Catalina Gulinao-Gallardo came to visit from nearby La Union when she heard that my last remaining grandparent had departed.

Later in the evening, a reunion catalyzed out of the gin, beer, basi and caldingen pulutan.

I had to get in on it of course! But not just to partake in the consumption of the glorious and sweet basi (sugarcane wine), or the tasty calderetang calding (a type of richly sauced dish) and papaitan (bitter soup) but also to connect and bond with my Uncles.

And for good reason.

Out of the whole table occupied by my barakong Titos, I only recognized three other ones in addition to my Mom's brothers: Tito Heling (Rogelio Cardenas), Rizal Santa's Barangay Captain; my Mom's cousin through Lola Ninay, my Tito Nanding (Atty. Fernando Gose); and the Mayor of Santa, my mom's cousin through Lolo Luis, Tito Popoy (Jesus Bueno jr.) . To the others, introductions were necessary, for either I have only met them in passing once, or I was only meeting them for the very first time.

Just like what Tito Pete said, "Nothing brings people together more than a wake or a funeral. And this gathering of my cousins- your Uncles- cannot happen in another occasion. Weddings, christenings.. you can just send your deepest regards. But funerals and wakes: People - Asians especially, tend to make it an obligation to attend..."

If in some small way, I managed to gain a deeper understanding of the legacy of one's life whilst playing stand in for my mother to greet those extending their condolences, this too - a Pinoy Inuman borne out of a wake - was another good tool in understanding my place. ...where I stand, and where I'm going.

"She is also the last of her generation," Tito Nanding remarked when it was revealed that Lola Ninay was also my last grandparent.

He added: "Ubos na ang lahat ng mga Tatay at Nanay namin. Susunod, kami naman" (Our parents are all dead. The ones going to follow afterwards would be us, our generation)

That they were musing about their mortality, also made me think of my own. When a grandparent dies, especially one that you have been expecting to give in sooner or later, you don't tend to feel too much sorrow and mourning. I mean, to be frank, I didn't. Most of my regrets consisted of thinking how sad it was that my Mom wouldn't be able to see her own mother off.

If my parent's generation is next, then in due time, I too will be next.

Sorry if it's morbid, but I guess that's life - we're all going to die sometime. So it goes.

2007-01-08T12:51:00.000+08:00

...and again in Santa

after visiting Vigan.

02 December, 2006

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES
Composition: Impromptu

I returned to the Bueno house to see that my Tito Boy's wife, Tita Tess, and their youngest son, Jared, had arrived by Bus.

Later in the afternoon, Uncle Heling took me to Santa's Parish Church to settle some things for the upcoming funeral service.

Having just come from Vigan, you'd think that I wouldn't be as impressed with downtown Santa, Ilocos Sur. While Calle Crisologo in Vigan is restored and preserved to Heritage preservation standards, downtown Santa is a mish mash of old and new.

Of this blending of old and new, there is no better example than Santa's Parish Church.

This church probably dates from as far back as Santa's settlement. From its basic architechture of utilizing massive arched columns, it is very apparent that the foundations are at least hundreds of years old.

Yet the exterior and the interior were finished in modern masonary concrete and coloured with perhaps the latest and greatest of latex enamels. As well, the overpowering Ten Commandments adorning the entrance (written in the Ilocano dialect), and the external bell tower were obviously finished and cast in concrete.

Although at least the bells were preserved.

Ivan Henares would be aghast at this travesty.

And I agree - if I could have seen Santa's Parish Church in full Colonial era glory, I probably would have more appreciation for it. If I were to see it in its natural-pre modernized beauty, I might like it more.

But at the same time I felt this: That things in downtown Santa look the way they do without any concessions to preservation. If somehow some things, to this day, look like they did from centuries ago, it is because they have endured even the demands for progress. And in a way, I appreciated the things I saw more. Moreso than Vigan? Perhaps. Dont' get me wrong, I really liked my first visit to Vigan in a decade, but seeing Santa made me realize certain things I didn't notice when I was walking down Calle Crisologo.

In Vigan, the Calesas (horse drawn carriages) invite you on a tour to the year 1521 for a fee. But almost all the establishments you pass are souvenir shops tended by very eager sales people inviting you to come in and have a look. And outside the preserved streets, Vigan hustled and bustled towards modernization like any other city.

Contrivances and Simulations that approximate the past in order to attract tourism somehow left a bland aftertaste to my Vigan visit - and a much deeper appreciation once again for my Mom's hometown.

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2007-01-08T11:09:00.000+08:00

Vigan in the Afternoon

02 December, 2006

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu

To get to Vigan City from the town of Santa, you must first cross the Abra River through the very beautiful and very scenic Quirino bridge in the Barangay of Banaoang.

In a word, the view here is spectacular. I took these in-car photos on the Santa side overlooking the town of Bantay - the other town that borders Santa with the Abra River.

Whilst in Vigan, we took the obligatory tourist shots. I frankly have no poetic or philosophical remarks I can write regarding this short visit to this Provincial Capital, this World Heritage Site. Any words just wouldn't do this magnificent ancient treasure of Ilocos Sur justice.

The photos and the enthusiasm I show in them should speak the thousands of words I could write about what its like being around streets and buildings dating as far back as the 1500's.

Now, if you look at these photos and got the impression that I was saying "Great!" "Fabulous!" "Awesome" "Cool" and "Fantastic!" then they did their job.

On the way back, we took a few more shots on the scenic Quirino Bridge.

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2007-01-05T12:12:00.002+08:00

First Morning in Ilocos
2nd of December, 2006

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu- recalling something from a month ago.

I slept relatively well.

I was given the western bedroom in the upper level of my Grandparents' place.

Considering that my Grandmother's wake and viewing is downstairs in the living room (local custom)- and considering that the room I had faces the busy Marcos Highway- I slept pretty well.

I awoke to find my Tito Boy (Luis Bueno Jr.) had arrived the night before, along with his two other sons, John Paul and James.

We chatted and talked about what had transpired in our lives over the near decade we hadn't seen each other in front of breakfast and morning coffee.

Slowly, it was beginning to feel just like all the other Ilocos trips I had done in the past.

As the town woke up, friends and relatives from both sides of the Bueno, Bello, Rubio, Cardenas, Goze, and Manzano Clan started coming again to pay their respects and keep vigil.

Also came the others:

Second Uncles and Aunts...
Third Uncles and Aunts...
Further distant relatives and close friends and acquaintances...
Neighbours and members of the community touched by my Grandmother's kind heart all came in a steady flow of humanity...

All this while, I would be introduced as "the youngest son of the ONLY daughter - who migrated to Canada a decade ago- of the departed Antonina Bello Bueno"

"Where's your mother...?" they would usually ask me.

"Unfortunately," I would reply "she wouldn't be able to make it because of the difficulty of obtaining a ticket at this time of the year."

"But you're here!" they would say.

"Yes, but I am here for a vacation I had planned for six months ago." I would say.

I would continue, "Before leaving for here (the Philippines) my Mom always reminded me to visit Lola because Lola doesn't have much time left. 'You have to see her' she would say. And so here I am, seeing my Lola. Unfortunately, I am seeing her off. She died within 14 hours of my arrival."

"14 hours! So you did see her!" they would conclude (incorrectly).

"No. I was unfortunately, still in Bulacan at the time."

"Ahhh", they would remark "providence still is kind for letting a son of the only daughter of the dearly departed Lola Ninay to see her off."

I repeated this line of conversation many times during the morning, and I would repeat it many times over well into the funeral.

I must confess, it became a little well rehearsed. Despite this however, I never got tired of saying it - dutibound isn't the word but it's the first word that comes to mind.
I was doing it for Lola, for my Mom, and of course for myself.

Playing stand-in for my Mom in this most solemn occasion gave me a very rare glimpse of how truly loved and respected my grandparents were in their community.

No matter who the guest, whether a relative or not, whether they knew my grandparents very well or just by reputation, whether they were from my Lolo Luis' side or my Lola Ninay's side, they all held them in very high esteem.

(My Mom did try to secure a ticket. But with only a few days notice, it was next to impossible for her to arrive on time. The funeral could have been delayed, but her brothers all made the decision that it was for the better to go on with the original set date.)

After lunch, I went with Tito Boy with two of his sons to Vigan - Capital City of the province of Ilocos Sur.

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2007-01-04T13:09:00.000+08:00

The Town of Santa,
Province of Ilocos Sur,
PHILIPPINES (Dec 1, '06)

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Copied from a Rough Draft written weeks after the fact.

There are many beautiful and unique views that will greet you as you arrive by car at Santa, Ilocos Sur from the south.

You will first notice that from your highway perspective, the vast blue ocean to your left (South China Sea) seems a lot lower. Unlike La Union's sandy resort beaches, Santa, Ilocos Sur's coastline is predominantly high cliff that drops down to a rocky beach which is protected from the surf by treacherously sharp reefs. Unsuitable for swimming, but at least this leaves it largely unspoiled by tourism.

The second thing you'll notice is that the Ilocos Range mountains - foothills of the Cordilleras - that earlier in the trip was further off in the horizon, would now be right there, right beside you.

And because of this unique location where the available habitable space is sandwiched between the unrelenting sea and the majestically imposing mountains, the densely populated parts of Santa as result (although geographically triangular in shape), ended up being mostly elongated with little girth. Unlike the usual practice of having the town capitol (Poblacion) more or less in the geographical centre, with the barangays (smaller independent villages) radiating outwards in all directions, Santa snakes itself from where the mountain meets the Sea from the South, to the Abra River in the Barangay of Banaoang to the North.

You will notice all of these that which makes my Mom's hometown so unique and memorable every single visit - and I mean every single visit - as you roll in by vehicle from the South.

Note on the name of "Santa"

But unfortunately, I arrived at night - seeing only what the car headlights illuminated in front.

No memorable sceneries and images were going to be reaffirmed, but a new one, unique to this occasion was going to be created.

2007-01-03T12:41:00.000+08:00

To Ilocos
1st of December, 2006

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu - recalling something from a month ago.

Morning came after a night of highly interrupted sleep. Prior to that, I was awake for 14 straight hours during a time when my body clock was telling me to sleep. Prior to that, I was on a 14 hour Trans Pacific flight crossing the International date line - also with very little sleep.

Yet I felt neither tired nor fatigued. Somehow, it vaguely reminded me of my army days, or during the times when I had to chase a deadline whilst studying broadcasting. It was the kind of sensation where equal parts of uncertainty, vague excitement, and adrenaline induced by an emergency, mixed to prop up a fatigued mind and body for a few more days.

Trouble was, I was heading to my Lola's wake - how long was I going to be able to sustain this before it finally catches up to me? Local custom dictates that at least one person must keep vigil over the casket at any time of a 24 hour day. I was hoping I'd be exempted from this duty.

At around 9am, I finally got a call saying that I had a ride to Ilocos. It was from my Mom's youngest brother, Tito Dodo (Domingo Bueno). Initially, his vehicle was full. But a change in plans dictated that he was going to make the trip with only his wife and their youngest daughter, Mikee -Paolo, the eldest; and Ali, the second couldn't make time in their busy exam schedules - leaving a seat open for me in his early 90's Honda Civic.

Uncle Tito saying his condolences to Tito Dodo

Pampanga, Tarlac, Pangasinan, La Union, and finally Ilocos Sur -the kilometres, the time, the scenery, the towns and the people went by with relative speed.

I was still excited and exhilirated by the fact that I was travelling towards my mom's hometown. Yet, unlike the Airport to Bulacan trip, and my trip around my hometown, I did not experience the same level of surprise at the scenery that I passed.

I attribute this to four things:

The first reason is that this is the first time in ten years that I am with my Tito Dodo and Tita Nancy - and also the first time I am seeing their youngest child. The first half of the trip was nothing but us chatting and catching up. Wasn't really paying attention to the scenery.

The second reason is external; there were less things to surprise me. Beyond North Luzon Expressway and beyond the places devastated by Lahar during the decade after Mt. Pinatubo's eruption, relatively little has visibly changed in the Ilocos Region. (This is in comparison to Bulacan, my home province)

The third reason is that I used to only make this Northbound trip once every year. Even if more things have changed, it would have felt the same as all my other visits in the past. I drive by Tarlac, Pangasinan, La Union and the southern half of Ilocos Sur for one visit - and then I don't see it again for some time.
I was so used to having my mental archive updated every trip I take to the Ilocos Region that, even though a decade had passed since my last visit, it felt like the other trips I did as a child tens of times before.

...except for one difference, and also the fourth reason - I was not making the trip to have a vacation.

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2007-01-03T10:43:00.001+08:00

Lola Ninay

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES.
Edited in St. Michael Subdivision, Meycauayan, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu, certain passages written by my mom - Fe Bueno Gulinao

Luis Rubio Bueno and Antonina Bello Bueno, circa early 1970's

Lola's life was a simple one. She was an unassuming but gracious lady.

She was born in Rizal, Santa, Ilocos Sur on May 3, 1923 to Mariano Bello and Candida Manzano. She's the youngest of a brood of six. Married Luis Rubio Bueno, a scion of the Bello-Bueno political clan of Santa, on January 10, 1944.

Note: Luis Rubio Bueno had Pedro Bello Bueno I (Mayor of Santa Ilocos Sur for 16 years), and Felipa Rubio for parents.

She finished her Elementary grades at a local elementary school. She did not go to High school for 2 reasons: the nearest high school at that time was in Vigan; and being the youngest of the brood, she did not want to be separated from her parents. Three of her siblings (Esperanza Brillantes,Socorro Goze and Espiritu Bello) got degrees in Education.

She was a simple housewife. Tended a Sari-sari store which evolved to a minigrocery. Her lineage is not as famous compared to my Lolo Luis. However, her family is well respected in Rizal.

A deeply religious, patient, very understanding, and compassionate and forgiving woman - her heart sometimes was even too big to understand the vagaries of her own children. She's not rich, however, she always had a ready hand to help her less fortunate neighbors.

She died without any savings of her own - preferring to give whatever money she had to those who needed it more, for she already had what she considered her greatest treasure

..her children.

Pedro Bueno - Director general of NACA, an international agency based in Bangkok. Before NACA, he was a consultant of FAO, an umbrella of the United Nations.

Fe Bueno Gulinao- Worked with the Central bank of the Philippines for 22 years, supervising Rural Banks, before she migrated with her family to Canada. Presently working in a big Engineering company, of which the business interest is in oil and gas.

Luis Bueno Jr. - Assistant Director at DAR

Domingo Bueno- Mechanical Engineer working at PEA.

My earliest memory of Lolo Luis and Lola Ninay was when I was probably no more than 6.
We - Mom, Dad, Myself and my older brother - as a family, were on our first Vacation at Lolo and Lola's house at Barangay Rizal, Town of Santa, Ilocos Sur using our own transportation - we had always travelled on buses.

That detail about using our own transportation was memorable because it was our second try; with our 'assembled' Jeep letting us down at San Fernando, Pampanga on the first attempt.

Anyway, Mom and Dad allowed us to bring our most favourite of toys to play with. My brother had a realistic looking, albeit plastic, .45 Caliber Colt 1911 toy handgun.

I had this "MatchBox" toycar - diecast 1:64 scale copies of real cars I used to collect - of the TV show "Knight Rider"'s KITT.

Lolo was a gun enthusiast. So when my bro and I showed off our toys, Lolo took immediate notice of the Colt 1911 Replica, paying just a passing glance to my KITT.

I remember feeling ignored so I moved on to Lola, who was cooking something at the time.

Now, a little note: most senior citizens in Ilocos barely speak the national language of Tagalog. My Dad, being from the Tagalog speaking region actually used to speak to Lolo and Lola in English. But because I barely knew how to speak English at the time, you can imagine the language barrier between me and my grandparents.

"Lola, tingnan mo'ng laruan ko, oh!" I said to her. (Gramma, check out my cool toy!)

She looked at me, understood the situation, said in the most affectionate way that a grandmother could say to cheer up a grandson, "Maganda! Nak-kong. Maganda!" (It looks nice my child. It looks nice)

That was pretty much her Tagalog vocabulary. That was the extent of our communication prior to my learning English.

But none of it mattered.

What she spoke was the language of Love, and whether we understood each other's words perfectly or not, Love provided the translation.

Antonina Bello Bueno
May 3, 1923 - November 30, 2006

Lola, I'm sorry if I wasn't able visit you while you were still alive.
Still, thanks to providence for at least giving me the privilege of being there to say one final goodbye.

2006-12-22T12:07:00.000+08:00

The Evening of the 30th of November, 2006

Location: Poblacion, Sta. Maria, Bulacan, PHILIPPINES

Composition: Impromptu - Recalling things from a month ago.

I was not planning on visiting the town of Santa, Ilocos Sur -my Mother's hometown- until around Christmastime. This would have given me ample time to acclimatize and adjust before embarking on any regional trips. Also, my Mom's brothers were going to make this same trip at around the same time just as they (we) have always done; I might as well hitch a ride.

But on the same day that I arrived (within 14 hours), I got a call from my parents in Calgary that Lola Ninay, my Mom's mom, my last remaining grandparent, had died.

That the call came from Calgary was significant in that, my Mother's clan wasn't yet sure how to reach me. They were all made aware that I was going to be in the country staying in my Dad's hometown, but with who, and how I can be reached, was still unclear.

I still smelt of airline seat and travel sweat. My head was still spinning from lack of sleep and time zone changes. If it was unclear to my mother's relatives how I can be reached, it was less clear to me how I was going to get to Ilocos Sur - about 400 kilometres away, an 8 hour trip by land from Bulacan.

Note: Provincial Bus travel in the Philippines is reliable and a common occurence, but trying it as an absolute newbie (or in my case, an expat who hasn't been back for a decade), by yourself, is not suggested due to the high incidence of kidnapped and/or mugged foreigners in this country.

However, despite this, I found the energy to start packing up for a weeks worth of travel. As I was choosing which clothes to bring, I noticed that I did bring at least one black long sleeved shirt that I was pretty sure I would never get to use in a hot humid country.

I tried contacting two of my Uncles and some of my Mom's cousins, but to no avail.

I slept only a few hours at a time, with the uncertainty of how I was going to get to Lola keeping me awake. It was in this state that I reminisced... what kind of Lola did I have?