Being Away Through a Natural Disaster

I have yet to distinguish exactly how I felt being away when Metro Manila was devastedly flooded by typhoons Ketsana (Philippine name Ondoy) and Parma (Pepeng). It has been a month since the tragic events that flooded hundreds of homes, displaced many and even taken lives.

Back in the Philippines storms and typhoons are as much part of every year as snow is to other countries. If you haven’t been to the Philippines and in its capital in Metro Manila, part of a student’s life is to experience being sent home early from school because of another storm. And more than once in your life, you will experience finding yourself stranded on your way home in a midst of a storm (at times knee high in floods). But last month’s storms were different.The morning of Saturday, when JG told me about the storm, I shrugged it off because I thought it was just another day in Manila. I didn’t initially understood that Ketsana brought a month’s rain in just one day, and how no one was prepared to something that hasn’t happened in over 40 years.

Not regular anymore - Ketsana (Ondoy) floods Manila

I felt relieved that I wasn’t there when it happened. I am not the cool and collected type of person, and has proven to be very panicky in times of crisis. Had I been home during the storm, I am sure that I wasn’t going to handle having our house flooded. Not to mention that I am not a very good swimmer, not even a little bit. JG and I attended lunch with his asian diplomatic counterparts that Saturday, which was a good thing because it kept me preoccupied. Exchanging stories of similar local fruits and cooking tips with other Diplowives distracted me from thinking about our family back home.

Ironically, I also hated the fact that I was thousands of miles away. When I finally realized how serious things are and how it wasn’t just an ordinary Filipino day,but a real historical disaster, paranoia stepped in. The internet and its many capabilities gives a bit of comfort when living abroad, but this was one of those things where seeing them in a monitor is not enough. The strong urge to hop on a plane and fly home  just so I can hug them and be assured that they were okay was so hard to fight.

I got hold of my Mom and my side of the family, where I learned that our house was then being turned into a semi-evacuation center for relatives and friends who got stranded and needed a place to stay until the storm died down. I didn’t call JG’s Mom, my MIL, because she lived in a town known to be geographically placed on high ground, what I didn’t consider was that mountaneous areas were prone to flashfloods. And sure enough, the apartment where my MIL was staying all by herself was affected. Thankfully JG’s Mom got through safely, despite most of our belongings getting soaked and consequently damaged. We could only be thankful that she and our two dogs were okay – a bit shaken but okay.

The Philippines wasn’t completely safe yet, within the next few weeks, more storms and typhoons came and went. And the country and its people that were once so used to the rains, feared it once more. Even the story of Noah, his ark and the promise of the rainbow brought little comfort as some areas still remained submereged in floods for days.

Metro Manila flooded

Back here in the other side of the world, I found myself glued to the news, following weather reports and news flash like I never did before. The Philippine Embassy and the Filipino community held prayer rallies and fund raisings hoping to extend whatever help that they can, hoping that the combination of faith and monetary assistance can make up for our absence.  

Nevertheless living away, can really teach you some things. The Philippines wasn’t alone in its struggles. Vietnam and China was next on Ketsana’s path and it didn’t show any mercy on the two countries as well. Our other neighbor Indonesia also had a natural disaster of their own as Padang suffered major destruction and loss brought by an 7.6 magnitude earthquake. And then The Samoa Islands serene island life was destroyed by a tsunami that also left the country reeling.

a destroyed house in Padang Indonesia

Damages of tsunami in Samoa

One of the things that I liked about being a diplowife is that going away can really give you a glimpse of how big the world is. Being exposed to new cultures, and with nothing but the international news to hear from, you get a wider perspective of things; especially that JG is in foreign service. Had I been home, I would probably get caught up in feeling sorry for my us Pinoys and how much we had gone through after the literal storms. But because I know that there are also many others who are also going through their own kind of struggle, you learn to be stronger. Like a child who is starting to grow up, you learn that the your small world doesn’t revolve around you, and that you are not the only one who needs tending.

So I guess that’s what these tragic events brought me and my being away – somewhat wiser and stronger.

Meeting the Counterparts

Last week I was invited to an event to be attended by diplowives like me. This is the first of perhaps many more to come, and I was really nervous because I knew that I wasn’t going to fit in. I have always thought that any event that involved females is sort of a beauty pageant; where you are judged by how you carry yourself, posture, wit, and all.

And at the risk of sounding insecure, diplowife events are doubly pressuring for me because most of these women are as much as accomplished as their husbands. Highly educated, fashionably dressed, and poised. Whilst I, as I’ve mentioned in my previous posts, I am not exactly the graceful and articulate type. This goes all the way back to childhood, while most little girls played pretend tea parties, I spent my afternoons climbing trees imagining that I was a crime fighting spy on recon assignment.

I got there early, but as soon as the women started arriving and exchanging cheek to cheek kisses, I noticed that I was beginning to become a very uninteresting wall flower. I was never trained nor do I have the natural talent in the art of mingling so I stood there, with a plastered smile that almost hurt my facial muscles.

There were moments when I would initiate small talks with people that looked my way but I could immediately tell that they we were not exactly connecting. One of the frustrating things about it is that most of them were already at the prime of their age, so except for what country we are from, visiting the fish market here in Tripoli, and the weather we had nothing to continue on. When those main topics have been covered, immediately dead air follows. Okay, so you might say that I lack the skills to start the ball rolling, but what do I ask them? “You know I’m looking forward to watching 500 Days of Summer, how about you?”

In fact I usually get the, Oh-you-look-so-young; comment which I can now predict is followed by “how old are you anyway?” When I tell them I’m 25, they would gasp and say that I am the same age as their son or daughter, and most of them for some weird reason would just politely move on.

That was the time when I would wonder what I was doing there in the first place, I wasn’t required to go on anyway, but still I did. Perhaps it was the lack of having anything better to do, or that I told myself (as I was considering whether to go or not) that this would be a good chance for me to learn to be a better wife for JG especially for his career.

Especially when I met the british representative who was also one of the organizers of the event, she was everything a Diplowife is to me. I’m not very good at describing, but she reminded me of a wise college professor, impeccably dressed in a simple yet serious ensemble, and spoke to everybody with a certain warmth and of course grace. I would have to make a complete 180 before I can become like her, which immediately reminded me of the irony of how I ended up as a diplomat’s wife.

But there is still some good thing that came with attending such events. I found myself sharing a table with two very interesting women. The first is a young Chinese lady who immediately explained that she was an American citizen, and knew nothing about her Asian descent. We hit off simply because we both admitted that we were not much into the mingling and socializing, plus that we were both new in Libya, and how we often find ourselves bored out of our minds. It was nice to meet someone who almost my age. And I liked how she wasn’t trying so hard to fit in as I was, and thought she’d be a cool friend judging from her pierced tongue and confident attitude; I certainly wasn’t expecting to meet someone like her at a place like that.

Also at the table was my Indonesian counterpart, she also looked the same as everybody else there, properly dressed in a suit, and we also we went through how-young-I-was routine but unlike the others she didn’t leave me behind. We were separated when it was time for the tour of the hotel, but I got the chance to meet her again later that week in a dinner JG and I attended. There, I was able to speak with her more intimately and I was surprised with her very down to earth personality. We found ourselves agreeing about some things, like how as much as we love our countries we both don’t miss the heavy traffic and how congested everything is. I found her easy to talk to because she wasn’t looking at me like a naïve young girl with bad posture; instead she treated me like a friend whom she gave constructive advises to. One of the things she told me is to how be smart about handling our money. How I shouldn’t get carried away with buying things I only think I need, but as she assured me, I would realize I don’t in hindsight. This is good advice coming from someone who really has been there, and almost has the same economic concerns as I do, as we both come from not so well off Asian countries.

Meeting these two women is I think one of the perks of being a Diplowife. It is only natural to make friends in your neighborhood or at work; but to be able to meet someone who comes from thousands of miles away, from a completely different surrounding and culture is an opportunity not many can get a chance to do. I look forward to learning about them and from them.

More of meeting the other Diplowives on future posts. Events like this is after all is just the beginning of many more to come.

 I wasn’t able to take pictures of the event but I finally got the chance to get a picture of Tripoli.

Trip to the Past

One of the many things JG and I looked forward to coming here in Libya is visiting the historical ruins. Last week, we finally got the chance to do so when we went to Sabratha.

I swear this is not a postcard, we took this ourselves

JG is a big history geek and he really gets a kick out of places like that. In fact, I think that if he were to choose between being posted in Los Angeles where he can live five minutes via train ride to Disneyland or here in Tripoli where he can visit Sabratha an hour away by car, he’d choose Tripoli. 

I, on the other hand is not a very big fan of History. Next to Math, I never liked History when I was in school. I always thought I sucked at it, compared to my smarter classmates who could memorize tons of facts; by that I mean dates, names, dates, places, have I mentioned dates?

But when I met JG he showed me a very simple way to appreciate the past – and that is to look at it as a story. Looking back I realized that none of my teachers ever made look at History that way. I am a product of the public school system, and however proud and grateful I am of the opportunity to free education, our history class would often involve 40 minutes of reporting in front of the class, droning  everything from the book. And since quizzes and exams always requires you to fill the correct names, places, and of course dates on the blank; I just kept highlighting every proper noun I could spot while skimming and listing as many dates as possible. 

And so ever since JG, whenever we would see a movie based on historical events, stay at home on a red letter day, or in last week’s case visit a historical place I need not check the books or hire a historian as a guide – for I had my own personal factual story teller. Through JG names, places, and dates became heroes, landmarks, and dates of commemorating a celebration, others of mourning, or simply a day of remembrance.

If I had went to Sabratha ten years ago, I would just seen well-preserved rocks. And there was a possibility that since I have a thing for nice beaches, I would have probably ignored the entire ruins and ran to the shore and took a dip. Actually, I still would have (in fact I brought my swimwear complete with my snorkeling gear just in case, it was too cold however that day so too bad for me). But because of my new found perspective, I was able to appreciate our visit to the amazing remnants of the Roman Empire.

I could imagine the people watching in the old theater, enjoying performances like dancing, comedy scenes and some divinities.

Julius Ceasar a.k.a JG

The now empty streets and small alleys, were probably once bustling with people; vendors, tradesmen, seafarers, philosophers, and foreigners from the other side of the Mediterranean.

Old streets

There were some parts where we could still get a glimpse of everyday things and norms like small baths where they would lounge around or use the outdoor benches with holes used to taking dumps even in public.

C.R. 1st Century AD

Or even the corners and small rooms which were probably used as dungeons for prisoners and even wild animals.

Off limits, but it would be nice to see more of inside

I would also like to add how impressed I am with how the many generations of Libya was able to recognize the treasure that they have in their own backyard, and preserve it for the future generations others like me and JG to see.

Remnants of the past

I cannot help but compare; back home in Antipolo where JG and I lived, they have a small waterfall that was once a great place to spend an afternoon swim with the family.  Today, the waterfall smells of detergent and at its foot are piles of garbage dumped by unappreciative residents living nearby.

So anyway I really had a blast in what was for me a very unique and much more interesting History class on the Roman Empire’s way of life in 1^st century AD. Hopefully in a few months we will get to visit Sabratha’s bigger sister at Leptis Magna. With my trusty tour guide with me, I look forward to getting another glimpse of the past.

well preserved treasure

Cultural Education

Last night JG and I attended a show on Filipino culture through dances and other various presentations; starring students, teachers, and parents of the Philippine Community School here in Tripoli. I wasn’t suppose to go but circumstances left me no choice, which wasn’t so bad since I thought it would be an experience to watch something about home when you’re away from home.

I asked JG to accompany me to a doctor’s appointment since I thought he can squeeze it in between after office hours and the show which was scheduled at eight. The doctor thing took longer than I expected and JG was already getting irritated at me since I might’ve caused him to be late. Thankfully, true to what we now accept to be a Libyan part of life, the show didn’t start on time. It started way longer than expected. So we joined one of JG’s colleagues to have coffee outside the theater at row of stores that a taxi driver friend said to me is where you can find the best Shawarma’s in Tripoli. A cup of cappuccino was perfect too since its really starting to get cold here in Libya, and I forgot to bring a jacket.

A warm beef shawarma later we were told that we can finally come inside the theater. There, we were greeted by the school officials and people in-charge of the theater. One of the best parts of the night was when we were invited to have dinner outside before the show starts where we were served with plates of Couscous topped with Kharouf.

Couscous good for 4 people, one of the bowls I had all to myself

And so two hours late as its supposed time for curtains up, the show began…

The main parts of the program especially the cultural dances were really a treat. Back home you kind of take for granted seeing performances like that, but it really gives you a nostalgic feeling, sort of like being able to sample a local dish or food you thought you weren’t able to get a chance to eat in a long time when living abroad.

I was also impressed by the talented students who performed. I found it ironic how many of them, mostly whom are half Filipino half some-other-nationality or most of whom have never set foot in the Philippines have a better sense of patriotism than many of the kids living back home. Because they are given the chance to show their skills through such culturally inspired events, they have a better understanding of their heritage even though they live so far away from their country. There were a number of students who performed more than once, having to memorize three or four kinds of dance routines. One of my favorite parts is when a group of beautiful six year old girls performed a Muslim dance; I couldn’t get over how cute they were in their silk pajamas adorned with pearls around their necks and on their heads and how you could lip read them counting the steps.

The experience was culturally educating for me as well, since I got a glimpse of how Libyans are in a gathering. We Filipinos I know to be very held back and yet as we would call it back home, mababaw ang kaligayahan (easily pleased or entertained). Unlike westerners we Pinoys don’t usually give a standing ovation when overwhelmed by a performance, but you can win our hearts by slaps-stick gags, a good singing voice, or even a corny joke. Libyans on the other hand,  I observed are very keen to participate, like how they would match their claps to the beat of the music, or mimic sounds that they hear said or sung on the program. And by that you can easily tell if they are amused or not, simply by how much they participate as an audience. When they are with you, they are with you loudly…

 

 

 

First Iftar

A few weeks ago, JG and I were invited to Iftar. It is what they call in Muslim tradition getting together to eat at sunset as they end their day of fasting during Ramadan season. I have been looking forward to being invited to one ever since Ramadan began here in Libya, curious to be part and experience a different kind of culture.

The funny thing was I didn’t know I was already invited to one until we got there. One of JG’s staff often invites us to dinner at his house, which JG and I love coming to because Ali’s wife is an excellent cook. Unfortunately for JG, he didn’t marry the Martha Stewart type so even though he doesn’t complain, I know he is a bit frustrated that I am not skilled in the culinary field (I make a mean Kilawin [a Filipino dish of raw fish/meat marinated in vinegar and spices] but JG is not a big fan of uncooked food). This is precisely why we love coming over at Ali’s house for dinner since we get to eat good cooking once in a while. Anyway, I forgot that Ali mentioned one time that a group of Filipino Muslims take turns in hosting a weekly Iftar during Ramadan and his turn was coming up. So I thought that we were coming over to another regular dinners with a handful of people and friends.

When we got there, a bunch of people were outside his driveway and inside the garage was a long table full of food. My first thought was I wasn’t dressed properly for this. One of the things I keep in mind while here in Libya is the way I dress. Despite the fact that Libyans are not as strict with enforcing Islam appropriate dress codes compared to other Muslim countries; I still try to dress less conspicuously. Back home I’m more of a walking shorts/skirt, regular shirt and flipflops kind of girl, but as a sign of respect to their culture (and to JG’s position as well, I guess) I try to be more mindful with the way I dress. When in Rome…

Had I known it was going to be a sort of religious gathering I wouldn’t have decided to dress casually in a simple blouse and khaki shorts. Nervously I sat beside one of the guests that I had met a number of times and asked what the occasion was, and that was when she explained that it was Ali’s turn to host Iftar. I felt a little embarrassed with my outfit, paranoid that they might think of me as disrespectful. If they did, I will never know as everybody was probably too polite to mention it.

The evening was like any normal get-togethers with good food and some mingling except for some things that were new to me. For example the carpets placed in one corner, the eastern part of the house where they can pray/meditate; and of course the absence of pork and alcohol.

But my favorite part was when all the women were asked to go upstairs while they wait for sundown so we can eat. I think the last time I experienced being segregated from the boys was when I was in school whenever we line up during flag ceremony. As I sat in the room filled with these veiled women, I thought of how Muslim women have always fascinated me. Before I thought it must be hard for them to be bound to their beliefs. I am no stranger to religious do’s and don’ts, still I thought that it must be hard to be restricted even to something as basic as what to wear. Attending a couple of Muslim weddings the bride is hidden somewhere while a male family member is the one who faces the groom in the altar. Someone once told me that only their husbands can see what their burkas cover. And then of course there is the widely known fact that Muslim men are allowed to marry as many women as they can support. I found those things a bit degrading and unfair for a woman.

But when we came here I was finally able to get a closer and more personal insight of Muslim women. I realized that the things I thought restricts them are the really what sets them apart and gives them the edge amongst today’s women. They are no different from me and most women; mothers, wives, sisters, daughters-in-laws, career oriented, and great cooks. But what makes them special are their beliefs, as it is a big part of who they are as a woman. Their husbands revere them as any couple would, some even more than most non-Muslim couples I know. Here in Libya, they say you ought to be extra respectful to women, because you can get a lot of trouble if you don’t. They are given extra care in traffic, lines, and any interaction. And as for their burkas, if anything it makes them mysteriously beautiful. Today, a lot of women give too much away with how they dress or what they reveal and the carelessness of their actions, but with Muslim women you would have to really get to know them in order to really meet the woman and the person beneath the veil.

I look forward to more cultural lessons and experiences while we are here. Ramadan Kareem!

Solitary Satisfaction

I think I finally found my spot. It’s a shade under a small tree in our front lawn. It’s nothing much, but it’ll have to do.

Even before we came here I was already looking forward to finding a nice place where I can go to everyday; somewhere I can read, or write or maybe just think. I was hoping that it would be somewhere on a beach maybe, a nice park, or perhaps I can set up a nice table in front of the window of our would be house, the one with the best view of our neighborhood. Unfortunately, things didn’t turn out the way I expected them to be. It’s too hot to go to the beaches, and parks are not close enough to go to especially when you don’t have a car like me. As for the window, we found a nice little house that’s absolutely perfect except that windows are placed too high up;l and even if they weren’t there isn’t much of a view to see.

Of course you might be wondering what it is with me and finding a spot. The earlier parts of my childhood we lived at my grandma’s house which had a backyard that had a small tree in the middle. It was just a regular Alatiris tree, high enough for a six year old to climb on or play around at. It was the occasional venues of my tea parties with my stuffed dolls and imaginary friends. Even though I couldn’t read yet, I was already fascinated with story books back then and it was there were I pretended to read my books out loud, knowing the story by heart as read to me by mom at night. And where I would normally run to when playmates weren’t being nice to me. As I think about it now, it was the perfect place for me. An apartment building was eventually built on the backyard for practical reasons (extra source of income) and we moved to a compound where most of my dad’s side of the family lived. Our apartment was in between two others, and behind three other apartments. We did have a big window but since we were at the back, all you could see was the big gray backside wall of the apartment in front of us.

A few years, and a fire incident later, we moved back into our old house. The big house was already remodeled to accompany a very big nuclear family. I did find a nice spot, which was on the window pane of the room upstairs. The breeze was great up there and I could see as far as the end of our street, much the same as on top of my childhood tree. But I couldn’t really sit so long on the narrow window, as it hurts my butt; and really relaxing isn’t an option since concentration is necessary so as to avoid falling two stories down.

By then I was already in college, then started working, and eventually married JG. So there wasn’t really any more time to sit around and relax. But now that I am but a humble stay-at-home wife, I have nothing but. Except for maintaining the house, I don’t have much of a hobby. Even with 4000 channels to choose from via satellite TV, anyone would want to go outside once in a while. And as I wrote in the beginning, my ideal places are not that easy to go to.

Maybe in a few years when I am more familiar with Tripoli, I can go out, broaden my horizon, and find some other place where I can sit and relax. Some place like our backyard when I was little that can offer me some solitary satisfaction. Until then my little shade under the tree in my front yard is fine for me. Again it isn’t much, but it’ll have to do.

 

My little spot

Ramadan Blues

Currently experiencing my first Ramadan here in Libya, and I wish I could tell you that it has been an enriching experience for me. All I can tell you is that if there was not much recreational activity during regular days, there is much less now. But of course I can understand that Ramadan is their tradition as a Muslim country and I respect that. It’s just that it is much harder to do some things now since most businesses are closed during the day, and only opens around 9 PM.

Since JG and I have yet to get our own car (and I must say that having one is something of a necessity here, I believe), we either have to walk to the nearest grocery or must be at the mercy of embassy staff to drive us around. We usually go with JG’s boss’ household staff on Saturdays when she does the grocery, but since its Ramadan I wonder how we are going to go about that? It would be nice to get a chance to see Tripoli at night, especially during Ramadan.

Here’s a link that best describes Libya as they celebrate Ramadan this year:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/pm/2008/09/michael_buchanan_is_in_libya_a.shtml

The Bulgarian Beach of Tripoli

So we were finally able to go to the beach. A few fridays ago, JG and I went to the Bulagrian beach.

 

I’m not sure if the beach is owned by a bulgarian, or was established by one, but it was good because that specific shore of Tripoli is exclusive for foreigners like me.

See in regular Libyan beaches, there are certain customs since this is a Muslim country. For example, women still swim in their burkas, which is why I was a bit afraid that I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the beaches here if I have to go there in slacks and long sleeves. Thankfully they do not expect that from non-Muslims females or again foreigners, like me here in Libya. However, pinays I’ve talked to tell me that me that they often find themselves conscious in regular swimwears when in regular beaches. And if you were the kind of person who isn’t shy, you would find yourself the center of Libyan’s extra attention when in their beaches.

Which is why, it was great to have to visit the Bulgarian beach where you are free to dress more freely. In the entrance you can see a sign that says that single men or women are not allowed in, especially locals. They say that if you come alone you’ll have to prove that you are married, so coming as a group is always advised. Also if you’re a shutter happy like JG is, don’t bother. You will be reprimanded when someone spots you taking pictures. It’s not illegal (they won’t arrest you or take your camera) you are just not encouraged to take pictures, especially shots close to the shore. I think it’s so that some of the women won’t feel so conscious with strangers taking pictures everywhere.

However I must say that I found myself missing Philippine beaches. Back home, beach trips are usually spent playing on the shore, snorkling for shells, taking memorable pictures. But it wasn’t the same. It was so hot that day, you couldn’t spend 10 seconds standing in the sand outside any shade. Our beach tents were about fifty paces away from the water, so I had to run everytime I go in the water and back. The sand really burns your feet, if you walk slowly so running is your only option. The water felt great but there wasn’t a shell in sight or under water, which ruined snorkling. And as mentioned picture taking is frowned-upon.

In addition, the shower areas where you can change or get cleaned up were not exactly sanitary. So I spent the rest of the scorching afternoon eating (like a true Pinoy)  until I got dried, changed, and showered when I got home.  Oh, and due to the circumstances mentioned, JG did not bother to swim, and just sat all day. (He’s not a big fan of beaches anyway).

I did went back to swim once and while, like I said, the water was great! At least I there was that.

I also enjoyed the company we came in. It’s a group of Filipinos who bonded over tennis, and organized a small tournament amongst themselves. It was also in memory of their friend who also loved playing tennis and passed away last year. Since it was summer, they decided to hold their awarding ceremonies in the beach. JG and I mostly just sat, watched, and listened but as we did I found myself having fun just doing so. It kind of reminded me of a regular Filipino clan, holding their reunion in a beach. Except they weren’t related, but if you didn’t know them you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.  That’s how close they were with each other, just like family.

All in all it wasn’t so bad. I guess I just expected so much, or maybe I just got used to beaches back at home. I am however still willing to come bach. I love beaches, and any beach is okay with me.

The National Artist Award Massacre (God Help Us)

I am not an expert when it comes to art, but like many others, I appreciate it and believe that it is a matter of taste. But I do however have some thoughts about Carlo J. Caparas winning the National Artist Award.

Carlo J. Caparas

As for the visual arts category, again I am no expert. But what the artists that are protesting the award are saying is simple. They know Caparas didn’t draw any of his comics, and it is because he did not draw the supposed art that he is being sited for, that he is not deserving of the title. If he has conscience he shouldn’t accept the award, or might I suggest that he at least turn the spotlight on the guys who actually drew the comics for him. JG says that he is now running around holding presscons and interviews with a bunch of his drawings in tow. I saw a video streaming of him in a presscon going on and on about how the elitistas cannot accept someone who is poor and is accepted by the masses. Again, they don’t care where you came from, they are boycoting you because you did not do what are you being awarded for. It’s like winning a race when you had others to run for you.

Now him being hailed a national artist in film, I was really irritated. I do not know where to begin in citing how much he doesn’t deserve the award. His films are so bad even the titles sucks. I don’t even think President Arroyo has seen his films. I urge her to do so, maybe she’ll change her mind once she does. I bet you she will. 

Poster of one of Caparas' movies complete with infamous sub-title

And don’t think that I haven’t seen his movies. I was once forced to see the Vizconde Massacre film in a bus (where most B films are shown), and it was one of the worst hour and a half of my life. I couldn’t get out, and I couldn’t sleep on it because all the “Wag Po!” yelling and screaming kept me from doing so. I didn’t get the movies’ sub-title until I saw the film, because I suddenly heard myself saying “God help us…please let the movie be over”.

One of Caparas’ tabloid writer supporter defended him and said that more Filipinos watched Caparas’ movies compared to the movies directed by the late great Lino Brocka. Sure, Caparas’ films were blockbuster hits, but just because a lot of people went to see it doesn’t mean its critically acclaimed (same reason people watch slasher films). And besides Lino Brocka’s films are being remastered and digitized, its DVD copies still sold at special shops retailed at around 200php or more. Once every few years they hold special screenings for Brocka films to celebrate his genius and his art. I haven’t had the unfortunate pleasure of seeing Caparas’ massacre films in any buses lately, but I saw a worn-out VCD copy of The Vizconde Massacre film on the discount section of a rental store, tag priced at 50php. That should say something right? Even though more people saw Caparas’ films?

I am no expert, but the thing I like best about art is that when something beautiful is made, you cannot help but be amazed at the talent of the person who made it. And the worst part about this issue is that there were others who are more deserving but were ignored. Someone said to me that they might as well have given it to Caparas since there really isn’t anyone else to give it to, but this is not the case. And even if it was, you don’t lower the standards just because nobody else can reach it? Otherwise the prestige of being able to is lost since everybody else can have it. And in turn no one will strive to aim higher.

On Cory Aquino and Her Passing

I had come back from buying something from the store, when JG told me that former President Corazon Aquino had passed away. News of her battling Colon cancer has already been circling the country even before JG and I flew to Libya, I even remember skimming through a “Pray for Cory” website but despite the overwhelming concern and many prayers for her recovery, she went.

I’m not a big Cory follower (I don’t have much interest in politics in general), I was after all two years old when she held office in Malacanang, and was eight when she stepped down. During her term as president, all I could remember was that black-outs lasted for hours. And it wasn’t such a big deal to me anyway, since I would be outside playing anyway. I don’t know why though, but I always stumble on articles and TV specials about her and Ninoy Aquino.  So even though I’m not a big government history geek (say compared to JG), I have developed a mild interest on the Aquino’s (excluding Kris Aquino of course; she is a very different story on her own); especially their struggles during the Marcos regime.  And should I am asked to write about my favorite Philippine President, I would most probably write about her, instead of the three most recent Presidents, who took office when I was already mature enough to know their role in my life as a Filipino.

I guess I like her simply because it was brave of Cory to step-up after her husband was assassinated. There could have been many other more experienced politicians and personalities who could’ve done it, but a teacher turned housewife took the responsibility aware of the challenges she would be facing. If it was me in her situation then, I would’ve packed up everything I owned and live in France or somewhere away from the bad memories, to a simpler, more peaceful life. And even though there was still a lot of instability during her presidency, she should still be given, as we say today, props for trying.

And it is hard to ignore how much she loved by many, as we now see in the number of turn outs during her wake. I was watching some parts of her necrological service, and I could not help but cry at the speeches given by people she has known and touched. As I have mentioned, even before she died there have been many who expressed their concern for her health and her battle against such a serious disease as cancer.  I remember thinking then, that God forbid, she did not survive treatment, she would to at least know how much she is loved and appreciated. Unlike many artists, leaders, and personalities who never had that chance. I always hate it when they honor someone after death; I always think that all the tributes would be too late. But that wasn’t the case for President Aquino. By her example, we can all hope that we receive that much love when we are the end of our lives.