Two days ago, I was dealing with a problem with my father and mother so I was constantly on the phone with my siblings trying to figure out our next steps. I was visibly troubled and my wife and daughter noticed.
Out of the blue one night, my daughter (5 yr old) came to me and with a worried look said "Papa, let me hug you." And she just hugged me real tight. She was literally squeezing me and trembling as she used all her strength as if doing so will drive the problem away.
"Everything will be alright, papa." That was the first time she ever comforted me and the first time she hugged me like that. It's a memory I will cherish forever. Later I found out my wife told her to hug me.
I feel like if I list all my faults on paper I might overestimate them. Writing has always been an experience in hyperbole for me, never settling for "average", but "great" and "grand". Everything has to be at the opposite ends of the spectrum. It has to be either "the worst" or "the greatest" thing ever.
The above paragraph is an example of me overestimating. Which goes to show just how much I fear being perceived as average. Everything has to be grandiose, and everyone has to pay attention to what I have to say because I do not deal with "average". Whenever something evokes a feeling deep inside me, it has to matter. I am not impressionable enough to think mundane things are great.
But the truth is, I am an average person. Some people who know me through work or my social circles might think I'm a jack of all trades. I can sing. I can dance if I really want to. I can draw. I can write. I can play the guitar. I can play the drums. But I could not do any of those things at an exceptional level. For every talent I have, there's an invisible self-built barrier that forbids me from further improving in those fields. When I set out to learn something, I start with figuring out the basics. Once I do, I create something at least passable to me - and it's over. I am no longer interested in pursuing the next level because I found that at a certain point of learning something, you begin to encounter a steep slope to get to the next level. I never climb that slope. I meander.
I have climbed a few of those steep slopes in the past, but when I get to the next level I feel as if it wasn't worth the effort. When I start to really specialize in something, I have to dedicate all my time on improving those skills, but at the same time I have to abandon the joy of doing all those other things. It's a bargain I'm not excited about. I frown upon the idea of having to give up something just to be a little bit better at doing another thing. It does not sit well with me. So I stop and regress. I crawl back to being the self-satisfied jack of all trades inhabiting the dust bowl of "casual" and "average"- not bothering to muster up enough effort to climb out of it and be extraordinary. I do wish I could be extraordinary someday, but not today I suppose.
I just got back from seeing Black Panther, feeling underwhelmed and a bit disappointed. It's a good movie with great characters, but suffered from poor visual effects, poor lighting, and an over-abundance of scenes using green screen.
My biggest problem with the movie is why Marvel didn't just shell out enough cash to film it on location in Africa. I found myself being pulled out of suspended disbelief numerous times when the clearly fake landscape of Wakanda is shown on screen. It was blatantly obvious this was filmed in a studio adorned with blue and green screens and I found myself glancing at other people in the theater wondering if anyone bought it. Wakanda itself is a confusing mess and not fully realized. My wife pointed out how it's shown as a metropolis at the start, but when battle breaks out, there's suddenly a vast expanse of desert with no skyscrapers to be found.
Anyway, the movie starts out really safe and felt generic at times but picks up once Killmonger sets foot in Wakanda and challenges T'Challa for the throne. What follows is the best scene in the movie. For the first time, there was real risk and the stakes were high. The one-on-one battle to the death between T-Challa and Killmonger was reminiscent of Achilles and Hector's fight in the movie "Troy".
The female supporting cast was great as well, especially Danai Gurira who played the ever-loyal-to-the-throne general. But this movie would not have been anywhere near as good if not for Michael B. Jordan- who played Killmonger with feverish intensity and charisma, even eclipsing Chadwick Boseman's T'Challa.
While this movie had fake visuals, the performances clearly saved it from mediocrity. But even the otherwise good performances suffered from the poor lighting and CG graphics. There were scenes where actors seemed plastered on a static blurred-out background. For anyone to really enjoy this, you'd have to be okay with the abundance of fake vistas and backdrops.
We arrived in Ormoc, Leyte at 1pm and were immediately ferried to the hospital. There he waited. My dear grandfather, 94 years of age, lying unconscious on the hospital bed, only kept alive by an oxygen tank. His upper body swerved with every labored breath. The large nerves on his neck shifted with every desperate pump of blood from his weak heart. He was holding onto dear life one shallow breath after another as if only to wait for his grandchildren and relatives to arrive and bid him farewell. His eyes were open, but could no longer see. He certainly did not see my waving hand as we arrived in the room. We hoped at least he heard us when we told him how much we loved him and how it was okay to let go.
6:45pm. We were waiting for our food to arrive when his wife (my grandmother) noticed his breaths were getting fainter. She began to panic. She knew death was imminent. She frantically kept glancing at his body for a few moments then finally broke down in tears on my sister's shoulder. The people in the room began praying, and my grandmother managed to compose herself and joined in. A nurse came in and checked his heartbeat with a stethoscope and went out without uttering a word. We understood and continued praying. Another nurse came in to check on him. A few moments later, there was another knock on the door. "Jollibee delivery". Our dinner had arrived and we quickly paid the bill. We sat for a moment, defeated, and - as if to preserve any normalcy in that completely abnormal moment - we began eating what was possibly the saddest Jollibee meal in the world - right next to our dead grandfather. His eyes were still open but began to dry up and become opaque, his mouth agape. The nerves on his neck had finally stopped twitching. He lay completely still and motionless.
There were no formalities in death. There was no ceremonial 'closing of the eyes' like you see in movies, no climactic hug as life slipped away from his body, no music to accompany the somber atmosphere - at least not at the exact moment (Patti Page's "It's A Sin To Tell A Lie" was playing non-stop earlier). But in that quiet and strangely serene moment, there was his daughter, my mother, broken and tired, singing him sweet melodies as his life slowly left his empty husk that bore the scars that come with age; in a world physically cruel to people who overstay. He finally let go.
Ultimately we humans are miserable at death. But my grandfather lived a full life in 94 years. It was a blessed life he shared with his family, his wife, daughters and their families, and he continues to live on through them. He lives on through me and all fond memories of him will remain.
In the wake of what happened in Charlottesville, Trump issues several statements condemning violence from 'all sides'. I was initially enraged and utterly confused how a president could equate racists and human rights advocates on the same level. But after watching this video, I now understand the simpleton mindset of Trump.
I think he tries to mean well to call violence as he sees it on 'both sides'. He probably thinks he is being fair and impartial for doing so. But his immense ignorance of racism, and what the KKK and Nazis stand for is just disturbing for a US president. These groups hold hate rallies against other races and are basically trying to revive the appalling ideologies of their racist predecessors: to discriminate, enslave, and exterminate Jews, Blacks, and other 'inferior' races. To be clear, there is absolutely no such thing as a 'peaceful hate rally'. When you wish slavery, violence, and death upon your fellow human beings, you are going to be met with resistance and ultimately, violence. People need to remember that we fought a world war because of this. Freedom of speech stops when you infringe on the rights of others.
This vast ignorance in Trump's part has emboldened racists across America. They feel represented in the White House when Trump appointed white supremacists to his staff (eg. Steve Bannon, et al); they feel empowered when the White House subsequently tried to legislate laws that imposed discrimination against muslims and other minorities; they have found their voice because the US president has, at this point, effectively vouched and enabled them to assemble and incite hatred and violence, free from intervention from people advocating human rights- or the 'equally violent alt-left' as he ineloquently put it.
In Trump's simple mind, what happened in Charlottesville was just a 'peaceful' rally of the KKK and Nazis protesting the taking down of a confederate statue- a rally that was suddenly and illegally met with condemnation from counter-protesters, with the ensuing chaos resulting to violence 'from all sides'. That is absolutely not what happened. Trump, being the ignorant simpleton that he is, could not comprehend the staggering significance of taking action against bigotry, racism, and hate during that day, and for that he is clearly unfit to lead any country, let alone the United States. It cannot be stressed enough: when anyone uses and claims 'free speech' to infringe on the rights of others, they have forfeit it.
Let me be as objective as possible. Pop music is actually slowly becoming better. You should take a look at 90s and early 2000s pop music, right at the very edge before the MTV generation went under. The industry still had so much money they could mass market worthless acts into any top ten countdown. Remember boy bands? They literally had factories producing these groups that could barely sing as long as they can look cute on MTV (Blue, A1, Code Red, Boyzone, O-Town, Boyz in da Hood, Westlife.... *cringe*).
Sure the mainstream was much more diverse back then, and some really good acts were in the limelight, but they did not outweigh the pop garbage that was continually spewed by record labels during that era. Once piracy started killing off pop platforms like MTV, it slowly disenchanted brainwashed kids into normalcy. Money quickly became scarce, and the music industry suddenly became nonlucrative. Pop music eventually thinned out, weaned into a select few pop artists as the remaining record labels carefully select their artists with much more stringent criteria. For one, pop artists these days can arguably and demonstrably sing! In fact, I'm actually having a hard time naming a current pop artist who can't sing. Oh, Chainsmokers, but they're producers first and foremost at least. But Britney? Madonna? Jessica or Ashlee Simpson?
*This was an impulsive reaction upon finding the video below, without actually watching it.
Yesterday I watched an episode of the Coke Studio series featuring the indie-folk group The Ransom Collective together with Gabby Alipe and John Dinopol of the now defunct hard rock outfit Urbandub. The series is basically about putting two completely different acts together, locking them up in a room, and forcing them to collaborate to create a new, original song. Both bands are also given a chance to choose a song from each other's catalog and do their own renditions. Overseeing the project is Raimund and Buddy from Eraserheads.
The Ransom Collective (TRC) is somewhat still a 'new' band despite having released several songs a few years back. The guys of Urbandub, being the seniors of the bunch, quickly acknowledged this, calling TRC the 'new breed' and stressing the need to scale back and take a back seat in an attempt not to ball-hog the creative process. However, this only seemed to put tremendous pressure on the guys in TRC - specifically the singer because as a result, he's unintentionally pushed to the limelight to become the head writer by default. There's nothing more terrifying than to write music and immediately have it subjected to scrutiny by your newfound peers. Thankfully, the Urbandub guys, while being supportive throughout, stepped up and went into a much more hands-on approach midway, and both bands managed to create a slightly awkward, TRC-ish track with distorted guitars.
The Ransom Collective, Gabby Alipe and John Dinopol of Urbandub and producers Buddy Zabala and Raimund Marasigan.
The creative process, in general and not just in music, is both scary and amusing. It's hard enough to express your ideas to your own band mates, but to have this strange band - these outsiders - tag along and actually see you go through the motions as you create something from scratch is daunting. No one can speak for TRC's singer, but most writers are hard enough on themselves. You're constantly looking for honest feedback while frightened to ask for it, and you're always questioning yourself. Am I doing it right? Should I do this instead? You present an idea and begin reading the people in the room. How are they reacting? Their body language? The worst thing that could happen is to receive condescending pseudo-compliments like "it's nice". You know, the kind that doesn't go overboard with praise but also not say "it's average" so your feelings won't get hurt. It's one thing to hear your closest friend say "it sucks", but to have strangers say it is another. It's nice. In the worst case scenario, it means "your work sucks but I don't want to be a douche so let's just get this over with."
As for the covers, TRC did "First of Summer" while Cables and Space, er, Urbandub did "Fools". TRC's version of "First of Summer" was cute. It was adorned with the usual TRC embellishments like violins, xylophones, and vocal harmonizing that could make Lalay proud (former Urbandub bassist, back-up vocalist).
Urbandub's take on "Fools" was a highlight though. They managed to capture the dreamy aesthetic and the spirit of the original song while adding a new layer of hard rock to it. The original song itself was already remarkable, so it turned out to be quick work for Gab, John, and the rest of Cables and Space. Raimund and Buddy couldn't contain their excitement while witnessing the Urbandub alums at work, and harped praise over how "Cebuano musicians work". (Though I doubt the renowned work ethic from Urbandub and its ilk is still thriving in their hometown, since the alternative rock scene in Cebu is pretty much dead - along with its live bars. In its place - VisPop. But a rant for a different time.)
Overall, this series is fun to watch. On paper, it's a chance for listeners to hear their favorite musicians collaborate, but really - it's practically a reality show of sorts for writing musicians. Art, in general, is a delicate process. It's deeply personal, and it's hard to come out and share something personal to the world. While you're still in the writing process, it's sacrilege to show strangers your unfinished work, and you only ever show your drafts to people you trust. In this show though, musicians are forced to do the opposite. Regardless if you're working alone or with a new group of people, you will need lots of encouragement, honesty, and just an overall supportive environment to keep you pushing forward. Naysayers have no place in the room. Literally.
What If - I've watched this several times now and I still can't see the connection between the title and the story. I heard it was previously named "The F Word", which I think made more sense, but it was later changed probably for marketing reasons - not that there's still any taboo in the obvious nod to the infamous cuss word used as euphemism for "friends". Which is ironic because if anything, this movie is devoid of sex, except maybe for some hard smooching from its side characters.
This is the first movie I've ever watched of Zoe Kazan (haven't watched any of her past films at that point) and of Daniel Radcliffe post-Harry Potter. Daniel did a pretty good job as the romantically jaded Wallace, a guy who's still reeling from a messy break-up a year earlier, spending most of his time grieving alone on the rooftop of his sister's house listening to past voice calls from his ex. For the first few minutes of the movie, I could still see Daniel as Harry Potter in a different movie, but the illusion quickly vanished as it went on, especially when he meets and begins his friendly banter with Chantry (played by the wonderful Zoe Kazan).
I'm actually surprised to find out that Daniel has comedic chops, not so much for his rapid-fire delivery of the witty script, but more so his comic timing at certain scenes- like the one where he's irked at being called an "asshole" by Chantry whilst completely naked and shivering at the beach in a cold night, or in the climactic moment where he was rejected by an angry Chantry after confessing his feelings for her, claiming "it's not like you caught me bathing in orphan blood or masturbating in your kitchen!". Those really had me in stitches.
While this movie has its laughs, it's actually quite pragmatic and grounded. There is no villainous boyfriend out to spoil our hero's advances. The conflict mostly arises within Chantry, the other protagonist in this movie. In all honesty, a case can be made that this movie revolves around and is actually about her - how she deals with this budding new relationship with Wallace, and how she balances this new relationship alongside her long-term relationship with her boyfriend, Ben, all while having a strong sense of morality while trying to be socially happy. That said, Zoe Kazan is a delight in this role.
Like Wallace, Chantry is sort of a loner, but while Wallace is quite transparent to the audience, Chantry is not. She's complicated and layered, even secretive. While Wallace has his best friend (Alan) to share his misery and anguish for being friend-zoned, Chantry has no one, not even her sister (who's busy with her own agenda with Wallace). Chantry is seemingly imprisoned by her relationship with Ben. She is left alone to her thoughts - and the film expresses her loneliness through symbolism, aptly intertwined with her profession as an animator. We see a flying winged caricature of herself throughout the film, always a direct reflection of her feelings and state of mind.
In all situations she takes the moral high ground, always remembering that she has a boyfriend and she and Wallace are just friends. This all comes crumbling down on that night on the beach. In her mind, she thought she could get away with a 'friendly' naked night swim with Wallace if she played her cards right. This immediately backfired when their friends caught on, stole their clothes, left them with nothing but a sleeping bag for the night, exposing the fact that she and Wallace are being egged on as a potential couple, and exposing her - despite the careful steps she took with Wallace - that they knew she could no longer deny her feelings for him. She was angry at the situation, at their friends, at Wallace - calling him an asshole as previously noted - but she was angrier at herself. She had clearly crossed the line and her own boundaries as a girl in an existing relationship. This scene was brilliant and also exposes the difference between the mindsets of the two leads. Wallace remained playful, but failed to empathize with Chantry at that moment. Conflict ensues. She goes home devastated, with a look on her face only Zoe Kazan could pull off, and flies to Dublin to be with Ben.
It's a delight to dissect Chantry. And yes, I could see other actors taking on the role. After all, this film is at its core a light-hearted rom-com, but I doubt they'd be as affective as Zoe Kazan. I've since watched more of her movies (most notably Ruby Sparks) and I think she's an incredible actress. This film also proved to me that Daniel Radcliffe could play other characters besides Potter. What once was an uneasy feeling when I see him in a leading role that isn't a Harry Potter movie now feels natural. And it helps that he's adventurous enough to take on more challenging and diverse roles (most recently Swiss Army Man). All in all, this film is enjoyable as a light-hearted comedy, but goes deep if you want it to.
Whoa. This looks like another teen movie, but actually is one of the best coming-of-age movies I've ever seen. This literally starts with the main character asking her teacher for help or she'll kill herself. I scoffed and muttered "not another whiny teen angst movie" but then a few minutes further you quickly realize the many layers of rhetoric this movie utilizes that in hindsight, her uttering the words "kill myself" felt more interesting than annoying. It kind of reminded me of Juno - if that movie didn't painstakingly try to be witty. I have to laud the script of this film. It felt really minimalist - not really using big words or speeches but instead relying on really simple dialogue you hear every day and I found it immensely interesting to see those words being used in the oftentimes awkward and silly repartee between the characters.
The 'family resolution' right at the end felt abrupt I must say, and is one of the weakest parts of the movie. I never wanted the momentum from the first half of the film to end, I just wanted it to go on and on - particularly the exchanges between Woody Harrelson and Hailee Steinfeld's characters (first time seeing her but I thought she was phenomenal in this). Woody's lines in particular had me in stitches. Oftentimes, you feel the momentum of the film go in one direction, but abruptly pulls you out of your expectations and throws you a curve ball. The irony in most of Woody's and Hailee's scenes is there's actual wisdom in the not-so wise words exchanged between them. This movie doesn't even seem to try to be wise.
Overall, I felt this deserved more than the 1 hr 40 minutes allotted time it had to come to a better resolution between our troubled main character and her family. I could probably watch a TV series based on these characters. Other than that, this movie aced it when it came to the script. Silly, hilarious, authentic. 9/10
I must say one of my biggest frustrations in teleseryes, in primetime or otherwise, is the way they completely underestimate the power of music. The producers only think of music as "branding" - you could even make a case that it's a blatant attempt to brainwash its audience by repeatedly playing the same track over and over until such time whenever people hear the song it immediately registers in their preconditioned minds: "oh, it's TIMY time." Even the title of the series is the title of the song! It's the complete opposite of art. It's advertising.
Personally, I think its an insult to use music in such a sleazy way, and such a waste of the potential music could play in the overall quality of a TV series. In OTWOL for example, it pains me to hear "say you'll never gooooo" for the umpteenth time when a more effective song could have been easily selected for the scene. And I know the producers, including the actors themselves, could have easily suggested the perfect song for a specific scene... but it never happens.
That said, I have to bring up Forevermore. While it suffers the same problems with OTWOL with regards to its soundtrack, I have to commend it for particularly using music to great effect in one pivotal scene in its finale episode, using "Sana'y Muli" by Pepe Herrera:
Obviously it would be costly to acquire permission to use a song like "Sparks" by Coldplay in a scene where the hero longs for his love, but why import when we have home-grown talent? Indie music is particularly effective for rom-coms and the indie music scene in the Philippines is a gold mine! Assuming the artists aren't uptight about using their own songs on a primetime TV show (which by the way is a direct side effect of the way these teleseryes have been reducing music to mere commercial clips for the show), the music supervisor could easily pitch and tap songs from Pinoy artists like Johnoy Danao, Clara Benin, or Reese Lansangan among others to add several layers and vivid colors to a scene - and most importantly only play them ONCE. The possibilities are endless. Not only will they be improving the overall quality of the series, but it would also give deserving Pinoy musicians much needed exposure.
Let me end this post with a song from Johnoy Danao:
One could argue the best thing that's ever happened to local TV happened not too long ago - October 2015 to be exact. Twitter was alit, records broken, and in its wake the world was left wondering: What the hell is Aldub? Now that the fanfare has slightly subsided, and now that we've seen the lengths Eat Bulaga and its famed Kalyeserye segment are willing to traverse to guarantee Aldub's longevity, I, a forever closet fanatic, am finally out (hence this post). Surprise, surprise, I am an Aldub fan - which explains... nothing. Or a lot?
To the (presumably very few) uninitiated: Alden Richards + Yaya Dub = AlDub.It's basically what most Filipinos refer to as a 'love team', a pairing of two local celebrities preferably (and eternally) male and female, ordained by one of only two networks in heavy monopoly of broadcast television in the Philippines with the sole purpose of melting the gullible hearts of the average Filipino; because we are admittedly a bunch of idealistic love-addicted hopeless romantics. The thing about Aldub is, while they are by all means a network-backed 'love team', in its heyday none of it seemed manufactured. Sure, it needed the guiding hand and gentle coaxing of Eat Bulaga's producers and hosts, but in hindsight it was essentially a glorious accident borne out of spontaneity. Yaya Dub's very existence can attest to that.
Here she is. Forgot to take her meds again.
Entry to EB
A love team was pretty much far from the minds of Eat Bulaga's producers when they started doing casting calls for a new segment in their program. The bill: a comedian who had an affinity for Dubsmash. Enter Maine Mendoza, a 20 year old fresh graduate with zero experience in showbiz that had a knack for lip syncing as well as contorting her face in front of the camera; who also enjoyed a bit of success on Youtube, Facebook, and other social media outlets. Her persona screamed: I am no Anne Curtis and most certainly not love team material. I am however something you can laugh at. Want to see my teeth? For awhile, she was just that, doing what she did best, apron and all. But that would change in just a matter of days.
Alden and the Pabebe Wave
Upon discovering Maine had a crush on Alden, the show's producers immediately capitalized by scheming an 'ambush' on Maine: Alden sits in the audience with a camera pointed at him and once Yaya was preoccupied doing one of her dubsmashes, Alden's video feed is skillfully propped up on the opposite screen. She glances to the monitor and finds her crush watching her - rather amusingly. The rest is history. Maine desperately tries to revert back to Yaya Dub mode, but it's too late. The trap has been sprung and it's too much for her to handle.
As a testament to her natural ability to think on her feet, she eventually recovers from Alden's laser stares by sending shy-girl flirtatious ogling back his way - as well as launching several Pabebe Waves in the process, much to the delight of the hosts and live audience. Aldub's status as a love team has now been minted 'official'. The two continue to share a flirty, hey-I-just-met-you-semi-awkward back and forth amidst the constant teasing, and the audience gobbles it all up.
The show's producers were quite happy with the result of their little experiment. They would continue to do the bit on each episode; always with Alden in the studio and Yaya in whichever barangay she and JoWaPao were situated at. Interest in the show continued to grow with much of its appeal revolving around the unscripted nature of their exchanges, the subsequent kilig, and the insatiable hope that one day these two would finally meet in person.
Yaya Dub faints
Yaya Dub faints.
While the show was steadily gaining new fans each day, it wasn't quite at the level of fame it enjoys today. Tamang Panahon was certainly at the pinnacle, but if there's a single episode that could be credited for laying the groundwork for the show's eventual launch to the stratosphere, it was the YaKie Wedding where Yaya Dub faints (apparently from exhaustion). Like a lot of people, I only ever started hearing about 'Aldub' from the buzz this specific episode generated. The word of mouth went: This one character, Yaya Dub, was so excited to see her long-time crush for the first time that she fainted from the excitement. While this info was erroneous, I was intrigued regardless. Who exactly is this Yaya Dub?
The episode brought in a considerable, viral-like amount of new viewers; mostly out of curiosity. Coupled with Maine's Instagram post from the hospital - shrugging the whole incident aside in her usual clownish humor with all traces of worry and melodrama swept under the rug - she caught many people by surprise. Many expected a politically correct P.S.A. but were instead treated to a laugh. The brunt of curious onlookers who wanted to take a peek seemingly became Yaya Dub fans overnight, further adding to the already strong Aldub Nation fandom headcount. She was anything but a traditional Filipina celebrity, and people seemed to love it.
Funny to think the Aldub phenomenon found its stride out of people's morbid curiosity of seeing someone faint on live TV rather than in the show's actual merits. It all worked out well for the show in the end since they managed to keep those figures up by continuing to deliver the goods it was already known for. The show would eventually reach several milestones and landmark episodes during its continued rise: The First Meeting, The First Date, The Date at the Mansion, and then there was Tamang Panahon...
Yaya Dub vs Maine Mendoza
As interest in her grew, many people began wondering who the person behind Yaya Dub was. A self-proclaimed introvert, Maine Mendoza doesn't really see much of herself in the character she plays. She claims she and Yaya share the same humor but only when she's with family and friends. She mostly keeps to herself behind the scenes according to JoWaPao and the Kalyeserye crew; and only transforms into the loud and animated Yaya when the cameras start rolling. She loves to write. She keeps a blog and is surprisingly open and honest about her private life. She also claims to have incredibly low self-esteem, which is hard to believe coming from someone who plays probably the most flamboyant character on TV in recent memory.
Despite her many insecurities, she manages to suck it up and deliver the Yaya Dub goods on a daily basis. Being an introvert myself, I could barely stand in front of a crowd and pretend to care without feeling sick to my stomach. Which leads me to wonder if she only has a mild case of introversion, or maybe she just has balls bigger than mine. That's essentially the irony that is Maine Mendoza, a Jekyll-Hyde of sorts in Philippine media, and it adds to her mystic.
The clown. (photo from her Instagram)
Besides her already proven comic skills, a huge part of what I think really captivated audiences is the fact that she is an underdog. She wasn't bred to become a celebrity. She doesn't look the part - even preferring to have ugly photos taken of herself. She's also quite straightforward in interviews, shying away from lip service and preferring to answer with as much honesty as possible. Lastly, she doesn't take herself too seriously. She does her best to downplay her popularity and continues to live a normal life among family and friends. While she resides in an industry filled with fictitious and fake people, she rises above the muck because she reminds us too much of ourselves: real, unfiltered, sometimes brave, oftentimes fearful, confused, and full of love. She is basically us. That's why she is loved by many.
My only real worry now that time has passed and the skyline of any major Philippine city is littered with Aldub billboards is the smile I now see; one inviting both those familiar of my face and those clueless. I have a stabbing fear that these smiles are slowly becoming cosmetic for the purpose of selling a product. But I suppose the subject of money isn't really as ugly as I once thought it was. The truth is, we all need it - and I'll be damned if I don't get paid for the lack of sleep this has brought me since I met him. The day to day real work I'm okay with, but navigating the shit-storm fame produces is on an entirely different level of expertise I'm not qualified for. Fan wars, Twitter wars, Love Team wars, Network wars - I wish I could just majestically wave my hand in front of all the superficial nonsense and all will be well. But no, it's not that easy. Something inside me has to shut these out. I could probably do this several ways, but I've yet to see if I could sustain this new habit without any side effect. I do wish I get to keep my smile. It's one of the few things I hold most dear. I'm starting to worry because I already feel it slipping away.
I am jealousy. People usually avoid me, but you'd be surprised how much I get summoned to do my work.
Take Sammy for instance. She's particularly jealous of this other girl, Dolly. Sammy just found out that Dolly plays a mean flute. Sure, Sammy can play the flute, but you should see Dolly, man. She's a monster.
Now look at Sammy - cleaning the dust bunnies off her prized flute. She stored it in her top cabinet for god-knows-how-long. You'd think she would place it somewhere accessible - like her desk or something. Huh. Now she's playing her go-to song, the one she can complete from start to finish. She's only played it for the millionth time. Look at the hunger in those eyes. Haha. I love it. In a week's time, she will probably learn a couple more songs. Believe me - I've seen it happen too many times. You're welcome, Sammy.
I deal with people like Sammy everyday. They shun and deny me whenever I get talked about in social gatherings, and it hurts my feelings. Nevertheless, I need not do much really. For I know all these fallible minds will eagerly and irritably wave a bittersweet invitation for me later, tomorrow, if not someday. I can wait and I serve all.
The traffic is terrible. Sweat trickles down his forehead as the morning sun defiantly continues to beat down on his face - yet inside him: an anxiety so incapacitating, and a rage boiling relentlessly. It seems there's no end to this long morning unless he just goes through with it. This is it. If I wait any longer, this opportunity will pass.
Trembling, Hans nervously pulls the window down, aims his pistol at the windshield of the black SUV behind him, and pulls the trigger. A wave of gunshots erupts. Shards of glass fly through the air as each successive bullet punches holes through the windshield. It takes a couple more before it shatters. Satisfied but a bit unsure, he stops and waits. The calm that follows is deafening. The surrounding cars lay still for a moment, unable to react, before inching away from the SUV, slowly, one by one.
Hans reluctantly disembarks from his maroon car, pistol still in hand. He cautiously goes over to the SUV to check his handiwork. His target, a man in his forties, is terrified at the sight of him approaching, and to Hans' surprise, the man remains unscathed save for a few scratches. Confused and visibly shaken, Hans finds a bloodied woman in the driver's seat next to the man, lying motionless.
This has been quite an eventful new year's eve. There I was - December 31, 2015 at around 11:45 PM enjoying myself as fireworks begin to light up the night skies, slowly intensifying as the last minutes of 2015 dwindle down to zero. I did my share of producing irresponsible amounts of noise accompanied by clouds of dense suffocating smoke with my 4 sets of lebentador (only donated, by the way). At a distance, I see a neighbor light up the skies with a 10-minute display of fancy fireworks - the likes could rival the ones they have in SM or Ayala - which probably cost him/her around half a million pesos (ugh, some people got money to burn). It's deeply humiliating to be standing in awe of the fancy display of lights while holding cheap, unsafe, and ultimately earth-bound firecrackers. I initially had second thoughts about whether or not I should bother lighting them, but I did and its puniness amused me.
But this post is not about cheap-vs-expensive firecrackers or the new year's eve revelry. This is about a cat. A dead one. Right about the time I lit the last set of firecrackers, I noticed something by the gutter right outside the house. There he was (or a she? I wasn't sure) lying lifeless by the drainage. At first I thought it was a simple case of roadkill - someone had run the poor thing over and left it for dead. But I did not see blood nor guts splattered anywhere. Then I thought this must be some elaborate prank by drunk neighbors visiting houses and throwing carcasses of dead animals by their gates for a laugh. It's the new year after all, and some people think normal rules of etiquette don't apply during these few hours of mayhem. But nope, not the case either.
I tried poking the thing with my slipper - no movement. Tried again, just to be sure (I had no plans of starting the year with rabies). Still no movement. I poked its tail with my fingers... and again... now twiddling it. Still no movement. I tried looking at its face. Its eyes were wide open with a bit of glimmer in them, and the carcass looked fresh - no odor, no ants nor anything feasting upon it. I was now sure this poor thing died only moments earlier, and I had to move it before it starts emanating an ungodly stink. I wasn't excited to get my hands on a fairly large dead and decomposing mammal right before the obligatory new year's eve meal, but I had no choice. I squeamishly grabbed and lifted the thing by its tail (by the way, it was surprisingly heavy; and its limbs were already stiff), hauled it across the road to a nearby cliff and threw it down below. Minutes later, I washed my hands and ate hotdog on a bun - with tomato ketchup.
It's now around 20 hours since our paths crossed (me and the dead cat, that is) and I still can't stop thinking about what caused its death. My best guess is it was probably poisoned from rummaging through our neighbor's trash - which was several yards away from the crime scene. Or maybe it was bitten by a poisonous snake (which is even worse). The CCTV footage was no help - it only showed the cat's last moments before death. The cat definitely came from the neighbor's heap of trash- it hastily ran from it and right to our front gate (9:31 PM). It then began its dance of death - squirming, crawling. Very spastic at first but gradually slowing down to a halt. It took 12 minutes before it finally succumbed.
The video footage can be seen below:
To the cat:
I am deeply sorry you had to perish so close to the new year (December 31, 2015 at 9:43 PM) and I can't help but notice you were alone when you did. I hope you are running freely in cat heaven by now, rummaging through heavenly trash with your friends without any danger of being bitten by those darned poisonous snakes. I'm sorry that you had to endure ten minutes of agony. Honestly, if I found you spazzing out, I would've been too much of a chicken to do anything anyway. But I hope you find comfort that in an ideal world - where I'm unafraid of untamed rabid animals - I would've euthanized you by uh... I don't know. Strangling you? (There weren't any shovels nearby.)
I know it's useless to cry over spilled milk. Perhaps you just had to go out the way you did. I hope I wasn't too brash and insensitive by just throwing your carcass down the cliff like that (I was panicking). I hope your fall was softened by the thick bushes below. And finally, I hope your decomposing body provided much needed sustenance to the various insects and critters that inhabit the vicinity close to your grave - thereby completing the circle of life.
What I'm trying to say is it's almost like I'm writing to spend time with her. Who? The girl. The one I'm writing... I go to sleep at night just waiting to get to my typewriter again so I can be with her. It's like... It's like I'm falling in love with her. That's wonderful. No it's not. I can't fall in love with a girl I wrote. Why not? Because she's not real! Isn't she? No. Are you sure? Yes! She's a motherfucking product of my imagination!
The Fantasy
If you haven't seen the movie Ruby Sparks, you have to go see it. This particular exchange between the main character, Calvin, and his shrink was so compelling. I'm more so amused with the shrink's reaction - why can't you fall in love with a girl you wrote? Why isn't it okay to do so? Followed by the quick retort: because she's not real. The irony about the whole thing is, people do it all the time. They fall in love with their own imaginations and the idea of the "perfect person".
The thing is, it's become quite the phobia for people who've ventured into idealizing love at least once in their lives. They've rewired themselves not to make the same mistake twice, or else risk summoning the familiar world of confusion and, ultimately, heartache all over again. Once they feel themselves being pulled into this wormhole, they stop, take a step back, re-evaluate and investigate their emotions further before taking the plunge. It should be real, first and foremost. It has to be.
The shrink's take is amusing though. Why not? Why does it have to be real? What's wrong with fantasy? Vulnerability? Stupidity? Why would you want to miss out on the chance to be confused and miserable? Partaking in it is an opportunity to celebrate life as it is joyful and colorful as much as it is a mess of confusion, sadness, and misery. Do it!
We may forever be slaves to the lessons of reality, but it's a fascinating stand regardless - to be consciously masochistic just to feel the elation of falling in love - however misplaced it might be - or perhaps just to feel anything at all.
The inspiration behind this goes way back to the mid 2000s - I was feeling a bit down and begged everyone on a message board to make me an "Uplifting Rock" playlist. A couple of people were kind enough to oblige, one in particular sent me a ZIP file with tracks, ranging from folk to metal, already in order / sorted out.
This is my attempt to return the favor to whoever needs it (appropriately overdue by 10 years or so), albeit in a more aggressive, prog metal form. (This is not going to be everyone's cup of tea, sorry.)
1. Begin - Intervals
2. Where Are The Birds - Good Tiger
3. Sweet Tea - Polyphia
4. Automaton - Intervals
5. Coming For You - Twelve Foot Ninja
6. Next In Line - Dead Letter Circus
7. Language I - Intuition - The Contortionist
8. Erised - Periphery
9. Allure - Skyharbor
10. Wanderlust - Every Time I Die
11. Strawberry Swisher pt. 3 - Dance Gavin Dance
12. Have A Blast - Bulb
13. One Step - Dead Letter Circus
14. Seven Names - TesseracT
15. New Day - Karnivool
Made a Youtube playlist for your convenience. Enjoy.
I once was content and grateful for the gift of vision. I indulged in admiration of whichever was presented before me, though I know not everything is pleasing to the eye. So I'd like to think I hide behind my beloved wall where two holes are conveniently placed for a peeping tom, me, so I could easily veer off into the darkness when I see something I didn't want to see, or see something staring back at me - to avoid the awkwardness. For a brief period of time, this "control" mechanic was more than enough entertainment. I wasn't that picky, and I relatively led a simple life.
But now I hunger for a more sophisticated distraction. I am, after all, human. So I forced the turning of the page of this bored stillness to a much lively and interesting curiosity. I now stand before a world governed not by sight, but by touch. The touch of curiosity, fascination, and a desire well-thought of. One hand over the flames of an exquisite candle, my Loch Ness monster, I feel it sting. Blisters begin to swell, but no matter how many times I tell myself to quit, I remain gullible - because at the end of the day, I know the reward is worth the risk.
My head is at a stand still, and it's utterly depressing. It does its routinary escapes here and there, but nothing of real interest seems to happen anymore... not today nor yesterday. Not ever since my apex. Wait. I think I do remember something... Ah yes, it was a dream I had yesterday.
I dreamt about eating a sandwich with a live rat inside. It tasted funny with the first bite, and I looked inside in confusion. And there he was- the little black critter, laying still like nobody's business, with whiskers on a constant subtle bob. Up-down-up-down -up-down... I thought he was trying to be cute. Without thinking, I jerked the lettuce he seemed to be nestled on and with perfect rodent reflexes, he jumped out of the sandwich and scampered across the room to a nearby door. The little thing startled me so bad that I dropped my defiled sandwich. A few minutes later, I found out I was eating his excrements.
With this quality of entertainment, who needs to think?
- September 23, 2008
At the time, it seemed like an appropriate filler post for a day in dire need of fillers.
I recently found this lying around in my external hard drive. I did this in 2013, but was never able to finish it. I thought I might as well just render the thing and share, lest it be forever lost and forgotten.
Speaking of noodling, I think I've had several other 'projects' in the works that never got to see the light of day. Dub me the unfinisher. I think I've a knack of boring myself when it comes to my own creative pursuits. Or - if I'm being completely honest - I've set pretty ridiculous standards for myself that ultimately only cripples my creativity and my drive to 'share' these things.
Be more forgiving, I've been telling myself for the past few years - and it seems I'm making progress! Because here I am - sharing. :)
