Rizal X

 Ang palabas na ito ay tungkol kay Rizal. Pero hindi rin.

That's how the play started--a caveat flashed in bold letters onto a wrinkled, white tarpaulin that was quickly hauled up. Impressive start. There's something in that opening statement that sounded crisp and intelligent, and brave, more importantly. A show of defiance of some sorts. Or maybe I was just thinking too hard and got carried away. 

 

Unlike most Rizal plays that have already been staged, Rizal X is not about a loyal retelling of his novels. It is neither about his biography nor a classical portrayal of a period I can only describe in images of sepia. It is rather an ambitious effort to bring Rizal to the present -- a move so delicate that it would become painfully corny if not executed with layers of artistic candor and vision. 

Rizal X was a play, and it was also a musical; not the Les Miserables type but bordering towards Rent or Glee, or the Glee Project to be more relevant. There were green, Party Pilipinas laser lights, too, to match the rock and roll. There were occasional scenes of kundiman and an interesting hip hop number and a few fluid, contemporary dances. And oh, there was also a short film--yes, they rolled down the wrinkled, white tarpaulin. And there was so much more: dialogues, monologues, animations and the humorous and witty packets of a standard Dulaang UP production we have grown to enjoy. Of course, there was Rizal. His women. His letters. His dreams. His disappointments. His 150^th birthday. And a huge party.

And there was us. I saw myself in this play. My sister was also there; even my neighbors in the province I used to play with. I remember the pink, cotton candy I played with my tongue when I was a kid. It was smooth, tangy. It disappears, never gets through my esophagus. Was thinking about a lot of things until the actors gestured their final bow. It was active thinking; I reassured myself. 

It was a play about Rizal, pero hindi rin.

I was thinking too hard and got carried away.

Bucket List

How to see a dying a man

With eyes that open less frequently now

In his sleep you witness the throbbing chest

Rises and ebs, rises and ebs.

How to see a dying life

The one you claim your own

You only claim it your own

When you realize it's no one else's,gone.

How to see a dying soul

That dies even before the death of life

Life does not bring it back to life

What happens then if life's gone first?

To see the world in the eyes of death

Is to see death in the eyes of life

How to see a dying man

Through the eyes of a dying soul?

Into the Wild

Loneliness, if only you could talk

What would you tell me?

You are not a person who could say

Hi, hello.

To talk back to me

Yourself you betray

But what if you could

What would you tell me?

Would you tell me to look

At the shadows and

Imagine their real faces?

Oh, shove me away

There is no gravity

Only the intensity to frolick

In your silence.

But if only you could talk

You could also then listen

And capture the spirits

Of the tides, of the sun's rays in arrows.

But I will have to wait

Until you talk back

And I will wait even longer

'til I grow tired of you--loneliness.

And though voice you do not have

You have the perfect memory

To remember that I

Once asked you to talk back to me.

Marley and Me and Me

My younger brother is studying to be a veterinarian. My bestfriend is a veterinarian. I have a cousin who is also a veterinarian. And so I need to mention that I have more than 10 good friends who are all veterinarians. I once filed for a leave of absence from UP to consider studying Veterinary Medicine at the University of Southern Mindanao, a leading institute for those dreaming to be excellent veterinarians.

I never became a veterinarian, and I believe I could have forced myself to become one but my passion for the discipline could only be limited to pure academics. I do not like dogs, or cats, or rabbits and iguanas. I cringe at the sight of someone kissing a dog's mouth wet with rabid saliva. And the smell of a cat's poop, I believe, is equivalent to a thousand rafflesia. I do not understand why some people get pets when there is so much more to do in life.

Chico and Delamar of Monster Radio once had a passionate discussion over this movie called Marley and Me. I remember Chico relating to the listeners that he was all in tears watching the film. Delamar was also in full affirmation with her squeaky yet endearing and intelligent voice. Listening to them while carefully trying not to fall asleep in a packed bus in EDSA somehow got me into a serious dialogue with myself: first issue was the accuracy of the term dialogue when in fact talking to myself would have been a qualified monologue; the other one was that I should try watching that film and find out for myself if I can laugh at or share in their sentiments.

And so today I watched the film, and boy I cried big time.

It is a story of a young couple played by Owen Wilson and Jennifer Aniston. They got themselves Marley when they moved to their South Florida home. They eventually had children and having Marley as a difficult dog to handle only made housekeeping and child rearing extra difficult for the couple. They brought Marley with them when the head of the family had to move to Philadelphia for a new writing job. It was in Philadelphia where Marley died and got burried by the family.

But the story of Marley is not just a word in a sentence, or a sentence in a paragraph. Marley was a labrador that bore witness to the growth of a marriage and a family. He was the first child that brought joy when the couple didn't have one yet. He was the pain of the household when he would cause havoc in the family living room. He was the unnecessary inconvenience for the couple when he would run amuck in an al fresco restaurant. He was the constant odd creature that had come to be part of a family's normal daily affairs. It was not just a labrador dog, he was Marley. And when he died, he was a brother to the children, and a dead child to the couple. He was the reflection of a pursued joy when getting there was against a person's perceived satisfaction. And his passing did not terminate the valid exercise of evaluating one's true desires.

Just like John, Owen Wilson's character, I am in a state where I feel there is a serious call for introspection. He moved to Philadephia Inquirer to write reports when he was already a good and popular columnist in South Florida only to find himself convincing his boss to allow him to go back to writing columns. The part in which John's ordeal with his imagined destiny as a writer was imposed in the movie in the course of Marley's death; and the angle of John's predicament in the workplace all shrinked to a measly dot on a plane of cosmic realizations of the importance of relationships and valued memories of an orchestra of what seemed to be a chaotic parade of life's defining events.

So the next time my veterinarian friends talk about their experience of calming down pet owners who worry much beyond the expected reaction of human beings over sick animals, I will no longer laugh at their poor estate. I will have the open mind to imagine how their lives, and dreams, and dissappointments have been shaped by creatures who cannot talk and advise but can only bark, and meow and yet be more human than me.

I will sorely miss you, and I know you will miss me, too!

I will be leaving a corpororate job in pursuit of a long-time dream of realizing a career in research in the academe. Writing this entry, I feel the deep and rather unconventional desire to somewhat put into execution the famous literary technique of Virgina Woolf - writing in streams of consciousness. Inasmuch as I would like to structure this in a manner that would convey sadness and the feeling of happiness that goes with sadness, I felt that it is just too convoluted; exactly what a stream of consciousness write-up should appear to be like, but I must confess I am no good a writer to pull off an ambitious technique just yet. So here I go again resolving into enumeration, the proven effective manner of saying goodbye and salutation to good friends I will not be seeing in the next days, weeks, months or years.

I will start off with Adet because she's the one who dragged me into applying for GXS in the first place. I cannot reduce into a mere paragraph the good memories we have engineered in the process of exchanging sentiments, disappointments, merriments, and chizments. I can almost read the size of your cerebrum out of the incessant chatters in the office, jeepney and in SMS. I will sorely miss you, and I know you will miss me, too!

Marga may jokingly lash out expletives but I consider her one of the sweetest. A Contivo expert, she's on her way to becoming the next Ma'am Maybelle in GXS. Being Chinese, she claims to scrimp on things but ironically loves buying sandwich at Subway and that expensive, diarrhea inducing Horlics from Zentea. I will sorely miss you, and I know you will miss me, too!

Jobo is the teddy bear of the group. I wonder where all the hair went, but he comes to you in heavy strides without any fear of getting devoured; that's why he's not just a bear, he's a teddy bear! He's my lead for the GlaxoSmithKline Project, and I hope to hear less from him after GXS. Haha! I will sorely miss you, and I know you will miss me, too!

Man2 is teddy bear's cuddly and fashionable toooot! Everytime I pass by Rustan's or Shangri-la, Man-man's image never fails to come dashing before my Giordano eyeglasses! I need to namedrop the brand to be in context with Man-man's predilections!Haha! By the way, her nails are just as colorful as her personality. I will sorely miss you, and I know you will miss me, too!

Joanna Rina is the lady who has many names. She's under ArcelorMittal so she strikes me as a very strong woman; I'm talking about the phonetics in Mittal, dear reader. She loves burgers, french fries and her boyfriend--she talks a lot about him! I will sorely miss you, and I know you will miss me, too!

Jik is the Marsian who doesn't only speak alien but speaks really good english! I believe UFO's come in the night because she comes to the office when the rest of the junior analysts are already on their way home. She's also a sweet lady, that's why she's leading the Mars Project; I'm talking about Mars, the chocolate giant, dear non-GXS reader! I will sorely miss you, and I know you will miss me, too!

Marvin now leads ESPRINET, a fitting assignment since his hair seems to have gotten hold of too much esprinet (Spray Net)--I'm trying to pull a decent joke here, guys! ESPRINET should have been my pilot project but I had to fend it off so it went to him! Peace! I will sorely miss you, and I know you will miss me, too; considering Francesco and Marco of Esprinet will soon haunt you!

And special mention to Jayne whose stories of daily struggle with boredom in the office I got to endure listening to. I will sorely miss you, and I know you will miss me, too!

And to my Michael Foods mentor, Ate Rochelle! You have the kindest heart, and the brightest mind! That's why you are the brightest, shining star! Thank you for putting up with my stupid questions during the horrible Michael Foods days. I will sorely miss you, and I know you will miss me, too!

Charles Dickens had to write It is the best of times. It is the worst of times. Honestly, I had the best and worst of times in GXS; best would be the short time of being with good friends, and worst for saying goodbye, on top of the EMEA shift I had to endure for two weeks, just kidding!

I will sorely miss you, and I know you will miss me, too!

Signing off,

John David T. Dasmarinas

Technical Analyst

Professional Services Organization – SI Map Analysis Team

T: +632-859-5300 F: +632-859-5302

http://www.gxs.com/

Batch 6, 12 Strong

Going through Elie Wiesel's gothic and expository account of the holocaust in his widely read novel Night gave me chills. Afterall, most of his dreadful personal stories took place during winter in a Nazi concentration camp in Auschwitz. I read this book long way back in college, but I felt the same chill when I was told I am required to attend a bootcamp at work. I know concentration camp and bootcamp are entirely two different things, but I have taken semantic elevation so close to my heart I can only draw gothic,unnecessary associations.

It turned out to be a programming bootcamp, an intensive training program where new hires are taught how to go about the process and logic of doing business in the company. It was technical by nature, save for a crash course in Supply Chain Management which, by the way, was something so IE I could easily complete the instructors sentences. The other topics were all technical and designed for the computer savvy, definetly so not me. But what I initially gathered to be an intimidating training program turned out to be fun. Yes, just fun--I couldn't drop the word euphoric for this one because it would sound overboard.

I'm now bent on giving credit to whom it is due, and this time everybody gets it! I believe every participant of the bootcamp has his/her own share of interesting mannerisms and a whole lot of discriminating opinion to any topic, exam and the ludicrous, unfortunate pronunciation slips of a few good instructors. And before I forget, I think it's worth mentioning that we call ourselves Batch Six--nothing fancy with our batch name until you associate it with a famous TV talent search that used to run by batch.

Patty is the sweet lady from Bicol who would switch from Filipino to Bicol in the middle of a conversation. Paolo is the animated guy who is but everything he claims to be--who could forget that I am shy incident? Adet is my college blockmate and former Canon officemate who would religiously update her facebook status with her daily realizations in life about traffic, diet, and arriving an hour early to work. Seated next to her are Jericho and Nelson who love to whisper to each other. Man2 (pronounced Man-Man), on the other hand, is actually a woman. Erika is the genius we won't be surprised if she gets regularized in just a month or two--she loves iced tea and debugging. Patrick is from La Salle I was suprised he's much into jologs stuffs. He usually gets incessant phone calls, perhaps from family, when the weather outside grows ballistic. And there's Jamie, whose lunch-time affairs remain to be top-secret for the batch to uncover. Myron is the Atenista whose juvenile signature gets the most attention. I was glad I learned both his parents are also IE graduates from UP Diliman. And seated next to my left is Hosea who usually arrives in the office with an unwrinkled shirt because he doesn't take the MRT. He's really good at throwing aspersions at anyone, though not coming off offensive but rather funny; he once asked a batchmate if he wrings out his armpits when he noticed the poor guy's wet polo.

Today is our last classroom training day, and that means we will no longer be staying in the same room for the rest of our training program. We will be stationed in our respective departments, and we just cross our fingers we won't succumb to boredom. So long, everyone! See you around!

7 Ways To Detonate A Bum

As this weekend preempts to finally fold, I am reminded of the weekends in the past 2 months that seemed to be no different from the complementary weekdays. For a bum like me, I did not plan my activities with the ceremonious grip of the days of the week. And while I could discuss to you the relationship between unemployment and inflation, I have realized I could not even remember the term for that economic hullabaloo. So I gather I might as well write about the tides, the flowers, the dews and the clouds and the things that made my almost 2 months of bumming experience as explosive as Boy Abunda's shocking, nonsensical revelations on The Buzz--he looks like a yellow bee, doesn't he?

I'm now rolling out 7 ways how I got through being a bum without breaking a spine, hopes, dreams and my own sanity.

1. Acknowledge you are a bum.

I have told myself long before that I would take a vacation after my bond ends with my first employer. Having this in mind, I had no pride left acknowledging that I was going to join the brood of the unemployed.

2. Spend a great time with family.

Back in college in the dorm, I would cry over a cheesy Globe family-oriented commercial on TV. My grandfather died within my bumming period, and relationships strengthened during this time were enormous in value. Needless to say, staying with my immediate family in our humble house was reminiscent of the many years I spent there mostly as a student. It was also great getting into petty fights with my younger brother; this time though, I could only reign supreme in intellectual bouts--he's grown too much I couldn't even win a pillow fight.

3. Adventure, and be fit.

I am fortunate to have high school classmates who are based in Davao City, and you can't be a hard-core Davaoeno if you haven't explored the wonders of a neighbouring island that bears the fancy name of Island Garden City of Samal. So thanks to all my friends who had me floating in deep sea without a life jacket, only because the boat we rented didn't have enough life jackets for everyone! Also, I don't have a good pair of engineered running shoes but this didn't stop me from running regularly around UP and Quezon City Circle. I will join my first marathon in August.

4. Learn new skills.

I packed not only clothes but also books. Among the books I brought with me was the Speedreading Book by Tony Buzan. It was amazing how I could improve my reading skills a dozen notch faster by learning techniques I wished I learned before. This was helpful when I read broadsheets from front to back, including obituaries. I also took driving lessons in the College of Trades and Industries at USM, and it was interesting to learn that my driving teacher was the former boyfriend of my Earth Science teacher in first year high school.

5. Watch and compare films from accross the globe.

I cannot help but blame Charo Santos or Mother Lily for the grossly pathetic films they have been showing at our local theaters. I've watched more than a dozen films during my bumming days-- German, Latin, Asian, Arabic, American--and they all displayed greatness in story and technicality. I won't believe money was an object because I've seen Palestinian films that are just as relevant as the events that surround their territory. I do not want to generalize, but I can't help it.

6. Be a cultured, educated bum.

I would like to sound just as cultured and educated for this segment.

It was with the highest regard of intellect and the deepest respect for the culture and the arts that I took utmost preponderance in immersing into intellectual discourse among my highly intellectual housemates--you know who you are, and you know how hilariously pretentious the entire household can become, and into paying a visit to Imelda's Cultural Center of the Philippines to watch never-before-staged plays with Bembol Roco surprisingly stealing all the accolades in a play about chicken gall bladder and gizzards.

After reading that previous paragraph, you may already have the idea that it was such a stretch it could have been pushed, and was an outright ostentatious display of wit one can rightfully call a hubbub.

7. Be thankful you are a bum.

I am thankful to the Lord for this great experience. It was an experience I may not ever have the chance to exeperience again until my bones turn brittle in retirement. I asked for it, and He has given it to me just when I needed it. Surely, there were days when I was hoping it would end soon because I was already running out of funds, but He ended it in a manner that it was packaged in a birthday gift I won't ever forget. I started with my new job last July 12, the same day I turned 25.

You may ask why 7? Of course, I can give you more! But in the rich tradition of 7nish, I will leave it just that.

One more--and I wont count this as 8th--be sure to make a commitment to end your days of being a bum. You do not want to see yourself explode, or rot, or ferment and turn sour.