spirit of Christmas

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storia 2

It's interesting how the Italian word for history, storia, may also be used to denote a fictional narrative or a story. In Italy, and especially in Rome which pins its tale's beginning to around 753 B.C., I had the sense that history fulfilled the same role as bedtime stories: for enjoyment, suspending disbelief, reinforcing lessons, and constituting identity. For me, the most moving symbol of how Rome has meshed history with its contemporary self is the section of its Servian Wall displayed in the main train station: history isn't confined to the four walls of a museum, it's at the heart of the sweetness of life.

Visiting Rome, I thought I finally understood what it meant to have a sense of time: it's the sense of evanescence of the moment, one's relative smallness in the river of the ages, while at the same time feeling that one's smallest action has the possibility of leaving a mark in the world, a few words or a footnote in history. In the Philippines, we most vividly imagine ourselves part of something greater through mass action, the apotheosis of which has been People Power; in Rome, I discovered that one can experience the same rush, the same high of losing oneself, by simply reading a book in the park or sipping coffee in a piazza. My advice to Sen. Trillanes: experience la dolce vita in Rome and smile a little more!

The Romans were the great engineers of ancient times, just like Filipinos are in our time. Responsible for building many prominent buildings in one of my favorite cityscapes Hong Kong, for example, were engineers Gilbert Legaspi, Wilbert Jarata, Butch Botin, and Joel Macaraig. Imagine what that collective knowledge can do to transform our little patch of earth when the time is ripe. The past is exciting- and so is the future!

storia

Our dreams are our real life. -Federico Fellini





Manila Bulletin, 16 October 2007

Turning Points
by Gemma Cruz Araneta

In my radio program "Krus na Daan," I asked history professor Dr. Jaime Veneracion to name events in our history that all Filipinos should have at their fingertips, like a kind of history in a nutshell that one can recite whenever asked. I did not want a list of dates, places and people as I precisely want to do away with such a linear view of history. Prof. Veneracion mentioned "milestones" and "watersheds," alternatives to the usual "time line" that one often sees in museum exhibits. "Crossroads," the English translation of "Krus na Daan," came up but we agreed that for the moment the phrase "turning points" (bagtasan) seems most appropriate.

Significantly, Prof. Veneracion emphasized that these are "turning points" because they are vital elements in the formation of a national consciousness (kamalayang pambayan). However, the good professor warned that the ten turning points are his personal appreciation of our history so these are by no means final as they should be tested and discussed in conferences with other historians.

The earliest and first turning point was the Paleolithic period, the remains of which were discovered by archeologists in the Cagayan Valley. I am not sure if those finds pre-date the Tabon Man whose skull was found in a cave in Palawan. Apparently, the Paleolithic finds debunk all those Western theories about how waves of migration populated these otherwise deserted islands. The late Dr. Otley Beyer had convinced generations of archeologists about the three waves of migration, a theory now exploded.

The second turning point was the introduction and use of the boat (bangka) with outriggers (katig) and sail (layag) in the Austronesian islands which include our archipelago. So, instead of migratory waves that imply chronologies and occupation of space, existing communities became more enterprising and extended their seafaring activities to as far as Madagascar and the Pacific, probably engaging in what we now call international trade.

The third turning point occurred roundabout 400 A.D. when Sanskrit was introduced into this Austronesian world or ours, enhancing and refining the local forms of writing that existed in these island-communities. Those heavily influenced by Sanskrit eventually came to be known as Southeast Asia while those who were not, are now Oceania.

The fourth turning point was the development of the balanghay community in Butuan, Northern Mindanao. Two or three decades ago dozens of ancient balanghays, circa 890 A.D. were excavated by the mouth of a river. These long wooden boats, swift and hardy for long-distance voyages across great oceans, show that Butuan was a structured socio-political community with a well-organized, if not prosperous, economic system.

The fifth turning point was the coming of Islam in the late 1200s and the formation of Sultanates in these islands, particularly in Mindanao. The influence was felt not only on the religious and technological spheres but, more deeply, on the place of women in society.

The sixth turning point was the entry of Christianity with "cross and sword"; but time ran out in "Krus na Daan," my radio program. One hour was not enough to discuss all ten of Professor Veneracion's turning points. I am anxious to learn about the remaining four that also contributed to our national consciousness; until Thursday then.

città del vaticano

You know that I know, my lord, that you know
That I draw close to take pleasure in you,
And you know that I know that you know who I am;
So why do you delay our acknowledging each other?
If true is the hope that you give to me,
If true is the great desire that I've been given,
Let the wall between them be broken down,
For doubly violent are concealed woes.
If I only love in you, my dearest lord,
That which you love in yourself, do not scorn
Because one spirit has fallen in love with another.
That which I desire and learn from your beautiful face
Is imperfectly comprehended by human minds:
Who wishes to know it must first die.

by Michelangelo Buonarroti to Tommaso Cavalieri (around 1532), the inspiration for the image of Christ in the Last Judgment





XLVI

If you ask me, I will admit:
I prefer the way the Masters saw it,
the way they saw me and you-

body is the spirit's echo,
its likeness glimmered back
from the skin's unbroken mirror,
gazing at itself.

And so, in Rome,
up and down the Sistine Chapel altar,
and scrolled out across the nave,
the frank and vaulted ceiling,

the body's glorious cursive
may be seen to squiggle everywhere,
and bleed.

Massive reclining sibyls,
sages and saints with muscled arms
and calves, and in the center
of this storm of burnished forms,

a warrior-god stands tall, his chest as creamy
as virgin marble, come to judge
over a lush but vanished world.

A well-known lore:
on the day of its unveiling,
Rome's mitered royalty blushed and hid
behind their mittened hands.

Faced with Michelangelo's vision
of pink delirious flesh,
they all were taken ill, forlorn, betrayed.

A temporary state it was,
for the world had yet to remember,
embrace the faith all artists keep:

god is body, bright beautiful body,
or else why must he be worshipped,
why must he be god?

by J. Neil C. Garcia (Kaluluwa, UST Press, 2001)

amore

Hi Voltaire! Seems you are having the time of your life in Italy! Aside from arts and history, looking forward to your posts on....Italian cuisine. -Gleo Guerra, November 15, 2007

Eccolo! Renaissance Italy, like the Philippines up to the time of the ilustrados (some would say up to now), consisted of warring cities or regions, each having an independent government and nurturing a unique culture. The Republic of Venice ruled the Adriatic Sea in the North, for example, while the Pope exercised temporal power from Rome over the Papal States in the Center, beside the Republic of Florence. As a consequence of this diversity, as well as the availability of produce in local markets, different regions developed unique culinary traditions.

Since, as in France, food is eight to ten times more expensive in Italy compared to ours in Manila, my breakfast and lunch usually consisted of Sky Flakes and a large bottle of water, which I would refill in restaurants or public water fountains. In Florence, for that extra boost of energy, I indulged in affordable, creamy gelato, but only when it was produzione propria (homemade) as this is reputedly the best ice cream in the world (in Paris, I got my daily calcium from Berthillon, which is vying for the same title). Apparently, the secret to delicious ice cream and good food in general is the use of fresh, natural ingredients that are available locally: as French chef Alain Ducasse said, "In my kitchens, a dish always begins with a product, never the other way around."

Each night, having explored the museums and historical sites, I allowed myself a hearty dinner in a restaurant recommended by the locals. In Firenze, the typical meal begins with an appetizer, like salami or crostini misti. The first course (primo) could be ribollita soup or spaghetti al pomodoro; this is followed by the main course (secondo) which could be chicken, veal or beef and is accompanied by a side dish (a contorno), like fagioli. One enjoys all this food with Chianti wine from the countryside; the meal ends with dessert like tiramisù and sweet lemoncello.

I had a memorable supper in Il Latini, a traditional Tuscan trattoria near Santa Maria Novella, where just as I bit into a slice of involtini- rolled veal stuffed with vegetables and stewed in its own juice- I found myself looking across the communal table into the most beautiful gray eyes.

Buona sera.

It was the beginning of a ritual that would last throughout the three-hour meal. Look. Madrid is the fire of Pinatubo and Mayon. Talk. Paris is the air of Banawe and Sagada. Touch. Florence is the earth of Nueva Ecija and Bulacan.

In the land of the loving, I surrendered to my senses.

hardin

Origin

The dream recurs

In another world, we
Wake
God's first creatures
Alive
To sudden light.

Pure and slender as dawn
Rising
Our bodies explore
The touch and feel
Of worlds.

No past intrudes
All lifetimes
Merge
To this particle
Of time
Only.

Love speeds us to
Move
Now.
In this garden
God whispers:
Come.

by Marjorie Evasco

modernità

"God the Father endowed people, from birth, with the seeds of every possibility and every life." -Pico della Mirandola (Florentine scholar, 1463-1494)

I was able to check my email again in Firenze. Acting on a tip from Brian, a backpacker with whom I roomed in Venezia, I found a house tent in a 13th century olive grove, situated on a hill with a view of the Duomo.

One message was from Jerick, my thesis partner and the valedictorian of our class in the School of Economics. From his temporary base in Tunis, he had tried to set me up on a blind date in Paris and asked concernedly about my romantic life, while casually mentioning his own. How was I to explain to my Casanovan friend that I didn't like going out on blind dates, that I preferred a more spontaneous approach to meeting people?

I remember our college days, when Jerick was still struggling with heartbreak and self-doubt. He has come a long way since then. Now, I picture him as a model of the modern Filipino: rational, individualistic, and confident of our State's dignity and destiny. In a way, he has realized an ideal of the Renaissance, a founding age of modernity.

Jerick has begun sharing his ideas and colorful experiences in the Philippine Star- read one of his articles here.

muling pagkabuhay

Despite the wealth of Venice and the power of Rome, to think of Renaissance Italy is to think, first and foremost, of Florence, the city that led all other Italian cities in both daring and achievement...

It was a city of crimes, violence and revolutions. But there was also a fundamental continuity to Florentine life that enabled (people) to go about their business with reasonable confidence.

-John R. Hale, Renaissance (1971)

firenze

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libreria acqua alta

Change

I have outgrown them all, and one by one,
These loves I took so mightily to heart
Before you came; the dolls that overran
My childhood hours and taught me fairy art;
The books I ravaged by the censored score;
Music like delirium burned my days;
The golden calf I fashioned to adore
When lately I forsook the golden phrase.

And thus I shall outgrow this love of you.
Sooner or later I shall put away
This jewelled ecstasy for something new.
Brand me not fickle on that fatal day:
Bereft of change that is my drink and bread,
I would not love you now. I would be dead.

by Angela Manalang Gloria (1940)
Literary Editor, Philippine Collegian

visione doppia

For a sensitive and imaginative man who, like I, has lived for a long time but can still imagine and feel, the world and its things become in a certain sense double. He will see a tower or the countryside with his eyes, his ears will hear the sound of the bell, and at the same time he will see, with his imagination, another tower, another countryside, and hear another sound. In this second seeing lies all the beauty and pleasure of things. - Giacomo Leopardi, Zibaldone (1828)

I knew our train ride was almost over when I saw a villa that seemed to float precariously in the middle of the ocean. Sea gulls flew above it, while before it a gondolier, wearing a black hat and a black-and-white striped shirt, carefully paddled his boat while perched on its prow.

Why isn't that palace sinking? Why doesn't the gondola topple over?

It was that picture of apparent defiance of the laws of physics- the illusion of effortless grace- that made me understand why Venezia has come to be known as La Serenissima, the Most Serene.

Even in the field of government, the Republic of Venice seemed to have maintained two faces for most of its thousand year history: one gracious and diplomatic, the other secretive and potentially cruel. Hence, my appreciation of the beauty of the original quadriga or the softly glowing altar containing the remains of St. Mark, for example, was tempered by the knowledge that these relics arrived in the basilica through war and wile. In many ways, the unique culture of the ancient Venetians mirrors our contemporary Philippine Republic, from the confusing jumble of narrow streets and the dependence on the bounties of the sea to the "consensual" government that oscillates at various times between an autocracy and a democracy.

At sunset, I rode a vaporetto down the Canal Grande. For a moment, I was transported back to Bangkok where I spent New Year's Eve in 2004 with my high school classmate Jill Clarke and her dad Bob. Jill's friend told us then that the water of the Chao Phraya looked just like the water in the canals of Venice; now I could compare their respective reflections for myself.

"Scusi, would you like some fruits?" I thought I heard someone ask me in Italian. I stopped taking pictures of the green and pink water and looked to my right: I saw a beautiful woman in the winter of her life with a bright smile and a bag of peaches and nectarines in her hands. "Are you a student?"

In Madrid, I was Ramon, the abogado; in Paris, the writer Voltaire. Now, I perceived that this kind stranger saw perhaps a facet of me, perhaps a university student who she met during her travels in summer or spring. And so I smiled back and replied, "Si Signora. Mi chiamo Santi. Un studente."

I accepted her gift of sweet Italian sunshine- my supper- as she got off the water ferry with her niece. She seemed happy to receive the treasure I gave her in exchange: the knowledge that this student would never be able to repay her kindness, as my journey as she described it was still long, whereas hers was already about to end.

hejira

I took an overnight train from Bercy station in Paris through Switzerland to Venezia. I shared my cabin with Jamal, a travel agent from Algeria, with whom I conversed in a kind of volgare that mixed French and Italian. Jamal was bespectacled and soft-spoken- I was comfortable being with him because he seemed to understand what I tried to say, we discovered a common language.

Most Algerians living in North Africa are Muslim and, for more than a century, have been migrating to France such that there are now around 2 million French-Algerians. Together with other Muslim ethnic groups, such as those from Morocco and Tunisia, they comprise between 3-10% of France's population. In confronto, Filipino Muslims make up around 5% of our population; according to Tatay's history, Agos ng Dugong Kayumanggi, Islam has been in our archipelago as far back as 1280 A.D.

In the Spanish towns I visited, scholars now recognize the contributions of Islam to local cultures: the keyhole-shaped doorway of a church in Toledo, the sound of running water in the gardens of Cordoba, the divine cuisine of Tres Culturas in Sevilla. I would discover that in the Palazzo Ducale in Venezia, a city-state that became prosperous because of trade with Muslim dynasties, there is an exhibit on "the play of mirrors" between Venice and Islam, as seen in painting, glassware, and other spheres of artistic production. While all Filipinos observe Eid ul-Fitr as a national holiday, Christians and Muslims in the Philippines still have much to learn about each other's role in the development of a national culture.

One of my most vivid memories of Europe is that of Jamal standing in the side aisle of the train by himself, looking out the window, his thoughtful face bathed in the lemon light of a new morning.

I wanted to ask, What do you see Jamal?

I couldn't break the silence.

We stood beside each other for a long time, each of us enveloped in our own solitude.

Thanks to Robert Eldridge for the video that was inspired by Giuseppe Tornatore's Cinema Paradiso; the music is by Ennio and Andrea Morricone.

culture = capital(e)

A sign posted by the Mairie de Paris (City Administration) on an old building that is being renovated exhorts Parisians to protect their heritage: "La culture, c'est capitale!" My immediate thought upon reading this was how apt it was: the French have, perhaps more than any other people, turned intangible culture into a river of clinking coins, as can be inferred from the hordes of visitors who pay to enter museums, dine in restaurants, and shop in their fashion boutiques each year.

While this may have been a mistranslation- my Larousse defines capital as vital or fundamental- the astute practice of elevating and then selling memes (diverse elements of cultural transmission) is one which we in the long bahag economy- the world of niches- can learn and profit from.

The French are not only aesthetes who have, since the reign of Louis XIV, set the standard for luxe, they also belong to a vibrant intellectual tradition that has produced Foucault, Sartre and Voltaire. Consequently, while all peoples across space-time possess culture, it is the French who are arguably the experts in analyzing, atomizing, deconstructing, and self-consciously reflecting on it. Thus, for the Rugby World Cup 2007, aside from hosting the games themselves, the French have organized concerts, films, musicals, fora, debates, and even art and museum exhibits all centered on the theme of rugby.

Here I am at midnight in an Île St. Louis pub with my rugby team, the kilt-wearing Scots, after their victory over Portugal. Mabuhay!

l'important c'est le vert

The French language is romantic in another sense: the sound of its words is said to express or induce amorous love or romance. I believe Filipino can be just as romantic because of the many nuances of emotions that our words can convey. In both languages, the same word (Fr. cher/ chère, Fil. mahal) is used to denote both affection and the attribute of being precious or expensive.

I found a jewel of a French poem in KC's blog and decided to test the above hypothesis by translating it into Filipino. It was fun to play around with synonyms, the placement of words, and rhyme. Here's the aesthetic, light-hearted French spirit finding expression in emotionally lush Filipino:

Berde
ni Paul Verlaine

“Heto’ng mga prutas, bulaklak, dahon at sangang dala ko
At heto ang aking pusong tumitibok para lamang sa iyo.
Sana’y huwag itong punitin ng mapuputi mong mga kamay
At patamisin ng magaganda mong mga mata itong aba kong alay.

Dumarating ako ngayong mag-uumagang binabalutan ng hamog
Na sa aking noo’y kay lamig kapag nahanginan
Sa higaan pabayaang sa iyong paanan ang aking pagod
Ay managinip ng matatamis na oras ng kapahingahan.

Sa bata mong dibdib pagulungin ang aking ulo
Na pagkatapos mong halika’y puno ng dagundong
Pabayaang mapayapa ang mabuting bagyong ito
At dahil ika’y nagpapahinga maidlip naman ako…”

beauté

After moveable fiestas in Toledo, Sevilla and Cordoba under the brilliant Spanish sun, the Malay in me emerged from the deep, giving me the mocha complexion that our people wear so effortlessly. The AGM was over and I took a Ryan Air flight from Madrid to Paris.

After mailing some coffee table books and my formal clothes to Manila in the Hôtel de Ville, I found affordable lodging in what was once a 13th century monastery in the Marais, by the Seine and within view of the gargoyles of Notre Dame.

If Madrid reminded me of Manila, the turrets and steep blue roofs of many buildings in Paris reminded me of parts of Washington, D.C.- this was probably no coincidence since the first city planner of America's capital was the French-born L'Enfant and the First Lady who some say gave her people majesty was a Francophile.

Interestingly, Europeans once called Manila the "Paris of the East" but, sadly, almost all of our colonial buildings were bombed during the Battle of Manila of the Second World War- Manila was the most bombed metropolis after Warsaw. Paris was luckier: when Hitler ordered its complete destruction by explosives planted throughout the city, his general der infanterie von Choltitz disobeyed him.

Perhaps because of sensory overload- and with thousands of people visiting Paris for the rugby games- I found it difficult initially to take pictures. With all the photographs of Paris that had already been shot, what angle or perspective was left to show?

Then, in the early evening, while looking for a restaurant in the Left Bank frequented by students and artists who, like me, were on a budget, I met someone special in front of Saint-Germain-des-Prés.

Paris lit her grand buildings one by one and clothed the Eiffel Tower with a veil of green and gold stars, until their gentle beams warmed my face and found their way to my heart.

pasión

It's 4 in the morning and I'm running down the Gran Via towards Hotel Alberto Aguilera with my friend Sarah (the Danish woman seated beside me in the preceding post).

In Plaza de España, three homeless teenagers taunt her with obscenities- she screams Spanish epithets at them in return.

"Ay dios mio," I laugh, looking behind us. "You'll have us both mugged."

Just a couple of hours earlier, we had been staring at a sign on a building beside Sol & Sombra disco in Calle Manuel Fernandez Gonzalez: it said Rizal had been there, that much I understood.

"You need help with translation?" someone said behind us. He was a dark Spaniard, probably of Moroccan descent, who wore a suit and spoke English fluently. "It says Jose Rizal met his friends here to plan reforms for the Philippines... By the way, yo soy Enrique. I'm an economist and I need a drink. May I invite you both to come with me?"

Enrique took us to El Burladero, a bar where famous matadors like to hang out and celebrate their fights. It was literally a stone's throw from the very modern disco where we had been dancing with our friends.

In the back room of El Burladero, together with the matadors gazing out of posters on the walls, I watched Enrique teach Sarah how to dance the Spanish flamenco.

"Remember to always look your partner in the eye," said Enrique, "as if challenging him. 'You think you're better than me? You think so? Prove it!' It's a battle. The physical movements of flamenco should express the passion within you- in this sense, it is spiritual."

heritage

The topic of our conference was human security, a relatively new concept for understanding global wants and fears. Its advocates challenge traditional notions of national security by arguing that the proper subject for security should be the individual rather than the state. This world-view asserts that a people-centered approach to security is necessary for national, regional and global stability.

The sharing of different ideas on human security by Asians and Europeans was interesting, especially in the light of Balkin's theory of cultural software (I'm reading Florin's book- a free copy is here). Balkin writes about how information unites the ideas of culture, personhood and historical existence:

To be part of a culture, to be socialized or acculturated, is to possess a certain kind of information- cultural know-how. Cultures are populations of individuals with relatively similar kinds of information...

We are the bearers of this cultural information; indeed we are constituted by it. And its constitution of us is our constitution as historical beings. It is the source of our historical existence.

I call this cultural information cultural software... The different beliefs and worldviews that human beings possess are the product of the evolution of cultural information that is instantiated in human beings and helps make them the unique individuals that they are.

Whereas in the past, cultural information (or software) was usually limited geographically, to the places where people were born or where they lived, modern ways of networking and communicating allow the development of new cultures and even new identities.

I was thankful to Rizal and our other heroes for their sacrifices which enable me to enjoy freedoms that they dreamt of for us. A hundred years after their struggles in Madrid and Manila, a Filipino is seen as one of the most beautiful- La Reina de Corazones- in Spain and Latin America; a Philippine choir is the two-time awardee of the European Chorale Grand Prix; and Filipinos can face the world with greater confidence in our abilities, our history, and our cultural contributions to the patrimony of humankind.

Photo by Sungjin Kang (South Korea, AU-2).

threshold

I was surprised to receive my visa to go to Europe five days before the start of ASEFUAN's AGM. As an austerity measure, I try to travel by plane only once every year and I had just returned from the US. I saw "signs" pointing towards a continuation of my journey, however: dreams, photographs, an email message. Perhaps I wasn't following any external sign, I was only listening to the promptings of my heart.

I was already in undergrad the first time I thought of visiting Europe, when Anna mentioned that one of Jan's goals was to backpack in the Continent. It was the first time I heard the word "backpack" used as a verb. I was inspired and challenged by thousands of young men and women who travel overland in Europe every summer. So I read E.H. Gombrich's The Story of Art, cut pictures of bridges and gondoliers from travel magazines and- semi-consciously- prepared for the time when I too would see Europe on my own.

It was exam time.

Dose of Asia

Because of the many people going to the Rugby World Cup in Paris, I was on the waiting list of several airlines before finally getting a ticket from Korean Air. I arrived in Incheon Airport before dawn of September 1, ten hours before my connecting flight to Madrid. When I read brochures promoting a Transit Tour- one to six hours of visits to nearby sites- I decided to sign up for the tour of Yonggungsa Temple, where a revered 1,400 year old tree still stands.

At first, I couldn't get past Immigration because supposedly only US citizens with flights bound for the US could take the Transfer Tour without a visa. "But there's no such requirement in the brochure," I told one officer, "it says only the passport and flight ticket are required."

I wanted to see a bit more of Asia before going to Europe, to build up the fiber of my Asianness. I needed to use what Kidlat Tahimik calls the "indi-genius." I filled up another exit form and whispered a short prayer.

Three hours later, I was standing in the rain before Yonggungsa's fabled tree.

Magnification

I arrived in Spain a day too early and didn't have a hotel reservation.

"You can stay in my place," said James, an acoustics engineer who had been sitting in front of me on the plane. "I'm renting an apartment near Plaza de Espana."

The following day, after a breakfast of churros con chocolate, we visited El Escorial, built by Felipe II, after whom the Philippines was named. We entered the crypt where he and his wife Isabela- together with almost all the Spanish monarchs from Charles I to Alfonso XIII- are buried. I thought, wouldn't it be nice if Spain could give her sister the Philippines one of her castles as a sign of partnership and friendship?

Here's my friend in the fortress-monastery's garden:


I liked Spain because it reminded me of home: kumusta in Spanish is simply "como esta;" the buildings have design elements that are similar to those found in Intramuros and Ermita; the Catholic churches display many paintings of saints and dying martyrs; and the pace of life is languorous and sybaritic. The best word I can think of to describe its culture is hyper-Filipino: imagine magnifying a walk in Intramuros four or five times. You would see that Madrid looks similar, except it has bigger plazas, more statues, and wider rivers of people ambling in the streets in the late afternoon and early evening.

I even developed a hypothesis as to how "Filipino time" came to be, since Spanish time appears to be yet another magnification. Many Spaniards, for example, have lunch between 1 and 4 PM, tiny meals called tapas from 5 to 8 PM, and a light dinner at 9:30 or 10 PM. I saw the sensibility behind such a daily rhythm however and was able to embrace it, as if I'd practiced the tapeo all my life.

l'identité

The first time I traveled outside the country was in September 1999 when I went to Beijing for the second Asia-Europe Foundation Summer School. Back then, the summer school was just an experiment to see how young people from 25 countries in Asia and Europe could promote understanding between the two regions. Since then, the program has been institutionalized and renamed the Asia-Europe University. There are currently 38 countries represented in our alumni network.

Even if the Spanish monarchy made the Philippines its home for 300 years, in contrast to American powers who stayed for only 50 years, I wasn't really aware of the European influence in our country's lifeways, perhaps because it permeates their deepest levels: the Catholic religion, food, aesthetic values.

From 6th to 7th grade, I had great difficulty learning French in ISM, because I thought the only "logical" system of signifiers was American English- my mind couldn't comprehend, for example, how nouns for objects, like people, had "genders" (la chaise or the chair is feminine, while le stylo or the pen is masculine). Now that I am studying Spanish and Italian, which like French are Romance languages, I find that there is beauty and logic beneath foreign expressions, if only one is patient enough to listen and try to understand them.

That trip to Beijing opened my eyes to the Asian aspect of my identity, what I had in common with other peoples in Asia. Next week will be the launch of the Asia-Europe Society that seeks to form a new community and possibly a new identity: an Asian-European one.

The above picture shows me with my AU-2 classmates- pioneers all in this great experiment- on top of the Great Wall of China.

love letters to a school

Before Justin and Alexa returned to the US, I showed them this box of letters their mom and I wrote to each other from 7th to 12th grade. I told them that they could choose one letter to bring with them back to California: the rest I would keep and someday destroy. I blanched when the two chose a "Mission S.F." letter, the second letter ever sent to me by Trish and probably the most valuable missive in the box.

Even before there was Second Life, Trish and I had an alternative universe that allowed us to comfortably navigate the treacherous social waters of middle school. I was the new kid on the block and Trish initially didn't want her barkada to know that we were friends: "Mission S.F." ostensibly meant "Mission San Francisco," but it really was a code for "Mission Secret Friends."

We even had secret identities: Trish was "Grant Mitchell," I was "Renée Beauchamp," and my mission was to capture for her the heart of "Elaine Brooks," who some of Trish's friends derisively called "the Farmhand."

Also in the box were notes from our friends from Pisay (or PSci). In 9th grade, Trish and I were part of the high school choir that performed in Philippine Science High School.

While we were singing a dreamy rendition of "I'll Take Manhattan," our demure girl found herself looking into the eyes of a mestizo boy from Pisay. After the concert, he must have observed my closeness to Trish, since he handed me a business card with his phone number: his name was Peter. When I was still studying in UPIS, I had wanted to go to Pisay myself- in fact, I had taken the ISM exams in order to practice for the Philippine Science exams, not knowing that I would become an IS Filipino Scholar. I encouraged the relationship until young love bloomed and Trish and Peter- officially, if not truthfully- became each other's first girlfriend/ boyfriend.

I reminisced about those days of mini-golf and three to four hour long telephone conversations some more when I read a post in Howie's blog on Pisay, Auraeus Solito's new movie. I missed it when it was shown in UP and I plan to go on a date with myself and catch it in Glorietta this week.

bahag economics

I just finished reading Chris Anderson's The Long Tail. I picked it up after hearing about how Google CEO Eric Schmidt described his company's mission as "serving the long tail." The thesis of the book, in the words of Wikipedia, is that the Internet has made it possible for "products that are in low demand or have low sales volume [to] collectively make up a market share that rivals or exceeds the relatively few current bestsellers and blockbusters, if the store or distribution channel is large enough."

In yesterday's Jescom workshop on film, Nick Deocampo stressed the need for Pinoy film makers to focus on the distribution of works, echoing a theme in the book. The Long Tail, Anderson says,

is the culmination of a string of business innovations that date back more than a century- advancements in the ways we make, find, distribute, and sell goods. Think about all the non-Internet elements that enable, for instance, an Amazon purchase: FedEx, standard ISBN numbers, credit cards, relational databases, even bar codes.

It took decades for these innovations to emerge and evolve. What the Internet has done is allow businesses to weave together those types of improvements in a way that amplifies their power and extends their reach. In other words, the Web simply unified the elements of a supply-chain revolution that had been brewing for decades.

Indeed the true roots of the Long Tail and unlimited shelf space go back to the late nineteenth century and the first giant centralized warehouses- cavernous buildings erected on industrial lots near the junctions of railway lines in the American Midwest, starting in Chicago. Under their immese steel roofs, the era of massive choice and availability arose on towers of wooden pallets, built with the bulk purchasing afforded by then-new mass production. Railway cars delivered this new variety on a network of iron tracks that were transforming the country's economy and culture.

Among the innovations that paved the way for the Long Tail were:

• the 1897 Wish Book of Sears and Roebuck, "786 pages of everything under the sun at prices that can hardly be believed," made possible by volume buying, railroads and the post office, and later rural free delivery and parcel post;
  
• the supermarket, which first appeared in 1930 and proliferated in the 1950s and 1960s- it "helped create the Middle Class. Its low prices freed up substantial funds for families to spend on cars, homes, education and other needs and amenities of life;"
• toll-free 800 numbers, which enabled an increasingly affluent suburban generation of the 1970s to shop from the home using credit cards
• the Internet, which enabled the rise of e-commerce by "offering a catalog to everyone- with no printing and no mailing required."

In the Philippines, we see the Long Tail (what I also call the Long Bahag) in the sunrise industries of online schools (the Long Bahag of education) and global sharing or outsourcing (the Long Bahag of services).

One movement that seeks to ensure that the Philippines benefits from the Long Tail is the online signature campaign for Paypal to expand its services in the Philippines. Paypal is an e-commerce business that allows payments and money transfers to be made through the Internet. Show your support here.

lady justice

One of the things that seems to work in the US is the legal system. For a lawyer practicing in a society that is still undergoing a transition from a "rule of men (sic)" into a "rule of law," it was consoling to hear that this wasn't always so. A little over a century ago, for example, immigration officials in New York State were notorious for taking bribes from immigrants.

Last week, I found out about the Supreme Court decision dismissing a judge from the service for her gross insubordination and gross misconduct. I actually have personal knowledge of this judge and her "collection agent's" unusual practices: come to think of it, their actions or solicitations probably wouldn't have been unusual had they not been made blatantly.

A former Supreme Court colleague told me that Chief Justice Puno is cracking down on corrupt judges. While the problem appears to be systemic and its resolution would entail a lot of adjustment on the part of lawyers and parties who benefit from the status quo, this is a good start. We have to think beyond the short-term- of what would benefit our country and, ultimately, ourselves and our children in the long run.

I found this letter of Jose Diokno to his son Chel while researching in the UP Law Library last week- it was as if the late Senator were speaking to me directly, answering questions I've had for some time. He wrote,

Increasingly, as you grow older, the values that you have learned from us, your parents, and from your Christian faith, will be called into question- by you or by others. Why be honest when it pays to be dishonest? Why be fair to others when they are unfair to you? Why fight for others when they won't fight for you- or even for themselves? Why think for yourself when it is easier to let others think for you? Why lead when it is less troublesome to obey? Why have principles when others don't- and they often get away with it? Why be good when it seems so much more pleasant to be bad?

The answer, I think, is in what life means to you. If life means having a good time, money, fame, power, security, then you don't need principles; all you need are techniques. In fact, it's better not to have principles; they would just get in your way. On the other hand, if life means more than those things, if happiness counts more than a good time, developing your talents more than developing wealth, respect more than fame, right more than power, and peace of soul more than security; if death doesn't end life but transforms it; then you must be true to yourself and to your God, and to love and truth, good and beauty, and justice and freedom, that are His other names and that He has made part of our human nature.

You will have to decide for yourself, Chel, which of those things life means to you. Neither I nor anyone else can decide this for you. But perhaps this will help you decide: That even those who know they do wrong feel compelled to convince others- and eventually themselves- that they are doing right. So the man of greed often gives generously to charity; the megalomaniac poses as a messiah; the coward hides his fear under the mask of being realistic; and the guilty wash away their guilt, like Pilate, by washing their hands with the excuse that "it isn't my choice" or "it isn't my job" or "I can't do anything about it."

one face

evolving face

Who are Filipino and who are American in this photo? If I didn't know these people- second from the left is my godson Justin, during our visit to International School Manila earlier this week- I wouldn't be able to tell. During my sea-to-shining-sea tour of the US, I met Americans who couldn't tell if I was their kababayan or not: a few thought or assumed that the Philippines is a city or region within the US. The US is so multicultural and diverse that the face of the Statue of Liberty may now very well be Filipino, Chinese, Mexican, Italian, or Jew.

During the plane ride back to Manila, I read an interesting news article on the influx of Koreans migrating to the Philippines and the BID's crackdown on illegal immigrants. A couple of weeks ago, my knee-jerk reaction would have been one of alarm, but having seen how immigrants- including undocumented ones- have powered the American economy since the country was founded, I now see the benefits of creating policies that would attract entrepreneurial Koreans and other foreigners to work and run businesses in our shores.

In the book The Rise of the Creative Class (a related article is here), Richard Florida lists the three T's of economic development: technology, talent and tolerance. He says,

I think it's important for a place to have low entry barriers for people- that is, to be a place where newcomers are accepted quickly into all sorts of social and economic arrangements. Such places gain a creative advantage. All else being equal, they are likely to attract greater numbers of talented and creative people- the sort of people who power innovation and growth....

In a nutshell, we found that creative people are attracted to, and high-tech industry takes root in, places that score high on our basic indicators of diversity- the Gay, Bohemian and other indexes... Why would this be so? It is not because high-tech industries are populated by great numbers of bohemians and gay people. Rather, artists, musicians, gay people and members of the Creative Class in general prefer places that are open and diverse. Low entry barriers are especially important because today places grow not just through higher birth rates (in fact virtually all US cities are declining on this measure), but by their ability to attract people from the outside.

As long as migrants respect our laws and the positive aspects of our culture, the Philippines would do well to welcome their talents and new ideas.

Thanks to Renee Bondi for the song "When the Swallows Come Back to Capistrano" in the podcast.

affair

After dinner in Cendrillon in Manhattan, I asked my cousins to take me to the Empire State Building. Kuya Bebot parked his car in Little Korea and said, "Sonny, it's 11:15- Empire State is about to close- you better run."

capital

Anna took me to Kramer's near D.C.'s Dupont Circle last night and I got this book. I'm now drinking strawberry shake in Pangea, a cafe and handicrafts store she helped set-up at IFC, beside the World Bank.

land of pleasant living

Immediately after a 24-hour bus ride from St. Louis, I continued my crash course in American history in Baltimore, Maryland, by Chesapeake Bay where Francis Scott Key penned the lyrics of the Star-Spangled Banner. It celebrates a war victory and became the US national anthem only in 1931- a reminder of how young this nation is. I'm now staying in Broadwater Farm of the Garcias in a light-filled house that was once owned by a certain Francis Key. This morning, we caught blue crabs in Cox Creek that we'll cook tonight for a dinner with Anna, who'll be arriving from D.C.

go east

When Rizal travelled from San Francisco to New York from April 28 to May 16, 1888, he could not have seen my Gateway to the East in St. Louis, Missouri. Designed by architect Eero Saarinen, it was completed in 1965 and, to my surprise, has become one of my favorite monuments in the US because of its simplicity, modernity, and grace.

southern hospitality

When Tita Moning said she'd give me the royal treatment when I pass through Tennessee, I didn't expect to see 20,000 fireworks lighting the night sky while the Nashville Symphony played by Cumberland River.

The picture shows the Smokies where I got my nature fix- and honey to bring home- yesterday.

what happens in vegas

"Sonny, where did you go?! I almost called the cops. I knew you wanted to take a walk in the Strip, di ko alam magwawala ka sa Vegas."

"Tita Rose, I almost got lost in the desert looking for the Grand Canyon."

Thanks to the UP College of Medicine '56 for inviting me to join them at the UP Medical Alumni Society in America convention at the Wynn and sponsoring my plane ticket to the US. A video on my chosen titos and titas is here and continued here.

Hollywood

I was touched with the welcome I received from my cousin Dave and other Californians. Some friends from ISM who live in the Bay Area- Marni, Maiko, Kenny, Emil, Yumi, and of course Trish- even organized a dinner in Oliveto's in Oakland.

Trish, Gari and Tita Nora drove me to the Sisons in Beverly Hills. The house where I stayed was the hub of anti-Marcos activities in the US during Martial Law- among its visitors then were Steve Psinakis, Heherson Alvarez, and Raul Manglapus.

The Sisons live near the house of the late Dovie Beams who, according to Dr. Mon, revealed as early as December 1971 that Marcos was going to declare Martial Law. "I should've told everyone then," he said, "but I didn't believe her. Marcos told her during their lovemaking- she knew about his plans nine months before Martial Law was declared."

Gari took the above picture of me and Trish before we left their hotel to have a traditional Filipino dinner of fish and tinola with the colorful Sisons.

enchantment

I fell in love with San Francisco even before I had set foot on its soil. When I emerged from the darkness inside the plane into a clear starlit night in this other city by the bay, the cars zipping across the sky and buildings walking past us went into slow motion. I'm swimming beneath the surface of a dream and would only wake up from the spell when my right hand touches the Golden Gate Bridge.

At right is a still image of my dreamcraft: Mayor Gavin Newsom leading last Sunday's San Francisco LGBT Pride Parade along Market Street.

Thanks to San Miguel Master Chorale for "Kahit Isang Saglit" in the podcast.

expression

In my undergrad junior year, someone touched a deeper place in my heart: somewhere I have never travelled. I confided this to Dona, then the outgoing Features editor of Kule, one evening while we walked around the Sunken Garden discussing the section I was about to lead. Her advice: quit being circuitous and say I love you, pity the beloved who doesn't hear those words.

Now you know who to thank- or blame- for my candor!

Seriously, I've come to realize that expressing and accepting expressions of love fulfill a vital human need and are part of the process of self-actualization.

Here we are as professional journalists in the Ramon Magsaysay Center: Dona Pazzibugan as a reporter and president of the union of the Inquirer and I as a freelance writer who had begun writing creatively again.

Earlier, I had interviewed Haydee Yorac, Ramon Magsaysay awardee for government service, for MenZone. I approached Dona after Ms. Yorac gave her RM Award lecture to media and invited guests. It was to be the heroic Ms. Yorac's last major interview and public appearance before passing on.

Thanks to Joey Ayala for "Walang Hanggang Paalam," a favorite love song in Kule, playing in the podcast.

la vie en rose

After we had ordered our food, I asked, "Excuse me, Mireille, I've forgotten some of my French. Is it correct to say, 'Vic a épousé?' or 'Vic est marié?'"

"What?" she asked. "Oh! J'ai entendu."

Mireille is the daughter of my French teacher Mme. Ferrari and, like Christine, was crowned Ms. IS in her senior year. She's now happily married to Danny, a writer and former AP correspondent, and expecting her first child.

Whereas Christine is queen, I see Mireille as a modern-day Juliet: What's in a name? that which we call a rose/ By any other name would smell as sweet.

We had lovely memories of high school, when things seemed simpler.

Every Valentine's Day, there would be a rose sale and boys and girls would buy flowers for friends, teachers, and of course people we liked. In my junior year, I liked one of Mireille's classmates, a new student named Geni Psinakis. As a professional model and entrepreneur, she has been gracing the pages of magazines these past couple of years, but back then she was just a new kid on the block.

Anyway, that year, I bought three pink roses, but I wasn't used to giving flowers to someone I liked. I tried the indirect approach: I went to Mireille's math class and gave two flowers to her; a couple of minutes later, I passed by their classroom again to give one pink rose with a note to Geni.

I thought that was the end of our tale, but that afternoon while hanging out outside the Media Center someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and it was Geni, her pink rose in hand and beaming a luminous smile.

"Thank you." That was all she said before walking away to her own constellation, but it was a most memorable Valentine's for me.

Thank you to Chin-chin Gutierrez for the song "Pagbabalik ng Mutyang Paraluman" ("The Lady Returns") from her Mater Vitae sampler CD in the podcast.

cityscape

Inbox

from andreapasion@y...
to ...
date May 29, 2007 1:23 PM
subject The 11th Philippine Book Development Month

Hi friends,

The National Book Development Board (NBDB), a government agency mandated to help develop the local book industry, is once again spearheading the celebration of the Philippine Book Development Month. Every month of June has been slated as book development month to focus attention on the importance of books.

This year, we are celebrating it in partnership with the Filipinas Heritage Library. The theme "Love Your Books" aims to bring books closer to the hearts of Filipinos. We have lined up a series of lectures and activities for specific audiences but the highlight of the celebration is a literary exhibit dubbed "Portrait of the City: The Literary Imagination" featuring places in the metropolis that have inspired great works in Philippine literature.

The exhibit is open to the public and will be at the Glorietta 3 Park from June 27 to July 1 and at the Trinoma Mall from July 4 to July 8. There will be many events lined up for many evenings during the exhibit, like storytelling, poetry reading and book club meetings. But the event to watch out for is the Portrait of the City Tour on June 30, an actual tour of the places themselves that have inspired these great works. This one-of-a-kind (and one-time!) tour promises to be an enriching experience especially for reading enthusiasts and for those who wish to learn more about Philippine literature. Limited seats available so book early.

The exhibit is free of charge but the tour is only five hundred pesos (P500) to cover meals, transportation and materials. Guided tours at the Glorietta Park and the Trinoma Mall are available for classes on June 28 and 29 and on July 5 and 6 at 10:00 AM, 11:00 AM and 2:00 PM. For information regarding these exhibit tours, call the NBDB at 928-0048. To join the Portrait of the City Tour, please call the Filipinas Heritage Library at 892-1801.

I hope to see you all there!

Andrea

____
Andrea drafted the first editorial, Time to Move On, published during my term as Collegian editor-in-chief. Since then, she has held editorial positions in Cosmo and Good Housekeeping. She is now executive director of NBDB. Bob Marley's "Redemption Song"- in the podcast- was one of our anthems in Kule.

inner foodie

Today is Mom's birthday and I had promised to get her a copy of Flowers, White House Style that I found on sale in Ali Mall. When I returned to the bookstore, however, I couldn't find it anymore- it had already been bought by someone else.

I'd like to think that since Mom's birthday falls on Pentecost this year, the Spirit of Invention guided me to find an even better book: Memories of Philippine Kitchens by Amy Besa and Romy Dorotan, proprietors of Cendrillon restaurant in Manhattan. Blog reviews may be found here and here. When Mom quietly leafed through the book immediately after I gave it to her this morning, I knew I had given a perfect gift. Even Inang, who is in her eighties, seemed to appreciate the book's presentation of dishes she has cooked for us through the years.

As for me, I found that even kutsinta tastes better after just a quick read of Memories, which is part cookbook, part history. The images by Neal Oshima and essays by Besa and Chef Dorotan made me appreciate the hands that create even the humblest of Filipino food and the often hidden artistry behind their creation.

walk gently into the night

In this short Life
That only lasts an hour
How much- how little- is
Within our power
-Emily Dickenson

She trod softly on the earth.

I hear these words when I think of Raquel Naval, my very first associate who succumbed to cancer last April 30. Raquel managed the Gomburza secretariat from 2003 to 2005. In 2006, after Fr. Robert Reyes left for China to begin his sabbatical, I asked Raquel for assistance in media work for Alyansa Tigil Mina and the CBCP. Later, when we needed a researcher for Dr. Custodio's biography, I again tapped Raquel: since she had finished chemotherapy for breast cancer, I knew the story of one of the country's first medical oncologists would have special meaning for her. This year, when she found out that the cancer had spread, she chose to try an alternative treatment for her cancer, instead of undergoing chemotherapy a second time, even if she qualified for free sessions under an experimental drug program in St. Luke's. She was grateful for whatever sum I could give her, which was almost always in return for small tasks she did for me in her house: I wanted her to feel like an active co-worker, instead of a passive beneficiary, as long as she still had strength and I think she appreciated that. In one of our last meetings in her brother's house in UP, I was blessed with the chance to express my appreciation for her friendship.

Fr. Robert, who knows Raquel more than I do, wrote a short piece in memory of her which I'm sharing here.

Thanks to Himig Heswita for the song in the podcast.