fragile things at dib bangkok

Dib, its name drawn from the Thai word for “raw” or “authentic,” grew out of a long-held dream of Petch Osathanugrah, the late father of Chang. A collector, musician, and heir to an energy-drink empire, Osathanugrah spent nearly four decades assembling a collection of more than a thousand works from across the globe, alongside an equally enduring desire to one day build a museum where these pieces could finally breathe in public. Eventually, the Dib International Contemporary Art Museum was realized. 

Among the works we encountered on February 7, one stayed with us long after leaving the gallery. It was “Incubate” by the Indian artist Subodh Gupta. It features a stack of twenty-five oversized eggs made from stainless steel kitchen utensils, beneath five elaborate chandeliers. The materials are unmistakably domestic and humble but are arranged in a way that feels tense and loaded. As one friend puts it, it feels like our ordinary working-class lives are always beneath or at the service of the elite and opulent. 

All of this is housed in The Chapel, a cone-shaped, acoustically engineered space appended to the main structure. From the outside, it looks like a tower of a power plant. But inside, it is a vessel for something even more powerful and profound.

[ more photos here ] 

louis vuitton visionary journeys, part 2

The third section of the Louis Vuitton Visionary Journeys exhibition in four parts is called Icons. It highlights pieces shaped by other designers. This  seamlessly flows into the fourth and last section Collaborations, which celebrates partnerships with artists like Yayoi Kusama. 

That part, especially, felt serendipitous because just two days earlier I had encountered an original Yayoi Kusama painting at the Museum of Contemporary Art Bangkok. It felt like she was following me around the city! The journey ends with a free souvenir from the museum to take home.

That day, February 6, reminded me all this was an entirely foreign world for me. What felt oddly familiar, though, was the persistence to create, to go against the unimaginative, and how history can turn something as ordinary as a traveler’s bag into one of the world’s most luxurious objects.

[ more photos here ]

coffee, tea, or...

Just the right dose of coffee at Pieces Café & Bed in Song Wat Road, Bangkok, Thailand to power through a long, long day. A welcome bonus that this might be one of the best cups I’ve had so far this year. 

[ more photos here ]

louis vuitton visionary journeys, part 1

Last February 6, after the hubbub at Song Wat Road, my K-pop-fanatic friends happily disappeared into a G Dragon Übermensch merch wonderland and a VR concert. I went to the nearby Louis Vuitton Visionary Journeys instead, an exhibition unfolding in four parts.

Here are its first two parts. It opens with Trunkscape, a tunnel made of 96 classic LV trunks, the very object that started it all. This is followed by the segment Origins, which traces the brand from 1854 to the evolution of its now-familiar monograms, bags, luggage, and couture. On a separate occasion, because LV locks were long marketed as “unpickable,” I learned that the brand once invited the famous magician and escape artist Harry Houdini to break one open. He declined.

No matter how effective that marketing is, I still have zero plans of buying a bag worth half a million pesos. 

[ more photos here ]

food trip, street-style

Just wandered through Song Wat Road and its web of alleys leading to cafés, galleries, boutique shops, and restaurants tucked into old, weathered houses.

And the food. Let’s talk about the food. Thailand rarely disappoints the palate. Tried the buns and shumai from Michelin-recognized Gu Long Bao, coffee from Goútes, and so much more. And there’s the street food in between, of course. Going home at 75 kilograms is no longer a joke.

[ more photos here ]

changes this christmas

I’m on Day 17 in this foreign land, with 1 day or 24 hours left before Christmas (which also happens to be my mother's birthday), and just 7 days before I welcome another year in this lifetime. It is a privilege to be here, to be in new light (the sun springs out of the shadows at five in the morning and hides back in darkness only at nine in the evening), to be thousands of kilometers away from a country that does not seem to run out of emotional upheavals, political grievances, personal (ir)responsibilities.

It is, at the same time, bittersweet to be away from my family, relatives, the usual culprits who I’ve spent many holiday seasons with in the past. Never have I been so faraway that my skin tingles at the thought of ice-cold winds in a sunny summer alone. It is like living in Baguio or Tagaytay—only taken several notches higher.

But “change” is the word that is incessantly heard all throughout this year. Like a bell that never stops tolling, it demands to be noticed. It insists to be as relevant as ever that it now verges on a kind of desire or an ideal that seems so close to our reaches but always slips out of our hands. Perhaps this time it didn’t slip, perhaps this is the change that the universe has afforded me.

It is not without hesitation though, this change of scenery. Coming here brings a baggage that is not easy to carry, both figuratively and literally. When you live in the now, there is no denying that the past is close to the present, that yesterday is just a stone’s throw away to the next day. Hence, despite the overwhelming expanse of this country, one would never know when the ugly head of the unexpected goes peeking out of a corner.

Nevertheless, the past few days have been kind, have been brimming with beautiful possibilities. Fluctuating temperatures, jet lag, and change of time zones be damned! Some people have asked me, a genuine worry in their voice, if the place is too quiet for me. I gladly respond it is what I need: Peace from all the noise of this world. From Hamilton to Matakana, from Mission Bay to Royal Oak, from Matamata to Onehunga, from Tauranga to Ngatea, from Western Springs to Rotorua, from Queen Street to Bay of Plenty, so far so good. I have the say the travels are eventful. There’s more to come, and the season’s cheers and excitement are already feeling like close to home. Christmas is here to stay, in our hearts, and I will enjoy the holidays no matter where my feet take me to.

Happy Christmas, everyone!

pseudo pagudpud

The last week of June had been very consistent with the weather: Bad. Everything seemed to be against this road trip to Pagudpud. The rain had no signs of stopping, some highways to the destination were blocked, and our Plan B’s were all inconceivable no thanks to the proverbial rain.

We could have surfed in San Fernando, tried the empanadas and strolled in the ancient streets of Vigan, dared sandboarding in Paoay, seen the massive windmills in Bangui, dipped in the waters of Saud Beach in Pagudpud, and much, much more. The 12 to 14-hour trip wouldn’t be as bad as you’d think with these stopover delights. But these didn’t happen.


A meeting was called on the very night we were supposed to set off to that municipality of Ilocos Norte. Go or no go? Unanimously, the group of eleven chose the former. After all, someone who had just flown back to the country was paying for this trip (well, most of the trip’s financial needs actually). No one would pass this up. This was a blessing surely not in disguise. But unfortunately, so as the omens who put a frown on our faces.


So it was decided after almost three hours of deliberation over chicken wings at Peri-Peri: We would go to wherever our cars’ gas tanks would take us, to wherever the storm’s opposite was. This foolhardy but nonetheless effective plan brought us to Laguna the following day, to the residence of that someone who would pay for everything, almost. We had lunch at Tagaytay and filled ourselves with mandatory servings of bulalo among many other things artery-blocking and went back to our temporary vacation home. The remaining hours ensued with a bottle of Black Label, the original Apple iPad (one liter of apple iced tea and one Tanduay Rhum lapad), and game of poker.

Sunday morning came, and still without any destination to go to, we called a couple of people for suggestions. Our trimmed choices whittled down to those beaches in Batangas, us finally settling on Playa Calatagan since the other options required prior reservations. Spontaneity does not work for them. We left Laguna at 10 and arrived at the resort around 12 noon. Approximately 96 kilometers, says my officemate's GPS.

The sun was unbearable early in the afternoon, so after lunch break these spacious bungalows with whirlpool bathtubs located at strategic corners of the swimming pool were our respite. Sadly, at 5:30pm, low tide came, and the idea of frolicking at the sea was scrapped off. Save it for tomorrow.


Entire evening was spent in this rest house we rented. It was quaint, spaces thoroughly maximized and filled with pop art posters. We followed dinner with a game of Monopoly Deal, something I have yet to master, until everything went dark all of a sudden. Power outage at its finest moment. It could have just been another night of blackout when the retro refrigerator in the kitchen started to rumble and shake. Everyone went dead silent and dashed off to the front porch.

I hypothesized (vehemently) that the fridge’s jiggy dance move was all due to the sudden loss of electricity. Imagine addicts abruptly deprived of their addiction. That put every nerve at ease, I guess, with a little of help of brandy and a game of Pinoy Henyo (I don’t know its English equivalent; it’s not charades, right?), girls versus boys. Guess who won. Night cap was another long game of poker.

Monday morning came, and I went scouting around the area at seven. I am an early riser. Two hours later, some went for a quick dip at the beach. Then it was time for all of us to get back home. Well, not entirely “home” for one of us, since the moolah-provider will be flying out of the country again. We went back to Tagaytay, had these sumptuous servings of sizzling bulalo among many others for lunch, bought the necessary pasalubongs at Rowena’s, and remained silent in our respective cars as we faced the impending reality of good things coming to an end. Especially good, spontaneous things.

holy boholy! here's a reflection!

I was in my hometown last holy week. On the first day of being free from the doldrums of the metro, an acquaintance of mine asked, what would you be doing? My immediate response was, of course, I’d be enjoying it like any other vacation I’ve had. Out of religious partiality or maybe something else, another question was set forth on the table: I thought you’d be reflecting. The week is for reflecting, right?




Hey, I think I have reflected too much Jean Piaget would be proud of my egocentricity. Besides, reflection is practiced (or should be practiced) every day, not only in this particular week. For how could anyone learn the weavings of living if ruminations are limited for six or seven days? Sometimes, I just couldn’t help but laugh at some of these age-old traditions.



So for the long holiday, forgive me, I opted for leisure. Armed with new music from Kimbra, Moonface, TV Girl, Beach House, Ramona Falls, and Coldplay, I went back to my favorite beach in Panglao, dipped in pools when the former was not enough, feasted in new food spots around town, stood as parent for a dear fellow’s college graduation, received truths that were unbelievable to grasp, listened to my sister and nephew play the piano beautifully, bonded with family over games of Scrabble, Monopoly, Boggle, and many more. I even made cupcakes and other desserts (along with three pairs of hands) in long afternoons. Fortunately, they were a success.


I could rattle out a hundred reasons why I did what I did, but I think this is enough: at my age, I have to know what is important to me, know who are important to me, and stick to them. This is one reflection I could share to anyone. For now.

boracay and beyond : ordinary night

Day 3
November 27

Tobey, who I met in a workshop last May, had been working in the island for months, something that dealt with a lot of “researching and copy-pasting” (her words), so it was apt to held her hostage and become our guide in Tiguatian Island, or now commercially known as Crystal Cove. Never heard until I read her entry about it weeks ago.

Woke up at six (that meant I approximately had four hours of sleep), taken breakfast, prepared our thingamajigs, bribed a tricycle for P20/head to bring us to a shore closest to the island which rested between Boracay and Caticlan, and braved the banka ride on rough waters. We arrived a bit out of breath and paid P200 each for the entrance fee.


The tiny island, something Davey Jones would gladly settle in, was not for the extreme city-dwellers or for those jaded by too much house music. (But I guess they really need it). A two-hectare mass of sharp stones and corals, the island had no running fresh water, and everything sold in it was pricey. But we were prepared and we lived to tell the tale. Thanks to Cheetos and measly liters of water.


Though not thoroughly developed, with some structures said to be built little by little through the years, what made up for what it did not have was the overall stunning ambience. It was a gorgeous piece of land, the caves with the crystals (finally found them, after minutes of scouring the island) an experience with those little pockets of water pool and sand. Sadly, since the seas that day were high and rough we were not able to dip and frolic in one of the two.



Then we were back in the Island of the United Colors of Benetton. Had lunch at Sababi Exotic Foods and Vegetarian somewhere in the heart of D*Talipapa. Bought our choice of food in the nearby wet market and made the restaurant cook them for us. Liempo, shrimps, scallops. That meal was divine. We also bought the mandatory pasalubongs around the premises.


After a quick dip in the pool back in the hotel, off we went to Puka Beach via tricycle for P25/head. The things I heard were right: it had one of the most beautiful sunsets in the country, perhaps even better than White Beach. We spent the entire afternoon taking pictures and embracing (or crashing into) the large surging waves. That explained my comrades’ body aches the following day.


On our way back to the resort, we managed to tick a few places off our list: Jona’s Milkshakes and The Real Coffee and Tea Café. The former’s Banana Chocolate Peanut Shake (P180) and the latter’s Ultimate Cupcake (P65 each)—which had a wicked combination of pineapple, walnut, raisin, banana, carrot, whatever—were both delightfully a surprise. For my mates who ordered the café’s famous Calamansi Muffins, they were not as enamored, though I honestly thought they were as yummy as the Ultimates. In fact, I believed one would be best served with a cup of dark coffee or hot chocolate.

And then they were worn-out. Four of the eight decided to rest on the remaining hours, knowing we had to leave the hotel at six the next morning. Good thing I managed to pull the other two out of their beds. A quick dinner was followed by one final walk to the White Beach. I texted Tobey to come with us, but she responded she had work to do. (Apparently, I forgot we also had work to do in a day’s time). It was an ordinary night, the occasional stares/looks from fellow tourists (or maybe locals) flashing at us maybe because of some strange familiarity or simply checking us out. I’d like to think of the latter.

Yes, ordinary, this night. Until we had our last drink at Epic in Station 2 around two in the morning. We were calmly lounging on rattan sofas outside the establishment when one man excused himself and asked permission if he could join us in the table. All three of us, of course, were surprised, but as if we had telekinetically imagined this was how the dynamics worked in a crowded-island-vacation, we agreed.

His name was Matt, he was from Oregon, and he had worked in the navy as a technical fixer (forgot the official term) in ships and other fighting machines for a possible war. For a couple of years. Now, he just had to identify where to expend his rewards, his moolah. Alone. He was fresh off Palawan and planned to stay for a week or two in Boracay. Next destination would be Cebu, and I, of course, suggested Negros Oriental and Bohol. And perhaps now desperate to have someone to talk to, he luckily found us along the shores looking like people also desperate to have someone to talk to. And boy he did talk. I could not spare enough space here to encapsulate his curriculum vitae just that between his stints as a high school wrestling coach and playing offbeat characters in a theater, he sure had one contentedly busy life. And at 26, that is one fortunate busy life.


By four in the morning, we three realized we were out of harm’s way, that this man was not one we initially thought he would be: lunatic (though the picture suggests otherwise), pretentious, implausible. Or maybe we were just dreadfully beat we did not notice any of them. Anyway. He planned to visit Manila and thought it would be nice to catch up with us three soon. Fine.

We returned to the hotel a few minutes later, fully aware we only had an hour before the rest of the group wakes up, ready to leap to the pier in Caticlan, returning to reality. It was an ordinary night, yes, but it only started that way.

[ 3rd of 3 parts ]

boracay and beyond : challenge unacceptable

Day 2
November 26

Had to fit a gargantuan things-to-do this day, especially that three of the group of eight were freshies in the island. Tried parasailing in the morning, of which the little voice in my head could still not justify the 15 minutes of one’s life dangling in the sky would cost P1,300. Some comrades, dizzy from being human kites, had not been strong-willed as I was, so we lounged on a vacated spot on the beach and desperately suntanned ourselves with the grey cloud-cloaked sun. Yes, it threatened to rain that day.

Lunch was at Smoke, one of the two little restos in a hidden corner at D*Mall and D*Palengke, a suggestion made by Tobey (a person that would be humanized a little more later). The place felt like Hayahay or the old Memento in Dumaguete City. I loved it. Unfortunately, I chose the wrong food. The Beef and Mushroom was not entirely tender. Bulalo soup, fish steak, and apparently most on the menu aside from my order were good. At least my mango shake was refreshing.




Planned to try out the ATVs (All-Terrain Vehicle) and vroom our adrenalin-hungered selves onto this and that course, but the astronomical price made me back out, which, in classic toppling domino fashion, made the rest of the pack followed suit. (I don’t know how to drive, yet I still have to pay P400 for sitting next to the driver! Unless the driver is of royal descent, I’d give in). So, we went back to the beach and got ourselves a paraw, a boat powered only by wind. That was another grand off the budget.

After half-an-hour of cruising, occasionally bathed by swelling waters (we did not heed the warnings that that day’s sea was a little bit rough), we treated ourselves with a humongous bowl (The Couples Size) of halo-halo at Halowich. There was a humongous-er bowl (The Barkada Size) that made me wonder, how big are the couples supposed to be here in Boracay? Left the question unanswered and, after a quick wash-up back in the hotel, had buffet dinner at Alf’s (reasonably prized for their tasty food at P380) and introduced Tobey to the group.


Mates urged (or commanded) I try Cocomangas’ “Still Standing After 15” challenge, a life-changing if not deadly test of endurance of having 15 mixed liquor shots, to solidify my status as the varsity player in the group. If successful one would get a choice of jersey or a tee and have his/her name engraved on a little golden plate to be plastered on a wall. Unfortunately, my aching wallet was not as enduring as my spirit (win or lose, those shots cost P1,300+), so we settled with the Illusion Drink, the joint’s famous drink. It was safe. I was neither seeing nor hearing anything after seven shots.


Then skipped to Guilly’s Island for a bottle of beer then to Club Paraw for another one, before getting a night-cap at Pat’s Creek, one my favorite places along the shore. The next itinerary at the first hint of sunlight would be a departure of the island’s lavish, cosmopolitan offerings. I was looking forward to this.

[ 2nd of 3 parts ]

boracay and beyond : not a good start

The last time is December 2008. From where I stand today, that is a long stretch of time. In an entire vacationer’s summary, Boracay sure has its highs and lows. And yet the island, mildly peopled in the low season and increasingly urbanized all year round, never fails to surprise upon visiting it again.

Day 1
November 25

Filed for a half-day vacation leave last Friday (since that’s what VL’s are for; it’s strange though having to fill-in that “Reason” blank in the application). Left the office at 12:30PM to catch the 3:35PM flight to Caticlan. What made it all wrong was that there was no flight to Caticlan. Due to “sunset limitation.” Brilliant. Co-traveler revealed it was the same excuse she received in her trip to Caticlan before. So airline carrier, why promote a flight scheduled on a time when sunlight is always, erm, limited? And haven’t you heard of light bulbs? Halogen lamps? Or bonfire? This is the second time I have experienced pesky troubles with this airline. In two month’s time. Read previous gripe here.

Anyway. Flight was moved to 7PM at Kalibo instead. That airport was an hour and a half away from the pier in Caticlan, or an hour and 45 minutes away from island of Boracay itself. So we missed the sunset. So sunset watching would have to wait. (We only had three nights and two days to spare). Arrived at Kalibo International Airport around 8PM, which luckily made us hitch the last boat to the island of white sand/tourists just in time.

Dropped luggage in Boracay Holday Resort and immediately went out for dinner. For this, had to shell out a couple of hundreds to indulge in seafood. Then decided to walk through White Beach from Stations 2 to 1 and venture the latter’s talked-about nightlife. But, alas, the waters had risen to the point of reaching the establishments’ beach-front entrances that the sofas, bean bags, mini tables by the shore were removed, thus, the chaos was concentrated inside the clubs’ already-chaotic order. We all went back to our hotel and ordered a couple of beers. Yeah, we were losers, but not tomorrow.

[ 1st of 3 parts ]

all these are necessary

When things get a little too hard to handle, a getaway is in order. The past few months have been grueling, both in mind and body (mostly the former), so I thank the heavens a trip has been made to my hometown prior to all the paranoia.

*

Sugar Rush
October 29

Bought two boxes of Cinnabon for my family, as if no sugar was enough to sate their sets of sweet tooth. Ironically, upon arrival, I went straight to my dentist to have my braces adjusted (because at this age I think anything ortho is a shame). It was also the birthday of our eldest brother, so there came the mandatory tub of ice cream on our dinner table that night. Another sugar. Later, I met two of my collegemates at Bo’s Coffee Shop (more sugar), pacifying our doubts of this and that talks, this and that gossips. Seeing our photos right now, I realized we three were presidents of one same organization during our respective sophomore-junior years. Just sharing. We made that group work. Take that!

The Ones That Passed
October 30

Went to church in the morning and then had lunch with my mother, sister, and nephew somewhere, my treat. In the afternoon, went to the cemeteries at Maribojoc and Loon. These were where my parents’ grand- and great-grandparents laid in quiet provincial soil. These visits made me realize we ought to have a comprehensive family tree. I knew so little of our bloodline. Just imagine the bounty I could unearth from the seemingly bottomless source of stories. As the afternoon progressed, I met four of my schoolmates to discuss and prepare for next day’s itinerary.

Halloween Beach Outing
October 31

Rounded up my high school classmates because I wanted to. The last time I saw them was in December last year, goofing around Balicasag and Virgin Islands. Brought with me two masks that survived countless occasions (from Valentines to Christmas), utterly enduring through the years it became standard to bring them along to further silly-fy an already silly gathering. As usual, the masks were prominent in many pictures of my camera than the exquisite sand and waters of Panglao. Blame it on the alcohol.

No Plane, No Gain

November 1

Ah, no wonder why those Occupy Rallies all over the world lasted than expected. Was supposed to fly back to Manila in the afternoon, to embrace work in all its glory the following day, but was then informed that Particular Airline had to cancel its trip. PA reasoned it was all due to a looming bad weather and that the city airstrip had no room for another aircraft. Oh, should I laugh at this? The Other Airline just left, seconds ago, so technically there was room for another aircraft. Yet PA insisted on cancelling its flight. As expected, blood pressures went high, especially tanned corporate men and women raising hell at the little booth of PA. Of course, who wouldn’t? A day’s worth of one’s job is still a day’s worth. Just one legal note for Particular Airline: please hold responsibility to your customers and don’t give us advices to ferry to Cebu to catch its “many” Manila flights when you’ve earlier stated bad weather is coming. Also, blood pressures went sky-high when it was overheard the Another Airline handed a stipend of P400 to its passengers when it also canceled its flight for technical reasons. Sigh, PA, why can’t you do the same? You’re a big guy now. A little gift won’t dent the wallet. If you just can’t, please stop offering us those promo fares and start eating your words.

Back at Home

November 2

Stayed at home most of the day, enjoying Pawn Stars on History Channel and Wipeout on AXN. Then decided to watch Puss in Boots (I love cats!) with problematic someone late in the afternoon and had dinner at Heritage Crab House next in Mansasa. It was both our first time in that new restaurant, and we found the place handsome and rustic, the live band really good, the food servings generous, and the taste palatable but not entirely novel. After lengthy conversations over his compulsory two-stick smoke and my glass of pineapple juice, we went home.

Back to Reality

November 3

A two-day off from work, especially an unplanned one, was surprisingly cathartic. Prior to my return flight since the last one that failed, everything looked vivid, well-lighted, and serene even above the racket the carpenters were making, replacing our living room door with a dark, heavy one. Until I finally hopped onboard the airplane, lifting me higher off the ground and transplanting me back to a Manila that had skies threatening to rain. What a welcoming sight.

founders friend

Touchdown and Take Off

August 24, 2011

Yes, I decided to visit two cities in one day. Original plan was to stay in Dumaguete upon arriving (until the 29th of August), but due to circumstance I decided to pay my dear hometown a visit on the very same day. Land on Dumaguete in the morning, cruise to Tagbilaran in the afternoon.

Fast forward, or six days later, it was not surprising knowing the expenses I made. I checked my little book of transactions and discovered my spending doubled compared to last year’s August break. Yet there was no pang of guilt here. I think it’s all worth it.


One Day in Bohol
August 25, 2011

Brought my parents to the grocers, went with them to purchase things needed for remodeling the house, and met a handful of my high school classmates on the eve of my leaving for Dumaguete. The latter and I returned to our recently-favored pastime: singing/reading lyrics. Yes, apparently, all I can manage is read lyrics on the videoke screen like poetry.

At least it’s poetry.


The Epic Journey Back
August 26, 2011

To encapsulate le grande expedition to the city of gentle people: I arrived at Tagbilaran port at 6:45AM, and then knew Dumaguete fastcraft trip at 8AM was cancelled due to rough seas. When hesitation to leave started to sink in, I met someone who also planned on hopping onto the same boat. Karamays are always helpful. We both decided to brave the longer route—take the earliest trip to Cebu (7AM); take a taxi cab to South Bus Terminal (9AM); take a bus to Santander Pier (9:20AM), of which the whole trip took three hours; take a ferry boat to Sibulan, Negros Oriental (3:30PM); and finally, take a tricycle ride to reach Piapi, Dumaguete (4PM).



I was supposed to reach Dumaguete City as early as 9AM. Nevertheless, this time I can truly say, better late than never (my mantra since Elementary was ‘better absent than late’). So next time someone says there’s no other way, I’d slap the idiot hard on the face.

After this Tolkienesque journey all-for-the-sake-of-lakwatsa, things started to get better: SU Cheering Competition, Zombadings 1: Patayin sa Shokot Si Remington Special Screening, dinner at Sunburst, drinks at Sundown, and a day-breaker meal at Qyosko. Smiles were drawn on our faces.


The Sand Bar Vanishes

This time, there was ‘Walang tulugan!’ indeed. After our 4AM meal in Qyosko, off we went back to our respective homes and packed our things that would shame The Flash. We converged at Portal West Building by 5AM. A couple of expected people didn’t show up. (To the pits with them!) Anyway, there were nine of us, and it was relatively a healthy number for such trip.



I couldn’t really remember what time we left the city since I was drifting in Pillowland the minute the van went zooming to Bais City. We arrived at our destination point at a time and weather that were good for seeing the dolphins but bad at frolicking at the famous Sand Bar. Why? The seas were high, the Sand Bar was gone.

Gladly enough, a big crowd of marine mammals graced our presence. I believed my sonic message of “You better show up or else… or else…” was effectively relayed to the depths of the ocean with my planking atop the banca’s outriggers.

Walk-Outs
August 27, 2011

And this, people, is the story behind “Founders Friend” or “FF” (statements are altered for privacy/due to unreliable recollection, many thanks to our favorite horse):

“She’s happy with her job. She travels a lot. She’s even happy with that hectic job. Why can’t we have that life? And she has a boyfriend! Someone who likes to see her all the time!”

“Oo nga. Lahat nalang ng mga lumalapit sa’kin may masasamang balak! May dalang ice-pick pa!”

“At least may lumalapit sa’yo.”

“But this year’s founders feel a little bit lighter noh?”

“Actually. Drama is sooo 2010. Forget closure. It’s time to move forward.”

“That’s why we need someone just for this week.”

“A special friend for a week.”

“Yes, someone who’s like a what-happens-during-founders-stays-only-in-founders kind of person.”

“Like a Founders Friend!”

“Yeah! An FF! ‘Hey, can you be my FF tonight?’”

“I like that!”

A few hours later, before the sun peeked out from the Escanyo horizon, the characters in the story disappeared one by one.

In Search of That Elusive Person
August 28,2011

It’s hard to say no to a one-way ticket to Drinks-All-You-Can ticket for the price of a bucket up here in the north. This sounds like a joke but two Sundays prove otherwise. And that day is officially the last day of finding for that elusive Founders Friend.

With the Hibalag booth area at the university spitting fireworks to close the week-long event, El Camino and its fund-raising (with the said ticket), luring lawyers, future lawyers, and the usual visitors, were touted to be an interesting checkpoint. And whether the search was successful or not, depending on how one saw the outcome, the day ended strangely well, maybe because of the reason for coming up with this excuse: find the post-founders friend.

National Artist for Literature Edith L. Tiempo’s State Funeral
August 29, 2011

I attended a vigil of Mom Edith’s wake last August 27, Friday. Familiar faces were there, and I guess they were present for the same reason why I needed to pay respect to someone who graciously poured wisdom to people who shared the same thirst of her passion.

The State Funeral took place two days later. I had a 3PM flight to catch, and though I knew I won’t be able to follow the final walk to the burial grounds because of this, I woke up early to see her one last time. It was the right thing to do.

Reunions and Anniversaries

Still not reeling away from this little bundle of grief I carried during my days and nights of merriment (yes, I hide feelings very well) because of Mom Edith’s departure, I rounded up the culprits for one last August lunch in Dumaguete at Gabby’s Bistro. In simple words, I needed company. Again, a few went poof at the last minute for reasons both trivial and logical, but it was fine. It is always lovely to cap things on a pleasant note—all smiles and lively chatter. The gathering went well. The leaving did not.

Well, a lot knows it’s like that when it comes to Dumaguete. Always.

three lost things and counting

May 18 – And Suddenly, They’re Gone

I mentioned in the very first part of this series that five things were lost during my summer break in Dumaguete, and for five parts already, I had only mentioned one. Well, on this day, the vanishing tripled. As how many variety shows put it: one time, big time.

On our way to Antulang Beach Resort in Siaton, the final workshop week’s escapade, I put on my other sunglasses that I thought would best suit the day, especially when yachting in Tambobo Bay. After all, it is one of the few places in the Negros provinces that are gifted with both sunrise and sunset. A few hours later, I was looking for the glasses’ slip case and found none. And that was lost item number two. Just like any other small things, this couldn’t upset me. Along with a fellow who was itching to get into the infinity pool, I jumped into the waters under the midday sun and allowed myself to be unbothered by anything.

*

Strange, one co-fellow didn’t bring any swimwear with him in an outing that involved a lot of water. It was supposed to be a vacation for everyone, so I lent him a pair of shorts—which was recently bought and worn only once—of which he handed it to another person for safekeeping. All was set. But even with the shorts in hand, I eventually knew he didn’t dip a single toe in the pool or the sea. And due to the hurricane of swimming here and snapping photos there, talking here and diving there, I forgot all about what I had just lent.


At the end of the day, when we separated ways—the fellows going back to the mountains of Valencia and us alumni going back to Dumaguete City—I realized the pair of shorts was not with me. No problem. Will get it in my next visit. But the next visit was futile. It was gone, absent in anyone’s backpacks. I shrugged. There was nothing I could do. My plans of jogging around the rubberized oval in the city sports arena were immediately scraped off the list. Lost item number three: check.

*

It seemed that my personal properties had formed a pact and rebelled against me for possessing them. So, I decided to drown myself with my favorite music on the bus routed for the city. Nothing could lift this misery out of the system better than Janelle Monáe and Gnarls Barkley. I pulled out the iPod from the bag, and it was just the iPod. I searched for its earphones in my bag, in my seat, on the floor, and couldn’t get a sight of a single white noodle around. Lost item number four: check.

That was it. The battle between me and my belongings was growing fiercer by the hour. I turned to my seatmate and future Ms. Universe Liza Baccay, who was my co-fellow in the 2008 workshop, and sighed. She could only share to me what I had recently shared to her back at the resort: Ayaw pag-strong kay mag-struggle ang face.

*

It was Wednesday, and that meant one thing: almost like a tradition, workshop fellows would flock at Hayahay for Reggae Night and meet Miguel “Mickey” Ybañez, another workshop alumnus. After the mandatory dinner at Neva’s with Mo Francisco, Keith Cortez, Phillip Kimpo, Ynna Abuan, Ceres Abanil and Peachy Paderna (Ms. Universe, Elena Paulma and Noelle Leslie dela Cruz, my co-katsubongs, were suddenly a no-show), off we went to the seaside resto. Joel Toledo and Douglas Candano, as expected, we’re already in the company of Mickey.


Alumni kept on trickling that night. Like how the 47th met the 48th met the 49th. Missing in the link, surprisingly of all the batches, was the 50th. And then I knew they hadn’t attended one Reggae Night in their three-week stay in Negros Oriental. Back flip here. Of course, it was not as crucial as, let’s say, reading the next day’s short stories and poems, but on this particular night they missed Ricci Guevara’s dancing to the rhythmic percussions of a band. Just saying.

The sense of reunion was finally settling in the city. Some things were lost and some people were introduced. And I received some good news. The day was not entirely awful.

(sixth of eight parts)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 |