Your Armor by Charlotte Martin

I saw this video in a friend's Facebook and loved it immediately. The piano riffs and the soothing voice reminded me of the days where I used to spend on my own piano.

Paulo Coelho in Filipino

A chat with Katchig Mouradin yesterday taught me to find my treasure in my own backyard. It is true. Most Filipinos seldom find value in their own country. The glitter of far away lands is too gravitational a pull that we find ourselves scattered all over the place without any true anchor to a home. To an identity.

Thus the ever pervading struggle of the Filipino to remain authentic. But authentic to what nature? The answer escapes me because sadly even I cannot truly say what nature is this. However, there is no struggle born without a good fight. And I suppose that is what I know of each and every Filipino that's walked their lives parallel to the nation's history. The fact that every Filipino is born with a warrior's heart.

So here's my little attempt to do some weeding in my own little garden. Learning to love the tongue of my motherland as it helps me understand deeper the truths conveyed by an author who knows the authentic nature of his soul and moves to arouse authenticity in others.

__________

A true warrior of light knows that every garden has its own mysteries, which only the patient hand of the gardener can unravel. (Paulo Coelho's Quote for October 30)

Ang totoong Mandirigma ng Liwanag alam na ang mga hardin ay may kanya-kanyang misterio na ang masipag at pasensyong hardinero lang ang nakaka-intindi.

_____

So it seems that we are living in a culture of fear.

Before it was the terrorist attacks and now we see this economic crisis that engulfs the whole world.

My point is that we understand less and less what is happening. Personally, the more I read about this crisis the more I get lost.

Not only that: I’m reading about Pakistan, Afghanistan, Irak and the Middle East and it seems that people are losing control. When this happens we see the rise of a culture of fear. And this is what I want you to share: do you feel we are living a moment where fear is being used against us?

Don’t you have the feeling that besides our personal fear, there’s an atmosphere of doubt that is imposing this world of crisis to us? (Paulo Coelho on the Culture of Fear)

Namumuhay tayo sa isang kultura ng pangangamba.

Dati puro mga attack ng terrorista ngayon naman nakikita natin ang crisis sa economy ng buong mundo.

Ang punto ko ay paunti ng paunti ang naiintindihan natin sa mga nangyayari. Sa totoo lang para sa kin, habang parami ng parami ang nababasa ko, mas lalo akong nalilito.

Hindi lang yun: nagbabasa ako tungkol sa Pakistan, Afghanistan, Irak at ang Middle East at mukhang nawawalan ng control ang mga tao. Pag-nangyayari ito lalong gumagrabe ang pangangamba. Pero ito ang gusto ko malaman sa inyo: sa tingin niyo ba na namumuhay tayo sa panahon na kung saan ang ating pangangaba ay ginagagamit para mas-takutin pa tayo?

Hindi niyo ba napapansin bukod sa ating sariling pangangamba, merong pakiramdam ng pagka-alinlangan na syang naglalapat nitong crisis sa atin?

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LiYAB PILIPINAS: A New Renaissance

How many of us Pinoys often sit around waiting from dawn till dusk the flourishing of the Filipino dream? What is the Filipino dream anyway? So much has been said about the American Dream where the promise is of a land that prospers your life. But what has been said about the Filipino dream? For me, the Filipino dream is that of becoming authentic to the nature that we have been born with. For more than 300 years the Philippine Culture has been influenced by so many nations. I have often wondered about a simple question. So who is a Filipino?? Stripped off all its influences what makes up a Real True Blue Pinoy?

photo by Adrienne Santos
model: Javi Cabanes
location: Vista Mar Cebu City

I've been reading a lot of magazines these days and have been running into people who mostly represent something quite extraordinary happening in the Philippine Society today. There seems to be a New Renaissance flourishing from the quiet coffee tables of Starbucks to the corners of FullyBooked Boni High to the bright lights of Mag-Net to the cozy hippie scene of Cubao X. There seems to be an uproar coming from the once silenced voice of Filipino writers, artists, photographers in magazines like I-MAG, ROAM Philippines, indie musicians performing in 19East or Saguijo.

I am not a well informed individual. But for someone who has been "out of the scene" as long as I have, the gravitation of this phenomenon to lift up the hidden talents ingrained in our culture and collective make-up is tugging at my heart strings. I see entrepreneurial and creative endeavors from Multiply to Facebook to Blogspot. I see an overwhelming desire for dreams and to see dreams come true for fellowmen alike in careers, vocations, foundations you name it.

There is a huge hunger that refuses to be satiated now with just mere pop culture. There is an unquenchable desire for meaning. There is a passionate desire to burn bright and light up dreams that have been asleep.

LIYAB PILINAS, the heartwrenching cry of The Outlook Pointe Foundation reverberates inside many of us seekers who have stood long at the sidelines just watching, observing and absorbing the changing faces of our country's people. Wondering if we will ever produce something phenomenal that can change this part of the world. LIYAB PILIPINAS is a cry of those who know that hope is just a step away and that a hurdle is not too high to jump over or a mountain too big that it can't be moved.

LIYAB PILIPINAS is the call of every born and bred Filipino who sees the soul of the nation with eyes of possibility. It is seeing a diamond in the rough shaping up to glitter through dust. It is seeing a sleeping giant awaken. It is seeing every heart that knows how to fight and struggle and love with the fierceness of a tribal warrior and the grace of a Maria Clara.

LIYAB PILIPINAS is a choice to overcome and believe and create with all you have and make it your life.

Ikaw, ano ang LIYAB PILIPINAS mo?

click image to view full size

On Feelings

i have always been wary about feeling now

but i've always been attached to it somehow
always wondering if i can escape it
or if it will eternally imprison me

but over time i have learned to sit with
discomfort
uneasiness
tension
and a whole lot of
struggle

because i believe that with every
impulse a layer is peeled
a wound is healed
and feelings will be
okay to breathe
again.

Notes to Myself

By making a note of something that strikes you, you separate it from the incessant stream of impressions that crowd across the mental eye, and perhaps fix it in your memory. All of us have had good ideas or vivid sensations that we thought would one day come in useful, but which, because we were too lazy to write them down, have entirely escaped us. When you know you are going to make a note of something, you look at it more attentively than you otherwise would, and in the process of doing so the words are borne in upon you that will give it its private place in reality. ...

~ W. Somerset Maugham on writing

A Different Eye

I started to take a liking to capturing moments on film when I was college. Back then I used my Dad's Canon. I enjoyed taking black and whites because to me they spoke of truth. The monochrome showed no discrimination for what stood out or what didn't. It just showed what was plainly there. A moment. A face. An object. From there I'd find myself sitting still and watching what I had just immortalized. I'm not expert behind the lenses and I suppose it might as well be just so because in my lack of technique I am able to appreciate and find some meaning in the blurs and the out of focus results of my too enthusiastic seeking heart.

I started to find solace in taking pictures again when I entered business school. The cold hearted days of thorough case studies and discussions numbed my brain to what it used to know as life. The spirit of creativity stunted from flight. This was what led me to again find meaning in the gray concrete walls of the academic business scene Armed only with a Nokia 6600 I started to look at things around me with a different eye. Orange highlighters that strike through 15 page analysis of cases strike through bible verses and a bestselling novel the same. These moments of realization are captured on a 400 by 300 pixel photograph that I usually edit in Adobe Photoshop to add a caption or two describing what I saw in that moment.































These were one of the first few photographs I took. Advancing from a camera phone to a Canon Powershot that took 1 mega pixel of pictures in a 128MB Compact Flash card I got for 10K together with a camera printer that printed wallet sized versions of the the snaps I took. It became almost a daily habit to take pictures like these and share them with family and friends. The habit suddenly became known as subject heading of all my emails I shared these photos through. Picture Poetry as I called it.

These pictures adorn my room printed on photo paper as a gift from my sister on my 27th birthday. They remind me of how I used to see the world from mundane experiences that arouse a spark of hope lying dormant especially in times of intellectual boredom, painful transitions, and fearful uncertainty.

My passion for photography never went to the level of craftmanship as I only lingered in the art to find an additional means to express myself especially when I cannot find the words to capture my thoughts. But later on I convinced my Dad to get a Canon 350DSLR after I graduated from business school so that we can take better photos on our trip to Europe in 2005. Back then dSLRs cost a FORTUNE. I got mine for 49K without a camera bag and only a 1GB Compact Flashcard to boot.

When I saw the big expanse of the world, I saw how many more moments can be captured and the thrill of it all was keeping them for posterity. I munched through moments shutter happy especially during our tour in Europe.



























I thought I reached my height in my journey with photography. The pace of moments died down to a quiet conundrum of introspection. I would occasionally still take pictures of moments, things and people that would move me but the delight in the art faded because it became complicated to journey by myself in a hobby that was experienced by only me.

The past five months have been an archeological dig of sorts that resurrected my inner flame for the artforms that I find myself comfortable in. Music has taken a bit of a back seat these days as I simply explore those that I can carry around and live with in the hustle and bustle of my imbalanced lifestyle. Writing. Reading. Photography. Now become companions in a process that raises up a buried self and calls forth a hibernating passion to see and recreate life filled with beauty and purpose.

It has become a new found joy to recreate again especially with Adi and Javi flying with me. We bought identical Nikon D40s yesterday at Hidalgo (and an additional one for my sister who's a closet art enthusiast) and eagerly captured shots away when we got home in the afternoon. The ease of the D40 matched my impatience for technical detail. The color it produced matched my desire to see the vibrance and life of memories that I want immortalized for good.

So yes, perhaps I am seeing the world with a different eye. One click of the shutter at a time.

Finding A Sidewalk to Breath

When you are exceedingly inhibited out of your wits (especially in the corporate world) there are those moments when you choose to play a little bit of hooky. The truth is, I have been wanting to just play hooky without having to feel guilty for the longest time. The repressions of artistic inclinations show when even on an idle work day, you begin to ache to be somewhere else aside from the four corners of my little office corner.

So I gave myself a break and succumbed to the hunger for liberation and decided to go out for a walk at 10am in the morning. I didn't know where I wanted to go. My first thought was to find a nearest magazine stand which I remember would be in RCBC Tower just a few blocks away from my building. They had a stall inside their food court that allowed for momentary reading. But when I walked out the building I was drawn somewhere else. I wandered aimlessly and decided to take some pictures with my Sony Ericsson phone camera. Walking the length of the street I ended up in a park.

What I relief, I told myself. What an exceedingly extreme relief. Sometimes when everything just needs to be let loose, all it takes is a little vacant space on a friendly sidewalk for my heart to rest. I'm quite glad I found one today.

More pictures in this album.

Skyway Epiphanies of a Reluctant Motorist

I go up the Metro Manila Skyway everyday to and from work. I have to bear the ever rising toll prices of this route because the traffic below going towards the South is stressfully unbearable. I have never really quite learned how to bear horrible traffic like most motorists do. But who does?

One thing I've learned how to do while driving is take phone camera pictures. Most of the time I get drawn to a nice sunset or the mysterious glow of a full moon. Since the skyway stretches a length of 10 kilometers, there is a long expanse of road that allows my mind to wander off and unwind from the strenuous knots that tie up in my brain after a long day's work.

The other day I saw the sky with a glorious red violet hue. Slightly dark patches of gray clouds feathered the light coming from the setting sun. The ramp leading up to skyway felt like an entrance to a majestic mansion that eagerly welcomed my homebound ride. Quite a liberating view after seeing tall concrete buildings enclose my day like bars of a huge cage.

Brief moments such as this become breathing spaces for day worker like me hobbling hour after hour to fulfill the necessities of survival and daily living. I suppose it's a quiet miracle when I keep my eyes open to witness moments greeting me like this.

Finding Spirit in the Financial Crisis

I've been running into this topic for the past week. I cannot claim to be the most informed person in the world. I am always not up to date about current events in whatever aspect of life except if it's about the Church. Yes, I probably am a self-proclaimed recluse. But there are reasons and the reasons have helped me realize that it is okay to keep being a recluse as long as I don't become indifferent to the movement of life that I affect around me or are being affected by something I can help alleviate. So I look up once in a while or open my eyes from the moments of contemplative-active living to see what and how everybody is getting along.

I ran into a Facebook Note from my friend Anjani all the way from Holland entitled Global Economic Crisis: A Historic Opportunity for Transformation. and I immediately took note of the word transformation. After having recently attended a forum at the Asian Institute of Management that nitpicked and fed our brains on the causes of this crisis and what one can do to survive it, there was no mention on how it actually is an opportunity for global transformation. Looking at this global crisis in that manner now has moved me to take part of the opportunity of being transformed myself. Hence, keeping myself informed and involved with everything that's got to do with it including how the Church thinks.

In this article I saw in my cousin Pat's blog, he pointed that what endures through all crisis is God.

After all the intellectual debacle of expert economists, politicians, businessmen, housewives or even farmers, in the end there will be no formula for overcoming a depression except the united mindset of goodwill amongst men. Where does all good begin? God. For non-Christians it's begins with other things maybe but the idea of holding on to a collective unifying force greater than all of mankind's capability always arises in the face of all challenges that seem impossible to overcome.

I find it interesting that even the Pope has something affirming to say about what's been troubling corporate giants. It's a comforting thought that even through the stonehearted walls of money making machines, the Spirit finds its way to breath life.

Why Do I Like Facebook?

I cannot believe that I just spent almost two hours playing with Facebook. I don't know why I suddenly got interested with this social networking site when I was pretty immersed in Multiply already.

Well people change.

But I'm not satisfied with that reason so I'll probably try to sift through my mind and get in touch with my thoughts to think about why my sudden preoccupation with Facebook came only now.

I've probably been on Facebook since last year. I joined because most of my business school friends were there. Multiply's interface still interested me more because it felt more personal with all the capabilities of creating customized themes and unlimited uploads of photos whereas Facebook would only have the plain white interface that also looked quite cluttered because of everything that was going on in your personal wall.

I just realized that my apparent interest in Facebook came to be because it aided me in sifting through certain thoughts that are in my head especially when it came to preferences. I have never been concrete about my preferences because I always thought that being flexible would give me a healthy social life. I was wrong. Not clearly being able to identify my preferences left me in social limbo and moved me into a shaky ground where I could not really understand what I liked and disliked in relation to who I am.

Facebook has all these applications and one liner story feeds that lets you describe and articulate something that is going on in your life without explicitly having to describe the actual event. It leaves no room for too much inquiry and it gives just enough information to those who want to check up on you. Mostly, despite the many friends I add and the friends who add me, I think I'm actually using Facebook to check up on myself.

It reminds me of the Captain's Log in Star Fleet Enterprise (I don't know if I got that right). Apart from a real blog or even a Moleskine Journal, I think Facebook is the blog for dummies. Those who do not have the strength to muster thinking through the clutter of thoughts that cram themselves into your brain will find an easier time spring cleaning through reveries with Facebook. Answering questions like, "What are you doing today?" makes you think if what you're doing is actually worth your while. Or "Choose your Top Friend" makes you think about the numerous list you've acquired in your network and which ones you can actually ping, buzz, text and know that they will respond to you right away. Or "Type your Favorite Artist" in My Music says practically what mood you're in if you're reminiscing, crying, headbanging or dreaming the day away.

So till the next story feed or next Sticky Note or a Random Bear Hug sent through the digital pages of this digital bulletin board, I'm spring cleaning away.

Photography Helps Me Write

I spent my entire lunch break finishing i-mag photography. A Filipino magazine on imaging and the imagination. I was particular interested in the articles that described the creative process of professional photographers because they highlighted the reasons that fuel their passion for this art. As with any art comes the value of craftmanship. Even Joyce Carol Oates author of Faith Like A Writer says, "Withought craft, art remains private. Without art, craft is merely handiwork."

I have pondered upon that statement for more than a month now since I finished reading that book. What it's saying to me is any pursuit of art requires discipline to follow through the perfection of the skill that produces the fruits of the artistic process. Without discipline, the artwork remains mediocre and the easy refusal of the artist to share it to the world. Too much rigor on the other hand removes the liberating experience that is normally shared between artist and artwork leading to a dry spillover of inspiration to enthusiasts.

I took to heart what was said about Marcin Stawiarz' photography, "A picture that carries great emotional impact is more valued than a well composed but literal recording of reality. For proof that one can easily understand, consider the way an inexpert snapshot of a child is treasured by a parent. And when the emotional content of the photograph holds universal truths, it also reaches out to other people across cultural, geographical and time barriers."

Art that moves and stirs the deepest recesses of a human soul is the ultimate purpose. Regardless of how it is taken. How it was made. What kind of post-processing done to it. These things become secondary when we're talking about what makes the image significant. An interview with Judes Echauz former Camera Club of the Philippines president and three time Master Photographer says, "to take better pictures you need only to maximize your 6 megapixel camera and not upgrade to the latest twelve megapixel camera because the genius is not in the pixels, it's in you."

At this point where I am trying to perfect my writing craft and shape up my artistic nature, I am brought back to basics. That true perfection of the art still lies in how I, as an artist, am able to make the creative journey significant not only for myself but for others. Where each creative endeavor is not just a set of tasks that lead to a finished outcome but most importantly a step that leads to the fulfillment of a dream.

Junk Art Pendant from Baguio

Being an avid collector of trinkets that hang around my neck, I couldn't resist this buy. It hung on a stand in the bazaar of Global Pinoy at the Cuenca Park of AAV. Generally made of turquoise and a lot of beads stuck together. Marble. Cat's eye. Ivory. A handmade pendant made in Baguio by local artists who've banded together to pursue their calling. I found it amazing that all their designs were unique. This was just one of them. It was pretty cheap (in my opinion) that such craft and handiwork would range from just 150 to 500 pesos. Considering how it's made by hand, the labor and the imagination takes time to pick up momentum. I remember stringing my own rosary beads for four hours and I felt pretty spent.

Here were people who actually do it for a living and loving it. Not only do they make these, they also hand paint their own shirts and play tribal music. I have never actually met any Baguio artisans except for my cousin Rinka. After I bought the necklace, one of them invited us to stay on to watch them perform tribal music. I've seen these kinds of performers on television but it was quite an experience to see them up close. They had their ethnic instruments with them and one of them started to play this odd looking flute.

It sounded as if I was in the midst of a dark dense forest. I could almost smell the moss on the damp earth. Then the drums started and a nose flute played. One of them sang something in an unknown dialect. His voice felt like it came from somewhere deep inside his gut. Like digging up something from the earth's soil. It was amazing. There was so much passion. The connection between all four musicians was almost spiritual.

I felt my soul unwind there for a bit. A much needed breathing space that was. There is something distinct about tribal bands and regular rock bands. The experience of connecting to a different plane like ushering the breathe of the Spirit was very much present. It reminded me of how I used let my soul breathe through music. Something I don't have much time to spare now. But I am hoping in the next few months I will.

tribal music live

The Girl In The Mirror

This is a photo that I am quite proud of being in. Not because of any grand reason but because this is an attempt of someone who I am really close to, to pick up from where he left off on his artistic journey.

I like this photo because it's stolen. It's not prepared in any way. Stolen shots for me tell me that the photographer has really been observing you. Paying close detail to the moment and waiting for that unveiling of something that can be made witness to an expression, a feeling, a thought, a dream. This photograph shows me something about myself and moves that little place inside me that still remains authentic to my true nature. Vintage. Rustic. Searching. Dreamer. That I am.

The Alley

I've been walking this alley for last couple of weekends now. This is the alley that leads to Rainier's house. I like how it is haunting and dark like that. Rainier's house is just to the right of the lamp post. There is a little gate that leads in. We hang out in the small cozy space just after the little gate. I took this shot last Friday night when we dropped by to supposedly meet them there.

Actually, I really took this shot to practice what Javi just taught me on aperture and shutter speed. Haha. I can't believe that I just got those things down after 3 years of having this camera.

Okay so I am resurrecting my photographer's eye for one purpose. Just to make it clear. It's to help me write better. I have no ambitions of being a photography expert because sometimes I think that taking stolen moments with a phone cam is still better. (Hehe).

This shot was a supposed exercise on learning how to gauge the amount of light that goes inside the lens. Apart from that, I just simply love the night glow that creates the eerie mood from a seemingly misty evening.

Sunset in the City

Yesterday I decided to wait for Jarro to get off work. One of the rare times I am blessed with the virtue of patience. While waiting, Javi and I walked around Greenbelt 3. Our legs were pretty tired from having walked all day looking at cameras and gadgets in Park Square 1. Looking at books and Macbooks in Greenbelt. But I suppose it's all worth it in the end to just witness the sky like this.

The Haunting Shoe Rack

I want to be able to say that Sundays are for reading. I wish the afternoon sun would dim just a little bit so that the air can become cooler and the day a little bit more soothing. I like unhurried days. I wish I can have more of them. But time is not and has never been in my control. So I take what I can and leave the rest to the Clock Maker.

I do my usual internet morning routine. While intermittently reading Redeemed. I'm hoping to finish it soon but by the looks of my schedule, I'm doubting I can have quiet lazy days like this. Anyway, I ran into a very interesting picture of a moment in Hungary's history. Pardon my ignorance but I never was into history during college. Perhaps it was how my professor then just taught us to focus on the dates and the names without really giving us the reason and the significance of such events and why it should matter to us in the present day. Despite that, I suppose time catches up on you and the haunting of the past sort of overtakes you and reminds you that you are part of a collective whole.

I saw this picture from my friend Jen Grabarcyzk's Facebook. She took it when she was touring Hungary sometime last year for an art residency course. The picture was of the Shoe Memorial by the Blue Danube river. I quickly looked it up in Wikipedia and found out that these shoes were real shoes of Jews that were killed in WW2 by the Arrow Cross Militiamen. These shoes were left behind when they fell into the river.




I was taken aback by the sight of real worn out shoes that are still there after having crossed decades and how these shoes were the last remaining proof of human lives living on this earth. Lined up so haunting and melancholy like a hidden shoe rack. It makes me wonder about what other journeys these shoes have walked on. Or did the feet that carried them know they were going to walk to their death?

Slowing Down

This is one of those days where I find myself wanting to just walk around the mall. I left the forum early and decided to walk to Greenbelt 1. It was another trek down memory lane. I remember myself in pajamas or plain house clothes walking on a Saturday night to grab a tall cappuccino from Starbucks just to stay awake and finish a pack of case studies.

It was a separate life. A life I am no longer familiar with now. And it feels quite awkward to have myself remember that I once had that life but not feel any familiarity at all to it. This must be what temporary amnesia feels like.

This Greenbelt Mall has changed a lot. It looks so new I can barely find my way. Some of the shops are still closed. I realized that I liked walking around an empty mall. The vastness is overwhelming and I liked feeling small. The afternoon was just right. It wasn't hot because it just rained. It felt like I was in a different country when I stepped out into the open space where landscaped gardens connected one part of the mall to another. It was no longer a small time hang-out. I don't think I can walk around in pajamas in there now, I thought to myself.

I kept walking till I reached the fountain right infront of Seattle's Best (familiar ground) and saw this tree that was growing sideways instead of upright. It was a peculiar kind of growth when I saw branches curving in a spiral motion going to the side instead of up. How quaint, I thought to myself and decided to take a snapshot.

I knew that tree branches could be contoured to grow a certain way. But I never saw one that was being grown like that. I've probably passed this tree many times but I never noticed it. It's funny what you notice when you slow your life down.

The Subprime Earthquake Forum

I attended this forum at the Asian Institute of Management today on the current financial crisis that's been happening as of late.

Pardon my ignorance but honestly, I haven't been keeping track. It's probably a mortal sin because I am paid to keep track of these things to rationalize the direction of the company but I haven't. I haven't because I probably am simply just not interested in it. But I went to this free forum today since it was a way out of the office and I thought maybe it would be good to expand my mind a little bit and let it dwell on other things.

Being back at the AIM for a full length forum reminded me of all the case room discussions I've had during the 2 years I stayed in there. I used to call it the boot camp. The place that wracked my brain to the core. It was amazing that I never really suffered any serious migraines while I was in there compared to how I've been getting them now at work.

What struck me during this forum was the first question raised to the panelists. "What can an ordinary Filipino citizen do in times like these?", a bald headed man asked. It was the kind of question I'd listen to as opposed to the general strategic economic mind boggling scenarios they were trying to solve and comprehend.

Professor Macaranas answered the question and I also got struck with the answer. He replied, "Keep informed."

The impact of a financial crisis, I began to realize is actually really significant. Companies find it difficult to earn and thus need to cut down costs and even cut down on people. Leaving people jobless. Leaving services not rendered. Leaving needs unmet. Leaving people unsatisfied. Leaving lives helpless. And the cycle continues.

It becomes quite a scenario if nobody can control nor arrest the gravity of the crisis. What happens next? What can an ordinary Filipino citizen do?

It's appalling that even the most educated economists find no immediate solution for something like this. And it's even bewildering that in its impossibility, not many of these great intelligent economists do not recommend God as an answer.

Of course this mindset is only for the spiritual. But what else is there to address the infinite cycle of problems that is caused by man than to look for sense in the Creator of the Infinite?

Just trying to stretch my mind here as I try to unwind after a long and tiring work week. It wasn't so bad. This "earthquake" shaking the corners of the little office space I huddle myself in day in a day out has opened. Soon allowing me to walk free.

The First Step

The first step — especially for young people with energy and drive and talent, but not money — the first step to controlling your world is to control your culture. To model and demonstrate the kind of world you demand to live in. To write the books. Make the music. Shoot the films. Paint the art.

~ Chuck Palahniuk

_________

Lovely timing.

Park Square 1

Today I dealt with my restlessness by choosing to go to Park Square 1 and do some window shopping. Well, not really. I ended up buying 2 magazines on digital photography and a long overdue camera bag. I bought my Canon 350D in 2005 for our family's first Europe trip together. I'm not sure if I was able to do justice to the trip because I never really did anything much with the photos I took except post it up Multiply. There are times when I feel that living on the Internet is a subtle form of cowardice. You post photos in Multiply because you can't hang them on a gallery wall. You write prose on Blogger because you can't get it published somewhere.

There is still something really quite distinct with printed and tangible art.

Anyway, I am drifting.

The overdue camera bag was supposed to have been for that trip too but we didn't have time to find any and Park Square 1 was far from where I always am in the city to just go there and buy one. But today, I decided to go. I didn't go there for that particular purpose. I actually went there to see if there were any second hand DSLRs because Javi's finally gotten hold of the photographer spirit that Adi and I had been trying to rub off on him for the past 5 months.

First of all, something's gotta be straightened out about Park Square 1. Park Square 1 was the first ever parking lot I've parked since I started my corporate life 8 years ago. They charged 20 pesos on a flat rate (compared to 120 pesos nowadays for a whole day). It was about a 15 minute walk to get to my office. I remember how empty the mall stalls were when I'd arrive at around 7:45 in the morning. I'd get a whiff of Dunkin Donuts on the street and the traffic was easygoing. I remember I'd enjoy the morning sun with it's light hues shining upon the Makati walkway that crossed Landmark, Makati Avenue, Greenbelt, and Dela Rosa Street to Enterprise Center.

Those were the days when I could actually say that I didn't mind being in the corporate world. Funny how things change after almost a decade.

After almost a decade after, I can't bear walking down Ayala Avenue so I had to take a car and parking now is 40 pesos for the first 4 hours. But the parking lot walls were familiar and there were memories that floated by as I went down the stairs to the ground floor. I always feel a little bit of hauntedness when I go to a place I used frequent. It's funny. I had to stand still for a while just to make sure that I won't travel back in time.

I wonder what it is about me that digs into memories like that. They're not significant ones. Just those you tuck away like receipts in your wallet or post-its in your old planner.

I enjoyed walking around seeing all the gadgets. There were a lot and it made me long for the money to buy them all. I saw the little iPod speaker that one of my friends had that I greatly admired because it had really great quality. I saw camera lenses being sold in a shop at the far end. I saw a lot of cameras on sale with payment terms for credit card purchases (0% interest).

Why does living have to revolve around money? (sigh).

Despite that, I got what I needed and I was happy that I was able to control the urge to splurge. I was also happy to just have simply gotten out of my cooped up office corner and see an old place that was once a familiar part of my day.

What Is It About Hanging In There?

What is it about "hanging in there" that makes it uncomfortable for most people to do? Is it a matter of staying long down on your knees with your eyes closed? Or is transfixing it upon a cross better? Is it a matter of sitting still on an uncomfortable couch and chasing the queasiness away by reading an entertaining book?

Everybody seems to have their own way of "hanging in there". Mine seems to happen mostly by sitting behind my Macbook screen and letting my fingers punch the keys till kingdom come. Not so much to interact with anybody but mostly to try and figure out what is it that makes "hanging in there" such a toil.

I don't know what it is. There are no clear answers. But the point is, you just do it. Sometimes "hanging in there" is allowing yourself to crumble and still keep your heart beating inside. Sometimes "hanging in there" is just driving past passerbys who need a ride.

I don't know what it is. There are no clear answers. And sometimes there aren't even any words to describe what it is like to really "hang in there". But for some reason, I found breathing space from the cycling of thoughts in this picture by Adi early this morning. It's a picture of her sister holding a cross. Juxtaposed with her shadow behind her.


What is there about light and shade that reminds me of the one thing constant in life.? The dance between joy and pain. I like how the natural lighting of this photograph puts just a faint glow upon Liana's left shoulder. I like how it is not so bright and not so faint. It's a beckoning kind of hue that says, "It's warm here, come in from the cold."

I like how her grasp is so certain upon that cross. In some kind of standstill between the interplay of light and shade, there is still one thing absolute. In the dance between joy and pain, there is one thing absolute. They are moments. They are circumstances. That change frequency and intensity depending on how near or far you are from the Maker of all these.

No Fire Extinguished

The other piece of my soul hands me this photograph today with his very indignant buzzing on the instant messenger. He's been trying to get his groove back into the artflow as I am while the other half of this piece of my soul has flown to London.

On to the artflow.

This picture was taken last September. My recent visit to Cebu led me back to The Cebu Cathedral Museum. In my 31 years of being an island native, I wonder why in the world I never got around to visiting the place. But it's never too late for rediscovery.

This shot is Javi's and I do not exactly know why he took this shot but I can only assume or sense given what I know of him. Out of the ordinary locations of something ordinary catches his eye. From the array of museum collectibles this hangs in stark contrast. The dirt and the dust probably caught some fleck of sunlight giving it a rustic beckoning of something old. Perhaps old enough to hold some story.

I am provoked to wonder about what story it holds.

So...on to the artflow.

it hung on a wall that's been scarred for centuries
neither of us knew it's place on the page of history
a museum in a town that's been absent
because of overgrown buildings towering
over the landscape that made it what it was now.

the ancient walls with cobwebs on a ceiling's corner
became a mark that spelled neglect
and it was this unknown hour
i decided to capture a part of what wasn't select

not the benches that were carved out of mahogany
or the antique statues that commanded respect
not the pillars that aged three hundred years over
no it wasn't what i wanted to get
from this visit i wanted to know
if old stories are kept and stored
the way they have been remembered
is it exactly how it happened before?

but the woman ranted on and on
without knowing what the story's song
sounded or played in some memory's ear
and all i could do was gaze at this red tank hanging
on the faded wall it was hanging
on the unscrubbed
peeling
supposedly
whitewashed
walls
what was it doing
so awkward in that
place they called
sacred

who held it last and how many
fires had it put out?
what part of history was burning
when fumes needed to be extinguished?

what kind of mind
would think of
burning a fragment
of his story?

or what kind of passerby would
strike to keep it lit?

no fire needs extinguishing
if it knows where to burn.

The Color Of My Life

So some echo of a past life comes up to me this morning and says, "Hello. You weren't so bad. Live your life." I sit here staring at my cramped up space in the office and the stacks of case studies I've read for the past 2 months. Yesterday I finally trimmed down what I wanted to do at work since God tells me to sit still here and wait.

I don't want to fit in. Nor try to. I want to be myself. And who am I is not quite sociable as others may think. But I can embrace those who attempt to embrace me. I realized I'm not quite tolerant as I used to be of people who skitter fancily around. I get annoyed with frilly little voices of girls who are too girly. I get annoyed with loud mouthed boys who lets their ego talk more than their brains. I am vehement towards those who claim to be authentic but are lying through their teeth.

Simply put, these kinds of people rob me off some good peaceful time to also sit peacefully with my struggling authentic self. That's why I'm quite protective off my breathing space.

I've been away from the public world for a while now. It hasn't been easy but the journey of painting my life with lesser color has allowed me to see which color stands out the best.

I realized, I'm all earth tone. Vibrant hues magnify my flaws. Washed out tones water down my strengths. I'm warm and raw and passionate. I'm quiet and absorbing and embracing. I pervade and penetrate. I breathe everything in until I inhale the last scent of meaning there is.

I am still amazed by how things can turn around from the inside out if you're able to just sit with the discomfort for a while. It's nerve wracking. It shakes you to the core. But the surrender becomes sweeter when you're looking forward to something better. Not because you're simply wishing it. But because you know it can happen.