Surrendering Influence

Tonight is one of those nights where the truth I believe in, the truth I know, clashes with the truth that I experience in my waking hours. Tonight is one of those nights where the screaming and the cussing, the backbiting and the gossiping, finds its way to cut the skin of memories. My keepsakes. My treasured moments. Tonight is one of those nights where I am reminded, in the final analysis, you will always be alone.

When all thoughts become muffled and unclear, I go back to the one thing that helps me hear a little bit more clearly.

Music.

Over the years I have written songs for private reflection. For private sharing. And at most times, the words I weave with melody are the most honest expressions my soul can ever muster. I listen to them tonight to remind myself of who I am. Without those who claimed to have influence over me. For my songs were never influenced by anybody else but God.

Where Is Peace?

Keep your eyes on the prince of peace, the one who doesn't cling to his divine power; the one who refuses to turn stones into bread, jump from great heights, and rule with great power; the one who says, "Blessed are the poor, the gentle, those who mourn, and those who hunger and thirst for righteousness; blessed are the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers and those who are persecuted in the cause of uprightness". See the one who touches the lame, the crippled and the blind; the one who speaks words of forgiveness and encouragement; the one who dies alone, rejected, and despised. Keep your eyes on him who becomes poor with the poor, weak with the weak, and who is rejected with the rejected. The one, Jesus, is the source of all peace.

Where is his peace to be found? The answer is surprising but it is clear. In weakness. Few people are telling us this truth, but there is peace to be found in our own weakness, in those places of our hearts where we feel most broke, most insecure, most in agony, most afraid. Why there? Because in manipulating our weakness our familiar ways of controlling and manipulating our world are being stripped away and we are forced to let go from doing muhc, thinking much, and relying on our self-sufficiency. Right there where we are most vulnerable, the peace that is not of this world is mysteriously hidden.

- Henri Nouwen, Finding My Way Home

_____

I wonder how often I am persecuted by experiences beyond my control. I wonder how many times I persecute others. Do I persecute others because of my weakness? Do others persecute me because of theirs?

It's all an intertwined knot of scars these past few days but unlike all the other days I've gone through this way, I've chosen to just rely on peace. The one I can never fathom or grasp. And though I will never understand the silence of hope and the shadows that joy hides in these circumstances I have to overcome.

I am staying on truth. Waiting for all the falsity to fall away.

Vulnerability

they say that being authentic is part of life
the pain and the joy of tearing the veil
you hide yourself in is the journey

i am told that being who you are is
being your very own Michaelangelo
sculpting your core out of a mold
society keeps you in

child man lover nemesis
all these facets exist in every
crack and crevice of bottlenecked veins
hanging on to a lifeline

i am told that breaking out of your shell
is an accomplishment in overcoming
the threat of vulnerability

but what is the real threat?

isn't it more fearsome to find yourself
stricken with vulnerability not knowing
what to do with it

or lying naked with an open heart soul
singing and crooning the lullabyes you only sing at night

because fear takes you by the neck and
suffocates you so deep it cuts your throat
without thinking of where your breathe
begins and ends

Bulong

nakatago ang mga bulong ng luha
sa ilalim ng ngiti

hindi mo naririnig dahil ang mga
mata mo'y nakatingin sa isang tabi

nakatago ang tinig ng puso
baon sa limot

hindi maka-tibok dahil
naka-kulong

ang sigaw ng kalayaan
kinakanta nalang sa isang panaginip

Where Did I Go

Days and days are moving on
I watch the cars out on the street
in the rain

Years and years are floating past
Boats and wounds and dreams and hopes
and me
Where did I go
The child that used to be me
Where did I go
Am I inside myself

Pictures of the victims of
a situation undreamed of
planes and bombs and war decisions
winners and losers of
Hiroshima

Where did you go
The child that used to be you
Where did you go
Are you inside yourself
Where did I go
The child that used to be me
Where did I go
Am I inside myself

There's No Substitute for the Real Thing | Soar High FrancisM

I am still at a loss for words.

The death of Philippine's Master Rapper Francis "Kiko" Magalona has shaken the Entertainment and Music Industry since news of his death yesterday.

I am at a loss for words because it is hard to imagine someone whose life was pulsating with passion and zeal, color and vibrance can stop just like that.

Again I am left to contemplate about death and its unknown nature to those who are still walking this earth.

I do not want to think of death as a thief. Or death as the end. Or death as a loss. For thinking that would mean living life and running the whole 10 yards accounts for nothing. I do not want to think of death as this big black void haunting the shadows of our waking moments waiting to pounce when our backs are turned.

Death seems to me as a mere hurdle. Or even a mirror that magnifies even the littlest details of moments that capture the essence of someone who passes on to his next life.

Today as more news and videos are uploaded all over the web, I pay my respects to Francis M. Someone who has colored his world with everything he's got. Someone who didn't lose the battle but won it in every smile he mustered amidst all the pain. Someone who inspires me now to keep on living this Kaleidoscope World.

Pages

Pages, originally uploaded by puresolitude.

I wonder what is after each page of memory?
What is before each page of circumstance?
What is not written in the pages of faded yellow?
Or the annotated scribble marks behind the dog eared folds?

The Virtues of Filipino Bravehearts

It was a hot Saturday morning and I found myself on the road again with my photo adventure partner (what's left of two wings since the other one left for London) grabbing a sausage Mcmuffin with egg breakfast at McDonald's before hitting the South Expressway to Enchanted Kingdom, Sta. Rosa Laguna. I was invited to attend this camp because I have always been wanting to get involved in something that's got to do with little children.

Children have a way of reaching me and breaking through the walls that have built the facade that says: ADULT - DO NOT TOUCH - IS HERE FOR BUSINESS. I know this and I have been on the journey of shedding off some skin because I have started to believe that the world is a much more pleasant place to live in if I let the calloused walls of my heart fall down.

__________

I entered the tent and was immediately greeted by Mrs. Stephanie Cabanes. A mother of 3. Her eldest son Jarro now 23 years old, has experienced open heart surgery 3 times in his life for a condition called anti-phospholypid anti-body (APA) syndrome that damaged his aortic valve. She is one of the pioneers of conceptualizing Camp Braveheart in 2001. Camp Braveheart is her advocacy to the cause of bringing back hope to the families of children who have congenital heart disease. Her vision: to let them know that there is still room to dream again.

I saw glistening tears forming from the side of bright brown eyes and I felt mine surge to the surface as well. It is one of those moments where the soul speaks louder and breaks the barriers of age, experience, and environment. I was moved by how this has fueled her passion to live despite the moments wherein she hung by a thread close to giving up.


The irony of being in a Filipino middle class family is when you are not poor enough to be the cause of charity organizations and you are not rich enough to easily afford the expenses that hit you like a shockwave when you are in the middle of a family crisis. But it is here when all solutions seem to fail that another one shows up to unveil what solves the financial burden but most of all the very core of the burden itself: the anxiety of heart. Mrs. Cabanes experienced what it was like to have all options of financial support gone and only rely on her strong-willed mother’s heart to beg and borrow, kneel and pray so that their hearts as a family can begin to beat again.

It is here when the Filipino's "lakas ng loob kumayod kahit wala na ang lahat" [the strength to persevere even when all is gone] becomes an apparent virtue exemplified. The virtue of the Filipino Braveheart. The heart whose cries start from the depths of it struggles and reaches the end of its walls as a willful choice to keep it from caving in. The heart whose weakness is transparent in every lamentation but whose only ounce of strength is flung up to the high heavens because the last thing it can do is keep the hope. All for one thing. Para sa pamilya.

______________

Zaine Capangpangan is almost 2 years old. She had her open heart surgery when she was 7 months old because of a heart murmur since birth. I met Zaine yesterday introducing herself with a beautiful smile. Her lips next to my ear whispering “My name is Zaine Capangpangan.” She shyly poses infront of the camera and bursts out in exuberant laughter after she sees her photo on the little LCD screen.

She came with her mom and her Tita. Both of whom raised her since her father is working abroad. They are worried about her life and the fragility of her health. She does not like eating a lot except when they go to Jollibee and order her fries and gravy, her favorite meal. They are worried about how she will grow up and if there will be job opportunities that will take her given her condition. But they are happy saying, “Basta makita lang naming siya masaya na kami. Basta magkasama kami, Masaya na kami.” [As long as we see her, we are happy. As long as we are together, we are happy]

I look at the little girl with big bright eyes and a wide happy smile. She has so much life that you can barely notice the deep scar at the center of her chest.


The irony of seeing the vibrancy of life in a child who almost lost it brings me to realize how poorly we can keep our decision to remain vibrant in our lives when we are not threatened with sickness, poverty or calamity. If one little child, with her weak heart, can re-ignite the vibrancy in her family’s togetherness what more are we who have our families and our heart’s intact?
The Virtue of the Filipino Braveheart surpasses any struggle weighed upon by impossible life conditions. Giving value to what is nearest and what is dear, the family for whom it beats, and the life for whom it pours out love.

___________

I got reacquainted with Sarah Ocson Duremdes, a former Miriam Highschool classmate who was one of the guest speakers at Camp Braveheart. She shared her faith filled story with much inspiration and fortitude on how she conquered the journey of her son’s open heart surgery when he was 8 days old.

Inigo Ocson Duremdes was diagnosed with a condition called Transposition of the Great Arteries (TGA) wherein the aorta and the pulmonary arteries were reversed. This condition limits the body from getting oxygen rich blood. After just 8 days of being born he had to go through the difficult procedure of open heart surgery. His family in complete anxiety awaited the long procedure and struggled to remain hopeful through this whole time. As his family worried for his life, they also worried about the expenses that would be incurred.

Similar to the any middle class family who I have spoken in this Camp, the Duremdes’ went through the whole experience of begging and borrowing to ensure that their son’s condition can be well supported financially. The ordeal of thinking about the economics of the situation and remaining steadfast in their faith was a painful struggle that led them to the end of their selves. Put in one corner of life where the future seemed bleak, they had no other option, no other contingency plan except to surrender what is in their hands to God.

Nigo flatlined a couple of times and when the surgeon had almost turned off the machines that monitored his heart, hope came as if the heavens opened and Nigo by some miracle started to breathe again.




The irony of seeing life just being born to immediately being taken away is heart-wrenching for any mother to experience. After the long grueling hours of labor and recovery, you watch your life from a vantage of point and ask, “What is all this for?”

The Virtue of the Filipino Braveheart is reliant on the truth that there is always a miracle waiting around the corner that conquers insurmountable odds for someone who refuses to give up and let death simply take over.

______________

The family’s virtues make-up the character of any individual. The family is the microcosm of any nation.

The Filipino Brave Heart is borne from experiences such as these. These virtues allow our lives to shine in the midst of darkness, stand strong in the midst of storms, breakthrough in the midst of circumstances that we thought would cause us to break down.




My experience with Camp Braveheart families yesterday showed me how to live with a heart that beats with no walls guarding its vulnerability. How this vulnerability transforms into the seed of strength wherein lies the dignity of the family. A Filipino Family. Filipino Families who survived and are surviving the journey of collectively letting their hearts beat as one so one can keep on living. How one tiny heart weakened in flesh has transformed all others to be strengthened in the heart of their spirits. This is the kind of miracle that ignites once again our will to live.



If one family can be transformed and re-ignited with passion for one another, then our nation can be filled with families giving birth to the flame that makes these little heroes today the big heroes of tomorrow.

Camp Brave Heart Song

Yung unang mabigat
Ngayon puno ng pag-asa
Sa bawat pagtibok
Tayo’y nabubuhay

Tayo’y nabigyang buhay
Dahil nilikha ng Diyos,
Aming simbolo ng buhay,
Aming mahiwagang puso.



Refrain
Sa bawat hininga
Ito’y tahimik ngunit buo
Mapayapa ngunit matapang
Magpapasalamat habang buhay
Nagpapasalamat sa Diyos.

__________

credits:
for the pictures - Javi Cabanes
for the invitation to Camp Braveheart - Tita Steph Cabanes

Things You Will Never See

Things You Will Never See, originally uploaded by puresolitude.

there are things you will never see
past your own eyes
or hear with your own ears

and they are the cries that
remain muffled and the
groans that remain in hiding

for ache can be too grotesque to witness
and pain can be too much to bear

save but one drop that escapes my
eyes and stains my cheek
and finds its way to still
call out your name.

What's in a Name?

What's in a Name?, originally uploaded by puresolitude.

This is my grandmother's name. A name she carried through 84 years of her life. I sift through the pamphlet of love notes and find it written in blank ink. Thoughtfully and carefully. In her cursive handwriting. This little pamphlet is no more than around 3 x 1.5 inches and has about 20 or more little pages filled with handwritten phrases of love. I don't know who she planned to give it to. I don't know why she wrote it. But when we were cleaning her room last Christmas, this pamphlet enchanted me and I immediately tucked it away in my treasure box of memories.

Her name finds me again reflecting on 3 years ago where I was called to share my conversion story at a retreat. I carried the marks of a sinner quite similar to the saint who found me on the same ground of dirt condemned for the same things. Mary Magdalen.

I took comfort under her wing and wove my story into hers and found that in my scars seared her strength.

Years passed I carried the mark of someone who has loved and lost. Fierce and fiery.

Sometime 2 years ago an acquaintance I had just met told me that there are some flowers who bloom in verdant pastures and luscious meadows. But there are flowers who bloom in rocky mountains and thorny thickets. The Lily of the Valley, he said I was.

My grandmother Lily passed away at 84. Her things are the only clues I have to what she held in her heart. I am not so sure about all the things she's ever felt but I remember her now and resonate with the way her heart beat for this life. Loving through the ache and the scourging of everything incomprehensible in her lifetime.

I remember this saying that whispers to me from my younger days, "Love till it hurts, if it hurts some more, love even more, if it hurts even more, love till hurts no more."

Remembering is Love

Remembering is Love, originally uploaded by puresolitude.

i remember staring at the window
fighting to see through the tears
that cloud my gaze

i am blinded by the light
of remembrance

where memories come in stark
contrast to the reality that embraces me now
some of them dance in frolic
some crawl shyly with melancholy

but through it all
even in the shaking
of the ground where
i try to stand firm

i hold on to the beat
of my heart that
lived for love.

Moving Stills: The Exhibit Launch and Awarding

An privilege to participate in one of the worthy causes I've supported. Honoring the Dignity of Filipino Workers who have decided to stay and move the nation.

Do visit. :)

For more information go to the Outlooke Pointe Foundation website.

LIYAB PILIPINAS.

______

poster by Javi Cabanes

Discovering Filipino Gypsies

It caught the left side of my peripheral vision. A ferris wheel towering over an empty field where cows grazed every morning about 5 kilometers away from work. The road curves to the right when the field comes into full view and there I began to see it one by one as if it were slowly peeking out of the shadows. The ferris wheel joined by others of its kind. An octopus. A small roller coaster. And a carousel. Immediately I was enchanted. An empty carnival standing on its own on a vacant piece of land by the roadside called Paliparan, Cavite. There were no walls that barred anyone from entering. There were no gates that called for an entrance fee or some other kind of social introduction.

There was something about the overcast sky that was beckoning. It felt like one of those empty castles that waited exploration or a city of ruins that waited discovery. For me to catch a glimpse of this on my way to work was a keepsake and recurring thought that begged to be woven in a story. I’ve been thinking about a Saturday that will allow me to finally pay a visit.

That Saturday was February 7. 1:00pm in the afternoon. I parked the car by the side of a dirt road and together with my friend we walked across the carnival grounds. It was somehow eerie and I couldn’t help but feel that I was trespassing even if there were no signs that told me I was. When I laid my feet on the damp grass, I felt the soft earth. The soil wasn’t tilled and it told me that this land wasn’t really paved to have a carnival sitting on it. I looked around and saw little box shacks situated on the north, east and west side of the entire carnival perimeter. As if on unison, heads started to peek out from curtained doors and some children came out from hiding.


We were clearly strangers. So I initiated by calling out “Magandang umaga po!” and introduced myself as an advocate writer for the Outlooke Pointe Foundation. I asked if we can take pictures and told them we want to be able to capture the story that lies behind their different and fascinating livelihood.

A tall man stepped out of the north end. He was thin and dark and sported a mustache. His nose was pointed and his skin looked like it was sun burnt. I approached him and smiled to show ease and introduced myself again. He said his name was Bob Mariano. When I explained what we wanted to do he nodded and simply gave us an okay.

It has been a long time since I saw vintage carnival rides sitting on raw untilled soil. The last time I remember seeing these rides was when I attended school fairs in the 1990s. These days we’d see all sorts of rides merrily grazing over colored theme parks like Enchanted Kingdom in Sta. Rosa Laguna or the newly opened Disneyland in Hongkong. But the stories behind the commercialization of theme parks now did not draw me in unlike this one.


A rusty roller coasting and a faded carousel smelled like rain. Damp wooden floor boards for steps elevated them from the ground. I walked around some more and saw more people coming out with tools and wood. They started hammering them together to form a booth at the center.

Manong Bob was looking over the men that were building and sat a while a few feet away from us. I sensed him relax when he saw that we didn’t mean to do anything else. So I went up to him and talked to him again. I found out that they have been on that land for about a month. He said that they came from Binan Laguna. He travels with other families who own a carnival ride and agree to visit town after town from Cavite to Laguna talking to town officials and landowners so they can set up tent on their vacant property to put up carnival rides for townsfolk to enjoy.


Manong Bob has been doing this for 41 years. On 1968 he has inherited the livelihood from his parents and continued the business ever since. He enjoys it and finds that he has gotten used to the lifestyle of moving place to place. I asked him if he ever rode the rides he owned and he said yes. He said he’s never been afraid of riding them because he grew up with them.

There was a slight glint in his eye when he said this. Like some sort of pride shone through at remembering the memory. He didn’t want to have his picture taken for some reason and we didn’t insist. We walked over to his shack and met his family. He has a young wife and a young beautiful daughter who looked straight into the camera when we took her photo.

We met a guy named Alex. He was an interesting looking fellow who wore a lot of rings and bracelets that I became fascinated with. I asked him where he bought them and he said there were a lot of silver made jewelry in Binan Laguna being sold for only 200 pesos. My jaw dropped as I looked at my own silver ring that cost me 800 pesos from a mall. We took their pictures and there were a lot of smiles when we showed them how they looked from the LCD.


That day I experienced what it was like to have fun in a small town way. Where close knit circles huddled to excitedly hear a new story or entertain a visitor. Where the smiles became a genuine expression of ease and comfort. For 2 hours I was immersed with their stories of nomadic living and realized that I was talking to real life Filipino gypsies. Whose lifestyle has always captivated me because of such mystery and freedom.

That day I realized that there were many in our country who uphold the tradition of continuing what has been passed down through generations because it was an honor and a duty to do so. It did not only happen in upper class society but those of whom found home in the outskirts of posh cities in the Metro. It did not happen only with big family corporations or small entrepreneurial businesses but also in the likes of these groups who travel like nomads living month after month on giving a town a space to experience and enjoy the freedom that they’ve found when their own journey becomes their home.


I salute and honor their livelihood because I realized that in their own way and in their own scale, I knew that if they carried the business this long, they have somehow made a difference if not on one small town but maybe perhaps one child who felt the wind on her face and the rain frolic on her cheeks giving her a reason to smile that day from high up the ferris wheel’s peak.


_______________

credits:
pictures by Javi Cabanes

On This Dust of Words

Somehow Sunday is always a day wherein my creativity starts to kick in. Sunday is my day of creative sanctuary. I've made two wonderful written work discoveries since last night but today I'll post this one because it is my favorite of the two.

This essay was written by Professor John Feltiner found in a back issue of Standford Magazine. I was searching for material in the web that could tell me more about the story of Elizabeth Wiltsee. I ran into her on Marie's blog where she featured the screening dates of an independent film entitled "This Dust of Words" by Bill Rose.

I have annotated this essay onto the document because I found it quite necessary that my thoughts be right where the quote is.

This Dust of Words

Publish at Scribd or explore others: Academic Work writing artist

V Day

This Valentine's Day is quite different from the rest. I didn't get a rose from my Dad as was his usual stint for us on this day. If I had kept all those roses and cards he gave me it would stack to about 20 or more for ever year since I was about 13.

But despite that, this Valentine's is quite special because it's the first time he has come home since his hospitalization and last night I went with him and my mom to attend the prayer meeting at St. James Church. Martin's theme last night was seeking the giver and not the gift. How timely that the readings were from the gospel of Mark telling the story of a leper who asked Jesus if he can be made clean. If he can be healed.

I saw my Dad be moved and be transformed as he stood up in worship and reverent praise. Despite all the things that I have experienced this week that shook my faith's core, I felt blessed seeing a miracle at work. Knowing that part of the miracle was me.

Conversations That Did The Trick

I'm sitting at the usual corner Zeteo used to sit in at Starbucks Provost. I ended up deciding to get my hair done so that I can feel a little bit of life and true enough a good 2 hours at the parlor can do the trick.

The 4 hour wait at the LTO Office drained me. I realized my license was due for renewal and got a little bit irritated how I neglected to see that. Now with my car's fender wrecked from last week's accident, I need to process my affidavit for the insurance company to shoulder the cost. All these things cramped in my day today robbed me a little bit of space to think about the stories I've been planning to write since my discoveries last weekend.

Creative repression is worse than constipation.

To compensate, I found entertainment for some of the conversations I've had randomly sprinkled throughout my day.

The Drug Test System Operator

Me: Miss, I noticed that it takes approximately 5 minutes to process 1 person for the new biometrics system that LTO is imposing for all drug tests. Baket ang tagal?

DTSO: Kasi po ma'am I have to connect to the internet because the database system is online. They just implemented it last January and it's the DOH's initiative.

Me: Baket hindi nila dagdagan yung machines para bumilis bilis ang pag-process ninyo?
DTSO: Hindi po kasi namin na-tancha ang volume. Dati we used to be able to process 200 clients now we can only process at most 70.

Me: Wow. That's like a really big decrease. More than 100%!

DTSO: Oo nga po ma'am eh. But they said in 3 years hindi na ganito ka tagal because everybody would already be in the database.
Me: I see. Sana ilagay niyo yung ganyang explanation sa harap para those who are waiting will know what to expect. We've been here for 2 hours na and we're spending another 45 minutes in this cramped little room just to get our finger prints taken.

DTSO: Pa-sensya na po ma'am. By the way, kayo na po susunod.

I stand up and counted 5 minutes till I'm done. I waited for another 30 minutes for the results to be printed out before I got to the Medical test and eventually the claiming of my new license card. What an ordeal. But at least the operator patiently explained the process to me.

Frank Provost Stylist: Dennis Hadap

Dennis: Hi ma'am diba nagpunta na kayo dito before? Kasi nilagay nila na walk-in kayo but I remember you from before.

Me: Yes, I went here about 3 months ago to have my hair relaxed.

Dennis: See, sabi ko na nga ba eh. Don't worry I'll tell them. By the way so you live around here? I have some clients in Ayala Alabang. Parati ako napupunta sa San Jose street.

Me: Oh really? I just live in San Enrique.

Dennis: Ang lapit lang pala! Marami akong client na ma'am. I started in Manila Peninsula and have been a stylist there for about 12 years. I've been in Frank Provost for 9 years. So far nagustuhan ko dito dahil malapit sa'min. Taga Binan Laguna ako.

Me: Wow. Ang tagal mo na pala na stylist! Buti naman you're able to stay here for that long.

Dennis: Ay siempre naman! It's my way to build loyal clients. Importante talaga sa kin ang client relationship. May mga ibang stylist who force clients to do all sorts of treatment even if they don't want it. Hindi nila iniisip na kahit na may pera ang client, they still need to save. Kaya ako, ginagawa ko yung gusto lang talaga ng client. Hindi ko sila pinipilit.

Me: Wow. Buti naman concerned ka sa mga clients mo. Minsan lang yung ganyan.

Dennis: Concerned talaga ako. Hindi naman kasi lahat po revolves around money. Kagaya sa village namin, meron akong mga kapit-bahay doon na gusto magpagawa pero hindi nila ko kayang bayaran. Okay lang sa kin kahit hindi nila ako bayaran kaagad. Or kahit paka-inin nalang nila ako. Naiintindihan ko naman na there are some who cannot afford.

Me: That's true. Fulfilling rin ano? When you know that you're able to help those who need your help.

Dennis: Fulfilling talaga ma'am. Kaya happy ako dito. Napapaganda ko yung mga gusto magpaganda chaka napapagaan ko loob nila.

Me: Okay yan ah! Sana ganyan din yung ibang mga stylist. Ano nga pala number mo? Para pagbalik ko dito hahanapin kita.

Dennis: Oh yan po ma'am ang number ko. Salamat po ha ma'am Kathy! (sabay beso)

I have never met a hair stylist who had an awareness for social responsibility. I noticed that what he did say was true. Most stylists would milk you for your money's worth. I was quite pleased to find out that there was someone like him who did his job in such an honorable way. I'm not sure how hair stylists are viewed in this country but today I've found quite a new respect for their profession. They make people feel beautiful and if hair stylists have a good heart like Dennis' then they can make them feel beautiful from the inside-out.

So there goes my day. Slow. Dragging. But with a glossy finish.

A Call To Move the Nation

Shoot To Move the Nation: A tough mandate. 500 photographers rise up to call to capture moving stills of the Dignity of Filipino Workers with all intensity and integrity. On the 6th of February, down to 100 top photographs, over dinner and palpable creative adrenaline, I listened to the animated discussion that revolved around the art as a vehicle to fuel patriotic revival. OPF Chairman, Atty. Jesulito Manalo believes in the great potential of this nation. He believes that the universality of appreciating art and culture is a strong uniting force. “Culture now becomes the means to bring across the message of getting our act together in a powerful contagion that crosses borders and differing standpoints,” He muses.

The battlecry: Liyab Piliipinas: Reigniting passion for the nation, and for this specific project, using art and culture as a platform for advocacy. The contest ran from November 2008 to January 2009. Originally the contest would have ended on December 2008, but due to an incessant flooding of the site’s feedback form, the people at The OPF agreed to a deadline extension.

For a pilot project, many were shocked by the overwhelming response. Executive Director Rinka Romero, when asked how she felt as the entries literally flooded in says, “I was humbled. The results were overwhelming. It made me see that I underestimated the audience, that they were more willing to be involved than I gave them credit for.”

The response was felt even among the staff, and I was told that it came to the point, they were apologetic to Rinka as they came in to herald the delivery of even more entries: (Ma’am, sorry po, may regalo ako sa inyo. Hulaan niyo kung ano).




The top 100 photos waited, laid out on a number of tables around the dinner table and judges Quark Henares, Quincy Castillo, Justice Adolf Azcuna, Steve Tirona and Kidlat Tahimik (who sent in his scores earlier during the day)started to go around the lined up prints to rate each by the criteria: Relevance to theme, Image impact and Creativity.

One of the judges, Steve Tirona, renowned photographer of Manny Pacquiao’s latest victory says of what he would consider a good photograph, "The picture is able to make an impact when it tells a story without words.”



Former Philippine Camera Club President and 3-time winner of the prestigious award: Master Photographer Quincy Castillo says that the shift from traditional film to digital has cost the craft quite a bit. He says, “The main difference between users of the two can be seen in one’s discipline. Developing one film slide used to cost 200 pesos. It takes a photographer to practice discipline of planning his shot before-hand to arrive at a good picture. This is what needs to be retained while enjoying the benefits of convenience that the digital medium of photography brings to the craft.”


I looked around the room and saw the passion that carried the project to its fruition. The photographs were striking. I was awed by the fact that one of the entries I saw came from an 18 year old. I saw different messages that communicated the various images of the Dignity of the Filipino Worker. Some photographs showed strength. Some showed craftsmanship. Some showed cheerful candor. Some showed courage. The top 100 collections showed the different settings of a Filipino at work. The agricultural worker. The professional. The family provider. The builder of highways.


But all in all what I saw in the results of the contest was the ability of Filipinos to exist in a variety of settings. To excel in a variety of fields. To remain bright eyed and enthusiastic no matter what the toil. To keep in productive perseverance no matter what the pressure.



The Outlooke Pointe Foundation highlights this evolution in reviving the use of photography as a craft that empowers, rebuilds and unleashes the passion inherent in every Filipino to take what has been given us from colonialism to slavery, from battle scars to victory and use what has once imprisoned us to be the very experience that sets us free.


___________

pictures by Javi Cabanes

Breathing It In

Breathing It In, originally uploaded by puresolitude.

This is a view from Starbucks Tagaytay City. It's a welcome breather after a long days of road and green fields. Of concrete and pavement. I've been thinking of saving up to buy a weekend house up on the hills. For much needed sanctuary living.

Morning Drives

Morning Drives, originally uploaded by puresolitude.

This is one of those days wherein my morning drive to work gets tangled up in a congested intersection of the tiny streets of Cavite. This intersection is packed with jeepneys, sidewalk vendors, children going to school, women on motorcycles. It's the busiest intersection through out the whole stretch. This intersection takes 30 minutes to traverse out of the 45 minute drive. This intersection tests my patience the most.

Ironically, I like looking at how busy this intersection is. The lives of the people hustling and bustling by.

Gazing At the Window Sill

Gazing At the Window Sill, originally uploaded by puresolitude.

To the right of this window sill is the small table I put my laptop on. The light that shines through the glass is soft and hazy. It caught me this morning because it gave a kind of softness that was soothing and tender. I stared at this space for quite a while thinking about my flight back to Manila at 5:20pm and how my Dad's recovery will be in the next few days.

He's initially scheduled to be discharged on Tuesday. But his almost 2 weeks stay in the hospital has not completely healed the swelling of his infection.

I am also thinking about the coming days at work where I will have to be catching up with a lot of things.

In all these things I am praying that I will find the right amount of rest in between moments. Just like this little moment of gazing at the window sill in this corner of the room.