sad but true : this shabby airport is my own

where the adventures of all OFWs start

HOPING AGAINST hope and against great odds that things improve, I’m going to do something unpopular and say something that I think many of my countrymen (and countrywomen) have felt for some time now : our airport sucks.

I use an unequivocal term (sucks, rhymes with an even worse term that we need not use in polite conversation) that leaves little room for doubt.  In almost every which way our airport is inferior to others in our region, and especially in light of the fact that very near our NAIA 2 are two world-class airports (as in, tops in the whole wide world) that in relative terms just make us look worse.

Notice that I don’t try to disown or distance myself from this sad situation :  Manila International is mine as a Pinoy who was born and bred here, and will always call the Philippines my home.  Not migration, nor assimilation, nor time, nor distance will stop me from calling the Ninoy Aquino International Airport my home base.  Unfortunately, that doesn’t change the immutable fact that, again, said airport sucks.

I’m afraid it doesn’t get any better from here : there are so many ways to pan the place, from its threadbare carpets, its old, old, washrooms, to its inefficient air-conditioning.  But because the boarding time call is nigh, and I’m about to lose internet time, I’m just going to focus on two areas.

First, why are the airport’s facilities focused on making sure the OFW, especially those on their way back to the salt mines, has paid the OWWA levy?  There is an added layer of checkpoints/booths just to make sure such fee has been paid.  OFWs are not allowed to board unless they have paid such fee, and their receipts verified and/or cleared.

A good amount of space in the airport, right next to the airline check-in counters, is devoted to last-minute payments of OFWs who might have forgotten to pay their fees.  It’s declared by successive administrations that in recognition of the OFW’s nation-building contributions, travel tax is waived, but wouldn’t it sound more sincere if the OWWA imposition was likewise taken off our hardworking kabayan’s back?

Secondly, in almost every corner of many airports across the East Asian semi-continent, you see various conveniences thoughtfully laid out for the traveller.  Shops that peddle items that you might’ve forgotten and urgently need, lounges, even shower rooms and changing rooms for your baby.

Instead of copying this trend, our airport seems to be going backward.  Even the most basic toilet services are being neglected in both quantity and quality.  Not only are there not enough facilities, the existing ones look quite old and shabby.  Think broken tiles and toilet seats that have seen better days.  No soap, and yes Virginia, no toilet paper.

So sorry to nitpick, but instead of basic comforts for our poor OFWs, tourists and business travellers, the airport authority would rather invest on : a cigar shop, simcard booths  and a smoker’s room.  There are lounges, yes, but I would bet my last pirated DVD that this is exclusively for business class and first class elites.

And I know I promised only two complaints, but something really sticks down the back of my throat : the check-in counter of the airline we travelled on (no fault of the airline itself; the latter is actually one of the better carriers around) was identified only via a temporary looking banner or trapal behind their counters.  Very amateurish, no permanent signage and quite unbelievable for a national airport.

Just one more moan and groan : did you know that past the immigration checkers but well-within the duty free area, there is not one single money-changer / bank outlet for the multitudes who might want to change pesos into other money and vice-versa?  Truly deplorable.  You need to go out back into the check-in area and look for one of only two bank branches where the staff sleepily change your money, at uncompetitive rates by the way.  Sheesh.

It’s hard to exaggerate the decrepitude of your very own airport when, sorry to say, it certainly looks like they don’t even try.  Remember, this is the premier airport / tourism facility of a country riding high on a world-class tourism campaign.

I’m not looking for explanations or even replies from public relations or corporate communications experts of either our airport or the national government of my country.  In fact, I am quite aware that my observations will be construed as unduly negative, unpatriotic or even contrary to efforts to develop our image abroad.

I just want our airport to make travel easier, be more user-friendly, change the mindset of the jaded jetsetter, and prove to all OFWs that their taxes are channeled to projects that affect them directly.  Giving NAIA a long-overdue makeover will do all of the above.

And it needs to be done yesterday.

Thanks for reading!

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reminders for the visit home

almost there… almost there… kill me, please

I COULDN’T believe it, but there I was.  Dusk, microwave-heating sun long gone, and barely moving, waiting for our ride, and I was perspiring.  Not the ga-munggo (beadlike), slow-drip way, but sweating buckets, just idling my engine and revving my pistons.  I didn’t know which was more unlikely : that I was nearly suffocating without the maximum Philippine heat, or that I was no longer used to weather here.

I am literally embarrassed to tell you this, but the tropical paradise that I thought would be an unexpected treat, after leaving late-autumn Wellington, wasn’t the purely pleasant experience that I thought it would be.  Not only does the climate average around 10 to 15 degrees higher, the humidity or water droplets in the air is doubly stifling, almost like the air is sweating right along with you.   This partly explains why, even after sunset, and despite just staying in place, my sweat glands were working overtime, on practically every square inch of skin available.

Curiously, all around me were kabayan, fellow worker ants and others just trying to survive, and they weren’t sweating a bit.  In fact, some looked quite comfortable in the last heat wave of the day.  Just a bit bushed and lonesome for home.

Lesson : You live or die with the temperature-cum-humidity.  You can take refuge in the air-conditioned hotel room, mall and rarefied resto function rooms, but if you want to be true to yourself and your motherland, spend a few hours each day under the Metro Mania sun, complete with muggy air, soot and carbon monoxide.  It’s good for sustaining your gratitude for living in your adopted land.

What I won’t forget about this trip home was the fact that I suffered a permanent gout attack that last the duration of the two weeks plus here.  I don’t know which factor was responsible for it : the airplane food I consumed, the free alcohol during the same flight, the extended period of time I spent on my fat behind, bloating the blood vessels coursing through my legs, or my recent lack of exercise.  Or a combination of some or all.  Whatever my legs looked like those of the Jollibee mascot or the stumps of a sumo wrestler’s, resulting in restricted mobility.  My gait was labored, and every step was an ordeal, whether we were checking out the latest 1st class imitations in St Francis Square, enjoying the newest extensions to the Pasig malls, or looking for cheap DVD copies in Greenhills.

What’s worse, the inflammation wasn’t subsiding any time soon, and the usual trick of drinking water by the giant glassful wasn’t working.  My brother prescribed gout medication and it eased the pain somewhat, but since I arrived and to this day, my lower leg and ankle have been numb, tender and unable to bear the usual weight of a slightly overweight, middle-aged Asian, that’s me.

Lesson : Make preparations and allowances for your ailments, conditions and particular quirks of your body.  The usual medications might not be available, you might require a strict diet regimen that your hosts and the local milieu cannot provide efficiently, and the climate, drinking water and time zone are a triple whammy combining to convert pleasure into torture.  NOT the sort of Facebook posts you’d want your 800 friends to see.

Lastly, Mahal had her folks, six brothers and sisters, dozen-plus nephews and nieces to visit in various parts of Luzon, there were old cronies, contemporaries and buddies to look up and pester, and an election that just happened to be taking place while we were here!  So much to do and not enough time, obviously, to do it in.

Lesson : You can’t do everything, much as you’d like to do so.  Focus on what you intended to do in the first place, which is family, friends, and the agenda attached to your trip, whatever that is.  So pick your spots and fight the battles that count.  You can’t win them all, because winning the war is the prize that matters.  You can’t please everybody, keep the big picture in mind, and begin with the end (of the trip) in mind.

Most of the above sounds easier than it actually is, and doesn’t talk about anything you don’t already know.  But forewarned is forearmed, preparation is the key to victory, and all that.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you, because all my travails can still serve as a bad example.  And all that.

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kapitbisig with bunso into the undiscovered country

not my first choice, but obviously this is one of his favorite pics. Here it is, Bunso. Cheers!

[ blogged with permission from the subject below. Maraming maraming salamat for all the birthday greetings, special mention to SJCS 82 kabatch, Alphan brods and Rehab II inmates, grateful acknowledgment to all those who visited My Aunt's wake, thought a kind thought and whispered a prayer for her.  Thanks for reading!]

Marching in the Gay Pride Parade is less exciting now that my parents support my sexual orientation. – unknown

When we bump into each other at the Gay Pride Parade, remember to look surprised. – unknown

Here is a little tip for all of you. Don’t come out to your father in a moving vehicle. – unknown

I’VE OFTEN conceded that when it comes to our kids, you can only attempt to impose or imprint so much of yourself on them before acknowledging them as adults like yourself, as co-equals and peers in God‘s creation.  You can impose a lifetime of religion, philosophy and worldview on your progeny, but you are being breathtakingly naive if you think that they will buy into your party dogma even ten effing percent of the way in.  Using another oft-used but timeless phrase when it comes to parents of incipient adults : it’s not about you.

I already heard a bit from his brother and sister here and there, but Bunso gave me a precious gift when it came to his gender orientation : his honesty and thoughtfulness in telling me himself.  No umms, ahhs and wishy-washy hesitations of being neither here and there when it came to probably one of the most important things about his life that he would tell me.  Papa, I’m gay.  You probably know already but here I am telling you, and I hope you still love me for what I am.

Well, not that dramatically and I edited a few words, but essentially that is how he told me and his stepmother.  Oh, how I loved him more for that !

Setting aside the usual stereotypes and fallacies associated with gayness, let me be a proud, politically incorrect parent for a moment and describe Bunso : he is a highly intelligent, handsome and articulate person, who has all the right (and wrong) reasons to wear false masks and hide behind facades to camouflage his gayness, as so many have done (and continue to do) before him.

To his credit, he didn’t shout it out to relatives from the previous generation.  He kept his “proper” self pinned on and showed just enough to hint to others that there was much more inside.  He definitely didn’t declare it prematurely unless he was sure a relative or family friend wouldn’t turn out judgmental or homophobic.  He was all-out ready to come out, but not recklessly.  Again, I doff my Liza Minelli beret to him.

But after migrating to a tolerant, progressive-thinking country, it was too much for him to resist the inevitable.

Things came to a head when he treated Mahal and myself to dinner soon after his first sweldo (paycheque), where symbolically he showed his appreciation for our moral support and encouragement.  Interestingly, it was the same week the gay marriage bill was passed into law in our temporary adopted land.  In no uncertain words, he told his dad and stepmom : this is a celebration of the gay marriage law as much as it is of my new job, guys.  WE WON!

That, and the previous declaration he made, pretty much formalized how he was and is.  I did my best to indicate and manifest to him that we would love him no matter what, but just the same I considered it my bounden duty to apprise him of the realities of being gay (as if he didn’t know).  I said something like this:

You know that you will always have our love and support anak, especially now.  But outside family and friends, forgive me for being blunt, but you will not always have an easy time.  In fact, you should expect not to have an easy time, in work, among strangers, and especially among strangers.  

I didn’t say so out loud, but he knew my subtext: not only are we by nature a marginal group because we are migrants and newcomers, your gayness excludes you further, not per se but in many situations, anticipated or otherwise, unintended or not.  It is, after all, uncharted territory, undiscovered (and sometimes dangerous) country.

Youth that he was (is), he brushed aside all these uncertainties, and dismissed all our apprehensions with a metaphorical que sera sera.  Emphatically, I am and should be ready to declare my gayness because of the road paved by the blood, sweat and tears of my predecessors.  Acceptance of my ilk as a reality in society is an idea whose time has come.

Standing on the shoulders of giants, my son sees the future.  How could I not be proud of him? (thanks for the paraphrased aphorism, Sir Isaac Newton!)

***     ***     ***

I confess that everyday is a new day for me when it comes to being by his side, figuratively of course.  His journey is mine, as well as his triumphs and defeats.  I can only be there for him as he dives head first into the undiscovered country, but one thing for sure : his destiny, unique as it is, is his own.

Proud of you anak, love you always, and thanks everybody for reading!

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good night but not goodbye beloved Tita!

she touched all of our lives. A rare pic of my aunt with Mahal myself and a cousin.

Even for a blabbermouth like myself, it’s hard to put into words what you feel about someone who’s been such a big part of your life for nearly 48 years.  I won’t even try to be clever or witty Precious Reader (if I’ve ever been), as the person I talk about below is one who doesn’t need hyperbole or burnishing.

WE HEARD updates, text messages and expressions of concern from a brother and a cousin during a period of 48 hours.  Even for a born fighter like my Aunt, it seemed like she was overmatched by her latest adversary.  She had overcome a similar enemy years before, ovarian cancer, and the triumph was resounding.  She would not be so lucky this time.

Depending on how you looked at it, the end came too soon or not soon enough.  From afar, and knowing how much of a born fighter my Aunt was, the fact that between the discovery of her illness and her passing barely a week transpired was nearly unbelievable.  On the other hand, seeing her up close and bearing witness to her pain, suffering and discomfort, it was a blessing that God took her when He did.

The reason such an interest was taken in her health, comfort and welfare, especially in her last few days was that my Aunt had been  wish-granter, dream-answerer and miracle worker for so, so many people for the overwhelming majority of her 91 years.  Whether among her family, or friends, or co-workers, or business partners, or associates, or anyone else who knew her little or knew her well, she was an unforgettable individual who touched the life of anyone she encountered.

It seems like a duh moment to say this, as someone who’s known her for so long, but it was second nature for her to make everyone feel happy about themselves.  She had only two requirements to helping you get your symbolic Happy Meal : you must have a dream (I can almost hear her voice saying so), and you must be willing to work hard, do your share and go the distance to achieve your dream.

If you ticked these two boxes, then believe you me, you got her attention, and as long as you kept alive Requirement No. 1 and sustained Requirement No. 2, she would make sure you got all the help you needed. She would use this simple formula to help hundreds and hundreds, nay thousands of individuals, couples, broods, sometimes whole families and even religious communities.

It sometimes helped, but ultimately didn’t matter to her if these were relatives, friends, friends of friends or mere acquaintances.  The only thing that mattered to her was that you had a dream that was worth pursuing.

She never, never forgot a birthday.  She always sent gifts on wedding anniversaries of her inaanak.  She often issued cheques to charities without asking for receipts or prospectuses.  She never hesitated to help someone in the hospital, anonymously taking care of the bill with little fanfare.

Go to school. Build a career. Raise a family. Erect a home. Work overseas.  Start a business Find a spouse. Heal the sick. Bury the dead. Pray for the dead.  My Aunt had her faves and peeves, but when it came to fulfilling dreams, she did not choose.  Everything was fair game to her.  Each dream looked the same.  And every person deserved a shot at chasing that dream.

I was lucky enough to have worked a brief time with her in the law firm of which she was a fixture for, believe it or not, nearly seven decades.  She rose from the ranks as a legal secretary, to office manager, to administrative director, to director of finance and administration by the time she retired, a lofty post indicative of the trust that her employer reposed in her.

Nine times out of ten, she was the designated problem solver, trouble shooter, peacemaker and decision maker in all things that didn’t involve legal matters, which was after all how the firm earned its income.  Because she handled personnel, logistics, billing and finance matters, there nearly wasn’t anything she didn’t know about in the big, big office she managed.

She certainly looked the part, being sharp of mind and swift in action.  But she was a big marshmallow inside.  I can honestly say that whenever anyone asked for assistance, financial or otherwise, and I happened to be in her office, she would probably ask a few questions to verify how much help the person really needed, lecture them on how to avoid a similar jam in the future, extend the help badly needed, and then some.

There’s so much more I could say here but the space and time isn’t nearly enough, and I’m not sorry to say that you will yet hear from me again.  The reason is by simply being herself, my Aunt wielded tremendous influence over the lives of so many, for so long.

Her being a person of means certainly helped, but the assistance she gave wasn’t always monetary. Sometimes just a kind word, a reassuring pat on the shoulder, a firm admonishment, a gentle prod, or even a strategic introduction to the right person was all that was needed to remedy or improve a situation, and usually my Aunt was right there to administer the proper dose and help deliver the needed outcome.  Sometimes money was the last thing needed, and she seemed to discern when those times were.

For the families in which she was a member by blood or affinity, the great establishment she worked for between 1945 and 2013, and the countless souls whose lives she touched, her death last Saturday marked the passing of an era.  For now, we say good night, beloved Tita , but not goodbye!

Forever proud to be your nephew!

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Three shindigs, four families and a thousand smiles in the City of Sails

Auckland at night. thanks and acknowledgment for the photo to travel.usnews.com!

JUST AS important as the postcard sights, Michelin stars and travelogue accommodations of your vacation experience is the human factor.  How senti (or sentimental) your reunions were, how awesome a time you had reminiscing yesteryear with contemporaries, or how many tears of happiness shed with long-lost relatives brought back to life.  You may immerse yourself in the swankiest lodgings, admire the most breathtaking natural wonders, or savor the most decadent buffet, but who you meet and the stories you swap occupy a most prominent corner in your album of precious memories.

The people we met and spent time with during our short trip to Auckland (or the City of Sails, it sounds good for a title), fleeting as it was, made it doubly pleasing and trebly memorable.  It may have been the amount of time we spent apart, the remarkable anecdotes shared and recounted, or just the good company, but without them our modest little adventure would not have been the same.

the Ahorros of North Shore City : that’s Arlene and Jun on one side, and their daughter Bea behind us on the other. We are all sitting like contented cows after a lunch of kare-kare and steamed blue cod. talap-talap!

The day after we arrived, my old colleague Arlene Ahorro made sure we met her family and had lunch in their modest bungalow in North Shore just outside Auckland City.  The time Arlene and I worked together a few years ago was a special time for her; she was chasing permanent resident status on the Work-to-Residence policy stream, which is Immigration NZ‘s way of saying if you don’t find get a job offer that suits your qualifications within six months from the time you get off the boat, your goose is cooked and back home you go.  Arlene’s sticky situation was that she had a job offer, but it was from a company that was going under faster than the Titanic after it bumped Mr Iceberg.  She had to consolidate her status and wrap up her application soon, otherwise her dreams as a migrant were going to remain just that, dreams.

To make a long story short, she made it by the skin of her teeth, and as you can see on the pretty picture above, she was able to bring her family to the land of her dreams (son Byron is taking the pic).  They are by no means at the end of their rainbow, but they are getting there one day at a time, raising kids and building careers while enjoying each other’s love.

Oh, and I almost forgot, she sweetened the lunch invitation by preparing her world-class kare-kare and readying her kawali for a blue-cod (similar to lapu-lapu) dish that would have gotten rave reviews from any NZ Masterchef panel of judges.  After that, we had chocolate mousse and home-made capuccino, a concession to Western cuisine for dessert, at least.  Mabuhay kayo, Arlene and Jun Ahorro and family!

***     ***     ***     ***     ***

with kabayan Aline and Arlene and their Kiwi partners. Beer optional.

One Kiwi (Peter) was a world-weary traveller who’d been all over Asia to find his fortune, and the other (Greg) was a world-class corporate communications specialist, and there was practically nothing in common with them, save perhaps their choice of partners, both choosing Filipinas from my country.

The latter two, Doc Arlene Gill and Aline Parrone were two kabayan I’d gotten to know at the Facebook page of my alumni in NZ, and they had varied, yet parallel paths compared to mine on our way to becoming migrants in this fair land.  We found it odd that we knew each other well online but had never beheld each other personally, so we sought to remedy that situation our second day in AKL.

Over Japanese pica-pica and udon , we discussed how New Zealanders continued to marvel at how much their country has evolved in the last few decades, not the least because of the migration invasion.  Thanks also to the union between Kiwis and Pinoys, we have meetings of the minds like the one between cultures and perspectives.  Thanks for the opportunity, Arlene, Aline and your hubbies!

***     ***     ***     ***     ***

from left: Hazel, their daughter Kimy, your loyal blogger, Mahal, Hannah and my brother George. in front of us is what remains of a humongous dimsum / yumcha lunch :p

Our best experience was saved for last.  I would not have been able to obtain my first work visa in New Zealand without the assistance and generosity of my brother George and his wife Hazel.  They figuratively held my hand, taught me to walk and talk, and finally weaned me from my circle of friends and supporters by helping me find my first job in New Zealand.

Nearly five years from the time I left Auckland, I saw them as a family again (pictured above), and they have remained the same engaging, hard-working and conscientious team of husband and wife, always there for their two daughters.  The latter two have remained the same respectful, charming and intelligent pair of Kiwinoys I left, and I’m so lucky to be their uncle as well!  It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say they charmed the pants off Mahal, who couldn’t stop giggling with them throughout our entire lunch (and follow-up lunch the day after)!

We would’ve gained probably an extra bilbil and double chin if we didn’t leave Auckland at the time we did, as George and family fed us lunch, merienda, and brunch until we could not longer take another bite.  Such is the hospitality of family, and our brother made sure we would never forget this visit.  Thanks so much brother, and may we return the favor when your family visit us in Wellington!

Thanks for reading!

 

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home for an evening with Ogie A & his music

Ogie the Pogi made even smaller from the nosebleed section

[ Note : Sorry for the very ordinary pic, the seats we got were way up in the nosebleed section, the overflow crowd after the concert also prevented us from both an impromptu interview or even a snapshot with Mr Singer-Songwriter! ]

IMAGINE A situation where you entered your favorite pizza place for the first time in five years; for added realism let’s select one, Shakey’s.  You know exactly what to order : Manager’s Choice Pizza, with all the trimmings and specials, cooked on traditional thin crust, and four-piece Chick N Chips for you and your companion, chicken thigh and breast cooked just the way you like, with mojo potatoes.  The hunger pangs caused by waiting for the treats is dulled by ice-cold San Miguel Pale Pilsen, and the waitress brings the pizza and chicken with a flourish, just after your last gulp of cerveza and just when you thought your dinner would never arrive.

The combination of tastes and smells is just what you expected : slightly salty, slightly tangy, slightly sweet, and intensely delicious.  You don’t care that your tongue gets slightly burned by the first few bites, even this slightly stinging sensation is part of the package, and what a package it is.  Uniquely Pinoy, uniquely memorable and worth coming back for.

It’s this above experience that comes to mind when I recall the recent concert we attended in Auckland last Saturday with a great musical and entertainment talent that made many in the Pinoy community in NZ nostalgic for the homeland.

Mr Ogie Alcasid, also known as Ogie the Pogi, sang not only his signature Nandito Ako, Kung Mawawala Ka and Sa Kanya, he also sang songs he wrote that were popularized by other artists like Freestyle (Bakit Ngayon Ka Lang), Martin Nievera (Ikaw Ang Pangarap/Lobo theme song), Gary Valenciano (sorry, I can’t remember the title) and Piolo Pascual (Kailangan Kita).  He also sang OPM standards throughout his short but exciting concert.

No less than six Kiwinoys sang before the main act, but the more memorable entertainment was provided by singer-comedians Joffrey and Russell who impersonated various OPM artists like Jaya, Nora Aunor and Yeng Constantino and kept the audience laughing until it was time for Ogie to make his entrance.

Like the Shakey’s dinner, the Ogie concert was too good to last, and I had to remind myself that until my next homecoming, Mr Alcasid’s evening of songs would have to replenish my store of memories of my Inang Bayan and her music.  Thanks for bringing us home, if only for an evening Ogie!

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dodging awkward situations with your pinay wife / gf / partner

awkward!

[ Maraming maraming salamat Arlene and Jun Ahorro, Arlene Gill and Aline Parrone and George and Hazel Bautista for their supreme kindness and hospitality during our trip to Auckland, may we return the favor someday soon! ]

WE DON’T guarantee 100% success; in our fallible imperfect world, nothing does.  But having had the benefit of experience, knowing our Pinay sisterhood since we were very young (and that was quite a few summers ago), we believe we are eminently qualified to help you,  precious reader, from as my audacious title suggests, dodging potentially awkward situations with your Pinay loved one.

The fundamental disconnect between cultures and values, the yawning divide between races and religions (or lack of same) and the clash between generations and familial priorities are some of  the sources of friction between Pinays and their significant others, who would otherwise be genuinely and sincerely in love, but it could be anything, as little as a momentary or wayward glance to an innocent phrase or comment that could open the proverbial can of worms.

First awkward situation.  While you are in the company of Pinay loved one, you encounter a pretty lady.  Do you (a) strike up a conversation, attract her attention and hope your Pinay loved one doesn’t notice, (b) be friendly in a guarded manner, but only if the hot lady is herself friendly first (although that’s highly unlikely), or (c) ignore her completely.  If the answer isn’t obvious, I’ll tell you what I’d do.

This was what happened: on our way to Auckland to catch the Ogie Alcasid concert, a very rare appearance by a world-class Filipino performer in this part of the world by the way, and on the discount flight to the City of Sails, I found myself seated next to a very attractive Kiwi woman.  From my peripheral view, she was slim, smartly dressed and didn’t seem to have any companion.  Of course, to my left was Mahal, who was ready to raise an eyebrow and flash a pout of disapproval if I so much as turned my head and display my famous Pinoy charm on said Attractive Kiwi Woman.

The flight was sixty-five minutes long, Mahal fell asleep somewhere between Wellington and Auckland and there was little reading matter to occupy my wandering mind, save for the usual glossy airline/travel mag that wasn’t exactly in the John Grisham or Stephen King neighborhood.  Did I talk to or even attempt to look at Ms Attractive Kiwi Woman?

The short answer is no.

Common sense, a desire to not stoke any embers of  the time my conscience was less than virtuous and my eye was a little more than wandering, and the recognition that I was much better off letting sleeping dogs lie, were compelling reasons for my course of action, despite the fact that outside Mahal, encountering pretty young women and sitting this close to them was about as often as seeing more than a handful of stars as well as the moon on a clear Manila night, the odds of which is the equivalent to slim to none.

Which brings me to my valuable lesson : whenever you are with the love of your life, specifically your Pinay love, and you meet at close quarters a female topping 8 out of 10 on the hotness scale, ignore said female.  Pretend that she doesn’t exist and devote even more attention than usual on your beloved.  Whether or not she notices, it’s a win-win.  If she does, well you get a good-little-boy pat on the back.  If she doesn’t, well all you lost was the chance to admire a fine young thing while testing your steely resistance to temptation; you can always ogle the next nice-looking lady the next time, of course this means the next time you’re not with your Pinay Lady.

even more awkward!

Second situation.  You are the judge-by-default when your Pinay love selects dresses and stuff for her party / night out.  She asks you in succession does this dress highlight my assets, de-emphasize my less flattering parts and in general, make me look prettier?  The good news is the answer is easy, the dress does none of those things.  The bad news is she’s right there’s waiting for an answer in a New York minute.  What to do?  Do you (a) tell her all is good, yes yes yes and she looks like a supermodel; (b) bite the bullet and tell her the dress doesn’t do anything for her, she looks 10 years older in that awful dress and please donate it to the needy or anyone else who’ll want it, or (c) tell her exactly how the dress might have been good for her, had she had the right skin color, height and vital statistics?  Remember, there’s no middle ground and you can’t give her a safe, wishy-washy opinion.

You want her to look at her best but at the same time you don’t want to hurt her feelings and ruin her day.  The problem with Pinays is they take their appearance very seriously and believe that, though they already look good on their own and are as beautiful as any other race on the planet, they have to trounce the competition and must claim their birthright of being the most desirable women on Earth.

I’m not sure if my answer fits into the category of (a), (b) or (c), but I would tell my Pinay love that whatever she wears is immaterial to me, because she is the only beautiful woman in my life, and ultimately the opinion of others does not count.  Of course in reality this answer will not be the one she is looking for, but this is one case where what you think isn’t as important as how the other person feels, and believe me, dear reader, how your Pinay love feels is very important.

Thanks for reading!

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the day bunso came full circle

did our unanimous choice of chinese dimsum and yumcha really require explanation?

SEEING A person off on a journey into the vast unknown is one of the more popular metaphors lent to parents bidding goodbye to their adult children.  Part of you is so happy for them, being a front-seat witness to the first of their many milestones.  And yet you know that on many levels there is no turning back, as there are certain thresholds that, once crossed, can’t be uncrossed, can’t be undone.

Given his communication and learning skills, it had taken Bunso an inordinate time to find a job in Migrantland.  Each IQ test had given him so much encouragement, each interview had given him so much hope, and each hiring officer had practically promised him that the job was his for the taking.  Why, then was this his umpteenth job interview, and the latest in an endless stream of heartbreaking you have great qualifications, but just not a good fit for the position we’re offering right now?  It just seemed that they never ran out of ways to make you feel good and at the same time shut the proverbial door in your unbelieving face.

Which was why, after a month of not hearing from Bunso, we were very happy to hear that he had already started work after a short training period.  Just when he thought he had had enough of sincere-sounding but indecisive and non-committal employers, one supermarket chain finally cut him a break and told him to report for work the next day.

It was of course nothing fancy, minimum wage, work the graveyard shift that nobody wanted, fill the shelves and man the checkout counters at all hours of the day, don’t even think about choosing your hours.  For Bunso, just having a job was seventh heaven, and a passport to the life of being able to start saving for things meant a lot to him.

And the icing on the cake ?  Bunso remembered to treat us to dinner, which was a first for both me and him, meaning him treating me and me, well, being treated.  Free food certainly tastes better than usual, and even more when it’s from someone you’ve loved all your life.

From you taking care of the baby to the baby now taking care of you, Bunso has certainly come full circle, sniff-sniff!

From Tita H and me, thanks so much and love you always Bunso!

ang pikon laging talo unless…

[ Note : If it sounds like I'm goofing off, it's only partly true.  I wanted to note the similarity between the Philippines and New Zealand as regards the almost painful emphasis on political correctness and the (unsurprisingly) onion-skinned response every time something politically incorrect is said about their respective cultures, and I also wanted to tell you about my news program viewing habits here.  But because of a recent event, it might just be as well if I did it in one sitting. Thanks for reading and apologies in advance for the longish rant-and-rave ! ]

I taught a journalism class at Duke (University) for 3 years.  The first question I asked on the first day of the semester was always the same : What is objective journalism? After the students gave their answers I’d tell them they were all wrong; there’s no such thing.  None of us is objective.  We all have biases that we grew up with or that develop through the years.  The key is understanding that you’re biased and trying as hard as you can to put those biases aside and be fair.  - John Feinstein in One on One.

IT’S NOT that hard to understand.  If I take pains to be politically correct and sensitive to the cultural diversity that exists between nations and states (and even within a particular society), common sense dictates that I expect the same courtesy to be granted me, especially when I host visitors from other countries and places.  Sounds good in theory right?  In practice however, that’s not always the case, and it’s not always a clear-cut case of doing as the Romans do.

Danish minister of parliament Marie Krarup criticized as “uncivilized” and “grotesque” a traditional welcome ritual performed by Maori, the indigenous people of New Zealand, on a parliamentary defense committee visit last week.  To be perfectly blunt about it, Krarup said she was “shocked to be welcomed by a half-naked man in grass skirt, shouting and screaming in Maori.”  She added several other unflattering details, glossing over the fact that such a dance ritual, called a powhiri, has been a traditional welcome ceremony used in New Zealand for centuries honoring visitors from all over the world.

Whether or not you appreciate the aesthetics of the dance is ultimately beside the point.  As many radio commentators have presumed, the Danish official must have been prepped and briefed by her handlers about NZ customs and would at least have basic awareness on how New Zealand fetes and welcomes its honored visitors.

As mentioned, because the majority of NZ society takes pains to observe political correctness, an entire spectrum of Kiwis (and Maoris, of course) have expressed dismay and disdain for Krarup’s comments, ranging from measured criticism to wholesale condemnation.

But it’s not that cut-and-dried, as some people have expressed support for Krarup’s sentiments.  Compared to other cultures, Maoris may admittedly appear a bit aggressive and for lack of a better term, in-your-face that it may put off some people.  But it doesn’t detract from the rich culture and history of said people, who have rightly shown their displeasure, particularly as it concerns a guest of NZ who should have at least shown a little more tact.

***              ***               ***

Taking the devil’s advocate view, doth the media in my host country protest too much? To appear too onion-skinned and sensitive to criticism of native culture, especially from overseas, is a common trait of columnists and opinion makers, often in support of other agenda and interests.  A desire to curry favor with the political leadership, increase readership/viewership, or protect itself from appearing to promote specific interest groups are the usual suspects, but in my humble view, most New Zealand TV news programs are often vanilla-safe, fence-sitting or neutral to the point of being unhelpful on what an issue means to ordinary people.  I realize this is an extreme judgment, but one thing for sure : you’ll never hear an honest opinion from the TV newsreaders here except by way of occasional funny remarks or tongue-in-cheek comments.

[Content from radio or print media is another matter totally, but we can discuss that some other time. ]

***               ***               ***

Back home, I notice that anything highlighting our imperfect Pinoy society is fair game for media, as long as it isn’t coming from foreign personalities or foreign media.  If any utterance or reportage (print, electronic or video) comes from abroad, it then acquires a “meddler” or “foreign devil” status that instantly deserves universal scourging, sometimes disproportionate to the original comment.

One example is the prevalence of Asian dating sites, specifically our kabayan Pinays making themselves relatively more accessible to prospective husbands from the First World.  Everybody back home in the Philippines knows about this; it’s not only a fact of supply-and-demand relationships, women from other cultures also promote themselves as desirable partners to men in return for favorable migration and economic outcomes.  Men, wherever they come from, provide stability and security = Women who offer love, affection and the comforts of life.  Pinays just seem to do a better marketing job than others.

But just imagine a non-Pinoy making this observation in whatever medium and you can rest assure that almost immediately will surface (1) a thousand and one aspersions on this person’s right to make judgments (as if anyone needed credentials to make an opinion) (2) numerous conjectures as to the motives of this person, as if you needed a reason to point out the good or the bad in anything and (3) counter-comments and opposing judgments that ironically will only call more attention to the original criticism that otherwise wouldn’t have been noticed that much.

Just one more example of how overkill becomes counterproductive when it comes to our paranoia over other people criticizing us.  Few may remember Homeland star Claire Danes in the movie Brokedown Palace above, but after its production, Danes had some colorful things to say about Manila.  Quoting Wikipedia :

In 1998, just after the filming of Brokedown Palace in Manila, Danes was quoted in Vogue magazine as saying that Manila was a “ghastly and weird city”.  She further remarked in Premiere magazine that the city “smelled of cockroaches, with rats all over and that there is no sewage system and the people do not have anything—no arms, no legs, no eyes”. Kim Atienza, son of then–Mayor of Manila, Lito Atienza, responded to the comments by saying that, “those are irresponsible, bigoted and sweeping statements that we cannot accept”.  Her films were subsequently banned from being screened in the Philippines.  Joseph Estrada, then President of the Philippines, condemned her publicly , and she was declared persona non grata.

It may have been somewhat over-the-top, but what did Danes say about our beloved Manila that wasn’t true about any other Third World city?  The comment about our lack of extremities and eyes should’ve been taken in context, considering that she shot some scenes in our famous National Center for Mental Health in Mandaluyong City.  Comments on her comments made by high officials only gave them more mileage and legitimacy, which I’m guessing wasn’t the intent of those officials.

***            ***            ***

On the other hand, there is only one case where you can raise a hoot when your culture is offended and get almost instant results : if you’re the number one consumer market in the world.  Everyone who cares knows that China (1) trades with and acknowledges Taiwan, but officially refuses to accept the latter’s existence and (2) executes more criminals than the rest of the world combined.  In so many words, (1) and (2) are official government policy.

But any official mouthpiece of any nation enjoying diplomatic relations with China who tries making a comment about those things on any media platform (I hope blogs don’t count) risks reaping the whirlwind, or causing a shock-and-awe response from the combine of sanctions and propaganda from the People’s Republic of China with massive ripple effects all around.

The Chinese community is so established in NZ that there are two TV channels dedicated to Chinese content.  One station I think airs predominantly pro-Mainland programs, while the other station allows pro-Taiwan content.  (I can watch both because they’re free; no cable needed; and I learned passable Mandarin in high school, although I need a lot of practice to speak and understand it well.) Both channels operate in the so-called free market of ideas, but steer clear of any criticism of Chinese government and culture.  It would be therefore be hard to imagine either TV station airing any local (much less foreign) entity saying anything negative about China.  The closest thing it resembles to me is the late years of Philippine martial law, where it was still unsafe to say anything about government but you constantly tried to test the limits of criticizing authority without getting in trouble.

***            ***            ***

I tried, but couldn’t find an accurate translation for the Filipino adjective pikon; the closest was irritable or sore loser.  None suits my purposes right now, because pikon may also mean onion-skinned or sensitive to teasing or criticism.  I say this because besides the singular exception above, most countries, New Zealand and the Philippines definitely included, should whenever they hear foreign criticism of their respective cultures should remember the common-sense advice : ang pikon laging talo.

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belated happy birthday Oscar “Oca” Gomez Jr !

Oca and the love of his life Mari. Is that Bruce Lee’s statue in the background?

If there is one thing I remember about my friend from university Oscar Oca Gomez, it is that he was passionate about almost everything he did.  About his politics, sports (which he wrote a lot about), his interests and best of all, women who happened to catch his eye, he never held back an ounce of feeling or a spark of sentiment.  He was either non-responsive or all in, never in between.

Whether it was exuding full confidence in the Philippines (he never understood why skilled and talented people ever left the country), covering the University of the Philippines Fighting Maroons for the Philippine Collegian sports section (we were lucky enough to be part of the student body when UP won its only UAAP basketball title) or being son, brother  and later husband and father to the family he loves, Oca has always given 101%.  Still does, I’m sure.

I haven’t seen him for so long now that I’m afraid we will almost not recognize each other when we finally do meet, with only the memories of presswork all-nighters, UAAP games and passionate discussions about life and love to remind us of the wonderful life in Diliman that we never appreciated then, but will always treasure.

We are grown men now, parents of children who are almost full-grown themselves, and we have nowhere to go but late middle age.  Only the memories of our youth, maybe the passions that inflamed us then, and the joy of seeing the successes of our children (and grandchildren) will keep us young.

That, and maybe a reunion with friends of yesteryear.  Thanks for the memories Kuya Oca, and it will certainly be a treat to see you one of these days.  Belated happy birthday and warmest regards to your gorgeous wife Mari, and beautiful kids Gio, Fiona, Cheska and Francine!

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