ODE TO JAN-JAN

I was once six years old. Just like Jan-Jan.

Actually, when I was five years old, I had my first taste of humiliation. It was summer. My family went to Pangasinan for an outing in the beach. My mom had forgotten to pack my swim suit. She urged me to 'parade' in my birthday suit. I wanted to protest. My cousins all were clad in their swim wear.

But, lest I get stranded alone in the shed (the beach was a few meters down -- we were in Hundred Islands, after all) I went walking sans briefs -- people were laughing. Jeering. Maliciously. I cupped my genitals. I knew they were laughing at my nakedness. The more they laughed. My drunk father egged me on. He told me to be proud of my 'boyhood'!

There is a photo of this experience somewhere in the old house. 

My parents were good people. But they were not good parents. 

Children are smarter than you think. They know. You can't lie to them. They know.

They're sensitive. They know.

They know when they're being laughed at.

CARE DIVAS

Five Filipino gay caregivers in Israel decide to form a singing group (in drag) and reach for the heights, i.e. to be regular performers in a club in Tel Aviv. The Philippine Educational Theatre Association's (PETA) most recent offering is Liza Magtoto's 'Care Divas'.


Truly an ensemble performance by the cast, 'Care Divas' is a wonderful romp into the lives of these Overseas Filipino Workers (OFW) -- we hear their travails, we delight at their little accomplishments, we sympathize with their homesickness, we laugh at their foibles, we snicker with them as they exchange retorts, we feel their pain -- and yet we triumph with them as they overcome the trials they undergo. Magtoto's script encompasses the OFW's plight. We see how OFW's are caught between their desire to provide for their families back home and their alienation in the country of their destination. The main characters may be gay, but they surely encompass the OFW experience.


Typical of PETA's productions wherein actors are made to play different characters, the guest actor, Paul Holme charmingly transforms from Daddy Isaac to Captain to Club Manager and back and forth. DudzTerana as Thalia is reminiscent of Lisa Kudrow's Phoebe on the sitcom 'Friends'. Thalia's one-liners consistently elicit guffaws from the audience. The true standout however belongs to Chelsea (Melvin Lee). Chelsea's heartwarming interaction with his ward Daddy Isaac, his subsequent relationship with Faraj, his struggle to be the catalyst of the Care Divas, and his recollection of his coming-to-terms with his homosexuality -- are portrayed with a depth and sensitivity that comes forth in Lee's every movement, gesture, nuance, look.


The script's strengths are in the main characters' details. The insecurity/paranoia of Shaina with regards to his mother back home, the helplessness of Kyla upon realizing the prospect of deportation, the steadfastness of Jonee, the naivete (not to mention the kleptomaniac tendencies) of Thalia, and the resolve of Chelsea. The exchange between the Jewish Mother and son, however, was a tad indulgent, if I may say so, and comes out not to have any real purpose in the end.


Vince de Jesus, the composer and lyricist, gives us a bevy of musical numbers that cunningly gets its inspiration from other musical genres but definitely comes out originally and stands out on its own merits.I particularly liked Chelsea's last solo number -- the purity of emotion evoked in the lyrics. Oh, Vince de Jesus, by the way also portrays Shaina.


Kudos to the direction of Maribel Legarda. Her treatment of the script does not patronize nor trivialize the OFW experience. Ditto the gay lifestyle. It was good judgment on her part to exercise restraint so that the production does not come out too campy. The Care Divas' musical numbers are at the opposite end of the usual gay-comedy-bar-routine of excess,  slapstick, and coarse jesting. Legarda's overall direction (along with the choreography of Carlon Matobato) is a fresh respite from the usual brouhaha and empty bravado we are bombarded with daily on local television.


'Care Divas' will run until March at the PETA Center (behind the QC Sports Club). The musical will definitely merit a repeat viewing from this blogger.

(photos grabbed from Vince de Jesus Facebook Album)

I WILL NEVER EAT IN CHOWKING AGAIN!!!

After an exhausting day, I go to Chowking along JP Rizal Street corner Reposo in the hopes of getting a satisfying, warm, quick meal. And so I order Chicken Noodle Soup, 3 Pieces Shanghai Lumpia and Regular Iced Tea. The girl by the cash register said Iced Tea would be 'automatic pong large' -- I did not bother to ask why.


I pay and she gives my Iced Tea and a number corresponding to my order. I take my seat after about two or three minutes, the Shanghai Lumpia arrives. After I pour the sweet & sour sauce over the Lumpia, I receive a text message on my cellphone and I promptly reply. The time on my phone registers 6:15pm. The Shanghai Lumpia is eaten in less than 5 minutes. More text messages come and I reply to them.


By 6:26 -- my Chicken Noodle Soup hasn't arrived yet. My stomach still grumbling from hunger pangs which the Lumpia failed to sate. Did I mention that the Lumpia tasted rancid? I put it at the back of my mind because I was really hungry.


By 6:30 I am starting to get pissed. My face getting redder with anger and hunger and frustration. I mean, I rarely eat in fastfood joints, tonight was an exception because I was really hungry. 


At exactly 6:35pm --20 minutes after I replied to that first text message when I sat down -- I decide to stand up, bring my half filled glass of Iced Tea, my receipt and the Number they gave me and go towards same girl at cash register. My voice almost cracking, but I did control my temper, I told her: "Miss, it's been 20 minutes since I gave my order, you should've told me it was going to take this long then I would've ordered something else, I am sooooo hungry..." I then put my glass down in front of her, along with the number and my receipt and continue, "...but never mind, I am NEVER (with matching hand gesture) EVER going to eat here again.


She looks at me, gets my receipt, the other girls behind the counter go near her and look at my receipt, they whisper something like "Ano ba ang in-order nya, blah, blah, blah..." and then, nothing! Did they try to appease me? No. Did they tell me that my order will be coming out soon? No. Did they check with the kitchen? No. Did they offer to reimburse me? No. Were they busy? No, the place was half-filled to think it was dinner time.


I walk out. Proceed to this internet cafe.


New Year's resolution come February 3, the Chinese New Year: I WILL NEVER EAT IN ANY CHOWKING, JOLLIBEE, RED RIBBON, MANG INASAL OR ANY FASTFOOD JOINT TONY TAN CAKTIONG GOBBLES UP!


And to think I was very patient with those Binondo Chinese the past two days while sourcing props for an upcoming event, despite their condescension towards me! 

JUST SAY NO

With the acquittal of Hubert Webb, et al. by the Supreme Court all over the news media, I was reminded of this letter sent to me by my sister. 


(names of places and people have been omitted/changed to protect the privacy of those concerned) 


"April 9, 1994
Dearest Martin,

This would be my nth attempt to write you & tell you about what's been happening since time stood still between the two of us beginning January...


... A really strange thing happened to me in the past month. I was at a flower shop in the mall and a guy entered, bundles of roses under his arm, smiled at me and called out saying he was delivering roses. So the guy at the shop attended to him while I sized him up. Can't be a delivery boy. There was something about him that told me he was rich. Must have been the flowers all around me. And the scent of roses. I felt I was in an ad. So I asked him if he owned The Flower Shop and so our friendship began. We exchanged numbers and he introduced me to his sister who was managing their flower business. So we had a phone relationship going on. I started ordering my wedding requirements for roses from them. Every now and then invite them to church, Music Hall or Strumm's. Once, Marge, his sister asked me to call him. And when I asked why, she just said: "Basta. Just make kwento with him or something." After that I called him up but he was in a rush. And I never called again. About two weeks passed and I called to order roses. You know me, I don't read the papers, nor watch TV. Imagine my shock, Martin, when their maid told me that they couldn't deliver roses just yet because there was an "accident". She told me to read the papers that day. Louie, in a drugged state, had shot his mother dead. I cried myself that night, Mart, because I knew he needed a friend but I didn't push it. I didn't want him to think I was out to snare him. I visited their home the next day, met their father, who was still in the stage where the facts had not dawned on him. They're a very neat, old rich family. Looking good on the outside, crumbling inside. Louie is in Makati Med for psychiatric treatment. They're pleading insanity to spare him incarceration. For a few days after that, his face would flash in my mind, constantly. It's changed me in a way, Mart. From now on, I'm going to be a friend to people. I don't care how I may look to them -- people need people. I still keep in touch with Marge, order roses from her. I'm praying I be allowed to visit Louie soon.


April 28, 1994
I'm ending this letter now. I have been allowed to visit Louie -- I just need to schedule it. Been ultra busy lately, fixing up weddings. Hope you've gained back the pounds that I heard you so quickly lost. I'm praying that by some stroke of good fortune, I can come visit. (Or go visit). We miss you very much & we love you & we're longing for coffee talks with you!


Joy"

World AIDS Day 2010 - The Ribbon/Cucumber Timelapse

I sent two photos for this project. One of me wearing a white shirt, the other wearing a red shirt as required by the project coordinators. You can see my photo (me in red shirt) towards the end before shot zooms out to reveal entire mosaic.

I shit you not.

YIPPEE! I'm on youtube!

THE OLD BAGUIO

(Photo courtesy of Kevin Engle. On left is Felicidad Reyes to her right is her sister, Manuela Vargas)

(I am posting excerpts from my Uncle Gras Reyes' essay "Embers In My Father's Fireplace" which saw print in the Ani publication The Literary Journal of the Cultural Center of the Philippines, Jan-April 1991 Edition. Kevin Engle a friend I recently 'met' on Facebook recently posted an album featuring old photos of Baguio City. In the album, I was surprised to find two photos of my grandmother, Felicidad Reyes, included. Those photos reminded me of these excerpts...)

"My father (Atty. Francisco 'Ikong' Reyes) married a market vendor, a "career" she started when she was a grade schooler. She would not be allowed to go to school unless she sold rice cake early in the morning. Before sun-up my grandmother would already have cooked rice cakes (puto) ready to be sold while hot and steaming.


"Her father died before she finished intermediate school. In his deathbed my grandfather advised my mother never to be without merchandise. Thus, my mother became a vendor all her life, selling fruits and vegetables in the city market. My father once told her to stop being a vendor because his law practice could provide more than enough for the family but my mother refused. My mother countered: 'Don't ever introduce me to your rich clients or your friends in high society because many of them happen to be my customers. When they learn that I am your wife, they stop buying from me.' but how could my father avoid introducing my mother to people?


"Elected as president of the Rotary Club of Baguio, president of the Lawyers League of Baguio, once a city councilor, organizer of the departments of law of the Baguio Colleges and of St. Louis College, and either chairman or member of several boards and communities of civic organizations and reputedly the number-one practicing lawyer in the city of Baguio during his heyday, my father had to attend important social functions where he had to bring my mother. My mother hated dressing up like society matrons, but she had to. And when she did, she was completely transformed into a pretty, affluent looking woman.


"My father once asked one of his clients in a party if his client knew my mother. 'Of course, I know her,' said the client. 'I met her a couple of times in other social functions. Besides everybody knows anybody's wife in this small city.'


"' No, you don't know my wife,' my father said, whereupon he pulled him close and told him to take a closer look at my mother.


"'Yes, of course, I know her. What's the matter with you?' said the client. My mother tugged at my father's sleeve and motioned him not to tell the client, but it was too late. My father said, 'She is the person you buy your vegetables from in the market.'


"The client turned pale. Aghast, he said, 'Oh, no.' The reason my father told him who my mother really was could possibly be the client's way with my mother when he bought vegetables and fruits from her. Not knowing that my mother, the vendor, was one and the same person as the wife of a successful and popular lawyer, he was discourteous and bossy and ordered my mother as though she were his servant. 'Put those vegetables and fruits in the bag. See to it that nothing gets crushed. And   bring the whole bag to my car. I don't have time to go around the meat and fish sections. Buy me some meat and fish. I will wait here in my car.' My mother would quietly obey. That was how she maintained him as a customer. But due to my father's revelation, she lost him as a customer. The client became a mayor of Baguio in spite of himself. People say, however, that it was during his term that Baguio plunged into its most decadent period. Gambling and prostitution became rampant.


" As a toddler I was brought by my mother to the market and allowed to play on the cement flooring while she tended to her store. The market, she said, was clean, 'Peep under the stalls and you can see the market from end to end -- no trash. It was common to see mothers pushing prams while doing marketing.' My mother also said that she could leave her store untended and nothing was stolen; she would come back the following day and her fruits and vegetables would still be there as they were when she left them. Sometimes she would leave petty cash in her cash box and no one bothered to open it nor steal a single centavo. By today's standards, that was too good to be true. But my mother said it was that way in Baguio before the outbreak of World War II.


"Incidentally it was my mother who first made and sold straw flower garlands, better known as cuentas nga everlasting. She also introduced strawberry jam, as taught by an American missionary. The Good Shepherd Sisters used to buy strawberry jam from her and later they made their own.



"The public market was never crowded except during the Holy Week when many visitors from Manila came up to Baguio. During the Holy Week Baguio was transformed from a sleepy village into a bustling city. After that burst of activity the city once again slowed down. And when the rainy season set in, the place became cold and gloomy. For me the dreariness was compounded by the beginning of school days. Relatives and friends who stayed with us during the the months of March, April and May all went home to Manila after the 'summer' session of the Supreme Court and Court of Appeals in Baguio. The gaiety of three months -- the picnics, excursions, movies, games, parties and rain-free days -- changed overnight into gloomy, somber and tedious school days."

YOU'RE SO VAIN

Lately I have noticed how members of the younger set seem to be so vain. I'm talking about those gays in their late teens to early 30s who preen and check themselves out in any reflective surface available, every chance they can get, which is about every minute. 


It is impossible to keep a conversation with these types because they never really pay attention to you as they are busy touching up their overly-smothered-with-products hairstyle. They fold their sleeves and tuck in their shirts in the most contrived manner. They accessorize more than Madonna (during her Material Girl days) and they retouch their make-up so often they end up looking like espasol from Laguna.


The Vain Gay (VG) is easy to spot. He obviously works out as his toned body in fitted clothes would attest. He wears the latest styles, preferably the designer brands. He doesn't smoke and doesn't drink too much. He is too poised to make a fool of himself when inebriated so he prefers to keep his alcoholic drinks to a minimum. 


When you refer to his being gay (you assume he is gay because, uhm, he is sooooooo gay) he puts on a defensive stance and claims he's 'experimenting' or 'versatile'. But then you see him checking out all the more straight-acting guys in the bar. Or the cafe. Or the mall.


Here are 10 Tips To Annoy The Vain Gay (VG):


1. When VG cuts in while you are having a conversation with a potential mate, feign concern and ask VG: 'Is that a zit on your chin'?


2. When VG enters bar, cafe or mall and obviously shows off his newly purchased outfit, go up to VG and praise his sense of style then scream: "OMG! My sister bought the same pair of pants from the ukay-ukay for only 100 pesos!"


3. When you spot VG in the mall carrying his shopping bags of designer goods, mention to your companion/s loud enough for VG to overhear: "Hey, I just read in the latest issue of Vogue that (pick a brand among VG's shopping bags) is no longer hot!"


4. When you and your friends are enjoying yourselves in a bar, laughing and exchanging witty conversations and being the center of attention; and VG tries to join your group, quickly change the topic and discuss the difference between Pure and Applied Mathematics.


5. Tell VG that his brand of cosmetics/facial care was recently found to have cancer causing ingredients.


6. Find out what VG is allergic to. Spike his drinks/food with it.


7. Feign sincerity and ask VG: "When did your parents find out that  you were boring but beautiful?"


8. When VG steals your boyfriend, spread rumors that VG has a small dick from all those muscle-enhancing hormones he's been using.


9. Spread rumors VG has athlete's foot.


10. Tell VG a new Reality Make-Over Show will air on TV soon and that you entered his name as one of those who want to have a make-over.