Sunday, October 29, 2006
joga!
Well, well, mga pare! Look who got her capoeira uniform and white belt yesterday! Ang mahal ng binayad ko para sa sinturon na iyan, eh isang pirasong puting libid lang naman siya kung tutuosin. Pweh. But who cares, it looks good and I earned it. :-p And it also means I am officially part of Grupo Capoeira Brasil. Go, me! Career na toh, tsong.
Yesterday was my first open roda, where all the divisions of GCB get together from all around Sydney, train, and play, and where newbies get their white belts. Daming gwapo.
This is my class.
Ang cute namin, noh? Parramatta/ Castle Hill division represent!
That's our teacher, Acoisa, top row in between the guy in the green sando, and the dudpare brandishing a berimbau.
Dito kami kumain pagkatapos.I have sushi in my cheek pockets.
Why capoeira? I've never been athletic, and I've never like a sport enough to really stick to it. I'm not the martial arts type, and the one time I was forced to take karate in uni, my teacher and I weren't speaking to each other by the end of the semester. But for reasons unknown, capoeira stuck, even though I'm not particularly good it. But I will be. Watch out. Rawr!from Brazil to India
When you haven't slept in nearly 48 hours, and you're nursing a hang-over from the night before, and your brain is lapsing, and your legs are shaking, and you just did a good 2 hours of cardio at a capoeira roda, and God-knows-what is the only thing keeping you up and running, you normally should go home for a good night's sleep.
But somehow, I found myself being an extra in a Bollywood movie last night. Or at least that's what the Indian wedding celebration I attended felt like. I didn't know the couple, but Jace and Marty dragged me along with them.
Imagine Indian dance-pop, a live dohl drum, a flurry of colorful saris dripping with sequins, all smack in front of a candle-lit altar to Ganesh. There was only one rule: everyone had to dance. And if you didn't know how, the bride, and a willing number of Indian guests were all ready to teach you how to move, Bollywood style.
The groom (kamukha ni Bernard Palanca, ano?) and bride
Far-out! I don't think I've had so much fun in so long. And the food was to die for.
It was a busy and bizarre day, and I was running on pure adrenaline, but it was good. I fell asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow, and I woke up this morning in the same position I had been in when I first lay down. Whew.
More pictures when you click below:Jace and I in front of Ganeshmy state of the migrant address
This week, I got out of my house, and hung out with people my age, and had real conversations, and got drunk three times, and indulged in some silly fun. It's been so long. I've been too intense, and too lonely, and I've been philosophizing too much, and I was beginning to think I had permanently become this dull, joyless person with no personality that I've been lately. As it turns out, all I really needed was to get out, hear human voices, and connect with people. Good on me. Now I can start writing mababaw entries again.
I spent my first few months in Australia feeling invisible, and like I didn't exist, and like nobody in this country would care if I died or disappeared off the face of the planet. Now I think I've made enough friends and formed enough relationships for at least a dozen people to notice and question my disapearance (not counting relatives, or my parent's friends). I know it seems like an unhealthy standard by which to measure your relationships, but if you've ever been an immigrant, and you know what it feels like to be so lonely that you cry for days on end and don't even want to get out of bed, you would understand that your most important assets are people who invite you to become part of their lives.
Ladies and gentlemen, I have a life. Bow.
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Tuesday, October 24, 2006
adult angst
The day I left the Philippines, I felt the doors of my childhood slam shut behind me forever. I had eaten the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge and was being driven out of Eden, into the wilderness. And even if I were to return, I knew Eden wouldn't be Eden anymore. Because Eden is not a physical place, it's a state of being.
As I shut my suitcase, I rememer the profound feeling of finality I felt. I knew then that I had made an irreverisible decision. As I stepped out the door, I knew I was seeing Eden for one last time. It was a death, and I grieved for an era of my life that I knew I would never be able to reclaim.
Some people transition from childhood to adulthood so smoothly; slow and steady, with no breaks in between the two. They wake up one day and realize, with shock, that they are adults. My transition was swift, sharp, and marked very visibly with a sign-post: the day of my departure.
For the first time in my life, I feel like an adult. How is it that I know? I can't really say. I certainly don't feel the way I always thought adults felt. Growing up, adults seemed like people who were very learned, very independent, and very certain of themselves... and very boring. Well, here's what I've learned: it's only a facade. There's always so much talk of misunderstood teenagers, but I think adults are highly misunderstood people, as well.
I'm not any more certain of myself than I used to be. I'm just as confused as I was during my teenage years. But the difference is, an adult stands up and makes a choice amidst the confusion. And that is the only thing an adult can be certain of, that no matter what the outcome, it was a choice freely made.
I always thought that angst was something that belonged to the youth. I thought wrong. Adults have it, too, just as bad. I still feel misunderstood, I still get depressed, and I am still plagued by the same existentialist questions that tormented me when I was 17. The difference is that an adult is not blessed with the same luxury of time a teenager has to bitch about existence, get wasted over life's questions, and piece together 'rebellious' outfits to define the individuality that is so important when you're 16. Also, an adult feels obligated to be responsible for himself, and unlike the teenager, cannot allow himself to get wasted every weekend. That, I realize, is why adults seem to have no angst. It's not angst they lack, but time. Adulthood is angst without the glamour.
In fact, if you examine the true meaning of angst, you will find that it's actually more of an adult experience. The word "angst" is so overused that I feel like people have lost the true meaning of it. It is often used mockingly in the term 'teenage angst' to pertain to immature moodswings of a brooding adolescent. But in my favorite dictionary (Microsoft Word's built-in 'Encarta World English Dictionary'), angst is defined as "a feeling of dread arising from an awareness of free choice". It's not being trapped or powerless that makes us anguished, it's knowing we can make our own decisions. Isn't that the very first of the important lessons we have to learn before we are ushered into adulthood?
The other day, my cousin Pimee and I mused over how we spend our entire teenage years trying to define ourselves as individuals through our clothes, our hair, our music, our piercings, our tatoos, the places we hang out in, and the type of people we surround ourselves with; only to make it into our early twenties and realize that it's not the most urgent thing in our lives anymore. Growing up, I always wondered why adults didn't have a burning desire for individuality. Were adults simply boring and uncreative people, resigned to blending in with the masses?
But now, I realize that much of our teenage years is spent trying to be ourselves. Teenagers love to create an image, something that makes them feel they know exactly who they are. As you grow older, the self slowly stops being a muscle you have to flex. We let the self becomes something that 'happens', or occurs, when we don't try too hard. We cease knowing who we are, and start simply being who we are. That is why adults seem like boring people. We just don't try as hard.
When I was younger, I lived, worked, and earned with my ultimate goal being fun, and leisure time to be an artist. Now I find myself sacrificing fun for purpose and direction.
When I was younger I thought that everything would always be okay so long as you had your closest friends. Now I find that even if I do have my closest friends, I'm still alone, and it's still all up to me.
They say being a teenager is lonely, but adulthood is lonely, too. The difference is, when you're an adult it's harder to show that you need people because you're expected to be learned, independent, and certain of yourself.
So what is an adult? A teenager with less room for error? A teenager with less time? Or is adulthood simply getting over yourself? I don't really know. But for the first time in my life, I feel like an adult, and it's not the way I imagined it to be at all.but i am always a child when I draw
Click on it for a full view.
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Monday, October 16, 2006
meron
(Warning: very long entry!)
My philosophy teacher in Ateneo, Sir Strebel, once taught us that the truth is always sweet, and is only harsh or bitter when there is something about it that you haven't overcome or come to terms with. But the moment in which you fully accept 'what is', or 'kung ano ang meron', is always one of joy, lightness, and sweet laughter. Today, I am having such a moment after what feels like a long period of the blues.
Lately, I've been going through a dark night of the soul, a time of extreme loneliness, questioning, and soul-searching. It's not the same as a depression; a depression is paralyzing, destructive, and implosive. A dark night of the soul is something else. Unlike a depression, you are still fully functional, and on the outside, everything seems fine and dandy. But on the inside, it's the darkest time of night, and you're floating all alone on an empty ocean, not knowing where you're going. All the things that used to give your life joy and meaning suddenly seem pointless. A dark night of the soul cannnot be cured by drugs or therapy, because it is an existential dilemma. The only way to end it is to go through it, and wait for the dawn. There is no rational way to describe the experience, and you will find that the only way to speak of it is through metaphors (as it is a sort of metaphysical angst after all).
But after the dark night comes the discovery of 'meron', a moment of inner peace and joy. Here are some of my recent meron moments, bitter pills I had to swallow that turned out to have a sweet after-effect.meron moment #1: life will always be tough
Since I moved here 7 months ago, I've been forced out of my comfort zone so many times, often rudely. Everyday, I deal with newness: new places, faces, and situations. It gets tiring, and sometimes it's absolutely overwhelming! But as my father likes to tell me, "Jump, and the net will appear. If it doesn't, then you might just grow wings."
Despite having to face constant discomfort, I don't think I've ever felt so alive. My eyes are open, my mind is operating, my hands are capable, and my feet are raring to take me places. I also feel very confident with the things I know how to do, neither overestimating or underestimating myself. In the words of Edie Brickell, "I know what I know, if you know what I mean".
The other day, I was 'forced' to drive down to Campbelltown for work, a place which, to me, seemed like the ends of the earth. It would be highly unfair and untrue to say that my boss forced me to go, because she gave me the option not to go; and if truth be told, I really didn't have to go. But I forced myself to make the drive, because I knew I would feel like a wuss if I didn't go and get the job done. It was one of those challenges that kept buzzing in my ear like a pesky fly, and I knew it would never stop buzzing if I didn't do it. And so, cursing under my breath, I went. I've never driven so far in my entire life.
And now I know I can drive to Campbelltown! Yet another frontier broken. Now I want to drive to Canberra!
I've learned that the challenges that you should always consider accepting are the ones that you don't have to. What did I gain from walking 14 kilometers at the City2Surf fun-run last August? The knowledge that I can, and the confidence that I can face the unknown. It was a spiritual exercise as much as it a physical one.
We all have things we like about ourselves, and being here has made me realize that I am quite brave. Not to say that I dont' get scared. I fear exactly the same things that everyone else does. But I always remind myself that the part of me that feels and experiences the fear is different from another part of myself that is free from my thoughts and feelings, and just sits and watches. It's that part of me that I trust, and it's that part of me that grounds me. I feel my fear, but my fear is not me. And I try to bear in mind that after you conquer it, it stops being a fear. Fear is not a dead end, it's a call to growth.
I've learned that conquering fear is like a muscle that grow weaker when you don't challenge it for a long time. It's a good exercise to do new things a few times each week, no matter how minor: explore that mysterious road in your nieghbourhood, try out a new a recipe, or learn to dance. These seemingly insignificant, little exercises serve to strengthen you for the big things that come your way. And hey, it keeps life from being boring.
Being here makes me realize that all the tools you need to conquer a new situation is inside you, but only if you're awake. And what's the worse that could happen to me? Failure? I know I'll live, and in a year, I won't even think about it.
Meron!meron moment #2: nothing lasts
There is nothing more tragic than a person who knows exactly what he has to do to break free from a state of misery, but chooses not to. After all, if there is one thing scarier than failure, it's succeeding; because then things will have to change. Better the comforting familiarity of misery than the unknown. Better the preoccupation of misery than the terrifying emptiness of starting over.
Having been forced to let go of my entire life has made me learn that life never stays empty for long. There are so many new things just raring to come into your life as soon as you make space for them by throwing out all the old junk you've been holding on to. Somebody once told me that as a rule of nature, a void cannot exist as the environment around it will always rush in to fill it. She said that the same holds true for life. Always, there will be something more. Always.
Which brings me to the next thing I've learned: love and attachment are two completely different things. The things that we attach ourselves to like jobs, and relationships, and ways of living, are all things that expire and become unnecessary baggage if we hold on to them past their expiration date. This is not to say that the way we value the people we love has an expiration, but the type of relationship we have with them does.
Relationships have to grow and evolve. Attachment can hinder you, but love does the opposite. You will discover a new level of love, greater than you ever imagined in the past, for the people you leave behind once you discover that you can live without them (even though you never thought you could). Not everyone is given the chance to learn this great lesson.
Meron!meron moment #3: you're alone in this world
To grow up is to come to the most bitter realization that you are completely alone. Your parents, friends, and significant other are there when they're there, but in the end, you go through life alone. Nobody can save you. Letting go of this notion of security that you've fed on all your life is as slow and painful as drug detox.
But once you've swallowed the bitter pill comes the 'meron' moment: your life is your own, and yours alone. You can feel it, touch it, hold it in your hands.
This, of course, is a precursor to other things:1) Nobody can make decisions for you anymore. And once you start making important decisions, you are bound to disapoint others, even the people you love most. In fact, the more important the decision, the more people you will disappoint.
And it's ok. They'll get over it.
2) Since you alone are responsible for yourself, you cannot afford to fall apart and let yourself spiral into an emotional, depressive mess. Got the blues? Deal with it. Or take it for what it is: just the blues. It will pass. In the meantime, the world cannot stop for you. So get up and start walking.
3) The image you painstakingly maintained during your wild, glamorous, younger years is going to die. What clique did you belong to in college/ highschool? Were you a party girl? A hippie? A rocker? A cheerleader? Were you one of the popular girls? The class genius?
None of that matters when there's laundry to be done, a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, and when you have to decide what you want do with your life. Growing up is to let go of your "image", even if it means becoming one of those boring adults you swore you'd never be. Of course, you aren't really boring. Just on the outside, maybe. :-p Whatever, the point is, you can't be a kid forever. Or at least not all the time.
(You'd be surprised, I've met people way, way older than me still holding on to their teenage image, in a constricting way. I think it's a passive-aggressive refusal to grow up.)
Meron!(Not) the end.
*matamis na tawa*
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Sunday, October 08, 2006
no answers, just questions
Today was the first Filipino-Australian Youth Summit. I was very glad to have been a part of it. It's good to be present and bear witness to these things. It could have been more well-planned, and well-attended, but it was a very significant first step; and the very fact that it happened is important in itself.
I couldn't say no when they asked me to be a guest speaker/sharer because I thought I might have something to say. In the course of my day, I interacted with all kinds of Filipino-Australians: those who were born and raised here, those who spent half their lives back home before moving here, and people like me who are were newly arrived. Each had their own way of relating to their being Filipino. More than one sharer confessed to going through a period of being ashamed of their ethnicity, denying it, disowning altogether, and now, trying to reconcile with it again.
Many of the shares spoke of the need for Filipino pride. Ah, pride, always an issue with the Filipino!
It's odd though, because right before I left home, I didn't feel any lack of Filipino pride. In fact, I've never seen the youth be more patriotic. Or maybe it was just the people I was always around, artists, musicians, photographers, and student leaders who all dreamed of making a difference.
One thing I can tell you is that the Filipino youth at home, more than ever, want to own their identity. What is Filipino? They're sick and tired of waiting for some cultural-intellectual elitist to answer that never-ending question in the form of some academic dissertation. They want to enjoy being Filipino here and now! They want to live their identity now! And they're all excited to make their own contribution to "Filipino" in any way they can.
If only we had that fire here.
But then again, I really don't know what it's like growing up Filipino in a completely foreign country. I imagine how scary it is to be different, especially when you're younger. Who wouldn't want to fit in? In any case, conformity is essential. How else can one survive? Still, there are those who just can't let go of the 'Filipino' in 'Australian-Filipino', and those are the people who came to the summit today.
I mentioned in my speech how it saddened me realize that alot of the Filipino-Australian youth knew nothing else of the Philippines other than shopping malls, restaurants, poverty, traffic, Boracay, showbiz, and corruption in the government. If you ask me, that's not a heritage I would be very excited about.
I, for one, feel lucky to have been able to see enough of the Philippines to know that my cultural heritage goes beyond Manila, Greenbelt, and Mall of Asia. They say we have no cultural identity, which is really ironic for a country that is, to put it mildly, jampacked with culture.
7,107 island, people! 7,107 islands! Each region has its own tribes, dialects, folklore, mythology, costumes, cuisine, and religious and cultural festivals. We have the ati-atihan, the Sinulog, the Feast of the Black Nazareno, the Masskara, the Panagbenga, Pahiyas, Moriones... all these things I wish I could have seen if only I had been wiser then. We are Malay, Spanish, Chinese, and Aeta. We are Catholic, Muslim, and Animist. We are the East and the West. Our tiny archipelago probably has more culture than all of Oceania put together.
So why the heck doesn't anybody know this? We're so obsessed with becoming cosmopolitan, that we forget that our true uniqueness and richness lies in the seemingly outdated and 'unsophisticated' aspects of our culture. Is there anyone in the world like us?
They say we're confused. Am I to live my entire life in this confusion? How are we supposed to tell when we're not confused anymore? How do we know when we've found whatever it is we're looking for? Aren't I allowed to own my culture now, for what it is, confusion and all?
I never used to understand why my S.O. liked to go around dressed as an Igorot or a Datu, and constantly had to explain to friends and relatives that it was just his 'thing'.But now that I occasionally go out dressed like a tribeswoman as well, I feel like it's my way of living out my heritage, and reclaiming the part of me that knows exactly who she is. Somehow, I never feel "confused" when I dress ethnic. I get stares, but I feel like royalty. But that's just me, and I'm just a whacko.
Living in an extremely multicultural place has, in a way, made me feel more Filipino than ever. How can you not be reminded everyday when your gender and ethnicity are the first two things people notice about you?Would you say these Filipinos are suffering from identity confusion?
Photos courtesy of alibata.orgeating halo-halo with Pepe Smith in Blacktown
No, it did not feel strange in the least that I spent Friday night eating halo-halo with Pepe Smith in a karaoke bar in some Western suburb in Sydney. Not at all.
The occasion was Ed Aragon's art exhibit, featuring UV paintings. The canvases are blank, white surfaces until the black lights are switched on. Then they become tributes to Filipino, American, and Australian rock n' roll legends.
My fave is the one on the left.FYI, Ed Aragon is an award-winning editorial cartoonist for the Sydney Morning Herald, and yes, he's Filipino. And he has a funky house full of artwork. When I have my own fridge, I want to paint on it, too.
Pepe and Tito Ed.I did not ask Ding Roces for permission to post these pictures here. Apologies in advance :-p
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Sunday, October 01, 2006
for the love of Vhong
I love Vhong Navarro. I have an unexplainable crush on him. How can you not love such a funny guy? I've loved him since I first saw "D' Anothers", which my whole family saw and loved. Since then, seeing him on TV makes me happy and always seems to make a tired day seem lighter.
The main reason why I attended the "18th Annual Filipino Fiesta" was the prospect of seeing him in the flesh. Believe it or not, I never met him or even saw him in person in Manila, though I'm sure we were always at ABS-CBN at the same time back in the day. It took me days to decide whether or not I wanted to attend the fiesta, but in the end, I went if only for the love of Vhong!
I wasn't that excited to see Piolo, though I am a fan of his acting. I've had lunch with the guy, though I seriously doubt he remembers because I wasn't VJ Ala yet then. He's been to my house for god's sake! Claudine, I've met; she's had a couple of shoots at our house as well. The thought of meeting Pokwang was intriguing... but not as intriguing as *sigh* Vhong. :-)
At the fiesta, I was given a media ID. Ha! There is no greater power in the world than being a member of the press. You get to sneak into VIP areas, where there's usually free food, nicer bathrooms, and of course, famous people. (All the greatest pleasures in life!) So off I went to the VIP area to find Vhong. Alas, there were only beauty pageant contestants primping for their big night. No Vhong.
Undaunted, I left the VIP area and planned my next move. I knew it would have to be at the ABS-CBN autograph signing that afternoon. And so, a few hours later I gamely joined the hordes of Pinoy OFW fans clustering outside the glass room that contained Piolo, Claudine, Pokwang, and *sigh* Vhong. There was an endless line at the door for autographs. Those who didn't want to wait in line pressed their noses against the glass, taking pictures with their camera phones. Inside the glass room, the celebs signed autographs and were put on display like rare tropical fish in an aquarium. Piolo was swooned over by young women, and kissed, and pinched by lolas who knew that they could get away totally with throwing themselves at him.
I couldn't get near the glass, so I stood on my toes, and it was there that I got my first brief glimpse of *sigh* Vhong. But suddenly, a group of people recognized me and spent about ten minutes getting their pic taken with me (you can tell who the FOBs are, they're the ones who still know who I am :-p).
Finally, knowing that the Piolo-hungry crowd would not let me near the glass, I walked away under the darkening sky. There had to be another way to meet Vhong. While I pondered this, I heard squeals behind me which made me turn around... and there he was, five feet in front of me. He was walking and grinning, flanked by two huge bouncers who were determined to get him back to the VIP area in one piece. He didn't see me, but my heart skipped a half beat. (Only a half beat, not a full one. Fully missed beats are reserved for Jericho Rosales). As he passed, the last rays of sunset shone on him. Then he was gone.
And so there I was, a starstruck celeb.
(I suppose I could have gone to the VIP area where he would have been waiting but I was too lazy at that point, though I seriously considered it :-p I'll bet Piolo would have gotten kick out of my Piolo and Jericho earings.)small but meaningful
I've been drawing since I was four years old. In grade school I would draw upon request of my classmates and teachers. In high school, I was always designing the bulletin board, or being made to join art contests, or designing sets or promo material for school events. In college, I was Creative Head of the Ateneo Musicians Pool.
I never earned a single cent from any of that. Not one. This is the first time.
We may be a small publication right now, but I didn't think I'd be so proud to see my artwork published in a magazine, and my picture in the staff page as "illustrator". My illustrations in this issue aren't the best artwork I've done in my life, and readers probably won't even take notice of them. But strangely enough, this is the first time in my life where I feel like a "real" artist, and that I can legitimately stand up and own the title.
"So what do you do, Ala?"
"I'm an artist." Naks.So grab a copy of The Filipina-Australian at Filipino foodstores in Sydney, or at News Agent in Blacktown and Mt Druitt. We're still taking our baby steps, but I can see this becoming a promising magazine in the future.
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