Wednesday, January 30, 2008
happy days, happy days, happy days
No entry to go with this one. Just photos of happy summer days.
Aswang!!!
And more photos here.
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at 8:20 AM 7 Comments!
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Australia day 2
So today is Australia day. Last year, I spent it prancing around Darling Harbour, watching fireworks, with an Australian flag tattoo on my cheek (because my Australian then-boyfriend made me apply it). I felt like such a poser. I certainly didn't feel one with the Aussies. I still held on to my Philippine loyalty and wasn't even quite prepared to admit that I rather liked this place. I was not prepared to take Oz in.
But watching the spectacular celebration, fireworks, the fleet of ships, the stunt jets, the music performances, and the AVP featuring migrants who moved here years ago and who now proudly call Oz their home, I remember having a certain feeling in my gut for the first time. I thought about how someday, I could be one of those people on the AVP, telling my story on how I've lived here twenty years and that I'm proud to be an Australian.
That moment was a defining moment for me. If beforehand I was not prepared to take Oz in, I found my guard loosening for the first time. For the first time, I actually considered giving this place a chance. I wanted to give it a chance. And there was something else. I actually saw myself becoming an Australian. I would one day be one with the horde of patriotic and emotional Aussies that surrounded me. It was a very real possibility. And deep in the recesses of my gut, a very small voice whispered "yes".
I was not able to celebrate today. While all of Australia went to Darling Harbour, I stayed in the cafe making frappuccinos for the slow trickle of customers who came in. Afterwards, I went to my friend's Australia-themed birthday party. Everyone was in red, white, and blue.
My friend Vince had just come from Darling Harbour. "It was a beautiful celebration", he said. "For the first time, I felt patriotic, I felt Australian."
"I don't feel Australian yet", i said. Remembering a quote from a fellow migrant who told me to think of the Philippines as my "mother", and Australia as my "spouse", I found myself saying: "Kung baga, nagliligawan pa kami ng Australia (Australia and I are still in courtship). We're dating steadily, but I haven't married Australia yet."
I remembered the moment I first said yes to this strange, foreign suitor.
Heck, what its nationality anyway? An ideology, a piece of paper, a manufactured image? I was raised Filipino but how can I not adapt to wherever I am? And what is national loyalty? What are you being loyal to? An idea? A way of life?
Right now, I'm a product of all the places I've been to, and of wherever life has taken me, and all the forces that have shaped me thus far. And that's the way it is.
Right now I choose to stand away from my nationality and look at it from a distance, and just take in my experiences.
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Wednesday, January 23, 2008
good "moo"-ning
They knocked down the fence outside my bedroom window yesterday to make way for the new fence. We've been fenceless since yesterday. Without the obstruction, I can see all the way past the cow pasture to the soccer field two blocks away. I also have a fantastic, panoramic view of the sunset. I'm enjoying being fenceless while it lasts.
This morning, after ignoring my alarm twice, I was suddenly jolted into sitting position by a very low, loud, guttural sound from my window. It sounded very close. The shock caused me to be wide awake.
I jumped out of bed, pulled up the window blinds, and saw this, a mere 7 feet away.
They were just there looking at me like they had never seen me before (which they haven't, because the fence was always there). We stared at each other like that for three minutes, me and the cows.
Curious animals, they are.
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And yes, I am sad about Heath Ledger.
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Friday, January 18, 2008
so, how did you treat your server today?
I think everyone should experience working in customer service at least once in their lives. Coming from a high-profile profession where people automatically put me on a pedestal, it's interesting being the polar opposite: the absolutely ordinary and invisible customer server behind the counter. The one whom you chat with everyday when you order your latte, whose name you may or may not know, whom you might not even have noticed all this time.
Even just three months into my fledgling career as a customer server, I've already feel like I've learned a wealth of very useful knowledge, mostly about people. You meet and talk to a lot of people on the job, men, women, old people, young people, nice people, mean people, lonely people... the whole spectrum of everyday, commonplace folk.
Naturally, I can't help but compare this job to my old TV job, even though they may seem worlds apart. In truth, they're not so far apart. My old job required me to put on my "celebrity costume", get on the camera, put on the smiley, veejay face, and talk to the people. My new job requires me to put on my barista costume, get on the bar, put on the customer service smiley face, and talk to the people. The TV job attracted a "fan-base". The barista job attracts a "fan-base" in a way. I have customers I favor and customers who favor me. There are customers whose face I can put a genuine smile on when I greet them every morning, and they come into the store looking forward to it. Like the veejay job, I do take requests. And instead of introducing music videos, I introduce drinks. "Up next, a medium, skim, half-strength, no-whip mocha ready on the bar!"
Sometimes, being a barista is like micro-showbiz. If you like attention like me, you get plenty of it as a barista, but without the despised intriga. Also, unlike showbiz, people don't compare the way you look to the others in your league (which was something I personally couldn't give a rat's arse about) and people don't ask for your autograph, although you do get recognized in public sometimes ("Hey, you're the Cafe girl!").
But the comparison doesn't end there. Working in showbiz, I often get asked whether the celebrities I worked with had attitude problems. Well, let me tell you one thing I've learned and it is this: ordinary people and celebrities have the same attitude problems. It's just on different social scenes and on different levels. No matter what social class you were born into, or you were adopted into, or worked your way into, always there will be someone lower than you. A rich famous b*tch who treats the so-called "lower" people like dirt isn't any different from a fair dinkum shiela who treats people lower than her like dirt.
What is not written under the job description of a customer server is that we are sometimes punching bags of the bitter, the insecure, or the plain bitchy. As a customer service worker, we are the receptacles for all the immaturity, anger, self-righteousness, and secret feelings of inadequacy that people cannot bring themselves to take out on their loved ones, work mates, etc.
A customer will sometimes they make a big ruckus if we don't get his grande-soy-warm-extra-caramel-latte because the espresso bar is the only venue where they can have that much needed feeling importance. Maybe they feel oppressed in the work place. Maybe they feel that nobody listens to them or respects them at home. So they take it out in the only venue where they know that the customer is always right. After all, customer servers are taught to bow our heads and turn the other cheek. We are the lowly people whom you can be rude to... and still be right. (Yeah, right).
The calm, composed woman with a baby in a stroller can morph into a whiny, cursing, 6-year old brat over a cappuccino that wasn't made to her specific standards. It's amazing.
Then there's the handicap man who started screaming that he was being discriminated against because we asked him to leave the store... after he deliberately insulted one of the employees.
Yes, we customer service people do aim to please and consider it a failure when a customer is not 100% satisfied. But please... it's just a latte. Is it worth throwing a fit over? We'll make it again for you whether or not you throw a fit. A barista who takes pride in his work will accept any complaint made about the quality of his output, or even the quality of his service. But when a customer starts swearing, and name-calling, and getting personal, it's a whole different ballgame.
Which brings me to one of the great things I've learned so far: the person who is nice to his significant other, his mother, and his boss, but rude to his waiter or server is not really a nice person.
Because the truth is, even though the customer is always right, being "right" doesn't change the fact that you were a big, fat jerk towards your server. And you can be sure that your server will never forget it.
But hey, we're talking of the bad customers we get every once in a blue moon, the ones that live on forever in the service horror stories that we pass on.
And on days when you really do feel invisible and lowly, there will sometimes be that one customer who'll tell you you're doing a good job, from completely from out of the blue, as you take his empty mug. Or the one customer who will make the effort to go up to the bar just to be able to tell you personally that that was the most wonderful cup of coffee that she had ever had. Then there's the Christmas cards and boxes of chocolate we got from appreciative customers during the holiday season.
You really learn a lot about people.
So, how did you treat your server today?photos photos photos
I bought a new camera. Sony Cybershot wasn't doing it for me anymore, and my ancient Cannon D60 weighs like a bag of bricks. I bought myself a nifty little Fuji Finepix 5600 at a discount price of 240 dollars, and it works beautifully. A good cam that's light and doesn't have a lot of drama, but can hold it's own next to a bigger camera. A good compromise between a point-and-shoot insta-matic, and a complicated D-SLR.
Both photos taken on my camera at Cronulla BeachNo complaints about it. And I love the price most of all :-)
Nonetheless, Nino's Cannon D60, with super huge, ultra expensive lens stil still beats mine.
Taken at a new-found favorite hill-top overlooking Bondi beach.
I was trying to do a Lux Lisbon :-pJanuary was spent with loved ones. I hope yours was spent that way, too.
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And that goes for my first attempt to write freely in a long time. Thanks to all for giving me that push. I was reminded today that the only way to smash a creative block is to create! I do want to enjoy writing again. It hurts not to enjoy it, see. Thanks to all :-)
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Wednesday, January 16, 2008
this is why
Lately I've been pondering about this whole blogging thing, and today my friend Jayvee asked me why I don't update as often as I used to and why my blog seems to remain dormant for weeks at a time.
There was a time when I would devote time to writing in this web space every 4-5 days. Can you imagine? I didn't even have to force myself to update frequently. It was simply my joy to do so. I didn't care whether anyone actually read my entries or not.
This blog started out receiving 4 comments per entry, then eventually reached its peak at an average of 35 comments per entry, with some entries reaching more than a hundred if it happened to provoke a strong reaction in my readers. Those were this blog's golden days. I gave of m writing freely, and I took all my readers had to offer, the good, the negative, and the downright poisonous. I didn't screen comments, but I did delete malicious one that served no positive purpose to me or to anyone else.
Yup, every blog has its "golden age", but golden days don't last forever. It's either something newer and more interesting for hungry bloghoppers come along, or the blogger just loses interest. This blog's golden age has passed, and it has been in steady decline since, though it may not be obvious in its appearance.
I remember when blogging stopped being fun. It was the same day I became severely distrustful of my audience, and began to screen comments. It was a case of one malicious comment too many, one that senselessly attacked the reputation of a member of my family, right there on my public comments box. All for fun. Those were one of the few incidents in my life where I was truly angry and capable of doing rash, frightening things. All because of a stranger, too. Whoever it was who wrote it, I'll never know his name, and it's ridiculous how someone whose name I will never even know could cause me such undue stress.
But I suppose it would be unfair to blame it all on that one incident. Let me rephrase: I remember when blogging began to stop being fun. It was when people started assuming they knew everything about me and my family based on what we would write, and felt like they had the right to judge, and condemn, and attack our character (or what they thought our character was) and our personal decisions (which they somehow seemed to think they knew all about, too).
So many people who think they know better than we do on what we should do with our lives. And it truly amazed me how people could condemn, condemn, condemn with such vigor, with such force; total strangers who somehow felt it worthwhile to actively invest their energy in... in what? In hating us? What is it they dislike so much about themselves that makes them feel that way towards a person they know so very little about?
But enough of that.
I regret to say that those experiences have left its scars on this blogger. It can be pretty traumatizing, you know. As a result, it has become less pleasurable to both give and to receive. I am now held back when I write, sometimes even resentful. I read each new comment with fear expecting it to be a 4-paragraph hate letter, and feel a sense of relief of when it turns out to be just something short and sweet like "I enjoyed this entry".
Sometimes, I make the mistake of tending to think of my blog audience as one, collective, living, breathing entity as opposed to a bunch of individual human beings. If one reader makes a hurtful remark, my feelings of anger will be directed to all my readers. It's highly unfair. But I suppose that is one of the flaws of this online medium. In the vast world wide web, you don't know who you're talking to. Everyone can hide behind any name or personality they want to. Sometimes I tend to not think of my audience as human. Sometimes, every seems like just one and the same.
Blogging was more fun when I trusted my audience, didn't screen comments, and when I enjoyed sharing.
Perhaps this phase will end and I will enjoy blogging like I used to. But in the last year or so, it just hasn't been all that fun.
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Tuesday, January 01, 2008
new years eve
Happy New Year everyone! I was there to see this! Yup, the best fireworks display in the world! Pia and I were at Mrs Macquarie's Chair from 5pm with our picnic blanket and a bottle of white wine (which later on made Pia very sick, pero ibang kuwento na iyon). We had the best spot, a perfect, panoramic view of the Harbour Bridge, the Opera House, and the city skyline. We were with thousands of other young people, the women all in either short dresses and bikini tops, the men in singlets and board shorts, and everyone tossing around beach balls, singing, and toasting with bottles of wine all afternoon till midnight.
And this is the 4 million dollar fireworks display that I got to watch for free. I love this city.
Taken from a bunch of news sites:I had an unexpectedly awesome, unplanned New Year. But I think I'll spend it quietly next year.my alicia keys moment
I've always regarded being a barista as having a bit of romance in it ever since I saw Alicia Keys in her "You Don't Know My Name" video looking gorgeous as a waitress/barista as she secretly gazed adoringly at a handsome man from behind the espresso bar. Even in a hairnet and barista uniform, she still looks really, really good. Needless to say, she is my idol in my line of work. Never mind that she doesn't really know how to make a latte. (That's not important)
Yesterday, I rose at 4 am to get dressed, pretty up, and catch the train to the city to work a 7:30 am shift at one of our CBD branches. I get up extra early just to do my make-up, and live out my "You Don't Know My Name" fantasy. Ah, vanity. Working in the city is so different. First of all, people are in such a hurry that you have no time to connect with customers. It's like, what do you want? Give me your money. Here's your change. Here's your drink. Thank you. If they're not in such a hurry to leave, I toss in a quick "Happy New Year". The upside is, there are so many cute customers in the city!!! Daming foreign tourists. Ke-gwapo!
It was around 10 am. I was working the cash register and taking people's orders. "Hi there, sir, what can I get started for y...?" I looked up and found myself face to face with this super, duper cute guy. Tall, broad-shouldered, lanky but muscular, with smooth, chocolate brown skin, puppy dog eyes, adorable smile.... wow. Like a young Denzel Washington sort of, but more refined features. Oh my god! Customer crush! Cute accent, pa. I couldn't place where it was from, though.
I know my eyes widened a bit when I looked at him, and when he looked at me his eyes widened a bit, too, and we sort of stared at each other for a second before I got embarrassed and looked away. Then I quickly snapped back into customer service mode... well, customer service mode with just a little cream and chocolate drizzle on top. ;-) Behind the bar is the most advantageous position for harmless flirting. You can smile all you want, chat people up, and you can say it's all in the name of good customer service. Besides, it makes them come back. Good for the business. If you do it well, the customer won't even know they're being flirted with, and before they know it, they find themselves looking forward to seeing you everyday without knowing why.
I asked him if he wanted cream in his caramel hot chocolate, if he had any new year's plans, bla bla bla. Smile.Thank you, sir, have a nice day. Inside I was giggling and wanted to call my girlfriends just to gush. It was an Alicia Keys moment.
So he got his caramel hot chocolate, and he lingered around the store for a bit, even though we have the tiniest branch in Australia with no tables or chairs. Strictly take-away. He sort of just shifted his weight from foot to foot, and other baristas asked me if he was waiting for anything, and I just shrugged and went back to work. I knew what he was hanging around for though. After about 5 minutes, he left. Goodbye, cute guy. Back to business.
Two hours later when I was done with my shift, I decided to have lunch at a nearby square just a minute's walk away from the store. There I was under the palm trees, eating my chicken avocado baguette, and trying to ignore the crazy, dirty man on the next bench who kept screaming and cursing in a funny voice and taking big gulps from this huge can of olive oil (maybe he had put beer inside it), when along came cute guy.
"Hey", he said shyly, "you are the girl from The Cafe". Indeed I am, and you are the super cute customer whom I sold a caramel hot chocolate to.
"Yup", I said through a mouthful of bread and chicken.
And then he sat down beside me. Aba! Umupo sa tabi ko! Oh my God. Shet. Anobaaaa! Kilig pero hassle din. He better not try to pick me up, because I'm NOT INTERESTED.
"Are you taking a break?"
"Ngope, I'm gun woking koday", I said while chewing. "Sorry, I'm eating."
"Oh... so, what are you doing after?"
I told him I was killing time till 2 pm before I met up with a friend ...which was true. I kept eating. He wasn't scary, sleazy, or rude (unlike crazy olive-oil man), he was very polite and respectful so I didn't tell him to beat it. Also, he wasn't doing anything wrong. He was just talking to me.
"I'm Joseph."
"I'm Angela."
"I know."
"How?"
"I saw on your necklace."
Oops.
"So where are you from?", he asked. Ah, a question I get asked everyday.
"The Philippines", I said, "and you?"
"The French Caribbean." Oh my God, he's French.
So we chat, chat, chat. I eat my baguette. He's a business student at the Sunshine Coast. I tell him about all the palces I've been to in Paris, suddenly feeling jologs about the way I pronounce "Musee d' Orsee". I learn that it's his first time in Sydney, and he's waiting to meet up with some friends before going off to see the fireworks. But before that, he needs to mail some postcards to France, and he wishes he knew where the post office was. If only someone could show him where. Hint, hint.
"Ok, fine. I'll show you where the post office is", I say, because I know where it is. Ah, what the heck. He doesn't seem like a stalker and he's a lost tourist.
So we go to the next block to the post office. Afterwards, I say, "Well, I don't know what your plans are, but I'm going to head to the bookstore." He says he'll go with me. Naku. He was nice and very, very polite, but I didn't want him to think I was leading him on or anything.
"Look", I told him, "I want to make it clear that I'm just being friendly, ok? I don't want you to think I'm leading you on or anything. I do hang out with some customers after my shift, because I'm just a friendly person like that, ok?"
"Ok", he says politely.
Whew. Got that awkward moment out of the way. Here I am with a cute stranger from the French Caribbean and I don't know what to do with him. But I don't mind his company. he's nice. Oh my God, my friends would so find him cute.
So we end up at Kinokuniya where I proceed to bore him to death for half an hour at the art and illustration section of the bookstore. I make no efforts to hide my geekiness, even with cute guys. It's a sort of test. If they can't handle geek talk, they're not cool. He obviously knows nothing about design or illustration, but he listens and acts interested all throughout. He's so polite. Then he reads through a Ralph Lauren book and says he likes fashion. (I start thinking, oh my God he's metro, then I remember that he's French).
Then we head to Martin Place where I'm set to meet my friend Pia, and we talk about Armani, Chanel, Marc Jacobs. When Pia sees me, her eyes widen visibly. What am I doing with this tall, handsome black man? Saan mo toh napulot, her eyes say.
I introduce them ("Joseph this is Pia, Pia this is Joseph, my customer"), then I leave them to talk as I run off to use the bathroom. When I come back, she is visibly charmed by his polite ways. Then he gave a polite goodbye, shook both our hands and said, "It was lovely to meet you", we exchanged Happy New Years, then parted.
As soon as he is out of earshot, I become my true palengkera self and gush away. Man, the things that happen to me when I'm killing time.
Alicia Keys moments do happen.transformers
Yesterday, I worked with a very colorful person, a petite Asian guy, who was very limp-wristed, and graceful, and a tad hyperactive. He liked to squeal "haaaaay!" whenever something went wrong. He also liked to talk very, very fast with a heavy Sinagporean accent, la.
His voice was very hoarse and he told me hat it was because he was singing at a show the night before. I asked him where he performed and he said, "Oh in a bar! Look, this is me when I transform."
Transform?
He whipped out his phone and began to play a video. There he was on stage, singing and dancing in a black bra top, a short skirt, and a blond wig. He was ten times more graceful and glamorous than I ever will be.
Your friendly barista by day, "Jennifer Topez" by night.the end
Going home after the fireworks was a nightmare. There was a dangerous amount of people at Town Hall Station, there was no air, a man had fainted and cops were yelling at people to back off and not to crowd the area. People were vomiting in the corners, and I was all alone at 2am. The trains were like cattle trucks.
I made it home, but it's not a good idea to be a lone woman on the streets on New Years Eve.happy happy family time
Pictures of our family trip to Soldier's Beach!video of our impromptu Christmas pageant
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