Museum Visit

Now, I finally did what every true-blooded Dabawenyo should do: Visit the museum.

There was a new Museum in town right along Magallanes street and I happened to chance along one Saturday afternoon to visit it. Outside, the architecture of the building was characteristically modern with a slight tinge of Spanish taste. Girded by concrete walls, the museum was a closed, air-conditioned bahay-na-bato renovated to look more historical yet more sturdy as well.

As I entered, I was mentally preparing myself for the exorbitant entrance fee I would pay. Surprisingly, there was none of that and I was simply invited by the staff to write down my name on the log book.

Afterwards,I was off to the first room, which was an exhibit showcasing the various tribes endemic to the Davao Gulf. There were several artifacts arranged on the floor and a stationery tableau set full of dressed-up mannequins in the center.

To digress, it was interesting to point out that the collaborators didn't make an effort to make these mannequins - which were the department store variety types- look more like us. There were the long, pointed noses, the fair complexion, and the tall physiques. Guess they couldn't find statues which resembled the more ordinary natives of Davao.

I was also appalled by the many typos in the various tarpaulins giving information. Most of the information in these tarps by the way were lifted, albeit carelessly, from Sir Mac's books and I could only cringe at why Sir Mac would allow such error-infested information guides be displayed in the first place.

I was then led to another room, showing off other historic memorabilia during Davao City's early years. I was also treated to a gallery of Datu Bago awardees and some pictures circa wala-pa-man-ko-nabuhi-aning-panahuna-years. Finally, I got to see an exhibit full of creations by two artists whose names escape me.

What struck me deeply was the paucity of the collections. There were only several items of interest and, most often, these were donated by the more affluent members of the city's society. Well, it only goes to show that history is indeed shaped by the powerful, both in creating it and reliving it.

Now, it's time to cross out one item on my bucket list.

Wash Your Hands!

Back in college, Pam and I was set to join the debate society and one of the exercises for applicants was to say something about a certain topic for five solid minutes.

I never did pursue debating though (in fact, I only lasted until the debate simulations before I lost interest). But during that first exercise, one interesting thing that came out was the sample answer by one of our facilitators. His question was: Do you wash your hands after peeing and why? His answer? Well, he wasn't shy about it, that's for sure. He claimed that he didn't and went on to explain why.

According to him, he doesn't wash his hands because he knows that it does little to improve one's hygiene. Although it's theoretically possible to rid one's hands of germs after a thorough wash, he will still get germs from merely holding a door knob or touching just about anything afterwards. In addition, diseases aren't easily transmitted from foreskin-to-other-skin contact so people shouldn't be worried about transmissions from men who don't wash their hands after the deed.

Well, he may have been content with that answer but I wasn't. To soothe any provoked anxiety, I can honestly say I do wash my hands and I'm not doing it because it's something to brag about but because it's the right thing to do.

Unfortunately, most of the men-folk in this land don't share my habit (If you're a man, try hanging out in the men's CR for a while and count the relatively few who wash their hands before they exit. You'll get the idea). For the many, it's an inconvenient and ineffective means of sanitation.

Still, it's better than nothing. To digress, during the time when it was still common practice to hold strangers' hands during the mass' "Our Father" prayer, I would always make sure that I ended up seated beside a female than a male (If I wasn't so lucky, I would claim that I had a runny nose just so I won't be obliged to hold his hand during the prayer).

In the end, it's simply a matter of respect. If you respect the next person who touches your hands, you wash your hands after the deed, period. And that rationale sits along with me just fine.

Arnis Appreciation Day

Just click on the title.

Note: Apologies for the less-than-lenghty posts. I just miss Plurking, that's all.

Araw Ng Dabaw

So...was that it?

Why Ads and Poster Making Contests Don't Mix

I got to hand it over to Marvi. She was the one who let me borrow her book on how to make an effective ad. The basic tenet? Never make an ad look cluttered. If there are too many elements, remove them all. Eliminate, eliminate. Most often, the best ads are just a tagline and a picture.

Which is why I find it interesting to point out why poster-making artists generally exempt themselves from this cardinal rule. When I was in school and I joined these contests, the best posters were the ones cluttered with the most detail. Complexity reigned. The more elements, the better. The more colors, the better. And so on and so forth. It was like an escalating arms race, where every contestant had to fill in every square inch of his poster paper with something to assure himself a chance at winning.

If you also happen to pass by schools or institutions fenced in by concrete walls, you would see rows and rows of these walls either covered by graffiti or covered by paintings or murals, a remnant of past wall-painting contests. Most notably, these paintings were also classic cases of halo-halo imagery, filled with disjointed symbols and images arranged to exude an acute sense of chaotic harmony.

Ironically, both polar styles of presentation work quite well. The western, minimalist style of ad-making finds it home among societies riddled with too much information, where every ad had to get its point across with the least time and effort. On the other hand, our more rambunctious style of presenting a message goes well with our culture and temperament. Admittedly, our attention is often directed to what is flashy and, certainly, ads or posters effused with colors and images always catch our fancy.

Humorous but true, isn't it?

Long Walk Part 2

I had a lot of "long walk" experiences in Manila. I may have been stuck in the office for hours a day but I always ended up walking either to or from work.

During my first month in Manila, our company housed us in Metrodorm, a dormitory in Ortigas. Our morning routine consisted of walking, I think, a kilometer to the nearest MRT station (Ortigas). The evening routine consisted of the same, yet opposite, thing: walking from the MRT station to Metrodorm. As I recall, these walks were unavoidable inconveniences (no jeeps ever pass Ortigas road), alleviated only by the fact that when I ended up in my room, there was the aircon for comfort.

When we moved to our office in Makati, it was the same thing. After getting off the bus, my colleagues and I would walk from Buendia station to our office near Pacific Star, joining the horde of urban professionals skimping on jeep fare. After office hours, I would occasionally walk the length from Buendia, through Greenbelt, Glorietta, SM, and down to Ayala station, just for the hang of it. Looking back, I may have been an overzealous cheapskate, but at least I kept the love handles from growing out of control.

But there was that one single long walk that surpassed all these. It was a Saturday afternoon and I was off to UP to meet a group of arnis practitioners (more of that in a previous blog post). I forgot the directions April gave me so I ended up at North Avenue, instead of Quezon Avenue.

Then the long walk began. From North Avenue, I figured out I'd be in UP after fifteen minutes of walking. Well, I was wrong; UP was much, much farther than I estimated. So I walked the remaining length of North Avenue, crossed the elliptical road, then walked some more to reach the Oblation.

Looking back, it was a fun exercise, albeit a lonely one. One observation I got from these ramblings though is that places do become memorable when seen on foot (if you know what I mean).

More of us should start loving walking for a change. Peace out.

Thinking About God

I believe in God. Or more specifically, I believe in a God.

I believe in a God who doesn't make your problems go away or gives you superpowers. I believe in a God who doesn't care what religion you belong to as long as you allow love to animate your life. I believe in a God who is silent and subtle, whose presence can only be felt by the deep echoes from our hearts.

Over the years, I've learned to be contented with these beliefs. Although I do pray for certain petitions ("Lord, keep me away from stress today" Yada-yada) yet in the end, I know that it's still up to me to fulfill those petitions. The best that I can do is pray that He be with me to help me get through.

As for religion, I also think it's undeniably un-Christian for us to believe that we are the better ones in the world. Christianity was always about love and, as I always say - at the risk of sounding like a simpleton churning out questionable theology - if you believe in love, you've already believed in God.

For the last belief, it's really up to us to believe in God or not. Faith without any tangible proof really is a downer but it's not called Faith then if God could be seen just around the corner.

That's probably why I never felt comfortable watching the recently concluded series, May Bukas Pa. For Santino, it was all crystal clear; he had seen Bro's face and he also knows his purpose in life. As for the rest of us, we have to content ourselves with stumbling along, trying to shape our purpose from the myriad crossroads of our experiences, trying to look for God in the most mundane of occasions.

Yet, despite this inconvenience, I think our situation is better. For one thing, our experience holds with it the joy of discovery, the gratification of finally exclaiming out loud: "Yes, I'm here for a reason and now I know why" or "Yes, I've found God" (The thrill of the chase would surely beat the benefit of semi-omniscience possessed by Santino).

That's for some of my beliefs in God, for now.

Bucket List

1.) Davao Musuem (both private and public)

2.) Restaurants along Torres Street

3.) Zorb Park

4.) Kayaking in Davao River

5.) Scuba Diving in Talikud Island

6.) Samal east side

7.) Visiting churches of different denominations

8.) Davao Butterfly House

9.) Zipline

10) Peak of Mount Apo

Running Again

It had been a very long time. The last run I had was last year in Manila. This time, I was joining the Adidas Araw Ng Dabaw Fun Run 2010.

One problem with running enthusiasts here in Davao is the lack of organized events in the city. The city only had a handful of fun runs for the year, runs which were organized alongside local holidays. To add to this predicament, these runs weren't effectively marketed to the public so if one wasn't in the know, most of these runs would slip under one's radar.

In contrast, when I was in Manila, everyone was assured there was one marathon event every weekend. It helped that I was working in Bonifacio Global City, the site of many fun runs for a host of social causes (I guess the developer really intended the place to be so, with good, wide asphalt roads and a variety of routes to choose from). It also helped that I was working for a company whose boss was also a running enthusiast and whose enthusiasm was shared by most of the employees as well.

Before the race started, I was letting out deep sighs. Here we go again, I thought, running solo once more. But I was comforted when I did meet some familiar faces in the starting line. There were the Parkour Davao group. Plus, I got to meet Richard Lumbang, the martial arts fanatic of our batch. I had company, after all (and I would like to thank whoever owned that camera. At least, I had documentation that I was indeed in the run).

The race had started and we were off. Clearly, I was pretty much out of my league. Although I did pace myself all through out, I was still hopelessly out of the breath at the finish line. Still, I was happy that I ran the whole 5 kilometers, despite being a successful coach potato for almost a year.

I also had the opportunity to be a political analyst for a change. In the event, there were two politicians who were present: Peter Lavina and Pia Cayetano. At the start, Pia was introduced to the running public by the organizer ( who was apparently glad that a known name was present in the marathon alongside the anonymous faces of the masses). It turned out that she was running the 10K event. Peter Lavina, on the other hand, was introduced after the event (he probably arrived later that morning) and he was wearing the standard garb for politicos: the polo shirt and pants.

After the event, Pia's supporters began distributing brochures to the runners who had finished while Peter was sitting on the stage, waiting for the awarding ceremony. It turned out that Pia's running was only a prelude to a campaign event and Peter Lavina, one of the guests surely, was upstaged in his own turf by a visitor from Manila. Now go figure out whose name stuck the most.

Till the next run!

Dinner With Some Familiar Faces

As usual, everybody was late. We were supposed to be having dinner at Zakoya for Pam's nth despidida. The problem with English majors was that we never respected time as much as other people. And so, what used to be a 7pm affair became a late night dinner. Pam arrived at Koffee Kat at around 7:20 PM or so she claimed. I arrived a wee bit later.

We were only going to be four this evening: Pam, I, Karlo and Clarife. The rest of the group were out-of-town. Faith was in Tagum to visit the king. Mel was in Cebu, eating Lucky Me instant noodles, and Alex was in Manila, writing off fantasy stories for a TV network.

As Pam had elaborated, she was off to Singapore to work for a casino. She was pirated by another company and will be under contract for 2 years. Deep inside, I'm really happy for her. It's a start on to a good and better life and she pretty much deserves it.

She also shared her current "worries", her incoming medical exam and the fact that, sooner or later, Filipinos like her would be expendable as the locals start learning the details of their jobs. If you know Pam, she always had this habit of bringing up the dark side, the possible "potholes", of her blessings, whether she was coaxed into blurting it or not. That's vintage Pam for you. But, as always, she turns up okay.

Zakoya was a good place to dine and converse. It wasn't that crowded (so no need to rush things) and I was pretty much stuffed with delicious food (to digress, Clarife was the third person to join us then). A lot of talk centered, as always, around people who weren't there: Was Karlo meeting anyone in particular? Was Kuya Dom meeting someone else too? Where in the world is Cieng? How was everyone else?

Karlo joined us later and, after dinner, we were off to Kasagingan to continue the conversation. Kuya Dom, true to his word, joined us there and gave us the most pleasant surprise of the evening: he was accompanied by Ms. Emily Lim, a Chinese businessperson and was, as we guessed correctly, a very special friend. She offered a lot of sage advice, especially about cakes (her business), jewelry and about pawnshop wares. She and Dom were already going steady for 3 months now and I could tell you they both looked good together (in fact, they already look alike, come to think of it).

At around 12 midnight, I had to leave the group. Pam, Karlo, and Clarife were going to Metro but I had to leave then since I still had to run later that morning.

That was a memorable dinner. As Clarife had said, we ought to have dinners like this every once in a month. Now, that's a proposal worth considering.

Carnival

I know, I know. Sure, it would have been more fun to go to the carnival with some friends or some family in tow. But I was just off from an exhausting OT (or OTY? Sana dili...) Saturday and the next thing that went to my mind was to loosen up.

I was in NCCC Mall at that time, going home, when I glanced upon the carnival at the other side of Ma-a road. There was a carnival operating, definitely for the upcoming Araw ng Dabaw. I thought I would at least try the carnival's two famous rides, the roller coaster and the swinging boat.

The roller coaster (Php50.00) was flocked by the people. When I fell in line, a lot of the ride's patrons were college kids, fresh from their NSTP stints. There were numerous groups who staged their own photo ops as they waited for their turn. Some were taunting their companions in jest. Others were content to watch the people in the roller coaster, as if fixed in a trance or something.

As it turned out, the roller coaster was a memorable ride. There were the initial jitters and howls when the cabs were being hauled up to the top of the rail. That's because every time a cab's gears engaged with the driving mechanism, clanking sounds permeated the air, as if the whole rickety structure would collapse anytime soon. Indeed, nothing makes a ride even scarier than the thought of substandard construction and compromised safety.

During the ride itself, the cabs lacked adequate padding. I was particularly sorry for the petite girl beside me, who had to endure being thrown side to side during the curves. Nevertheless, I had to concede that the ride was nothing compared to the ones in Manila. It was tamer by comparison but I was thrilled nonetheless.

Next on the list was the swinging boat (Php50.00) or, what they call, the Sea Dragon. Early on, I noticed a couple of men who were clearly excited falling in line. When it was our turn, they immediately scurried off to the outermost seats of the boat. I also saw, seated across me, a cute girl. In the next few minutes, both groups, the men and the girl, would be the objects of my interest.

The boat had begun to swing, and swing, and swing, and swing even higher. The good part of the ride was that there was no quick escape from it. Unlike the roller coaster, where one had the option of getting off after the first turn, in this ride, everyone was in the same boat, literally and figuratively, whether they liked it or not, for several minutes. So it was fun watching the faces of the people on the other side of the boat as the ride progressed, faces expressing emotions ranging from sheer exhilaration to downright fear.

The men, mentioned earlier, were all grins at the start, but as the seconds wore on, initial enjoyment turned to dread. Almost every one of them were turning away their faces and were screaming. Macho men screaming at the top of their lungs. Would you believe that? And the girl was all in tears, also screaming, bulging eyes fixated at the ground below. The sight made me shout out loud, "Kataw-anan mog nahong!", followed by a devil's laugh.

Sulit. Priceless. That's all I can say for now.

Long Walk

Everybody has had their long walk. At least, I believe everyone has.

When I was in college, I had a chat with a division mate and we talked about a curious pastime of his. He told me that, to pass away the time, he and his friends would walk along Roxas boulevard from one end to another, conversing all the way. And when they had reached the other end, they would walk all the way back and so on and so forth till their legs got tired. Not bad. Not bad at all.

My youngest brother also had the same "long walk" experience. He was in high school then and my mom pretty much left for home with my two other sisters. That wasn't necessarily bad, except that my brother didn't have any money with him to pay for his fare. I don't exactly know what ran into his mind then but he chose to walk all the way from the Ateneo high school campus to our home near Matina Aplaya. When he got home, he was reportedly furious at my mom, as was the case ever so often. One would wonder why he didn't ask or borrow money from his classmates or friends but I know how pride works and my brother is also a proud guy like me.

As for my own experience, I've had lots of those when I was in in my early years in college. My allowance then was measly compared to my colleagues and I thought that the only way to save more money was to either fast myself to death or walk the last leg of my journey home from school. I had seen Reginald Perido, a friend and neighbor, do it and I was eager to do it too. So for the first few weeks of one special semester, I walked from the kanto of Kawayan Drive to our home on the other side of the world.

But I soon figured out it wasn't a very good idea. My leather shoes got older faster and walking only made my stomach grumble louder.

Fortunately, there were some benefits from the experience. Every time I walked home, I tried singing to myself for amusement and, for a short period in my life, I managed to become an amateur song writer, churning out songs whose tunes are still in my head.

But those afternoon walks couldn't compare to what I had one particular Saturday. It was late morning approaching noon. I was in Anda, in St. Anthony's, to purchase a breast plate for my PMT uniform. I was already walking away from the shop when I caught a glimpse at my coin purse and saw nothing. Nothing. Oh, man.

I was tempted to turn around and go back to the shop to return my purchased item and get my money back. But I didn't have the face nor the humility to do that. So I comforted myself by thinking triumphantly that I was off to another adventure: I would walk home from Anda all the way to home.

So it began. I walked the length of San Pedro Street then to Almendras gym. Then from there, I walked to LTO, walked across the Bolton bridge, walked past the Ecoland Bus Terminal, then Saint Paul II College, then Ecoland, then Times Beach, then Bonguyan, then across the wilderness to the eastern fringe of our subdivision, then to home. I was walking for so long that, by the time I reached the house, it was already drizzling outside when, at the start of my walk, it was sunny and gay.

Thinking back, it was an experience I'd rather not repeat. There was an element of helplessness there which made the memory bittersweet. Despite that, I still encourage people to have their own long walks. These walks can be therapeutic if done with the right mindset (and with money in the wallet for security and comfort) . I believe I found myself during those long walks because these gave me time to think and, despite the weariness in my legs later on, my mind always came out more refreshed and definitely more relaxed.

Not bad. Not bad at all.