bato-bato · pik

Sta. Maria, Bulacan

October 13, 2007

 

Entering Sta. Maria Bulacan, one is instantly greeted by signs like Toyang’s Quality Fireworks, Golden Summers, Oliver’s Firewroks, etc.  Bulacan prides itself for producing fireworks that can equal imported ones. 

 

Looking at the stores, I was reminded of Los Baños, except that instead of buco pie, fireworks were sold. Sometimes the fireworks could be found in sari-sari stores alongside such goodies as Boy bawang, Halls candy and Coke solo. 

 

I was there to interview some students who used to make fireworks or who are still at risk of going back to being child laborers.  There was a children’s month activity in one of the schools and Jollibee was there to provide food and games.

 

As the games progressed, we pulled out some of the kids.  One of them was quite shy and I don’t blame him. I was a stranger, and I wished I stayed there for some time before asking them questions. But anyway, Ishko (not his real name), now in third year high school, used to do what they called “pulling.”  It’s the kind of firework that pops when you pull the thread on both ends.  It’s quite dangerous because if you do several of these and had all the strings entangled you might accidentally pull the strings and cause a fire.  Ishko did pulling when he was in Grade 2, finishing at least two bundles of these a day.  A bundle is 100 pieces which meant he earned ten pesos a day.

 

Less dangerous perhaps is the one done by Jenny. Jenny is in her fourth grade, a bit chubby with rosy cheeks.  When asked to draw a five-star, she drew a rectangle and the label of the star.  Jenny pastes “atiketa” (etiketa or brand labels) on the finished fireworks.  She can’t define the meaning of child labor.  She only knows that she was just helping her parents.

 

In most cases, families are subcontracted to do fireworks.  Instead of hiring other workers and letting much-needed money spill out of their pockets, they get their kin to work for them. 

 

Some of the children, though, were not asked by their parents to work.  Some, like Sarah, would sneak out and make fireworks just so she wouldn’t have to bother her mother for baon.  They had so little earnings that her mother had to get employment in Subic as a domestic worker. Same with her older sister, who was not able to finish her schooling.  Her father, however, tends to their farm in Quezon and is with his son (Sarah’s brother).

 

Sarah has become a young mother, so to speak.  At the age of 13, she takes care of her younger sister in a rented room that has no electricity (so they could save money).  She has become so determined of going to school and maintaining her grades that she has literally lived by the phrase “nagsusunog ng kilay,” or burning the midnight candle, just that she uses a gasera to provide the light she needs for doing her assignments.

 

There were other children that I interviewed that day, and their stories inspired me somewhat because it really showed their resilience and resolve to avail of their right to education. 

 

But what also struck me at the time was the game of Jollibee. I do appreciate the fastfood company for sticking out for child laborers and students at risk (of drop out), but I think their personnel could do a little training on sensitivity with their clients.  In their “bring me” game where the kids were asked to bring an item that they would call out, the game master said, “Bring me a one thousand peso bill – yung buo ha!”  Wow.  If one were to define insensitivity, this would be one good example.  Still, one of the kids was able to go on stage to bring a 1,000 peso bill.  I wonder if it was the kagawad’s son.

 

Pyrotechnics is an industry that readily hires kids because they don’t complain, they are what we call masinsin sa trabaho, and they are desperate enough to get money for their baon, school requirements, etc.

 

I know there are a lot more stories out there, and I haven’t actually written everything I learned about them here.   I just wonder if one day we can find a signboard that says “Toyang’s Quality Fireworks… we don’t hire kids.”

 

 

 

September 6-8, 2007

Dumaguete

 

I was strolling on the boulevard, enjoying the sound of the waves and the chatter in Visayan (I love the language), and quietly admiring the trash cans that were positioned every 5 meters or so (perfect for eating peanuts that you have to take out from the shell), when I heard the sound of rustic saxophone playing.  The player seemed to be out of breath at some points, and I realized that it was because it was an old man playing a battered saxophone. 

 

The old man didn’t finish the song when the people gave him money.  He kept playing this old song which reminded me of Andy Williams, or one of my dad’s vinyl records.  The title escapes me now… Anyway, I sort of stopped him for a while and listened to him play that song in its entirety (“Somewhere My Love” ata yun).  Then I requested for another song.  He asked me what was my request. I said it was up to him.  Take note, in Visayan yan ha… Anyway, he obliged, and which I had to commit to memory the tune of the song.  (I asked dad for the title of the song and he said it’s “Anniversary Song” or was it “Anniversary Dance”?)

 

Then I just had to ask him more about himself.  He was from Sequijor and used to play in a club.  I couldn’t understand the details of what he was saying but it seemed to be about being a musician and having nothing.  I couldn’t comprehend it but I could feel that what he was saying was happy and sad, although a part of him felt like he was pulling himself together to keep on living. 

 

Again, how I wished I could speak Cebuano fluently and understand it perfectly.  But funny… the part I understood was when he was asking me if I had a husband, and “ngano man?” (why I didn’t have one) and all that.  I can’t recall my answer. Was it “wa!” o “kinahanglan ba?” (kailangan ba?) hehehe.

 

In Dumaguete, I would ask them to translate some of the words I couldn’t understand.  Then roles were reversed as I went back to Manila.  I was seated beside an elderly woman who kinda looked like she got a liking for retro fashion.  She was with no one, and she couldn’t understand the flight attendant who asked for her boarding pass.  She was being asked to switch seats with this other woman.  Later, she asked me about something in Cebuano – I think she wanted to know which among her documents was her ticket. 

 

When we landed, I saw her go to the restroom.  But she looked lost and confused (naglibog man!). She was headed for the men’s room (sigurado naman akong hindi siya transvestite, hehe).  We had to pull her to the ladies’ room.  Then I didn’t see her for a time. I got worried.  I looked for her and she was milling around the baggage claim area.  I finally asked her, “naa ka bag?” (Do you have a bag?) then she replied that what she was holding was the only bag she had (don’t ask me how she said it, but I understood her that far.)  Then I asked her, “Naa ka kauban?” (May kasama ka?)  She said something like someone was going to fetch her outside, I think.

 

Luckily, we finally found airport personnel who spoke the language (take note, Visayan is not a dialect, but a language, or so I think that’s the politically correct way of putting it? I must consult my Mindanaoan friends).  Then I was partly glad that I did speak a little bit of Cebuano to get her through the initial stages of being in Manila. 

 

One of these days I will sit down and write about them.  Nick (Pichay) said we should write geriatric plays.  Maybe this will inspire me to make one.  Maybe it’ll be about communication and how we try to communicate but can’t understand each other. It’s an old theme, and a lot of absurd plays have done a better job at dealing with this. But maybe I’ll do it as simply as I could.

*mulling it over*

 

 

 

Centennial airport

Papuntang Davao, May 21, 2007

Noong nagpunta kami ng Davao para mag-attend sa isang teachers’ empowerment seminar, medyo montik na kaming hindi umabot sa flight namin.  So nagmadali na ang lahat para i-load ang sangkaterbang gamit sa check-in, at medyo hingal na tumakbo papuntang gate para suamkay sa eroplano.  Kaya uhaw na uhaw kami noon.  Kaso walang tubig sa eroplano… well, meron, pero hindi kami agad inasikaso dahil marami palang suamsakay pag madaling araw.

 

So pinagtripan namin yung nakita naming isang pasahero.  May kalong-kalong kasi siyang isang napakalaking golden trophy.  Yung trophy ay isang gahiganteng chalice na may takip.  World cup ba ito?  O baka naman may sandamakmak na ostya sa loob? Baka naman may Mompo, o yung alak ng pari?  Makiinom na kaya kami?  Laking swerte naman kung tubig ang laman noon!  Kung anu-ano na ang inisip namin para lang maaliw at medyo malimutan ang uhaw. 

 

Pero noong matagal na nga bago dumating ang tubig, gusto ko nang lapitan yung bagets na may dala ng trophy. 

I've just seen a film that made me weep, not because it's a weepy movie (the way that chick flicks like "Beaches" made women friends cry), but because it was so beautifully done that it made me weep.  Beautiful music affects me in the same way, as if it fills my soul and heightens my passion for art.  This film truly filled me to the brim. 

I'm referring to "Lives of Others."  I didn't want to write the synopsis because I want to stay with this feeling... but anyway, it is about a national security agent in East Germany who was made to conduct surveillance on a playwright, an artist who is considered right-wing (a liberal or leaning toward the West).  But his wiretapping activities transformed him and reversed him -- not in a grand dramatic way. As he listened into the life of this artist and his actress-wife, he too consumed the art that they created, vicariously lived the passion they felt for each other and for their art and secretly aligned himself with their beliefs.  From being a hard-core socialist who saw betrayal in any artist who leaned toward the West, to a compassionate man (yet outwardly cold and restrained) who risked his career to save what remains of the artists' restricted lives. 

If the filmmaker were a conductor, he did not use huge gestures of the hands and arms, but quiet, slow and soft movements that built up to the film's climax

I caught myself saying "putang ina, ang ganda" several times, especially when in a brief period of the film, roles were reversed and  George (the playwright who was under surveilance) was watching the agent who used to listen to his every move and conversation. This happened after the Berlin Wall fell and he learned that this agent actually "saved" him, so to speak.  George never confronted or asked him why he did what he did. 

And that last shot where the agent opened the book written by this writer (a fulfillment of both their dreams, perhaps) and read the acknowledgment (where the writer acknowledged him).  How can you describe the effect of communication that never actually happened but actually did? A bond was created indirectly.  Intrusion bore respect for the other.  It was a strange feeling.  It was full of ironies.  I felt the warmth of humanity through his (what I would call) detached attachment to these artists.

Naku, mana pala ako sa lolo ko (who was said to exclaim, "putang ina, sinong nag-bake ng cake na ito? ang sarap!" hindi ko na siya masyadong matandaan kasi napakabata ko pa noon). One is predisposed to cursing when one experiences something great.

I had to rush to write this to just pour out the feeling of being bestowed this aesthetic experience. Parang yun e-- watching it was not just seeing the film, but experiencing beauty.  Talagang overflowing ang feeling inside me.  I wish I could fashion the words to capture the feeling and give justice to the film.  minsan talaga hindi sapat ang mga salita. 

nadaig ng epekto ng kape ang pagtili namin ng housemate ko kanina. grabe ang palpitation ko! masyadong matapang kasi yung bubwit na mahilig umakyat at bumaba sa may lababo sa kusina. Arrrrggggh! Pero napansin lang namin ng housemate ko na pagkatapos naming tumili nang ilang beses, wala sa mga kapitbahay namin ang nag-check para alamin kung ano ang nangyayari. Ganun na ba ka-apathetic ng mga tao sa city? Kung sabagay, baka na-diferentiate na nila ang tili ng nakakita ng ipis sa tili ng nakakita ng bubwit at sa tili ng nakakita ng big rat (yan ang blood-curdling scream).

                                                                 q ( ^ < ^ ) p

Daddyism

yan ang title ko pag may kwento ako tungkol sa tatay ko. usually meant just for my sister, brother-in-law and me. pero minsan gusto ko lang i-compile at minsan gawan ng tribute na libro ang aking daddy dearest.

anyway, one time napag-usapan ang tungkol sa tumataas na presyo ng electric bill. Sabi ng nanay ko, dapat raw talagang nuclear power plant na lang ang gamitin para mas tipid raw. Sabi ko paano pag nagka-malfunction at nagkaroon ng leak? Di rin naman daw tayo ligtas dahil andyan din ang Korea at Japan, may nuclear power plant rin ang ating neighboring countries. Pabiro kong sinabi, "at least mas malapit na, no?" Then dad chimed in with, "Oo, homegrown!" Cute (those who know my dad can imagine how he would say that). Para bang kamote tops na pinalaki sa backyard. Parang jutes na binebenta nina Cheech and Chong.

                                                           q ( ^ < ^ ) p

Papayag kaya kayong ipagiba ang UP shopping center? Ako ayaw ko... pero sana ayusin ang CR, ang mga tulo... pero I still love going to G.Miranda, I always have my photocopying services done there, and I still have some of clothes altered there. A friend said some bankers who were former UP students would still have their barongs made in that tailoring shop on the second floor of one of the stalls.

But one of my favorite places there would still be Rodic's.

Ang tagal ko nang di kumakain doon, at medyo di na ko sanay na may maka-share-a-seat, so nanibago ako. Tapos yung naka-share-a-seat ko pa ay nag-order ng (sa pandinig ko ay) red wine. Ganun? Pero instantly naman pinaandar ko ang logical self ko. Red na "One" (iced tea) pala ang order niya, Red One lang kasi ang sinabi ng ka-table ko noon.

I still got a "too male" comment for my script for Cam Cafe. Hmmm... I wonder if the network actually knows what they got into by accepting Cam Cafe in their programming. It is Cam Cafe, you know... France, for chrissake! What is so taboo about talking about sex!!!!???!

Its lead characters are two men who talk about sex, cars and other stuff. They candidly talk about these things in front of a coffee machine. So the whole 3-minute sketch happens from the point of view of the coffee machine. The show originated in France, and since we're doing adaptation of some episodes, we have to follow its basic concepts. And basically it is these two guys who make fun about everything including sex! Well... now I know... we can say it is naturally "too male" because there are "two male" characters in the lead.

The "too male" comment comes from the network because it aims to cater to women. But like I said in my previous blog, just because two guys are talking in front of the camera, it doesn't mean it's "too male." The weakness of these two guys are actually exposed, and in some stories the women outsmart them (without showing the women). You can put two women in front of the camera and the story can still be too male.

Some of my scripts were deemed having "malicious content." So when is looking for a sperm donor malicious? Isn't this part of women's reproductive right -- to have children? And here was a script which tackled a woman's need to have a child (an adaptation though... but in this adaptation, I put in a bit about our Catholicism). So isn't that catering to women? Doesn't that address a legitimate need of a woman, even if she is single? But then, maybe they would rather have that topic in a talk show, not in a comedy.

But what is comedy? Doesn't it poke fun at people's foibles and doesn't it laugh at the ironies of life and inconsistencies in society? I always feel comedy is intelligent (well, depends on the kind of comedy). I do disagree with comedy that laughs at people's physical faults, like being fat or dark. I love Bubble Gang, but when they keep saying someone is "pangit" -- like Diego or the dark skinned kinky haired girl whose name I'm sorry to forget, it reinforces something in our psyche which makes manufacturers of skin whiteners happy. On a side note though, I somehow think it's cute when Wendell Ramos and the dark-skinned woman are often paired off. hehe.

Anyway, what I want to say is comedy is inherently irreverent. You expect that. I guess that's why we seldom hear about a comedy that's produced by the people close to the Catholic church.

One of my scripts got approved, and it was just a first draft. I wonder if it was because one of the characters there kept saying "God bless!" (thanks to Vince's input). But I wonder if they get it... that we were also laughing at such a character who would say "God bless" as if she were someone who sneezed too often because of an asthmatic attack.

So how does one go about writing comedy in a station that supposedly wants to cater to women but is too Catholic or Christian or what? Going deep down into it, sometimes the two can run counter to the other. (Oh dear... I'm going to be castigated by my religious relatives here! hehehe)

How far can we limit our comedy? I believe that there are a hundred ways to express anger or irritation but sometimes you have to just say it as it is to make a point, or just reflect it as it happens in real life. So what do you do when you are asked to "refine" a scene because it contained the word "bastos?" I also had to edit out words like "tanga," "gago," "lintek" and "Ponyeta." So I wonder if "buwisit" is acceptable since it has been used by Panchito in the '50s.

Anyway, I argued that the word "bastos" was there to make a point. It would be complicated to explain now unless I print out the whole script here (or I'm just being lazy... hehe). But anyway, trust me... it is more effective if the word were left alone.

Another thing... we were supposed to respond to the network's new policy of catering to the A-B market. So we had to Taglish-ize some parts of the script. Okay with me... but not okay when the character, in the first place, doesn't speak Taglish! We can't have everyone sounding like they're from exclusive girls' schools, nor can we make redundant characters (we already have one or two who speak bad english). I wonder if the script reviewers know anything about characterization, or maybe something more basic -- if they know anything about reading scripts?

I'm trying to post a Spanish version of Cam Cafe (thanks to youtube).

This is not a feminist column about a woman's inability to express herself because of society's taboos, nor is it about arbitrary arrests and censorship (although I have a thing or two to write about that). This isn't metaphorical. Literally, I lost my voice... temporarily. As in vocal chords, tonsilitis, sore throat, and all.

At first I sounded like Demi Moore. My friend allanandjane said, "ang sexy naman, ateng." I said, "hindi dahil husky, kundi dahil pumipiyok." (I don't know if you saw Demi Moore's earlier movies where she tended to do just that - pumiyok). So allan said, "ay, nagbibinata ka na, ateng." My other friend Vince called and when I answered, he commented, "Bakit Chuchi ka ngayon?" Siyempre di ko masagot kung bakit. Sometimes I sound like Marge Simpson but only when I grunt. But these past days, I just have no sound.

So I rediscovered the many inconveniences of losing one's voice. Some of the practical situations I found myself in were the following:

1. Losing one's voice is hard when you're a commuter in Manila. Lalo na pag nasa jeep at maingay sa kalye. Ang hirap pumara. Kahit sa bus. Nakalampas ako ng babaan. Naglilihi kasi ako sa Max's fried chicken the other day at natandaan kong meron sa may East Ave., katabi ng SSS, BPIFB at KFC. So para naman di ko maramdamang nagkakasakit na nga ako, I thought of treating myself. Kaso di ko masigaw ang "para!" kaya lumapit ako sa may pinto noong nakita ko ang KFC. Di ko rin makatok ang ceiling ng bus kasi mataas. At nakakahiya mang aminin, pero hindi ako marunong sumipol (pero para sa iba, mas nakakahiyang sumipol pag babae ka, pero kebs ko sa kanila). So anyway, nakababa ako sa may SSS na. Pero pag lakad ko pabalik, nagsara na pala ang Max's.

2. Losing one's voice is hard when you're craving for something so much and you can't make an order or call food delivery. Kinabukasan, dahil nga naglilihi ako sa Max's, naisip kong magpadeliver na lang ng fried chicken. Tamang-tama nanghihina ako noon at di makapagluto. I tried earlier, but all I had was spanish sardines which was spicy and which aggravated my cough.

Pero nahihiya akong gisingin si Dang, ang housemate ko, para siya ang tumawag. Noong di ko na makayanan ang craving ko, kinatok ko siya at nagbigay ng note. Di pa naman niya kailangang gawin agad so natulog uli siya. Buti na lang nagising siya sa takdang oras at natawagan niya ang Max's in time for dinner. Thank God for housemates with internal alarm clocks that work at the right moment. (Note: hindi po ito free ad para sa Max's... kasi sa totoo lang, ang liit ng half chicken nila, at puro litid ang nilagang manok nila).

3. Losing one's voice is hard when a friend gives you a call and rants about something and you can't say anything. Ni hindi mo magatungan, heheh. So it was a chance for him to do a monologue. Actually my more "comfortably cruel" friends would say tease me about my idiosyncracies and quirks when I'm at this state. Then I can't answer back. Well that's when the dirty finger comes in handy.

But thank God (and Jerry Yang, creator of Yahoo) for YM, Chikka.com and texting! I could still communicate with the outside world.

4. Losing one's voice doesn't contribute to catharsis. Nakakita ako ng bubwit na tumatakbo sa may lababo. Hindi ako makatili. I tried, out of reflex. Bitin. Walang tunog. Na-silent movie ako. Nag-aantay ako ng subtitles pero wala. Oh well... marami pang puwedeng ilistang cathartic moments na pinapabitin ng kawalan ng boses, pero huwag na nating i-publish dito.

Yun lang muna. Marami pa. Di ko masigawan ang maingay kong kapitbahay. Di ko mabulyawan ang maingay na pusa ng kapitbahay. But we're creative. Andyan ang toy water gun at ang volume control ng TV para diyan (you know which is used for what).

Sige. Nagiging madaldal na naman ako pag wala akong boses.

Eymard street na nga pala ang Peta Theater Center. Dati kasi Sunnyside Drive. Mas gusto ko ata ang Sunnyside Drive. Naman o. Kung kelan ko naman na-memorize na ang Sunnyside Drive (dati kasi lagi kong naiisip na Sunnyside Up or Sunshine Drive or its derivatives, hehe), babaguhin nila. Ang hirap kaya matandaan ang Eymard? Sabagay noong una ko siyang nakita sa street sign, inisip ko agad na innard... balun-balunan. Kalye Balun-balunan. Pero hindi Eymard ang naaalala ko kundi Eynard. Hay ano ba yan? Kung bakit kasi pabago-bago ng pangalan ng kalye?

Noong may nireresearch ako noon sa congress at Senate, tiningnan ko noon yung listahan nila ng laws that were passed. Di ko na matandaan kung anong year yoon, pero sa kinapal-kapal ng librong yon (parang mas makapal pa sa PLDT directory) majority ng laws that were passed ay changing of street names. Diyoskodhay! Makaka-contribute kaya ito sa human rights, peace and order o economic development natin? Kung sabagay... kung gusto mo lituhin ang kaaway mo, papuntahin mo siya sa Pablo Ocampo (formerly Vito Cruz) o Gil Puyat (hanggang ngayon I confuse this with Pedro Gil, pero Buendia lang po yan) at pag di sumipot, sasabihin mong andoon ka lang sa akala niyang isa pang pangalan ng kalye.

Pero bakkkeeeet! Sabi ng tatay ko, malamang may kinalaman sa contribution ng tao sa lugar na yoon. Parang ito ang iiwanan niyang legacy. Pero kalokohan, eka nga ni daddy. Sabagay, kikita ang tagagawa ng street signs at makers of stationeries and calling cards (like it mattered).

Kaya nga ba di ko pa mabitawan itong iniisip kong play o script tungkol sa pagbabago ng pangalan ng kalye. Pero kasi totoo ito - na may street na ipinangalan in honor of my Katipunero great-grandfathers (pinsan o kapatid ata ng maternal great-grandfather ko). Up to now hindi ko pa ito nabibisita sa Sta. Ana, o Paco ba yun?

Pero sa iniisip kong kwento, aalsa ang buong angkan para i-preserve ang pangalan ng kalyeng yoon once inisip ng konggresong baguhin ang pangalan ng mga kalye doon (yun pala eskinita lang siya). Oh well... di ko pa siya nadedevelop nang husto. Baka sabihin ng aking friend na si Nick na pang-one-line punchline lang siya. Sana hindi. Pinag-iisipan ko pa.

ano ba ito... sinisipag akong magsulat ng blogs. Di na ko nahiya! (Di sa mahihiya ako sa mga babasa nito, kundi di na ko nahiya sa mga pinagkakautangan ko ng deadlines, hehehe. HALA TRABAHO!)