Session Road Blues

Raket

2009-02-26T23:52:00.002+08:00

I just find it quite amusing that quite a few people now have reacted more or less in this manner to our documentary, PORTRAIT OF A HILL STATION:

"Kayo pala nakakuha ng raket na 'yan? Nag-bid din kami diyan e..."

As far as we know, the Baguio Centennial Commission has asked various production groups to submit proposals for a documentary on the history of Baguio, this year being the city's centennial and all. One group proposed a budget of P400,000.00.

Well, for the record we didn't join "the bidding" for this "raket," as they call it, truth is, we didn't even know there was a bidding at all. As far as "PORTRAIT..." is concerned, this was how it came to be:

2007, Open Space got to dip its many hands into video production, and we thought we were ready to seriously pursue this new form of creative expression after dabbling in it in our multimedia theatrical presentations. After a planned co-production of a TV show with another institution fell apart, and since we suddenly found ourselves having access to a 3-ccd camera (the relationship, with the camera, that is, didn't last long. But that's another story.), I brought up the idea of producing a TV show to the group, called "Portraits Of A Hill Station." It was gonna be a weekly television show that will feature snippets of life in Baguio.

We knew that on our own, we wouldn't be able to sustain even just one season of 12 episodes, we can only stretch our very meager resources to cover 4 episodes at most. So we decided to make the first 4 episodes tell the story of how Baguio became a city. That way, should the show end up with no sponsors and/or any means of support, the first four episodes could stand alone as a substantial and relevant project.

Another reason why I thought it was best to springboard the TV show with Baguio's genesis was, well, it wasn't because I thought I was an authority in the history of this wonderful city, but quite the opposite: I wanted to know more about the city I've decided to call my home, the city that has sheltered me for more than a decade. I wanted to know Baguio's story.

The thing about preparing for the worst is that more often than not, the worst does come - save for a few friends, some in high places and some whose hearts just happened to be in the right places who thought that the project was worthy of their generous support, the show was shunned by sponsors. Some not only dismissed it but also predicted and even hoped for its doom.

Doomed the tv show was, and instead of four we were only able to air three episodes in September, 2007, and those three episodes told the story of the city from pre-colonial times to post-war Baguio. And despite the absence of sponsors, we were overwhelmed by the outpouring of encouraging reactions from people here in Baguio and abroad. We received inquiries about the possibility of putting those episodes on DVD, and we seriously considered the idea.

But our pockets have already gone very dry at the time to do it, so the idea stayed on our to do list until late last year, after a couple of personal commercial projects, we had enough to once again give the DVD idea a go. It wasn't much easier this time - we knew we needed a re-shoot, and we didn't have a camera anymore which meant the added expense of renting a camera. That we did, and since the main equipment was now running on a meter, time wasn't on our side: ten shooting days.

We would chip in for gas money so we can go around the various locations, and while some of us would be out there waiting for the sun to set to get that shot we thought the documentary needed, some of us would be at home in San Luis stretching their creativity to come up with a decent meal for everyone at the lowest possible cost. Not enough fresh mini-dv tapes for this documentary, there simply wasn't enough money for that, which meant re-using 2-3 year old tapes and hoping that the images would come out alright.

After ten days of shoot, we worked for about two weeks on draft version and on December 14, 2008, we aired the one-hour documentary called PORTRAIT OF A HILL STATION. We had three minor sponsors this time (Camp John Hay Dev. Cor, the City Mayor's office and the FRB Foundation), so we had enough to cover post-production expenses and the airtime cost and didn't need to dig into our shallow pockets for those anymore.

And then the DVD - even if the production didn't earn enough to cover even just basic expenses, we were still unanimous in our plan to give free copies of the DVD to various school libraries in the city and to hold free screenings of the documentary. Production is slow, we can't afford to mass produce the DVD so production's done at home on a regular DVD-burner, and given the loads of other work we do on my abused desktop pc, we average about 2 or 3 DVDs a week.

But that's ok, in doing "PORTRAIT OF A HILL STATION," we learned about Baguio's story. And it's a great story, and we just want to share that story to as many people as possible. We thank the Baguio Historical Society for endorsing the documentary.

It is our hope that, given the current sad state of Baguio, in telling the city's history, its journey from being a pastureland to being one of the most beautiful hill stations in Asia, the obstacles thrown its way and how Baguio and its people overcame those obstacles, how the city rose from the ravages of war, how it quickly got back on its feet after the devastating 1990 earthquake, this documentary might just help re-kindle our people's sense of community and start working together for a better Baguio.

As the documentary says in the last segment... we inherited a paradise from the city's pioneers who built Baguio a hundred years ago, what kind of Baguio are we passing on to the next generation?

So for those bidding for that "raket," don't worry, we didn't "outbid" you, we didn't even know there was such a bidding.

Open Space did this on its own, independently, just because we thought it's a good thing to do.

It may not look like a 400,000-peso documentary, we don't actually know exactly how much we spent on this... but we did invest our hearts and souls into its production.

And we are just glad to have been able to do this for the city.

We thank everyone who helped us and believed in this project.

Oh What A Circus

2009-02-10T10:08:00.001+08:00

Panagbenga, the annual month-long event that is the Baguio Flower
Festival. Among its institutionalized components are the opening and
closing parades, the parade of floats, the street-dancing parade, the
Market Encounter (a trade fair), and Session Road in Bloom (when
Session Road is closed to vehicular traffic and is filled to brim with
stalls selling, among other things, cellphones, corn and hotdogs…
fine, among others).

One year you may see Baguio's various VIPs fighting over who gets to
captain the Panagbenga ship, and another year they're avoiding it like
the plague. Every year, the current captains move heaven and earth
(lots of it in Burnham Park) to prove that they can do better than
their predecessors. That's not necessarily a bad thing, for every year
we are assured that whoever is at the helm, he, or she, is doing
everything to come up with something better than last year. Panagbenga
has become so big that I make it a point not be in town during the big
events (the parades used to be a joy to watch, but in recent years,
standing for hours craning your neck to get a glimpse of flowery
advertising billboards on wheels has become less and less attractive
for me). If I can't afford to leave town, then I sit in front of the
TV and watch the goings on in the comfort of our living room. And I
particularly find it amusing to watch the bickering between past and
present organizers, politicians, and "concerned citizens."

Anyway, what exactly is my beef? Panagbenga has become a showcase of
what Baguio doesn't have, or of what Baguio has that's ignored by the
powers that be. It is that time of the year when Baguio plays second
fiddle to everything and everyone which/who were brought in to amuse
the tourists. Instead of taking the opportunity to show to the world
what Baguio is all about, we end up being a mere staging area.

We all know that Baguio is not a flower growing community, and even if
we were once a city of flowers, the building frenzy going around the
whole city in the name of development and progress has surely erased
that tag. It would be really great for the city if the festival would
inspire the people of Baguio to make their city a true city of
flowers… but sprucing up one's backyard only once a year does not make
our city one of flowers. We become poseurs.

And I'm just not impressed by pronouncements by organizers that begin
with, "this year we were able to bring in…" followed by, "next year we
hope to be able to bring in…" Bring in? What about doing something
with what we have? Wouldn't it be better to brag about what one was
able to put together with what Baguio does have? Isn't that what most
festivals are about, celebrating traditions and what this or that
place is blessed with and proud to have? And who the hell are the LA Divas and why are we putting a group on center stage whose claim to fame is being copycats of a American pop group?

And to rub salt to injury, when elements from outside are brought in,
the question is, just like true blue mercenaries, "how much?," and
organizers, again, move heaven and earth to come up with the money,
and when locals are lucky enough to be included in the festival's
events at all, they are told not to complain about the dishonorable
honoraria because they're "doing it for Baguio."

It's true, though, what we locals are doing we do it because we love
Baguio, while for the others it's simply just another gig.

Clowns, jesters, poseurs, mercenaries, corn and hotdogs. Oh, what a circus!

Keychains and Bonnets

2009-01-30T18:19:00.006+08:00

It was going to be a rehearsal for the planned historical tour of Baguio, an idea hatched by Noants Travel and Tours and inspired by our group's video documentary, Portrait of a Hill Station. We were to guide a group of over a hundred conventioneers around town - they had their own itinerary, and were asked to inject bits and pieces of Baguio's history as we jump from one destination to another.

First stop was Camp John Hay's Historical Core, and there we introduced them to the genesis of this famous hill station. We were joined by Camp John Hay Management Corp.'s Nonette Bennett who offered the group interesting details about the sites inside the former American military reservation. We allotted around an hour for them to take in as much as they could, but after several photo ops beside the entrance to the cemetery of negativism and with the Bell Amphitheater in the background, and after learning that there are no shops selling key chains or bonnets around, the group was already itching to move on to the next destination:

The Baguio Botanical Garden, which at one point also housed a zoo, really has nothing much to offer these days. While the Baguio Arts Guild's Greenhouse Effect Gallery still offers exhibits every now and then on top of artists offering to do on-the-spot sketches of tourists, only a sprinkling of landscaped patches of common flowers and ruins of the animal cages remain. Sure there are rows of souvenir shops selling key chains and bonnets, but that's not what a botanical garden is supposed to be about. The flower beds proving to be not so attractive to this group of tourists, they spent the allotted 45 minutes just buying souvenirs, not one even bothered to look at the ongoing exhibit inside the gallery. Moving on...

At the Mansion House, after hearing a five-minute spiel about Baguio being the official capital of the country during the summer months in the early 1900's and what that meant, we learned that the museum inside is not yet open to the public, so not much you can do but have your picture taken in front of the gate, which is said to be a replica of the Buckingham Palace gates. Across the road vendors selling Sagada oranges and kiat-kiat were being chased by elements of the Public Order and Safety Department of the City of Baguio. I thought those were better buys than the key chains. Anyway, the group couldn't wait to get to our next stop:

Mines View Park and the Good Shepherd Convent. At the former, the joke goes: there are no more mines, so there's no more view, and there's no parking. More rows of key chains and bonnets and silver trinkets, plus the occasional ukay-ukay stall. They weren't really interested to hear about how the mining boom of the 1930's fueled the growth of Baguio as a city, so we kept that short so they could once again buy more key chains and bonnets, only this time they also have the option of getting a taste of the famous Good Shepherd ube jam, which is really good, I must add. Having nothing much to offer but more of the same, the group didn't stay long and after a whole morning's tour, they were off to their lunch break lugging plastic bags of key chains, bonnets and ube jam.

At lunch, our group of four storytellers assessed the first half of the day. Though they found the spiels on Baguio's history amusing, their minds were focused only on one thing: shopping for souvenirs and finding the best ukay-ukay stall. But, we had a story to tell, and we're gonna tell it (there's nothing much they can do en route to our destinations inside those buses but listen, so we decided to just take advantage of that).

After lunch, the tourists requested a stop at Camp John Hay's Mile Hi, now a strip mall with restaurants and shops selling export overruns. It was a quick stop - after fifteen minutes, they were back inside the buses and adding to their collection of key chains and bonnets were bags of comforters and pillow cases and Baguio City t-shirts. The next drive was a longer one:

We reached Fort Del Pilar in over half an hour, and we herded the group towards the Audio Visual Room of the Philippine Military Academy to view a 10-minute video about the academy. Two minutes into the viewing and half of them were already outside in search of souvenir shops. After posing for photos with cadets, they were back in the buses with, yup, you guessed it, bonnets and key chains, this time stitched with or stamped with the words Philippine Military Academy, instead of Baguio City. Oh, and they had t-shirts too.

Last stop for the day, Burnham Park and if time allowed, the Baguio City Market. Burnham Park, that area that Baguio's original settlers used to call Minac. The only large piece of flat land in the then future city, which, instead of using it for the most revenue generating project, Daniel Burnham reserved for a public park where the general public can go to breath and rejuvenate. At the end of the spiel, we asked them if they had any more questions:

Where's the cheapest ukay-ukay store in Burnham Park?

Where can we buy more souvenirs?

Where can we buy... you know, bonnets and key chains?

And I thought, well, that's what Baguio has become to be known for these days - ukay-ukay, bonnets and key chains. Because we just couldn't stand the site of open spaces in the city, and we keep on trying to put in ridiculous stuff in it like bump car rides and commercial stalls, ignoring the fact that the best parks are those with nothing much in it but wide open spaces and trees to purify the air. Because we didn't value the city's beautiful skyline and ruined it by allowing towering structures to cover the mountainsides, cutting down pine trees that Baguio was once known for in the process. Because we took Baguio's miraculous, healing air for granted, we simply look the other way at the site of taxicabs, jeepneys, SUVs spewing out poisonous black smoke and this made the city among the most polluted in the country - that's coming from being the cleanest and greenest not so long ago. Because we probably didn't care enough, this is what Baguio has become to be known for these days:

The buses parked next to the Baguio Athletic Bowl, and as soon as the doors opened, to the delight of this particular group of tourists, they were greeted by vendors selling... key chains and bonnets.

Welcome to Baguio.

Falling in love all over again

2009-01-17T10:11:00.002+08:00

It's been a long time since I first saw her, and I had no idea then
that getting to know her better bit by bit through the years would
forever change my whole life. I fell in love.

I remember thinking how beautiful she was that first time. And though
from the first time I saw her I never stopped wanting to be with her,
in the beginning I only saw her from time to time, happy to be with
her each time and hardly able to wait to be with her again another
time. I remember going through great lengths just to see her, dropping
everything else for a chance to see her - I thought I could just sit
and stare at her forever.

And then I found myself not able to be away from her anymore - what
can I do? She lured me, seduced me, easily, effortlessly. And just
like any devoted lover, I abandoned the life I was leading, I decided
to be with her forever.

Despite the admonitions of my friends then: it won't last (how can it
not?), that I can never really live my life with her (how can I not
when at that time there I couldn't think of any other life but one
lived with her), that her beauty won't last forever (I believed then,
as I do now, that she existed at all primarily because of her beauty),
I remember how happy I was the day I made that decision - I blissfully
relished each sunrise with her, lovingly watched her go to sleep each
night. With her, I realized who I really was, what I really wanted -
she nurtured me, helped me grow, made me see things the way they
really are.

I knew from the beginning that I was not her only lover, I didn't
mind: as a matter of fact, I was happy about it thinking that the more
lovers she takes, the more defenders and protectors she will have. As
for me, just like anybody who's in love, I couldn't stop talking about
her, I told her story to as many people as I can - her timeless
beauty, her heartaches, her hopes and dreams. I did what I could to
protect her confronting every single threat to her. But alas, it was
not enough.

And soon after I made the decision to live my life with her, she was
brutally raped.

She was stripped naked, abused, neglected, mocked, disgustingly
exploited. Though some of her lovers did what they could to prevent
the crime, the others just stood and watched as the rape happened,
some even ran away and abandoned her.

Looking at her now, her lovers shed tears seeing her ravaged body. She
has been defaced, those who knew her before the rape can hardly
recognize her anymore. Some have even given her up for dead.

But she is alive, barely able to breath but alive. And while there are
those today who would laugh at the thought that this ugly, dirty,
desecrated poor thing was once so beautiful that everyone who laid
their eyes on her was soon under her spell, awed by her magnificence,
her elegance, her allure. Some say that's gone forever, some say she's
hopeless.

I don't think so. Though she can never be what she was before, with
the help of her numerous lovers, one day the rape will be stopped and
she can rise again in all her splendor. I'm in, I have no choice, I
have fallen in love.

And when that time comes, I know that I, for one, will fall in love
with Baguio all over again.

OPENSPACE paints a portrait

2009-01-07T23:02:00.000+08:00

Bagong Baguio

2009-01-03T20:12:00.002+08:00

Somewhere in Baguio. New Year's Day, 2009. I sit down with taga-Baguio for an early morning coffee.

Taga-Baguio: Kape?

Session Road Blues: You better have a good reason for forcing me to wake up early for a morning appointment on New Year's day, bro... salamat sa kape, one sugar, no cream... so what's up?

TB: Baguio's not.

SRB: Ok, what about it?

TB: Don't you miss the old days?

SRB: Oo naman, siempre. I think a lot of people do. This coffee's strong and I'm fully awake now and you have my full attention.

TB: Well, they're not coming back.

SRB: Who's not coming back?

TB: The old days. They're not coming back, ever.

SRB: Why not? A lot of people are clamoring to bring Baguio back to what it was before...

TB: What do they want? The Baguio of the 70's and 80's when there were no malls yet and practically everywhere in Baguio is just five minutes away? Or the Baguio after the war when the city had to be rebuilt practically from scratch because the Americans razed it to the ground by carpet bombing in their attempt to liberate the city from the
Japanese?

SRB: Hmmm... yeah, sure... siguro nga.

TB: Or maybe the Baguio during Halsema's reign as mayor, when the city reached Burnham's proposed population limit, and the city enjoyed the latest technological advances while preserving its natural beauty, but that could be a tall order. I don't think they're talking about Mateo Cariño's Kafagway, becasue then we would all have to leave town and leave only the Cariño, Carantes, Camdas, Molintas and Suello clans, give or take a few more families, the first settlers in Kafagway, and...

SRB: No, no, I don't think that's how far they want to go when they say bring Baguio back to what it was before. But a lot of people are beginning to do something about it.

TB: Really? Doing what?

SRB: Talking about it, a lot. In blogs, newspaper columns, in coffee shops, may mga nagagawa naman e para ibalik yung dating Baguio... (M cuts him off)

TB: Like what... getting rid of all the houses built after the earthquake? Because that would probably mean getting rid of more than alf the residencial buildings in the city. Or are they evicting people who moved to the city in the last couple of decades? Because if they do that then that would probably mean evicting two-thirds of the city's population today, which includes you, by the way. Are they thinking of demolishing all the buildings that violated the city's
supposed building code? That's a lot of buildings, bro. Are they actually aggressively going after colorum PUVs by putting up check points and checking if their papers are in order and their vehicles are in good running condition? You have any idea how many taxicabs and jeepneys would have to be taken off the street?

SRB: Er, I don't know what to say to you.

TB: Alam mo kung ano'ng kailangan natin?

SRB: I really wish I did. But I have a feeling you do.

TB: Aminin. Tanggapin.

SRB: What?

TB: Aminin na lahat tayo medyo nagkulang sa pakiki-alam, at least in the last 15 years or so.

SRB: What do you mean?

TB: Nagkulang sa pagbabantay sa mga taong nilagay natin diyan sa City Hall, hinayaan lang natin silang gawin yung gusto nila. Tapos magrereklamo. Tapos pagdating ng eleksyon, sila't sila rin yung ibabalik natin sa pwesto.

SRB: Sabagay...

TB: We complain about the fast disappearing pine trees of Baguio, pero nung pinuputol pa lang, kulang naman yung kilos protesta. Reklamo tayo ng reklamo sa problema sa basura, pero kulang din naman yung ginagawa
natin para mabawasan yung problema.

SRB: Oo nga naman. Ano'ng magagawa natin ngayon?

TB: Tanggapin. Tanggapin na wala na talaga yung Baguio ng nakaraan, ang nandito ngayon, Bagong Baguio.

SRB: Bagong Baguio.

TB: May Bagong Baguio, and what we need to do now is to make the best out of what we have. The malls are here to stay, hindi mo na maaalis yan. The crowds are here to stay, hindi mo naman maaalis 'yan. Kaya imbes na magtatatalak tayo tungkol sa Baguio noon na wala namang maaaring puntahan, ang pagdaldalan na lang natin e kung ano'ng magagawa natin sa Baguio ngayon.

SRB: So tell me, ano'ng magagawa natin sa Baguio ngayon?

TB: There you go...

SRB: What?

TB: There you go, there's a good start... ano'ng pwede nating gawin sa Baguio ngayon?

SRB: Hmmmm, Happy New Year, bro. Salamat sa kape.

TB: Anytime.

SRB: So what exactly was it that you wanted to tell me?

TB: Happy New Year Baguio.

Moved

2008-12-07T07:27:00.002+08:00

I was invited by a university instructor to participate in a mock press conference for her journalism class. The topic would be our documentary on Baguio, "Portrait of a Hill Station." As soon as the instructor introduced me, and what the topic for the day would be, the students were hardly able to hide their disinterest. And I thought, well, this was exactly what pushed us to produce this documentary in the first place. I also thought that if I could get these students to be interested in the project itself and what it's trying to achieve, then there's hope that "Portrait…" may just make a small dent in next year's much-anticipated centennial celebration.

I believe that the Centennial Commission's tagline, "Fostering a culture of caring," is a great take-off point for next year's celebration of the city's hundredth year, for that was the first thing I thought the young minds infront of me needed – a culture of caring. From the time the instructor gave them a brief background on the project to the time I started giving my own introduction to it, a couple of students tried to stifle a yawn, another looked at her watch and perhaps thought about how long the next 55 minutes would be until the class is over.

Infront of me was the generation whose Baguio is about malling on weekends and mauling by gangsters on weeknights; Gagamba 1 has male strippers and Gagamba 2 has female strippers (or is it the other way around?); instead of fog rolling on to blanket and cool the city in the afternoon after a long day, it's smog covering the skyline during rush hour. They never got to delight at the sight of sunflower covered mountainsides in November, or pine-scented approaches to the city.

After speaking for a few minutes about the Baguio they never got to experience, I made some progress, and the questions started pouring in. What happened to "that" Baguio you're talking about? When can we see the documentary? And one of the best questions for me, What's your next project after this?

And our conversation made me realize one thing: Looking back at the last hundred years, the city's history may perhaps be divided into two major periods: pre-war and post war Baguio. The former paints a portrait of a city built because of and to make the best out of what it had: the magnificent mountain sides, the breathtaking skyline, a generous share of mother nature's resources… or simply put: utter beauty.

The latter gives us a totally different picture, in fact the total opposite of the former. After the war, the city went in the direction of eradicating what it had: the magnificent tree-lined mountainsides were ravaged (those pretty sunflowers trampled on to make way for condominiums and hotels and malls), the breathtaking skyline ruined (the city's horizon today shows a hard, unfeeling, gloomy silhouette of ugly concrete structures), and mother nature's resources abused (how much more than 300,000 people can the city really carry?).

At the end of the mock press conference, I think both me and the students at least agreed on one thing: we wished we had more time to talk more about Baguio. At least I thought that during that hour or so, they were moved, and they cared.

The airing "Portrait of a hill station" has been moved to December 14, 2008, 7:00PM on SkyCable (Baguio) Channel 12.

You get the picture

2008-11-23T19:12:00.000+08:00

Really, the picture Jocelyn Bolante painted at the Senate inquiry into
the alleged fertilizer scam back in 2004, is an ugly one. Sure he
tried to coat the real picture with layers and layers of tall tales,
tales too tall to be true. Sorry, Joc, it's an ugly picture, and
that's the way I see it.

The premise: P728 Million was released by the Department of Budget and
Management in February of 2004. The fund was supposed to finance
various farming projects all over the country, with the noble aim of
benefitting the country's farmers, to which group much of the
country's poorest belongs to. The fund did not specify for which
project it should be spent, the local government units that received
the money were free to spend their share for whatever purpose they
deem their constituency needed more urgently.

He thought that the picture he was showing us yesterday showed that
there was absolutely nothing wrong with the whole thing. And that's
exactly what was wrong with the picture: how do you explain then his
desperate efforts to avoid testifying at the Senate inquiry for four
years, going as far as seeking asylum in the United States if there
was nothing wrong with the picture? Not to mention his last minute
efforts to prevent himself from facing the inquiry by holing himself
up in a hospital as soon as he arrived in the country.

At yesterday's hearing, Bolante wanted us to believe that it was just
a coincidence that most of those who received the money needed the
same thing: liquid fertilizer. That was part of the picture he
painted, almost all the farmers in the country needed the same thing,
whether they're rice, vegetable, tilapia or bangus farmers, they
needed fertilizer more than anything else. He also wanted us to
believe that coincidentally, almost all the local government units in
the country get their fertilizers from one particular supplier. That
it was just too bad that there were reports that these liquid
fertilizers were diluted with water, and that the fertilizers were
overpriced by as much as over 1,000(!) percent. That it was just a
coincidence that the money was released during the run up to the 2004
presidential elections.

A triple whammy, Senator Loren Legarda called it – it's more than just
a triple whammy: we have an undersecretary who was so powerful he can
have the release of hundreds of millions of pesos in a day; the money
was distributed among local politicians during the campaign period;
most of the fertilizers were bought from one supplier; farmers
complain that no fertilizer reached them and that a lot of those who
did receive the goods say the goods were bad; and bad goods were
grossly overpriced.

And Bolante wanted us to believe that there's nothing wrong with that picture.

Not only is the picture so wrong, the saddest thing is that that same
picture is painted all the time all over the country in practically
all branches of the government. The same picture is painted whenever a
local government official puts his name on a billboard next to a
waiting shed, or deep well, or road construction project; whenever a
politician approves a useless projects such as a concrete pine tree
instead of using the money to truly serve the people; whenever a
policeman offers you to settle a traffic violation fine "on site"
earning him "pang-kape." You get the picture.

Pang-kape or P728 Million, the picture is as ugly.

Flattening the pyramids

2008-11-05T07:27:00.000+08:00

In the beginning, there was space, and the space was beautiful. And Burnham said, let there be parks. And a hundred years ago, he reserved the choicest part of that space as that - a park, an open space where everything else in the future city spring from. Around it are the bare necessities – a town hall on one end, a government center on the other, parallel to it was the central business district, and emanating from that space, like a spider web, are the roads that led to residential areas enough for what he thought was this beautiful space's carrying capacity – 25,000 residents.

Surrounding this charming open space were scenic mountain sides, and so he said that no structure should be built that would ruin the picturesque skyline of the future city of Baguio. That open space eventually bore his name.

While other cities with a much bigger land area would have a park or two at most, for some none at all, Baguio's design included several open spaces. Daniel H. Burnham, renowned city planner during his time with several prominent beautiful city plans to his name, wanted to make the most of and protect what Baguio had - its cool climate, its unique landscape and wonderful scenery.

Fast forward a hundred years hence, and that cool climate is being threatened with pollution, that landscape unique only in how so many structures can be crammed into such limited space, and that picturesque backdrop gone, buried behind and under towering hotels and commercial buildings. How could they have missed the point?

Why did the people in charge of the city's public transportation think it was right to clog Baguio's narrow roads with thousands of extra taxicabs and jeepneys when even on the busiest days, a lot of these polluters are without passengers? While our city officials stand on the steps of city hall proclaiming to whoever cares to listen to them that Baguio is a character city, right behind them just a stone's throw away are sleazy establishments that proclaim to everyone passing that Baguio has become a city of characters.

How could they think that Baguio is much better off with several imposing shopping malls? How could they think that Baguio needs three golf courses? How could they think that Baguio can carry garbage from more than 250,000 residents instead of from 25,000? How could they think that Baguio is a prettier site with towering commercial billboards?

How could they think that developing Baguio means getting rid of what it is all about: its natural beauty.

You don't carve the rice terraces to make way for condominium buildings, or flatten the pyramids to make way for a mall, or put tarpaulins on the Eiffel tower to sell cellular phones, or hold a tiangge at Stonehenge.

Nothing says it better than Joni Mitchell: "They paved paradise to put up a parking lot."

And Baguio's parks, or at least whatever remains of them? When they're not being used for trade fairs and motorcycle races, they're a reminder to all of us: we don't know what we've got 'til it's gone.

If they can't follow something as simple as...

2008-10-24T21:49:00.003+08:00

What is it? A government vehicle. Parked right on the sidewalk. Where is this? Right beside the Baguio City Hall(!), and right across Baguio Central School. See those kids crossing the street? Well, those kids would be forced to walk on the street instead of on the sidewalk. I guess the driver of this vehicle didn't mind endangering the lives of those young children.

(*Photo courtesy of Jojo Lamaria)

Unconquerable Igorots

2008-10-23T09:57:00.001+08:00

Portrait of a hill station. Coming this December, 2008. SkyCable (Baguio) Channel 12.

For inquiries: email altomonte.projects@gmail.com

25,000 to 250,000 in 100 years

2008-10-21T08:04:00.003+08:00

Portrait of a hill station. Coming this December, 2008. SkyCable (Baguio) Channel 12.

For inquiries: email altomonte.projects@gmail.com

Here to stay

2008-10-18T10:43:00.006+08:00

One hardly hears of good news about Baguio these days. Whether you get it on print, the world wide web or from stories told in coffee shops along Session Road, the sentiment is the same: there's hardly anything left of the Baguio we all knew. Makes you wonder why you're still blogging about the city in some internet cafe in town instead of in some far away land where the money's better, the air is cleaner and the surroundings are greener.

A friend who has since left Baguio with her family after living here for almost two decades once said that the only thing left in Baguio is the cool climate. And that too isn't as cool as it was before, perhaps thanks to more motor vehicles coughing up toxic fumes into the air and with this more engines heating up the city. Not to mention the hot air that comes from mouths of people in high places - but that only heats up people's heads. I digress.

On a bad day I would tend to agree with my friend - on a day when the traffic is so bad it takes you a full hour to cover a three-kilometer distance. Or when they close Session Road to vehicles for a week during Panagbenga for "Session Road in Bloom" which, with all the stench and garbage generated by the hundreds of stalls selling hotdogs and sweet corn and cellphones and hotdogs and sweet corn and cellphones (and a couple of stalls actually selling flowers, the supposed point of the whole festival), feels more like Session Road's doom. Or when I'm refused by a taxi driver because he doesn't feel like driving to where I wanna go, or when a friend shows up with bruises all over and a swollen jaw and a missing phone and wallet, no thanks to a taxi driver slash hold-upper and his cohort who hid in the back of his cab and pounced on my friend who didn't have a clue because he hailed that cab a stone's throw away from the Baguio City Police Office. Or when, you know, you're in the middle of it all and Baguio just doesn't feel like Baguio anymore.

But there are good days, days when there's still so much more to Baguio than its cool climate. There's still that hardly known spot somewhere in Wright Park where you can lay down on a mat on the grass and let your children run wild among the trees and up and down the hill on a clear day.

That same area still offers the best option for afternoon walks - just around the lagoon or through the Little Flower convent up Outlook drive and back towards the Mansion House.

On another afternoon, we brought the kids with us for a jog in Burnham Park, after which some friends met up with us and while the kids went crazy on those trikes for rent,

behind us there were girls flying high up in the air rehearsing a cheerleading routine...

and teen-aged boys doing their own stunts on skateboards and improvised ramps and pipes.

While a pair of much younger boys amazed us with their rollerblading skills as they wheezed past lovers and vendors and a guy getting a full body massage (!)

next to vendor selling hot coffee in the skating rink. At that time of the day, when the sun is already setting, you can rent a boat "one-to-sawa" for the price of an hour.

You can hear the distant crash of cymbals and the distorted guitar sounds and you know there's one of those free concerts going on at the big mall up on a hill, and you're glad tha there's still so much going on outside those concrete walls, and you look around you, out there in the open air, with enough room to stretch out your arms and legs and breath in a deep sigh and as the fog comes down on this weary city, it makes you smile knowing that there's still so much more to Baguio than just the cool climate.

And that's why you stay.

Dave Tabligan - a tribute

2008-10-13T11:22:00.004+08:00

Overloaded

2008-10-12T17:47:00.005+08:00

It is true that Baguio was originally designed for a population of 25,000 residents, but the city's population exceeded that number just a few decades since its charter... 25, 50, 100 thousand... we don't need statistics, just looking at images such as this one, something's got to be done.

And motherhood statements from our politicians do nothing.

Ahhh, Session Road

2008-10-11T09:52:00.010+08:00

Many years ago, on one of my numerous trips to Baguio as a visitor, I went for a walk to and around Burnham Park, and, awed by the beauty of the fog descending on the city right before sunset, just as the Burnham photographers were hoping for a memory or two more to capture before calling it a day, just as the students were rushing to the park for a half hour of boating or biking with friends before going home, I looked for a perfect spot to keep still and better appreciate the wonderful scene. I found that spot somewhere at the Rose Garden, afternoon sun through the trees on a slope covered by green grass, and with a book in my pocket, I sat down and tried to read. But the beauty of it all - the trees, the fog, the cool Baguio air, the people, was keeping me from enjoying what I was reading, a welcome distraction, so I closed the book and instead watched Baguio end another day. That was a beautiful afternoon.

Another afternoon several years ago, this time I was already living here, we hopped on to a friend's pick-up truck and made our way to Marlboro Country (which some would say is better experienced on horseback) for a picnic. We had our children with us who were crazy about Harry Potter (they have just seen the HP and the Sorcerer's Stone) and while us, the parents, sitting on cold, wet grass, enjoying the cool mountain air talking about where the Baguio arts scene seems to be headed, the children were all over the hills running around on their broomsticks and magic wands running away from and fighting off imaginary monsters. Every detail of that afternoon plays out in slow motion in my head now. The moment was priceless.

Once we were shooting a music video for a band, and the story revolved around images of life in Baguio then and now. There was a scene wherein two boys were floating a paper boat on a brook, running down a hill trying to get a kite in the air, and walking along a narrow path in a pine forest. The video ended with the band, then already making a name for themselves in Manila, performing in front of a local crowd, just like the old days. I look back and remember filming those scenes more than I remember the music video itself.

See, Baguio has so many faces, it leaves an impression on people in so many different ways. It's the fog, it's the pine trees, it's the sunflowers, it's Mines View Park, it's the market, it's the strawberries, and lately to some, sadly, it's the mall.

In the more than ten years since I decided to make Baguio my home, there are two things that most significantly help define the life that I have made for myself here: Theater and Session Road.

Theater is the medium I have chosen to tell my stories. And Session Road is where I sit still and listen to stories. It's where Baguio people's lives meet, interconnect, intertwine. Session Road is where it's all at, for me, what it's all about. Almost everyone in Baguio can put Session Road as their address in their calling card, this is where you find almost everybody - waiting for a ride home, having coffee, or a beer, having breakfast, lunch or dinner. Buying a notebook, or a pen. Depositing money in or getting money from the bank. Watching a parade, or making a scene. Avoiding or bumping into someone. Getting medicine for a nagging headache, or hunting for that rare movie on pirated dvd.

Session Road is where you feel the pulse of the city, its aspirations, its frustrations.

Though it's true that Session Road is almost unrecognizable these days, its real face hidden behind all those commercial billboards and smog, but that unique Session Road feel remains - the Benguet brew served in glasses and not in mugs, the amulets and herbal medicine in one corner, and the religious figurines in another, the hand-painted t-shirts and native crafts on one sidewalk, the newspapers and secondhand books on another.

Puso Ng Baguio, one building along the road is named. It may very well be the name of the road itself. Theater and Session Road - come to think of it, the short stretch of road may very well be the arena in which the main plot of the city's story is played out.

Ahhh, Session Road.

May pulis sa ilalim ng tulay and a photojournalist

2008-09-27T10:15:00.003+08:00

Much have been said about the case of a photojournalist who had a run in with a taxi driver. According to media accounts, what was simply a fender-bender case got blown out of proportion when other cab drivers came to the rescue of the taxi driver whose cab was accidentally hit by the photojournalist as he tried to maneuver out of his parking spot. The photojournalist drew his gun, and some 80 hours of jail time later, the crap hit the fan. While media attention has been focused on the legality of the media person's incarceration, and the alleged conspiracy involving the arresting officers, let's not forget another major issue in this brouhaha: the mafia composed of two-way radio-toting cab drivers. At this point I'd like to narrate a quite similar incident that happened to us:

It was during the flower fest several years ago, it was nighttime and getting a cab was quite an ordeal. And not just because there were lots of passengers and not enough taxis to go around, but also because a lot of the taxi drivers wouldn't take in passengers if they didn't like the destination. While waiting for a cab, we bumped into a couple of friends who have also been waiting for a ride home for hours already. Finally, at the corner of Gov. Pack and Harrison, we were able to flag one down. We lived in Quezon Hill then, and our friends lived in Irisan, so we decided to just share the cab. When we told the driver our itinerary, he refused, saying that he won't take the short detour through 1st Road before going to Irisan. We offered to pay for the flag down to Quezon Hill, and then he can reset his meter for the trip to Irisan, and yet he still refused. I asked him then to drop us off instead at the Baguio City Police Office for two reasons: to subtly remind him that what he's doing is illegal and also I thought we had a better chance of flagging down another cab in front of a police station. After a threatening "A, ganon?!?," he pulled out his radio and called for back-up. Not knowing exactly what was happening, I told him to just let us out and we'll just try to hail another cab. He refused to let us out, he kept going. He finally stopped at the corner where Baguio Patriotic School is and in a matter of seconds, three other cabs surrounded us. We immediately got out of the cab but we were practically held hostage by the four cab drivers, hurling threats and provocations while preventing us from leaving. We had just finished shooting the Dial 117 infomercial at the time and luckily, we still had the mobile phone number of a policeman who helped coordinate the production. I called the number and when they heard that I was talking to the police, they rushed back to their cabs and drove away.

I recognize the pros of having cab drivers equipped with communication equipment - they can easily call for help during an emergency, they can update each other on road traffic situations, report criminal activity that they chance upon, etc. But, as in most of us who are given even just a hint of power, like those abusive police interns who think that their uniforms entitle them to lord it over private citizens, we abuse that power. That's what those two-way radios have become for taxi drivers: power, power that they abuse. That piece of communication equipment have turned local cab drivers, once known for being among the most courteous and honest in the country, into thugs, some kind of a mafia no one should dare go against. And it's not even a case of a few bad apples ruining the whole lot in the basket - on the road, they fill up the whole side of lower Abanao Street or Session Road, to wait for passengers, unmindful of the traffic mess they create in doing so. They drive like maniacs on busy roads endangering both themselves and pedestrians. Going to Loakan, or San Luis, or Tam-awan, or Tip-top at night? Good luck finding a cab that will take you there, and if they do, more often than not, they'll charge you double for "backload."

See, at the end of the day, remember that ditty, "May Pulis Sa Ilalim Ng Tulay?" In that song, beginning with seeing a policeman with a rotten bag of pancit under a bridge, depending on which version you know, it goes on to say that, "namatay ang aso na kumain sa patay na pusa na kumain sa patay na daga na kumain sa panis na pancit ng pulis sa ilalim ng tulay." While it is necessary to investigate the death of the dog, let's not forget to look into that rotten bag of pancit and what that cop was doing under the bridge in the first place. While we do need to look into the alleged violation of the journalist's basic rights in this case, and perhaps even the alleged conspiracy between the cab driver involved and the arresting officers to file trumped-up charges against the journalist, let's not forget to look into how it all began - cab drivers who illegally take up half of Session Road at night and abusing the power they get from those two-way radios.

Halfway

2008-09-20T06:38:00.001+08:00

So, here you are.

Yup, here I am.

So, here is… where?

Here.

Here…?

(Blackout).

If I were to write a play on how I feel now that I have reached what may be my life's halfway mark (that would be nice, if that's the way this year turns out to be: the halfway mark), it would be a very short performance. Every week when I set myself in front of the computer to write my article for this column, I stare into space for a few moments listening to myself, trying to figure out what's affecting me the most at the moment and if that would be worth a couple of minutes of the reader's life. Well, today I know that the following is what's been eating me up lately, and it's worth all the world to me.

So I am here. Next to me, sleeping on the mattresses on the floor are a good woman and three wonderful children. Somewhere not too far from here are two equally wonderful children and in my mind all of them are together right here with me right now, as they always have been since they came into my life. Hundreds of stories and thousands of photographs and a million triumphs and regrets and 35 years later, they're all I have that truly matters to me. They will be right here tomorrow when I take that long drive home, they will be right here the next time I take a bow in front of an audience and the next time I curl up in a corner in shame. Nothing can take them away from me, as there is nothing that can take me away from them.

They say that a man's life is divided into 7-year phases – the first 7 years I was introduced to the world I live in; the next 7 I tried to fit in, 14-21 I looked for my own specific spot in this universe, all of the 4^th phase I questioned my choices as much as I believed them, and the last 7 years I tried to realize what the point of it all is.

Today I begin the 6^th phase knowing what truly matters to me and the rest of my life: that beautiful woman who has shared my life since I began believing and questioning my choices and all through out the years when I was trying to figure out what this is all about. And the 5 wonderful children who are at different 7-year phases themselves: two of them just woke up and game me a hug and a kiss and said, "Happy birthday, Papa," while the same message just came in on my mobile phone from the eldest of the five.

(Lights on)

Yes, right here.

But really, where's that?

(Freeze.)

Thirty five years seem to have passed all too quickly, and I know the rest of my life will be over in the blink of the universal eye. But that's ok, everything's gonna be alright. Because now I know that this is what it's all about: The people I love with all my heart and the people who have loved all of me with all of theirs. And nothing else. I will hold their hands and face the rest of our lives together, no matter what.

And adding to Baguio's current woes... Police Interns

2008-09-05T10:56:00.005+08:00

We heard that there's a new guy on top of the Baguio City Police Office, I just hope he can do something about these clowns:

You can't miss these guys, they've been all over town lately which makes one think that Criminology is the new Nursing. Though I never had to deal with them directly, I have always wondered what kind of education or training these young men are getting, what sort of advice they get from those who've been on the force for a long time already. They swagger their way through the crowds on the sidewalks of Session Road, though still without a real badge and firearms, you can feel their bloated egos through those crisp uniforms and shiny shoes... and if your eyes happen to meet theirs, you know it's not saying "we're here to serve and protect you," instead, you can almost hear them say, "I've got power, you don't, I can make your life miserable."

That they did on Baguio Day at the University of Baguio-Gym.

We were called to help stage the morning program in celebration of Bagiuo's 99th Charter Day. The call came just a week before the event and we were only supposed to handle the segment wherein this year's Outstanding Citizens of Baguio will be awarded. But as the day drew nearer, the more apparent that we were gonna do the whole event - creative direction, production and stage management and all. We called on our artist friends and asked if they would be kind enough to make themselves available for the program on such short notice and luckily they all said yes, even on such short notice. It's all for Baguio, so why not.

The morning of the day came and it's as if having to fend off the efforts by some sectors to sabotage the event (for what reason other than more bloated and misplaced egos I don't know), this particular police intern added to our woes.

Our musical director arrived an hour and a half before the event and stopped at the gate nearest to the gym to unload sound equipment (which he was lending to the event free of charge), and a police intern approached. I don't know if arrogance and ignorance is S.O.P. in our police force, but he screamed into our musical director's face, in full view and within earshot of everybody in the area, to get his car out of there, because it's a no parking zone. Our guy explained that he wasn't parking his car, he was just unloading equipment (again, equipment that he was lending for free on short notice). No, the intern insisted, it's a no parking zone, so move it. To have a better picture of how arrogant the police intern was, our musical director came in as traumatized as someone who had just been in one of those rooms in some military camp with an overhead lamp and interrogated by the military. I thought he was gonna have a heart attack.

I went out to talk to the police intern. I found him easily, he had this smirk on his ugly face. I asked him if the arrogance was really necessary, considering that the guy he was screaming at practically saved the day for the City Government by lending his equipment for free. His reply:

"Bakit, libre rin naman naming ginagawa 'to a."

No, dumbass, you weren't doing it for free, by being on duty you were earning credits that you need to get that diploma in the hope that when you graduate, you will finally be given a real badge and, God forbid, a firearm, so that you can, though I can't seem to see you ever doing this, serve and protect civilians. See, I've seen your kind at the police stations when I was given the run around a couple of months ago when I asked for protection because the matter would have entailed a lot of paper work. I've seen your kind at the corner where Skyworld used to be turning a blind eye to the watch-your-car-men who lead motorists to no-parking zones creating a traffic mess right in the middle of the central business district. I've seen your kind driving those police cars around town going through red lights and against the flow on one-way streets because you think that being a law enforcer entitles you to break the law, no matter how simple those laws may be.

As if it's not enough that Baguio's pine forests are fast disappearing, that gone are the days when we were famous for having the most courteous taxi drivers because now they're no different from their Manila counterparts who overcharge passengers and deny them service if the passenger happened to be going somewhere they don't feel like going to, it's not enough that we have a garbage crisis... if these arrogant police interns is the future of our police force, then we're in for more woes.

And to those in charge of these clowns' education, what are you teaching them? Because if there's one thing that these interns, and maybe even a lot of those who are already full-fledged policemen, and maybe even our elected officials, should learn, it's that being a law enforcer is not about power, it is a responsibility. If you're in there for the money and the power, don't add anymore to the already rotten government system, this country can do without you.

Be a politician instead, at least we'll have the choice not to vote for you.

Happy Birthday, Baguio!

2008-08-31T10:53:00.001+08:00

By the time this sees print, it would be a day before Baguio’s 99th Charter Day. Tomorrow, we could sit back and look at our 99 year-old city and see what have become of this American dream of a hill station up in the cool mountains of the Cordilleras. I may have written about the city’s brief history before, but looking back again as we look forward to the city’s birthday is something I just couldn’t resist.

A little over a hundred years ago, soon after taking over the archipelago from the Spaniards, the Americans heard of a highland oasis that the previous colonizers planned to turn into a sanitarium, thanks to Professor Dean C. Worcester, the only ranking American official who has lived in the country during the Spanish occupation. Worcester, a zoologist, has made expeditions in different parts of the country between the years 1887 (the year Jose Rizal rocked the country with his “Noli”) and 1893 (about the time the Katipunan was slowly turning into a formidable revolutionary force that would eventually open the doors to Philippine independence). During that time, he learned of the planned Spanish hill station in nearby La Trinidad, Benguet. As a member of the Schurman Commission, the group formed to investigate the environmental conditions up here, Worcester came across a detailed report of a previous commission tasked to do the same thing: the Benguet Commission under the Spanish Governor General Ramon Blanco. And that set off a series of events, fortunate and unfortunate, the realization of the Baguio dream.

It didn’t happen overnight, and several times the whole dream was threatened. Upon visiting the area, the Americans decided that Kafagway, an area that approximates the present site of Baguio City, then divided primarily among Carino, Suello, Carantes, Camdas and Molintas families, was the better site for the future hill station, mainly because of its better accessibility from the lowlands (ha!). The first thing they needed was a road to get there, and here lies the first major setback.

They wanted a railroad from the lowlands up to Baguio, and thought that the trail the runs alongside the Bued river was the best route. The first man tasked to build that road (which was supposedly a mere prelude to a railroad), was Captain Charles Mead, who greatly underestimated the challenges posed by the conditions of the area. What the Americans thought would take only a year to build took 5 years, and would cost only $75,000 in the end cost $2,000,000. And after two failed attempts to complete the Benguet road and millions of dollars in taxpayers’ money and several years, what did the Americans have to show up in the proposed hill station? A tiny hospital and meager lodging facilities. The clamor to abandon what the people believed was a wasteful project aimed to benefit only the elite became stronger and stronger, but the resolve of the Americans seemed to grow stronger than that clamor.

But When Lyman Kennon took over the construction of the road, the dream came closer to realization. Construction activities went into high gear when Kennon made significant developments in the road’s construction, and when he announced in January of 1905 that the “road as it stands is entirely completed and ready…,” Baguio was on a one way road to becoming one of the most beautiful hill stations in the world.

Burnham entered the picture and provided one of the beautiful designs for a future city (of 25,000 people by the way). What was once planned to be a mere sanitarium took a life of its own and became a premier rest and recreation center, helped in so many ways by the declaration of Baguio as the country’s Summer Capital which meant that for a period of time when the heat becomes unbearable in the country’s capital, Manila, the seat of government and its functions are transferred to Baguio.

Here’s my two centavos’ worth: in the decades that followed after 1909 when Baguio became a chartered city, Baguio became one of the most beautiful cities in the world, famous for its pine forests and sunflower covered hillsides and cool climate. But in the last decade or so, we seem to have thrown all that away in the name of mindless hyper-urbanization and to sustain some people’s greed and gambling addictions.

Happy birthday, Baguio! I pray that your people would once again be bound by a sense of community and deliver you from all evil.

Cordillera Today, August 31, 2008 issue

Slaves

2008-08-18T07:30:00.001+08:00

At Puerto de San Juan Beach Resort in La Union, we made our way to a table at the restaurant for lunch. I called the attention of a waiter, who signaled for me to wait as he took the orders of another group at another table. After writing down that group’s preference, he proceeded to give the list to the kitchen before making his way to our table with menus.

We already knew what we wanted, and as I was giving him our orders, a Caucasian male with his girlfriend entered the restaurant and while I was in midsentence, the waiter took off to seat the foreigner and his girlfriend, gave them menus, and with a huge patronizing smile on his face, took their orders. He passed our table on his way to the kitchen, and I called his attention once again to tell him that we weren’t done yet, and he grudgingly stopped to get the rest of our orders.

Racism in this country is puzzling – we are biased against ourselves.

I wanted to tell the waiter that we’re not under colonial rule anymore, but of course his attitude could’ve been motivated by the prospect of a tip in green bucks.

I was cast in a movie produced by a Dutch production outfit years back, and I experienced the same odd case of racism – I arrived at the set one morning, the location was up in the mountains and quite far away from the nearest available restroom, and the site of a portable toilet greeted me with a huge sign that said “For Foreign Cast” only. Of course I explained to the local crew that we Filipino actors experience calls of nature too, and when I didn’t get an explanation, I brought my case to the Dutch producer – I told him how they can probably make their racist biases more discreet, and I was bowled over by his reply: having the portable toilets exclusively for the use of their kind was not their idea and that they were as taken aback as I was.

In Baguio, a look at the Sunday classifieds would reveal several ads for houses for rent with this qualifier at the end: “Preferably Foreigners.” Or if the ad came with a description of the house saying how beautiful it is, chances are it would be concluded with “Ideal For Foreigners,” as if Filipinos have no business living in a house with a fireplace and a dirty kitchen. And no, the Baguio Country Club’s decision to ban Koreans hardly makes things any better.

In Malou Jacob’s play, “Pepe,” a line goes: “Noon, ang mga Kastila’y kinamuhian naming. Ngayon, ang mga banyagang nagsasamantala sa inyo’y tinitingala, pinagsisilbihan, minamahal.”

More than a hundred years after the Spaniards left, and more than fifty years after the Americans gave us our independence (or dumped us, depending on which historical author you patronize), we’re still slaves.

Ay, kawawang bayan. Gising!

You don't know what you've got til it's gone

2008-08-02T21:05:00.004+08:00

Baguio was never about a mall, nor was it ever about a grand parade of floats bedecked with fake flowers. It's not about the humongous P100,000-day convention center, nor the proposed multi-storey parking structure, it was never about having a multimillion-peso concrete pine tree. It's not about having thousands of taxicabs on the road, or having enough hotels to host an advertising congress, or that many call centers, or pseudo-English language schools.

Next time you're on your way to town, leave your car and take a jeep. Listen in on the conversation between the driver who's been plying the same route for decades and the old man who's been riding the same jeep in that same seat ever since he was a young high school boy at City High – they know what they're talking about.

Take a walk through Burnham Park, and hear the laughter of the children at the swings, have your portrait taken by a photographer who've captured the portraits of generations of families, friends, lovers who have made the air and the trees of the park an indelible part of their lives, buy a bag of peanuts and just watch the world go by, or stay still, under the trees and watch the fog hover just above the lake as boats full of smiles come in and out of view, or walk over to where the men play chess and watch the game while having your shoes shined.

Weave through the jeeps and the pedestrian traffic and stop to say hello to an old friend and have a nice steaming Benguet brew in a glass in any of the restaurants along Session Road that have witnessed the transformation of the city through the years.

You don't need to line up at the check-out counter with your vacuum-packed stale vegetables – you can get them fresh at the city market where every single carrot, potato and tomato was picked, cleaned and offered by hands that came from generations of vegetable farmers who have tended the same farms through the years. Get lost in the aroma of freshly ground Benguet, Kalinga or Sagada Coffee. Have your pinikpikan chicken prepared right before your eyes just the way it's supposed to be done.

Treasure the sight of sunflowers that begin to bloom in November, smell the pine-scented smoke coming from a freshly swept yard, pick-up a pine cone and see that tiny pine nut and wonder how that glorious tree hovering over you can came from something so small, so fragile, and imagine what you can do to protect it.

These are just some of the things that make Baguio… Baguio: taken for granted, ignored, buried under tons of uncollected garbage and smog, hidden behind newspaper headlines, unheard of amid the din of political, commercial and industrial noise.

Hush, clean up the mess and all these things will come back to the surface, revealing the real image of a city we all love.

It's so true: You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone.

Saliw - isang panalangin.

2008-07-23T21:21:00.000+08:00

So simple. Or so it seemed.

2008-07-20T07:42:00.003+08:00

While some of our local politicians were at the posh CAP Convention Center ensuring the future of their respective political careers by pledging allegiance to the party in power, we were out in the streets shooting video footages for our performance last night at the Atrium of SM City Baguio, Sa Saliw Ng Mga Gangsa, a musical revue that celebrates life in the Cordilleras, in line with the region’s celebration of Cordillera Day.

While we went out with the intention of putting together video collages that depicts the beauty of life in these mountains, it’s not that easy to find beauty these days particularly when you’re on Session Road. Last week I wrote about the chaos that is Calderon Street. Now add piles of uncollected garbage on practically every street corner, and what we’ll have in the coming days is a stinking anarchy.

GMA was here, I wonder if those helicopters hovering all over the city saw what the city is like these days. But I doubt it, they’re too far up there to notice the gory details.

Because the dumpsite in Irisan has been closed, things are once again going to get ugly in the city, just like last year when the implementation of the garbage segregation scheme was met with confusion and indifference by a lot of residents. But that’s a actually a new issue that I hope would not bury another that I believe requires much attention: what happens to the segregated garbage after they’re collected from the streets? Is it true they all get dumped together at the dumpsite anyway? So all the effort demanded from the residents to do their share to realize that dream of a “Malinis na Baguio” was for nothing?

More questions: wasn’t the garbage segregation scheme a part of the city’s supposed ten-year comprehensive waste management program? A comprehensive ten-year program and merely a year later the city’s caught by surprise by the closure of Irisan? That doesn’t sound so comprehensive to me. That doesn’t sound like much of a program to me.

Where are we going? In just a couple of hours of shooting those footage, we had a mini-dv tape full of images of a decaying city: People jaywalking right where the “No Jaywalking” signs are. Jeeps loading and unloading passengers right where the “No Loading/Unloading” signs are. It makes you wonder how those Trancoville and Aurora Hill Jeeps get away with it behind the post office in full view of the dreaded Traffic Management Group and policemen patrolling the area. Garbage dumped right below “Bawal Magtapon ng Basura” signs. Cars parked right where the “No Parking” signs are.

It seemed as if everybody just stopped caring. It seemed as if nobody respects the law anymore. It seemed as if nobody’s in charge.

What are these signs for? What are these a sign of?

The laws are there, all we need to do is implement them. So simple. Or so it seemed.

(Tales From a Hill Station, Cordillera Today, July 20 issue)

Oh, please...

2008-07-14T18:19:00.000+08:00

Where is Calderon Street?

2008-07-13T21:56:00.003+08:00

There are “No Parking” signs all over the place: along the side where Prime Hotel is, across it where Skyworld used to be, at the triangle a little further in, so why is Calderon street filled with parked vehicles all day long?

On any given day, during the afternoon rush hour, this is what welcomes you along Calderon: Going up the road from Harrison Road, you’re stuck in a gridlock because there are no traffic lights which comes as a surprise considering how busy that intersection is: perhaps at least half of all the jeeps in the city pass there, add to that the taxis, the private vehicles that are either passing through, or filling up at the gas station at the corner, or getting a carwash across it.

Finally you get out of the jam and your vehicle crawls at an agonizing 5-10 feet per minute if you’re driving. After several minutes, you finally go past Burnham Hotel, and see the reason for your misery: More cars, most of them imposing gas-guzzlers parked right next to “No Parking” signs. Out of nowhere, “parking attendants/watch-your-car boys” appear from nowhere flagging you down to offer you a parking spot. And because it’s 4PM and they can’t park along Session road anymore, and they don’t wanna pay P25.00 to park inside SM, or around P50.00 at the Baguio Cathedral or Porta Vaga parking lots if they’re gonna park for more than a couple of hours, those who accept the services of one of these “parking attendants/watch-your-car boys” are led to where? Another “No Parking” spot.

It’s a jungle out there, anarchy rules all day long. Delivery motorcycles spilling out towards the middle of the road, next to that an illegally parked armored vehicle surrounded by intimidating heavily armed guards, and if that isn’t enough to create a road traffic mess, those who are too lazy to walk more than 10 feet to where they’re going from their vehicles would double park right next to the illegally parked cars leaving hardly enough room for vehicles to pass through. That leaves you with no option but to overtake and go into counter flow, which brings you head on with oncoming vehicles turning right from Session Road going the other way – a pissing match begins:

The car ahead honks his horn at you, and you do the same to the double parked vehicle. The driver of the car ahead sticks out his head and shouts obscenities your way, you stick out your head and shout obscenities at the driver of the double parked vehicles (if there’s a driver in there, otherwise your screaming at a non-living thing).

In the meantime, the car in front of you continues his honking, the cars behind it are honking, the cars behind you are honking, you’re honking, and suddenly a “parking attendants/park/watch-your-car boy” appears from nowhere to save day. NOT. He goes right in the middle of the snarl not to untangle the mess, but to signal for everyone to stop for a client of his getting his/her illegally parked car out.

And then you see a couple of police officers at the corner, taking out license plates from one, two, three or four illegally parked cars on Session Road and you wonder why they’re not doing the same to all those illegally parked cars on Calderon Street.

And then you stop wondering when the “parking attendants/ watch-your-car boy” collects his fee from his client, and walks away leaving you at the mercy once again of the car ahead of you, the cars behind it, the cars behind you, and the cars behind them… etc.

Where is Calderon Street ? Is it far away from the center of the city that would somehow make it understandable that nobody in authority notices the anarchy that goes on there everyday?

Nope, it’s right there. It’s just that there’s a big difference between not seeing something and looking the other way.

(Tales From a Hill Station, Cordillera Today, July 13 Issue)

CCP Complex

2008-07-06T22:26:00.004+08:00

CCP (Cultural Center of the Philippines) Complex – a sprawling haven for culture and the arts located along Roxas Boulevard that includes several world-class theaters, museums, galleries and home to the country’s supposed best arts and culture companies.

CCP Complex - Also a psychological condition that makes the afflicted believe that any artistic output that comes from beyond the boulevard and the breakwaters of Manila Bay is inferior.

I must admit I too once had the aforementioned condition, until I stage managed a production that toured the whole country for a whole month and got exposed to the artworks in the regions, from Baguio to Marawi. I knew then that I would get out of CCP soon after the tour. And I did. And I moved to Baguio , around 12 years ago.

Last night a colleague informed me of a group’s interest to feature our productions in a local institution that’s being re-packaged as a cultural and educational destination – they’re interested because it would be much more cost effective to hire a local group to stage a play rather than bring a whole production from Manila . Though I’d rather hear that they’re interested because they believe in what the local artists can deliver, beggars can’t be choosers. And this is among the reasons why I left Manila more than a decade ago to live in Baguio – I just couldn’t stand the arrogance of Manileños in their belief that the best things in this country can only be found in Manila , and everything that comes from beyond the toll gates of both the North and South Expressways are inferior. You patronize artists in the regions only when the budget can’t afford the Manila variety.

They probably haven’t heard the compositions of Ethan Andrew Ventura, and the way he plays his guitar. His work was featured recently in a concert in a mall and the music he composed for Rizal’s Me Ultimo Adios gave me goose-bumps. Or perhaps they haven’t been to a jazz jam session at Overtones, one of many places in the city that houses exceptional local talents. Too bad, most of them never get to sit down and listen to Emerald Ventura, Ro Quintos, Jef Coronado, Cholo Virgo, Yoshi Capuyan, Arkhe Sorde Salcedo, Ramirr Grepo, Jenny Cariño, Sunshine Gutierrez, Mary Raquel, Ron Ruiz, Patchi Viray, SLU’s Glee Club, the reggae bands in Baguio, or the rock ones in nearby La Trinidad, and many others whose music can blow you away.

Perhaps they’ve never been to an exhibit by the Tahong Bundok group at the Baguio Convention Center – watercolors of a beautiful city that hypnotize, or the ongoing exhibit at the Café by the Ruins – coffee on paper, different shades of sepia that calms the spirit, or the photography of local lensmen on Multiply.com that can rival those that hang on Manila’s expensive gallery walls, or the VOCAS group’s multimedia explorations that challenge and provoke the mind.

They’ve never sat in a local writers’ group’s open mic session. They’ve never been to an SLU musical. They’ve never seen Tropang Paltok’s street theater performances. The now Manila-based Pinikpikan charges to perform what one could normally hear for free on the steps of La Azotea or the Dap-ay of Café by the Ruins. Manila charges hundreds to thousands for what one could get into on less than a hundred bucks’ ticket price, or in most cases on a complimentary pass, as in most local theatrical presentations.

And the sad thing is, the community encourages the discrimination against local artists whenever it turns to Manila for most major artistic or cultural outputs in the city. The city’s upcoming centennial celebration is dotted with non-Baguio groups and individuals running this and that show, the institution I mentioned above included.

And what do the Manila-based groups do? Hire local artists to do the job for them anyway, they get the lion’s share and the locals get chump change. But maybe that’s precisely the reason why the local artists continue to produce great art despite the situation: the main thing the fuels them is passion, and just like love, all the money in Manila can’t buy that.

TONYO

2008-06-25T09:37:00.001+08:00

The Rural Bank Of Itogon and The Office of the City Mayor, Baguio City

in cooperation with

Open Space Projects present...

TONYO - a performance art piece on the life of Gen. Antonio Luna by Rene Villanueva. Directed and to be performed by KM Altomonte.
June 28, 2008, Saturday, 6:30PM, The Atrium, SM City Baguio.

Admission is free.

Maligayang Bati, Pepe

2008-06-22T11:05:00.006+08:00

I just came from the marathon annual tribute to the National Hero at Luneta Park initiated by the Rizalistas. I was introduced to the group by Kidlat Tahimik who has been helping them out with the logistics of their yearly ritual. Last year, the main event was the human flag – hundreds of people in color-coded clothes forming the Philippine flag. This year, they decided to do almost the same thing, except this time they would be forming the Philippine map. I was asked to choreograph the hundreds of people into position.

I brought local photographer, Jojo Lamaria with me to help me out. At the Luneta the day before at noon, the group has erected a hut in the middle of the grounds that served as the headquarters, next to it they have already outlined the 35 x 55-meter Philippine map with lime dust and marked the different islands with small red, yellow and blue flags. We met with the 12 members of the group who would be helping us as assistant stage managers the next morning, along with Reyna Yolanda, the group’s current leader.

The plan was simple: I divided the whole area into twelve, assigning a segment to each of the assistant stage managers. We were to meet the hundreds of people who would fill up the map’s outline only on the day itself, but at least each of the twelve would only have to focus on a small specific area. Jojo and I left after the meeting to return later that night.

After deciding that being there a full 12 hours before the event won’t do any good, we went back to Luneta just after midnight. I have scheduled a production meeting at 4am with the group for last minute instructions, so we had a few hours to spare to get to know the Rizalistas.

A mass was about to start when we got there, at around 3AM, the Quirino Grandstand were filled with people in white – Reyna Auggusta was at the podium calling on all members to get ready for the mass. Moments later, a Babaylan entered and the mass began. The altar was set against a flag bearing the words, Tres Personas, Solo Dios. Across that on the wall of the altar are portraits of Rizal with different inscriptions at the bottom telling the hero’s various vocations: artist, writer, scientist, businessman, etc. the Babaylan ended the mass by blessing the crowd and performances followed.

One caught my attention: on one side of the stage were three singers: I was moving around a lot so I couldn’t hear every single word but they seemed to be singing the history and the vision of the group. On stage were dancers who moved in subtle movements to the rhythm not unlike that of the moro-moro. The performance lasted for I believe more than ten minutes and I was quite amazed by the ease in which the dancers executed their movements and the singers narrated their story – one wouldn’t fail to notice how much they have internalized the words and the music.

By sun up the group proceeded to the monument for the wreath laying ceremony. Problem: the guards of the Rizal monument refused to let them in for they “didn’t have a permit.” This is the only group, as far as I know, who seriously celebrates the birth of our national hero and honors him on the day of his birth and they wouldn’t let them in. A bureaucracy problem and burueacrat shows up. Bayani Fernando to the rescue, he makes a phone call and the group was finally allowed to honor Rizal.

I had my twelve assistants in position, and though the organizers allotted a couple of hours for us to finish forming the map, leading a group of indigenous peoples from various parts of the country, two ati-atihan groups, a marching band, members of the Rizalistas, into position took only about half an hour. And there it was: the first human map of the Philippines .

Just as the clouds partly covered the morning sun, from behind the grandstand a helicopter appeared and as it flew over the map, flower petals were dropped and the more than one thousand people that fromed the map raised their red, blue and yellow flags in the air in celebration.

The crowd dispersed towards the grandstand for the politicians’ speeches and closing ceremonies, and just as the last few souls left the flag, the clouds slowly moved to reveal the sun, and the rays that shone on the empty map gave me goosebumps, and then this:

A street child stood in the middle of the empty flag, and his eyes seemed to be asking: Now what?

For photos of the event, visit my site at www.altomonte.multiply.com.

Post Script to Pag-ibig Sa Tinubuang Lupa

2008-06-15T09:02:00.010+08:00

When our group was invited to do an Independence Day performance at the mall up there, the idea of performing for a pedestrian audience was quite a challenge for a group that’s used to performing in a regular theater set-up: proscenium stage, audience quietly seated on the other side of the theater’s proverbial fourth wall. Up there our audience would be constantly moving, faces constantly changing, minds wandering from one commodity to another, one sale price to

another. Our ideas would be competing with the loud speakers blaring out of every shop wanting to grab a customer’s attention.

And I thought: that’s exactly who we should be reaching with the ideas our performance wished to communicate.

Pag-ibig Sa Tinubuang Lupa is a poem written by Andres Bonifacio, and the title of the show. First, we, Ethan Andrew Ventura and I, selected a few literary works by various National Heroes. After coming up with the final list of poems, we proceeded to set these to music: Bonifacio’s “Pag-ibig Sa Tinubuang Lupa” and “Ang Katapusang Hibik Ng Pilipinas,” his Tagalog translation of Rizal’s “Mi Ultimo Adios,” Amado V. Hernandez’s “Kung Tuyo Na Ang Luha Mo, Aking Bayan,” Jose Corazon De Jesus’ “Bayan Ko” and “Pakikidigma.” We decided that the best finale would be the “Lupang Hinirang.” It was a quite a struggle getting this one onstage, and in the last 24 hours before curtain time, this is how we got there:

Rehearsals ended early the night before, around 8pm. Ethan and I finished composing and arranging and recording the original music for some of the poems just a couple of hours earlier that afternoon. We decided to just perform the existing music composed for “Pag-ibig Sa Tinubuang Lupa” and “Bayan Ko”, I don’t think we could’ve come up with better compositions than what was already there. After rehearsals, I settled infront of the computer to edit the videos, which I expected to finish in a couple of hours. We’ve decided just days before to complement the performance with a multimedia presentation projected on a screen which served as the stage’s only production design element. The sun was already rising when I started burning the DVD.

It’s been a huge learning experience for us, perhaps way more than it has been for the audience: We struggled through the poems' meanings, the context in which this and that line were written, what was perhaps going through the authors’ minds when they were composing the haunting lines.

And when some of us had to look up the English translation of “Mi Ultimo Adios” to better understand the Tagalog translation of Bonifacio, it dawned on me: I don’t think we ought to celebrate Independence Day, for we are not yet truly free. We are still struggling to have the honor of having an Independence Day. We may have a Filipino president in Malacañang now, but our true identity as a nation is still buried under centuries of slavery and we are still governed by colonial mentality. Most of us have lost the ability to see ourselves through our own eyes, we seem to only comprehend the world around us if we look at things through western eyes, judge everything according to western standards. A lot of us believe that a song sounds good if it sounds foreign, a person is beautiful if he or she looks foreign, a product is good if it’s foreign-made.

We are proud of Jollibee because it’s like McDonald’s, we look up to Lea Salonga because she performs Broadway songs exceptionally, we admire APL because he raps like an African-American, and these days we search for local talents based on American Idol standards.

At five to six we were in a makeshift backstage for one last company call, with all those thoughts in my head. And I thought: this should not be the last performance of this piece, a lot of people need reminding that once upon a time, this country had its very own heroes. And they didn’t wear capes or masks nor did they have superpowers – their power emanated from their hearts, from their sincere love for their country. And because they loved this country so much, they are immortalized and their words will forever haunt us.

Aling pag-ibig pa ang hihigit kaya sa pagkadalisay at pagkadakila? Gaya ng pag-ibig sa tinubuang lupa? Aling pag-ibig pa? Wala na nga, wala. – Andres Bonifacio.

(Tales from a hillstation, Cordillera Today, June 15, 2008 issue)

Make a u-turn or straight ahead.

2008-05-25T10:33:00.003+08:00

A sign next to the Magsaysay flyover says, “To Baguio: Make a U-turn, Go To Trancoville Junction, Make Another U-turn, Proceed To Flyover Ramp.”

There are signs everywhere. Up on the sidewalks, on doors, motor vehicles: on windshields or bumpers, on paper or tarpaulin, on billboards: in neon, in color, or in black and white.

You’ve got nationwidest coverage? Sure. You‘ve got it all for me? Ok. Katas ng Saudi? Noted. Will I be there? I’m done with school, but thanks for the invitation. Kailangan pa bang i-memorize ‘yan? You’re right, no need to, and I’d have forgotten it had you not kept on reminding me all day that there’s no need to commit the crap you heap on my helpless ears all day to memory.

Sure, the stuffy central business district; with its roads filled with smoke-belching motor vehicles; its sidewalks crammed with people spitting, pissing, throwing up, loitering, littering and not minding whose toes they step on or shoulders they bump into; its once picturesque skyline now obliterated by giant commercial billboards screaming into our faces to buy this, switch to that, eat here, get drunk there, may be signs of a developed city. But from a different angle, these may be signs of a city painted all over with greed and shamelessness – a portrait of an abused city.

Perhaps the ever growing bank account of the city is a sign of progress. But what kind of future does the city face with it and is it worth it? The signs that say “Don’t Be A Scofflaw,” put up by a corporation with a legally questionable contract with the city government that was found to be illegally occupying public property and usurping the powers of several government entities, can still be seen all over the city. There are still signs proclaiming the city to be the cleanest and greenest in the country, next to piles of uncollected garbage. There are no parking signs next to parked cars, no loading and unloading signs next to jeepneys picking up and dropping off passengers.

What’s a row of bars infront of an elementary school a sign of? What’s a row of sleazy establishments near the city hall a sign of? What’s a police car passing through a red light a sign of? What’s the sight of elderly locals with baskets of vegetables and fruits being chased by the government in our streets where legitimate shops selling illegal merchandise thrive a sign of? What’s the plan to provide elected officials with brand new cars while the same elected officials often cite the lack of money as the reason behind the failure of the city government to efficiently deliver public service a sign of?

I’ve said it before, walking down Session Road, one only has to stop and look at the signs to know where the city has been, where it is, and where it’s going.

The sign may say, “To Baguio: Make a U-turn, Go To Trancoville Junction, Make Another U-turn, Proceed To Flyover Ramp,” or we can simply say, “Straight Ahead.”

Or maybe the sign could’ve stopped at, “Make A U-turn.” Looking at where Baguio is today, that makes sense.

*photo by Ric Maniquis

Ano'ng gusto mong gawin ngayon?

2008-05-14T23:38:00.001+08:00

I buy goods from the grocery, I'm forced to cough up an extra 12% for every item (1.5k a week? So that's around 72k a year, of which something like P8,600 goes to the treasury) ...

I put gas in my car, same thing, I pay 12% in taxes (for an average of 1k a week, 4k a month, 48k a year, about P5,700 goes to the goverment)...

Somebody hires me for the services I can render, they automatically take away 10% from my professional fee... (if one's earning an avergae of 10k a month, that's 12k annualy para sa kabang bayan)...

I eat in a restaurant, 12% of the total cost is forced out of my pocket...

I buy pasalubong for my children, 12%.

I buy clothes, 12%.

I want cable, 12%.

I want electricity, 12% on top of other questionable charges the power companies force me to pay.

And to get away from it all, I watch a movie, and it's not 12%, it's 30%.

I brought my wife, who accidentaly slipped and hit her head on concrete, to the Baguio General Hospital to have her head checked, and perhaps x-rayed if necessary. We entered the emergency room, we approached what looked like a doctor and told him about the situation. He goes, "ahhh, sa surgery 'yan," and walks away. We then approached a nurse and told her about what happened. She goes back and forth between a clipboard with what looked like patient forms and her puch bag which had a really cute, colorful pad of post-its, and after deciding that it's the post-its for this particular case, she asked my wife for her name, age, address (and signature and drop in drop boxes), and what exactly happened. A resident arrived and looked at the tiny sheet of pink (or was it yellow?) post-it, and proceeded to ask my wife to start her story again from the top.

RL: ...and then I fell back and hit my head on the corner of a concrete step.

Doctor: Hmmmmm.

RL: (Waits a while for a reaction, a reply, a question, and getting none...) And then I felt dizzy for a moment and everything looked blurry for a while...

Doctor: Hmmmmm.

RL: (Does the same thing as above) And then a while ago I felt like vomitting, but I already took plasil and I feel a bit better now...

Doctor: Hmmmmm. So ano'ng gusto mong gawin ngayon?

RL: I don't know, maybe I could get my head x-rayed?

Doctor: Alam mo naman na ang ipapakita lang ng x-ray e kung may fracture o wala, hindi naman makikita ng x-ray kung my internal bleeding...

RL: Hmmmmm. (Waits for her to at least look at the bump at the back of her head while waiting for her recommendation... nothing.)

Karlo: (Walks towards RL and whispers into her ear)... I'd love to be the one, but I think it's better if it's you... can you ask her what her recommendation is then?

RL: So doc, what do you recommend instead?

At that point the aforementioned calculations suddenly crowded my head and I thought, damn, a good part of that money pays for this doctor's salary and this is what we get? Ano'ng gusto mong gawin ngayon?

I kill myself trying to put food on the table and pay that damn 12% tax forced on me because those damned people in government said the country needs it to better serve the people, and this is what we get? Ano'ng gusto mong gawin ngayon?

And I just hope that this resident did not go to U.P. as a student for that would mean that aside from paying for her salary now, I also paid for her education then, and this is what we get? Ano'ng gusto mong gawin ngayon?

When I heard her ask the question, in my head, I wanted to answer her: Ano'ng gusto kong gawin ngayon? I-untog yung ulo mo sa kanto ng sementong hagdanan, tapos sasakay ako sa time machine, tapos babalik ako nung 16 years old pa lang ako, at tatalikuran ko ang teatro at mag-aaral ako ng medicine, tapos magre-residente ako sa BGH, para pag nagpunta ka dito para ipacheck yung ulo mo, sasabihin ko sayo, Ano'ng gusto mong gawin ngayon?

Just like everybody else

2008-05-11T09:34:00.004+08:00

Pwede na ‘yan – I used to tell members of our theater group how I hate those words. To me it means giving up on the chance to do something great, or at least worthwhile, and giving in to mediocrity. And when it comes to my craft – theater, it’s almost inexcusable, as the case may be in other aspects of life.

The cleanliness of the University of the Cordilleras campus has become legendary. People who have visited the school almost always mention how notably clean its surroundings are. A lot say that going to the bathroom in U.C. is like going to a 5-star hotel bathroom – sparkling, spotless, and surprisingly good-smelling considering how school bathrooms are notorious for being smelly and unsightly. I’ve always had run-ins with the person responsible for U.C.’s famed cleanliness, Ms. Beng Ledesma. Whenever I’m the one renting the school theater for one of my productions, my being a smoker places me in her list of undesirables and suspicious, and she hounds me: making sure I, or my co-workers, do not smoke where we’re not supposed to, and to make sure our make-up tissues and empty plastic water bottles are in the trash cans and not scattered all over the dressing rooms. She’s the one who inspects each and every chair at the school theater to make sure each one of the 500 chairs are clean and properly aligned. She’s the one who stays late to finish an evening performance to make sure her cleaners do their jobs the way she does them in her own home (this I learned from her son, Nico, who swears by her mom’s home’s superb sanitary conditions). I have seen janitors at other public places go through the motions of mopping or sweeping the floor, and I have seen Ms. Ledesma’s wards ensure that no dirt remains on the surface. I have seen other janitors indifferently operate a floor polisher, and I have seen how they sweat it out to make the floors gleam at U.C.

My point? Ms. Ledesma could’ve surrendered to mediocrity and go about her job the way everybody does: she won’t get fired, she won’t get demoted, she won’t get screamed at by the boss, she would’ve been fine without the extra effort, she would’ve been fine being just like everybody else.

Just like the policeman who turns a blind eye at the jaywalker or the erring taxi driver because it’s too much trouble to run after someone, especially when you have an over-the-top waistline, and that policeman will not get fired, he’s fine, just like everybody else.

Just like the teacher who goes through the motion of lecturing straight out of the textbook and does not exert any effort to inspire his students to gain wisdom instead of merely memorizing names, dates and places, in turn, we see students who celebrate hitting a mere 75% in an exam, and the teacher and the student are both fine, just like everybody else.

Just like the Senator, or the Councilor, who does not lift a finger to craft brilliant laws or ordinances that would significantly change the lives of his constituents, because just by merely being present in the chamber and raising one’s hand when it’s time to vote, by building waiting sheds and water tanks and painting his name all over it, he believes he’s already doing his job, and he’s fine, just like everybody else.

Just like the chief executive, of a country or of a city, who simply punches in in the morning, punches out in the afternoon, and in between signs checks for disbursement and motherhood statements and hallow executive orders, cuts ribbons at business launches, delivers forgettable speeches at conventions, sings the National Anthem on Mondays and goes on junkets on weekends – he’s fine, no impeachment nor recall elections, he’s doing his job and he’s fine, just like everybody else.

There are opportunities for greatness all around, we just take them for granted. It doesn’t matter whether you’re an ambulant vendor, a jeepney or taxi driver, a bank teller, a farmer, a garbage collector, a CEO, you can try to rise above the norm and maybe even be the best at what you do whatever it is that you do, and if we take grab those opportunities to go beyond the mediocre, then maybe we can make this world a much better place.

Or have really clean bathrooms, at least.

("Tales From A Hill Station", Cordillera Today, April 6, 2008 issue)

On the eve of Zari's birthday...

2008-05-05T21:32:00.005+08:00

A few days ago I got a text from Zari: "Happy birthday to me." Thinking it was Zari-ese for, "you forgot it's my birthday!" I immediately replied with a greeting. And then she replied: "Sa Monday pa, excited lang ako." I was in the middle of running the opening ceremonies of that CPAs' convention at the Baguio Convention Center. That morning started out slow - arrived at 8am to get a headstart on the many things we still needed to do before the house opens at noon.

Focus lights.

Sound check.

Finishing touches on the set design.

Polish opening dance number.

Finalize backstage traffic.

One last runthrough of the sequence.

By 8:30AM I've had two cups of instant coffee, on top of the two mugs of our home brew earlier. I needed it, I had to stay up all night to finish editing that 9-minute video for the opening dance number. At 9:00AM MV arrived with his LCD projector, the one we're gonna use for the center screen (there are two other on either side of the stage). Idol's supposed to bring the extra two projectors, and he arrived half an hour later. Still no lights and sound crew in sight.

I start clipping the papier mache foliage in the back, moving the papier mache tree trunks here and there and the dancers started showing up one by one. It's almost 11:00AM, do you know where your crew is? No. Nah, I did, but I wasn't sure. I fire off text messages one after another: none meritted a reply. F. arrived at, though earlier than most, a wrong time, since I was ready to explode. I regret not having the ability to be pleasant that instant, the memory of the last time I wasn't in a holy mood was still fresh.

The sound guy is taking forever setting up six microphones on individual mic stands on stage. And the lights guy is running around like a headless chicken. I don't have a copy of the script, not even the sequence guide. I call for a company call.

The gyst of what I said is: If everybody else is preparing for the same show I'm preparing for, then that show should be ready in an hour, and I'm wondering why everyone seems to be taking their time and at the rateThey go back to their respective areas of responsibility with a bit more sense of urgency they're going, they're not gonna make it in time for my show. this time.

The rest of the staff arrives: I got my script, my sequence guide. I'm happy. These days, it takes so little to make me happy.

The client comes up to me and asks if we could take down the two extra sheets of greenery we hung at the back the night before... I looked and saw that he had a point, and said yes. He goes up on stage and starts taking it down, A. asks me if I knew about what the client's doing, I said yes, I did.

Finally, the set's ready, but focusing the lights took a while. As soon as I'm done focusing a set of lights and move on to the next, a spot light or two would go off for unknown reasons. They said it's the white lady that lives at the Convention Center (the one that was caught by a camera phone the previous night). I didn't know whether to climb up the ladder to check on the bulbs myself or to do a ritual to appease the soul of the lady. But after going back and forth the two light towers, we finally focused all the lights. And the set looked good - it looked so much better than how I saw it in my head when I put it down on paper. For how the set turned out, the staff's blood, sweat and tears weren't in vain. Let it be said, I appreciate it very much.

The next we knew, we had to open the house already. And the rest of the afternoon was like a blur: an opening production number, a prayer, a march, opening remarks, welcome remarks, the symbolic key to the city brought in by a guy on horseback, another dance number, and blackout.

There were mush less people the next day: a certified public accountants' national convention should be a walk in the park, though it took a while to get the walk-in-the-park rhythm going, we got it on the second day.

J. didn't have to be there, but was there anyway to take photos and double as impromptu deputy stage manager. E. and D. assisted backstage. JC showed up and did a great job hosting the evening's program (with two song numbers that brought the house down, to E.V.'s virtuosity on the guitar).

As the thousands started leaving the theater when the house lights went on, I scanned the slowly emptying theater: on that same stage I've performed a monologue in Ilokano, directed the first musical I wrote, staged a Broadway hit, directed a beauty pageant, and planned to do a production later this year: Serapio in-the-round. That would have to be put on hold for a long while. The walk in the park was really exhausting, it would take some time to recover from it. And I will.

Aren't we supposed to go out with a bang? Zari asked me on the eve of her birthday - we were at a friend's son's birthday eating menudo and candied tamarind and chocolate cake.

Nah, I said, a period would do.

Today is Zari's birthday. Happy birthday, Zari! May this day be the beginning of something great for you (as I'm sure it will be).

*photos by Jojo Lamaria

Curtain Call

2008-05-04T02:04:00.004+08:00

“ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE. AND ALL THE MEN AND WOMEN MERELY PLAYERS…”

Looking back at over twenty years of life in theater, I heave a sigh, unsure whether its one of relief, happiness or to exorcise regrets and other demons. From performing in front of crowds aiming at bringing a dictatorship to an end in the streets of Manila, to the glitzy, chandeliered theater lobbies of the capital’s various cultural centers, to obscure towns in the boondocks and lowland town plazas, I have dedicated a good part of my life to telling stories on stage.

A good story hits you, and it won’t let you rest until you’ve shared it with others who share the same passion for telling stories, and you gather round over cups of strong coffee and cigarette smoke to plot how to share this story to a much bigger crowd. For weeks on end you get together, slowly bringing the characters of the story to life, painting backdrops and making hand props, sewing strange looking clothing, “…AND ONE MAN IN HIS TIME PLAYS MANY PARTS.”

The high of hitting upon a good idea and everyone agreeing that it is so, or of finally moving on to work on the next scene after struggling for so long with the previous one. The joy of putting that script down for the first time and delivering lines with your hands free making gestures to add color to the literature –
fingers slightly bent as you reach out to the light up ahead, arms spread out to let it all out, or wrapped around shoulders to keep it all in.

It has brought me hundreds of kilometers from where I learned about it and where I grew up to a highland oasis that I now call home. There are no fancy cocktails on opening night, just the excitement of finally completing the art process by presenting it to those who believe that the collaborative effort was worth taking time away from the rest of the world and sitting in the darkened hall of multipurpose building to listen.

After a decade or so since that very first walk on part, it inspired to form a ragtag group of kindred souls, Open Space Projects, a group that struggled no matter what to get it to opening night every time that that one good story came along. The vision of the group can be expressed simply: A good story must be told, and told well, so let’s.

From rehearsals in the comforts of my living room to cold rainy nights in different covered areas of the city’s public parks, a theater brimming with students required to write a paper on the presentation, or one with more people onstage than in the audience, we journeyed from one good story to another.

The lives of the characters in the script intertwined with the life of each storyteller, and each storyteller’s life intertwined with another’s, where at times it forms a strong bond or, at other times, a tangled mess. We shared laughter, cried together, loved each other, and at times walked away from one another with nothing more than a shrug and a cold shoulder.

We’ve told the strange beautiful story of enduring love, of heroism, of a young girl’s tragic journey to seek her one true love, of passion, of children’s right to happiness, of one man’s dream to go beyond what society expects of him, of an actor’s nightmare, or an artist’s lament, and every single time we thought we all agreed: art for art’s sake.

But every now and then I wake up realizing that the group never changed from the day it was formed: it still stood firm for the principles on which it was built upon, but the individuals’ faces have changed time and again through the years: I did what I could to nurture the group and make it grow by taking care of every single person in it, and now I realize that that may not have been the right way: though the group endured, it stayed as it was and always has been: a ragtag group, and though the philosophy, the guiding principles, the aspirations of the group may satiate the souls its members, it won’t fill their stomachs, and choices and drastic decisions have to be made.

Open Space has a vision, nay, it is a vision, one that will remain for as long as there are those who believe in it. That vision does not have ups and downs, good times and bad times, unlike people. And if the people who make up Open Space aren’t there primarily for what it stands: then it ceases to be.

I say thank you to those who, at one time or another, then and now, journeyed with me and Open Space Projects. It’s been rough, but no regrets, it was good while it lasted.

“THAT ENDS THIS STRANGE EVENTFUL HISTORY, IS SECOND CHILDISHNESS AND MERE OBLIVION, SANS TEETH, SANS EYES, SANS TASTE, SANS EVERYTHING.” - William Shakespeare.

“Taga-Baguio lang naman kayo a, ang akala ko piso lang ang ticket niyo.”

2008-04-25T21:02:00.001+08:00

Some years ago, a member of our theater group was nervously seated inside the principal’s office of a school in Baguio . Though the principal hasn’t given him the exact number just yet, this particular transaction could be the group’s biggest marketing coup ever, for if having a half-filled Bulwagang Juan Luna of U.P.-Baguio, a theater with a maximum seating capacity of about 350, in the past already meant a successful marketing effort, the principal was counting by the thousands as she scanned the paper listing the school’s entire population.

Finally she looked up, and said to our member/actor/marketing assistant: reserve three thousand tickets for us. That was ten years ago, and tickets to our plays then were priced at P25.00, which apparently came as a shock to the principal. “P25.00 yung ticket? Taga-Baguio lang naman kayo a, ang akala ko piso lang ang ticket niyo,” the principal said before canceling her reservation.

Just a couple of months later, that same school sent their students to watch a play brought up from Manila with tickets priced at P100.00.

Stories of this sort are familiar to most artists in Baguio – when it comes to artistic talent, anyone and anything from Manila must be better than the homegrown variety. I can understand if the discrimination comes from a Manileño: growing up and having learned the craft from institutions in Manila, I have to admit I once harbored the same bias against anything and anyone coming from beyond the toll gates of North and South Expressways. That is until I met and interacted and worked with artists from the regions, and realized how wrong I was. And so I left Manila and moved to Baguio .

The late Santiago Bose, a Baguio-born and raised artist who consistently depicted his native roots in his works, an internationally-acclaimed and multi-awarded artist, was given the outstanding citizen recognition by the city posthumously. And only after a bit of lobbying for as one city hall employee remarked as I was handing her Bose’s curriculum vitae together with a book on him and a catalogue of his works, “sino ba ‘to?”

The Baguio Country Club imports theatrical acts from Manila , the city government awards major event management contracts to groups from Manila , a significant number of the creative outputs we see on local print and television and hear on the radio are done by Manila artists. More often than not, a local talent would only be hired when the budget won’t allow for the much more expensive Manila variety.

Once while performing a concert at the Art Park of Camp John Hay, a tourist asked us after the show which company we belonged to in Manila , and he was really stunned to learn that the performers were all homegrown talents. And so what happens to a lot of local exceptional artists? An extraordinary musical director with a degree in the arts is now back in school for a second course taking up nursing; several gifted performers are out of the spotlight and are instead awake all night facing the glare of a computer screen teaching some technologically-challenged American how to play a CD on his computer. That is, if they do decide to stay in Baguio . Otherwise, we lose them to advertising agencies, theater companies, repertories, publications, production outfits, etc. in Manila and beyond.

And yet, amazingly, and luckily, Baguio continues to produce competitive artistic talents despite the lack (if not complete absence) of support and opportunities in this “haven for artists,” and so the city continues to enjoy having world-class talents in its midst. Though they rarely get the support of the local government and the local corporate community, the city still enjoys the occasional outstanding exhibition or performance, every now and then a local literary effort is published and local compositions get recorded on CD.

And, if you’re still wondering why our local artists either leave their true calling if not the city altogether, wonder no more, for, afterall, “Taga-Baguio lang naman kayo a, ang akala ko piso lang ang ticket niyo.”

Baguio when it rains

2008-04-22T21:13:00.002+08:00

It's been hot in Baguio

2008-04-21T21:17:00.005+08:00

Tiong San Department Store on Harrison Road on fire, with the fire-damaged University of Baguio in the background.

The conspiracy theories about the recent fires that hit the city are really amusing...

Last Order Sa Penguin

2008-04-08T17:28:00.003+08:00

It's been a while since I last went to see a play, and a couple of weeks back, I got invites to two productions: SLU-CCA's Florante at Laura and Dulaang UP-Baguio's Last Order Sa Penguin.

The last production of Florante at Laura that I saw was Tanghalang Pilipino's staging of the musical a long time ago (that was the production with the famous "magkakaroon po ng isang linggong pagitan..." a week-long intermission between acts 1 and 2 because the music was not done in time for the opening, so on opening night the audience got to see act 1, and were asked to come back a week later for act 2).

I chose to go see Dulaang UP's production since it's a been a while since UP Baguio last staged a play, and also because I haven't been to Penguin (an artists' haven in Remedios Circle, malate) in a long time, I was in the mood for a little bit of nostalgia.

RL and I entered the theater and we were quite intrigued by the stage set-up: they didn't use the stage but instead set up platforms at the opposite end of the theater which became the main acting area. I was eager to see the reason for this, so we decided to sit on the actual elevated stage, which gave a better view of the set.

The house music helped put the audience in a lousy mood: loud and the music had nothing to do with the play being presented. Even our group at times commit this mistake: lousy front-of-house management... from the ushers to the seats to the house music, these should all prepare your audience for the story that's about to be told. Well, at least the technical people seemed to be enjoying themselves toying with the sound mixer. Anyway...

The set was a disappointment - a play about an actual existing place and you would think the production designer would give the actual Pengui Cafe a look-see. The set looked more like Perk Cafe in Baguio when it just opened in th mid-90's. No leather couches where the regulars never fail to claim for themselves: table 1=theater people, table 2=ballet philippines, table 3=photographers and writers, bar=visual artists, the rest of the tables for hangers-on, young artists and poseurs. As a young boy I slept on those leather couches as my mother discussed what art is with (the late) Santiago Bose and how deep is deep with (the late) Pepito Bosch. As a young artist I hovered from table to table depending on my reason for being there on a given night: all tables to land a gig (whether acting, production/stage management, and just about anything), table 1 if I'm coming from an opening night and I'm with my colleagues from Tanghalang Pilipino, table 2 if I want Guiller, a danseur, to treat me to a beer, table 3 to update my mom's friends about how she's been since she moved to the Caribbean, at the bar with Santi Bose to gossip about the people on tables 1 to 3...

There were art works on the wall, which weren't (art works, that is). I've seen a Bose exhibit there, an installation by Boy Yuchengco, photographs by Ronnie Lazaro, paintings by Nunelencio Alvarado, so the "paintings" on the set, which the characters in the play tore to shredsd with their biting criticisms, were quite out of place. Not to say that there weren't so-so art exhibited in Penguin, but those garbage on the walls were over the top. Again, maybe a look-see by the production designer could've helped him/her come up with a better set design.

The play is like an episode of the now-defunct sitcom, Friends. A couch in the center, a group of friends pour their hearts out giving the audience glimpses of the lives of Penguin denizens. Oh wait, make that roughly 6 episodes of Friends, at the end of two hours, when the stage lights went out and the house lights came on, we were quite shocked to hear the voice over announcing the intermission. the play ran for approximately 3 hours! But I could sit through 6 straight episodes of Friends... maybe the script would've done better as a sitcom: by the end of it one is left asking, "What's the point?" And Friends most of the time has a point.

Most of the actors were really effective: a gay guy forever waiting for his boyfriend to text him back, a young woman with issues about her live-in boyfriend, another young woman who's biggest issue in life is her relationship with a "jologs", a drug pusher, the pesky flower-vendor, and Marcell, the waiter..

The actor who played Marcell actually looked like Marcell, a waiter in Penguin back in the 90's. Which confused me: the play was dated: turn of the century, and there were no camera phones yet back then as far as I remember (or maybe I'm wrong, I'm a late-bloomer whenit comes to cellphones, I tried my best not to own one for the longest time).

The friends gather, they tell their stories, and order their drinks in between: A half red? A quarter white? Coffee? Beer? I found it quite amusing when the waiter returned with a half and a quarter glass of wine: who orders a half-glass of wine? In Penguin, a half or a quarter is a half or a quarter carafe of wine.

The actors who entered only in act two, they were the characters being talked about in act one, weren't able to maintain the energy and performance level of the actors already onstage - RL and I agreed that had the play ended with act one, it would've been a better production: leaving the rest to the audience's imagination.

The movements of the actors onstage didn't make sense a lot of times, the lighting and the blocking didn't seem to agree with one another, and at times took away from instead of enhancing a scene. And until the end I didn't see any justifiable reason for having the performance area at the back of the theater. In fact, since the director had his actors kneeling and sitting down most of the time, it would have been better if they used the elevated stage instead: 5 rows from the front and it was quite hard to see the action on stage already.

Nonetheless, at the end of the at times agonizing 3 hours, I was quite glad to see Dulaang UP-Baguio on stage again... and if the actors who performed form their core group of performers, save for two or three who needed a good dose of basic acting, I'm quite excited to be there again on their opening night.

Photos of the performance right here.

Afternoon coffee: Sa Saliw ng Mga Gangsa

2008-04-07T16:54:00.000+08:00

Years back, a friend offered for us to stay in her house for a few months while she traveled abroad. The house sat up on the left side of Asin Road, two bedrooms, an attic, and a porch encased in glass. A cup of Benguet brew at dusk on that porch once, I was treated to a magnificent performance: clouds from above and fog from below slowly blanketing the mountains in white, and in the distance was a wedding where the subtle symphony of gongs provided the perfect soundtrack to a perfect afternoon, and these words just came to me:

Unti-unting binabalot ng ulap ang kabundukan
Tila ba isang batang sa pagtulog ay kinukumutan
Kapaligiran ay tahimik, aking lang naririnig
Awitin ng mga ibong musika sa pandinig

I was writing a musical then, and these words eventually made its way in that play as a song. I was humming the tune in my head on my way to town this morning, making my way through the smog, the garbage and daredevil cab drivers, and I realized how not so long ago I fell in love with Baguio and chose to live my life here.

It wasn't too long ago when one can spend an afternoon on a knoll in Burnham Park with a book and the distant laughter of children playing, lay on the ground until the sun sets and take a walk through the park during magic hour, that magical moment between dusk and evening when the pine needles shimmer in the setting sun's golden light, or have a friendly game of darts, maybe a couple of hours of light banter, over a bottle of beer or a cup of tea, with a familiar face in a bar along session Road without worrying about getting caught in the middle of a mindless rumble between gangs made up of drunken minors raring to inflict harm on each other and innocent and complete strangers who simply happened to be there.

It wasn't too long ago when almost everyone didn't mind stopping in silence for a few minutes every afternoon when the bell tolls for the Angelus, and give or receive a friendly nod or smile to/from whoever is next to you, and you walk on afterwards with a feeling that somehow, no matter what's troubling you, everything is gonna be alright.

It wasn't too long ago when garbage was not an issue because the people cared enough for the city and nobody sneaked out in the middle of the night to dump plastic bags of trash in your neighbor's frontage.

I read somewhere about the economic miracles that Vladimir Putin did for Russia in the last decade, how he transformed a country on the verge of becoming insignificant in the world's affairs to one that is now once again among the world's superpowers - third to first world in the blink of an eye. No, I don't want to get into a debate about human rights and socio-economic policies, it's just amazing,that perhaps with determination and passion, how fast significant changes can be made in a society, maybe by its leader or its people, for better or for worse... and how fast we've transformed Baguio from being one of the most beautiful cities in the country into what it is or at least what it is fast turning into today: a decaying city. What was once the country's cleanest and greenest is now a city with a garbage and pollution crisis. What was once a city where everywhere is five minutes away is now city with a traffic problem. What was once a city where everybody knows everybody is now a city where crime is becoming a serious concern. All that in the last ten years or so.

I wonder if we, or our local leaders, perhaps together, can bring Baguio back to its pristine state just as fast?

By the time I finished my coffee that wonderful afternoon at the porch of my friend's house, just as the wedding party was ending and the sound of gongs was fading out and the sun disappeared in the horizon, I had finished the song:

Huwag ka sanang magbabago, o mahal kong Baguio
Malinis na hangin, magagandang tanawin
Kayong mga kabataan inyong pangalagaan
Itong munting paraiso, huwag niyong pababayaan

That cup of coffee, that sunset, those images, that afternoon will forever stay in my mind... and the song ended in a prayer:

Sa saliw ng mga gangsa 'di ko malilimutan
Mga kulay mong magaganda, kayumanggi at luntian
Kami'y nananalangin, Kabunyan kami'y dinggin
Kalikasan ay i-adya sa lahat ng masama

("Tales From A Hill Station", Cordillera Today, April 6, 2008 issue)

Theater rush

2008-03-30T10:48:00.003+08:00

The multimedia bug bit me early last year, and bit me hard. A good part of the past year was spent behind and infront of the camera, and it's been a while since I last went on stage, or brought something onstage, and then suddenly in the last two weeks we were rehearsing two productions to be performed only a week apart.

Despite the very limited/limiting budget, Jesus Christ Superstar, the rock-opera classic by Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice, went onstage last Good Friday at the entertainment center of the mall up there. It was our group's first time to perform in that kind of set-up and it was quite an experience. We had no idea how the audience would react to something like JCS, a rock opera, and performed on a Good Friday at that. The group had only a full week to prepare, but with musical director Ethan Ventura's discipline, no time was wasted during music rehearsals. Though not being able to do a full dress rehearsal at the venue was quite a challenge, it took only the sight of a good crowd and the warmth of the par 64 spotlights to get the performers going. By the time Ethan made his guitar sing the first few notes of the overture, the stage was overflowing with energy, and the passion and dedication of the performers broke through the so-called fourth wall of the stage, and the audience responded very well.

Just a couple of days later and we were back at rehearsals, this time for the re-staging of our production of Sex, Drugs, Rock & Roll for the Cafe by the Ruins' 20th Anniversary celebration. This production was what brought me to Baguio, actually, when I first staged it in 1996 together with local actor, Ferdie Balanag. Then, we rehearsed the play in some abandoned school building in Campo Sioco without any promise that the play would go on stage at all - we weren't sure how the audience would react to a play with such a provocative title, and content. But after a couple of weeks of line-throwing and blocking, we got a call from then BCF Arts and Sciences dean, Sonia Dao-as, who wanted to feature the play in the school's golden anniversary celebration. With a cast of two and a staff of three, we performed the play to a couple of full houses before bringing the play to UP Baguio for another run. Since then, Ferdie and I would perform the play in various venues including the cafe's 10th Anniversary in 1998.

And last Thursday, ten years later, we were back there, not sure if we can still pull off performing the characters in the play: 10 years does a lot to one's eyes and waistline. Again on a tight budget, and given only 1 hour to set up everything: band instruments, sound and lighting system, props: our group went in and did the usual dance of pre-performance preparations. Stage managers Freida Fernandez and Mai Fianza were at the Cafe's gazebo finalizing the sequence guide and the props, multimedia artist and costume mistress Madelyn Calventas was stapling trash bags for Ferdie's "Dirt" monologue, technical guys Andre Soriano, Boybi Sarmiento and Astrud Delo were laying out the wiring for the improvised par 38 spotlights, and Ethan began tuning his guitar. Production manager RL Altomonte and photographer Jojo La Maria prepped the cameras for the documentation.

And then we were on, in front of old and new friends who patiently listened to our stories for almost two hours. Kidlat de Guia gamely laughed when his name came up in one of the monologues, and filmmaker Mark Gary and choreographer Denisa Reyes couldn't get enough of it, and an hour or so after the last monologue one man whose name I can't remember anymore still didn't know what hit him: and I thought, great, that's what were here for: get you out of your comfort zone and throw that truth pie in your face - wipe it off or lick it up, it's all up to you.

No unnecessary issues, no unnecessary tension, nothing but pure passion for the craft: it was one of those nights when the first thing almost everyone asks after the curtain call is: what's our next story?

Ahhhh, theater, what a rush.

(A repost of my column, Tales From A Hill Station, in Cordillera Today March 30, 2008 issue)

Sigh

2008-03-24T09:40:00.003+08:00

The sight of a group of policemen standing by the road, knee-high boots, Ray-ban sunglasses, holstered gun at the waist, the nobody-messes-with-the-guy-with-a-badge swagger, motorcycles leaning at the curb, never fails to startle me. Immediately I would feel for my wallet where my license is for fear that I have left it at home, try to remember if I have registered the car, look around for any traffic signs that I may have missed. As I get nearer, my heart beats faster, and will only slow down if they don’t flag me down as I go past them.

And then, after passing them uneventfully, I’ll realize that I didn’t have my seatbelt on. Which almost always makes me wonder, whatever happened to the seatbelt law? I remember when it was newly introduced – taxi drivers would refuse to move if you refused put on your seatbelt, jeepneys and buses installed seatbelts in their front seats, and the government made a killing apprehending violators. I remember the complaints of drivers of public utility vehicles, how cumbersome that darn seatbelt is, how they went out of their way to loop that seatbelt over their shoulders at the sight of a traffic cop to avoid being given a ticket, but never lock it in place, which would have taken them two seconds to do. Once I sat in the front seat of a jeepney and automatically reached for the seatbelt. As I looked for the clasp to lock the seatbelt in place, the driver, without even looking at me, said, “ipatong mo lang sa dibdib mo, ok na ‘yan, hindi na tayo huhulihin.” I wanted to tell him that I also wanted to be safe while riding his jeep, but I thought better than to argue with the man on the wheel while sitting in front without a seatbelt on.

The seatbelt brouhaha lasted a few months, a year perhaps at best. And now it’s forgotten. And it’s practically the same thing about most of the seemingly small things that are supposed to make our city, nay, our country, maybe the world, even, a better place. I wish I were exaggerating.

Take those signs that dot the barrier along the length of Magsaysay Road – “No Jaywalking, Violators Will Be Apprehended.” I wonder how many jaywalkers, those who are too lazy to climb the steps of the pedestrian overpasses, those who put their own and other people’s lives at risk by playing patintero with the swerving jeepneys and over speeding taxis and arrogant drivers in giant SUVs to cross the street, are apprehended. There must be a lot, since I it never fails to amaze me to see jaywalkers doing their thing right in front of policeman on stand by mode. In the same way they just do nothing about the motorists along Session Road, especially taxis, who play tag with pedestrians that actually use the pedestrian lanes to cross the road: you get tagged, you’re dead. Seldom do we see a car slow down as they approach those stripes on the road, a lot of times they actually go even faster.

I know that this community fought hard to uphold the law that says the streets are beyond the commerce of man, driving out an arrogant pay parking corporation slash milking cow in the process, but it breaks my heart every time I see old women carrying bilaos of vegetables being chased by operatives of the city government for illegal vending, while an ambulant cigarette vendor lights up a cigarette for a policeman as they brazenly go about their trade right in front of police substations.

Trancoville and Aurora Hill jeeps idling right in front of “No Loading and Unloading” signs behind the post office (again, right in the face of policemen). “Parking attendants” directing motorists to park in front of “No Parking” signs (again, right in the face of policemen). Cops on big bikes and delivery men on scooters going through a red light, and making u-turns where they’re not supposed to. All seemingly trivial, negligible, inconsequential infractions, perhaps. But how can we expect the community to respect our laws when they know these are not really being enforced? How can we expect the community to obey more abstracts concepts like saving the environment through garbage segregation when we can’t even enforce simple rules on crossing the road?

The law enforcers don’t care, the public stopped caring, and the policemen standing by the road, knee-high boots, Ray-ban sunglasses, holstered gun at the waist, the nobody-messes-with-the-guy-with-a-badge swagger, motorcycles leaning at the curb, didn’t care when I passed them with my seatbelt unfastened. I heaved a sigh of relief, then after a brief afterthought and images of illegal vendors on the road, garbage on the streets, smog in the air, I heaved another sigh, one of a different kind.

(A repost of my column, Tales From A Hill Station, in Cordillera Today March 23, 2008 issue)

ahhh, the world wide web

2008-03-17T11:50:00.003+08:00

I entered Rumours on Session Road one early evening last month and saw the usual familiar faces. Local photographer Jojo Lamaria was there with some friends and among them Natz Navarro whom I've known for quite some time. Went over to her and gave her a hug and they I realized that though it's been a while since I first “met” her, I've only know her in the virtual world of Multiply.com (http://natznavarro.multiply.com), a social networking site on the web. And just this morning, I said hello to a woman named Villia whom I've known for a year or so now at Cafe by the Ruins only to realize that like Natz, I've only known her through the thoughts, ideas and photographs she's posted on her Multiply site (http://villia.multiply.com).

There's this virtual neighborhood on Multiply composed mainly of artists in Baguio, and every single day we are given frozen moments and bits and pieces of life up here as seen through a photographer's lens or painted by a poet's pen (or keyboard). Photographers Rudy Taborra (http://ruditabora.multiply.com) and Boy Yñiguez (http://boyyy.multiply.com) constantly whet our appetites with their series' “Mangan” and “Kain Na”, respectively: hunger inducing photos of local dishes.

Multiply also hosts the sites of Jojo Lamaria (http://jlamaria.multiply.com) and Harley Palanchao (http://smallopening.multiply.com), two local photographers who capture anything and everything that comes infront of their lenses.

Even those of us in the performing arts find little use for the traditional printed posters to promote our latest productions these days: Multiply has offered us a virtually free venue to make our productions known, and with a seemingly wider reach too. I remember a few years BM (Before Multiply), our posters would be up for a couple of weeks already with hardly any feedback from the public. But now a few hours after posting an event online, we get inquiries and the day after a performance, we can expect to see a review somewhere in the world wide web. And since most local theater productions run on a really tight budget (sometimes no budget at all), our posters back then would be limited to photocopied monochrome layouts to cut costs, but now we can go crazy with as many millions of colors as your next-door internet cafe's monitor would allow. Since our productions usually cater to local students, we usually conduct an open forum after each show and now those fora extend for weeks after the last performance on the web, and these interactions often catch the attention of people from all over the world giving more color and interesting perspectives to the conversation.

News travel faster in this online community: when I wrote about a nasty experience at the Baguio Country Club (http://altomonte.multiply.com/journal/item/127), for the next couple of weeks I'd bump into people who read about it online asking me for details of the story. When wrote about my sentiments about the recently concluded flower festival (http://altomonte.multiply.com/journal/item/130), it triggered an online forum with insights coming from the different parts of the world.

Among the recent additions to my virtual neighborhood is local videographer Francis Paco (http://francispaco.multiply.com), whose site features interesting explorations in digital animation, which renewed my interest in that field. I learned a lot from Kidalt de Guia's adventure in Mindanao with his blog entry on his site (http://kidlatgulat.multiply.com/journal/item/3/Ganda_ng_Mindanao). Jack Cariño's site rivals the History channel with intersting tidbits of historical footnotes in phogoraphs and video (http://jackcarino.multiply.com). And I'm quite sure this virtual neighborhood played quite a role in U.S.-based Baguio boy Jessie Mina's decision to invest in a better camera (http://jrgamina.multiply.com) to be able to take better pictures to post on his site.

I recently got an invitation to join another virtual community: Facebook. But after a couple of weeks in it, I was slowly getting bored. All it is are stupid quizzes and hundreds of unwanted applications. I was just about to close my Facebook account when I received a video post from someone in my network (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LU8DDYz68kM). It was a video taken by a group of tourist presumably in Africa of a group of lions waiting to punce on an unsuspecting buffalo. The shot panned from the approaching herd to the waiting lions, and when the herd settled near a creek, the lions sprang up and went for the usual victim: the weakest in the herd, in this case a calf. They pinned the poor calf down while the herd tried to run away from the attacking beasts. A couple of lions rolled and rolled with the calf who was trying so hard to free itself predators' jaws. They rolled too near the river's edge where a crocodile was waiting, which bit into the rear end of the calf - and a tug of war between predators ensued. The lions won the battle, but what happened next they probably never expected to happen at all, not even in their wildest lion dreams. The herd of buffalo came back to rescue the calf. At first the lions would simply roar in their faces and they would step back, but it only took one brave buffalo who perhaps thought that a tiny calf's life was worth risking its own: it charged towards the surprised lions and soon the whole herd was chasing the predators away.

And I thought, the predators amidst us these days better watch out, it only takes one angry, brave buffalo to rally the herd to chase them all away. I decided to give Facebook the benefit of the doubt, for now. And I realized, this story was really what I wanted to write about when I sat down infront of my computer.

Ah well, among the banes of the world wide web, there's just too much information going around that it's easy for one to be distracted.

(A repost of my column, Tales From A Hill Station, in Cordillera Today March 16, 2008 issue)

Keeping it simple: back then

2008-03-13T16:01:00.001+08:00

In ’97 we were there, a small bunch of artists, a couple of benches, a box-full of tapuy and an ice chest-full of sodas, a basket full of tuna and chicken sandwiches, and several hand drums. We positioned ourselves somewhere near the post office steps – next to us were other artists with their hand-painted shirts and prints and paper beads – we don’t remember having to pay tens of thousands of pesos to sit around all day banging our drums and sharing sandwiches and good tapuy with both familiar faces and friendly strangers.

Then, no, we didn’t have to wake up before sunrise to set up our sandwich stand, which was actually just an excuse to have a place where kindred souls can gather and celebrate life in Baguio, there was no hurry nor jostling for prime spots along Session Road: anywhere on the road was a prime spot. And when we found our spot taken over by another group the next day, we only had to move a few meters down from where we were the day before: a small price to pay for enjoying the tapuy a bit too much the day before and waking up late the next morning.

Then, those who participated in Panagbenga’s “Session Road in Bloom” seemed a lot, but still leaving enough space for people to walk up or down the road without having to squeeze themselves in between other people and merchants and merchandise. There was enough space for Session Road to breathe, and people cared enough not to abuse the plants on the island in the middle of the road.

Then, it seemed to be truly in bloom.

Then, we didn’t earn that much money. In fact, we didn’t earn any. That’s ok, we danced and laughed a lot for a few days, and that’s priceless. And after having too much fun and much too little money by the third day, we decided that the rest of the tuna and chicken sandwiches would be the food at our tables at home for the rest of the week. Fry the tuna spread and it’s a mean tortang orilles. But we didn’t stop going to Session Road the rest of the week – there was always some space somewhere where we can lay our mats and play our drums.

And today, so what if one makes millions cramming as many commercial stalls as if there’s no tomorrow along Session Road, when you have as many people hating the experience? Why sacrifice the integrity of what was supposed to be a beautiful and sincere community effort by allowing the pretty costumes to be blighted with corporate logos and slogans just for a little extra money? Who wouldn’t hate hearing commercial jingles during a parade instead of the music that come from the hearts of the people of Baguio?

Back then, I guess the organizers didn’t make as much money from the flower festival, but it was those first few festivals, the ones free from crass commercialism, the ones free from too much politics and misplaced egos, the ones that had the spirit of Baguio painted on every smiling face: those were the ones that made the Baguio Flower Festival live in the hearts of people from all over the country and the rest of the world.

Surrendering and being slaves to crass commercialism: millions of pesos, and one’s left with nothing but an empty experience.

Keeping it simple yet meaningful: priceless.

I don't heart Panagbenga

2008-02-25T16:29:00.002+08:00

It's been a crazy month, February - and to make matters worse: it's Panagbenga season.

I don't wanna seem like a flowerfest scrooge, but I hate Panagbenga: pardon me but it's hard to get me excited about a 4 hour parade that features school kids dancing the papaya song played by a drum and lyre band. I'm not a big fan of Isuzu Elf trucks covered in moss with some girl I don't know with a sash riding in the back throwing candies and waving at me. I like the occasional corn cob but to see thousands of corn vendors lining up the length of Session Road just isn't right: in between hotdog stands and cellphone accessories and Marikina shoes stalls. And it's as if Session Road isn't filthy enough on regular days, as if teh city isn't in the middle of a garbage crisis, it breaks one's heart to see the piles and piles of garbage left by the tourists and the merchants every single night for a whole week.

And what do they call this ravaging of the city's main artery? "Session Road In Bloom!". No, my friend, in bloom Session Road is not these days, it's more like Session Road's doom.

You stay home and turn on the tv and there's our mayor, in his cute shorts having a tete-a-tete with a recently convicted (and alas, pardoned) plunderer. Someone who stole hundreds of millions from the people apparently deserve a seat at the VIP section: Welcome to Baguio. I wonder where he's staying while he's here? At the very controversial log house on millionaires row or the equally controversial residential log house inside Camp John Hay?

We needed to go online so with one hand holding Leon and Aeneas perched on my shoulders and RL and Garbiela trying to catch up behind us, we braved the traffic and walked up from Bunrham Park (filled with tourists, stalls and garbage) to Session Road (filled with more stalls, more tourists, more garbage). You cross the road from Prime Hotel towards Cid Educational Supplies and I believe you've seen the rest of "Session Road's Kabloom". Shoes from Marikina, corn and hotdog vendors, E-load/Autoload stalls, and the occassional stall selling plants. We were stalled (pun intended) in the middle of the road: a dragon dance in progress... followed by a group of unicyclers (one was having a hard time getting back on his unicycle on Session Road road's uneven surface) and a phalanx of clowns on stilts. Ok, THAT was kinda nice. I walked right up to the guys on stilts and had Aeneas high-five two or three of them, which embarassed him, and eased my way to the other side of the road.

It's been said countless times before, if you're from Baguio, you'll never to fail to bump into a friend while walking up or down Session Road. But that's another thing I hate about this whole thing: even with the hundreds of thousands of people that squeeze thesmelves in between the commercial stalls and corn and hotdog vendors on Session Road during Panagbenga, it's hard to come across a friend.

They come and go

2008-02-20T14:44:00.000+08:00

Among the things I enjoy about moving to a new house is packing: documents and photos specially. I came across an article by Vince Cabreza for Sun Star magazine back in 1996 when we first mvoed to Baguio: it was a feature on Sex, Drugs, Rock & Roll. Browsing various souvenir programs of our productions in the last 12 years made my day - from the xeroxed pages of SDRR to printed sepia cover of Pangarap to the full color poster of Jesus Christ Superstar.

I was reminded of James, who played Pepe in one of our stagings of Tonyo at Pepe. James lived with us for a year or so when we were with Ado and Meg in Leonila Hill up to the time we moved to Wing's glass house in San Luis. we spent countless nights discussing acting, directing, various playwright's. James was not in school when we met him, since joining our productions under OSP, James has moved on: finishing his studies and eventually publishing two or three books (one he authored and two book of poems he edited). Last december he visited us and brought copies of those books for us, signed by the author (him)self.

Russell was a lanky freshman taking up masscom in SLU when we first met him... he didn't immediately get to join our productions but he would always be there at the gate manning the ticket booth, or ushering people in, or assisting backstage. He would come straight to our house in Malvar from school, and just hang out. He finally went onstage in that play on children's rights that I wrote: Taguan, Habulan, Patintero, and then the musicals Pangarap and Once on this Island after that. Since then he has worked for a call center, a media network giant, and currently asevents manager for a mall. He recently got in touch with us: he wants to feature excerpts of our productions at the mall he's working for, and the possibility of performing full runs of thos productions there.

Amar was the reluctant leading man in A Prelude To A Kiss - from a supporting actor, he was promoted to lead star when an actor backed out and we had to re-cast the play. He performed as Pepe also, two runs ahead of James. When we're not director-actor, we we're kuya-ading. He would come, enter our house as if he also owned it, which is quite true: I did the same whenever I'm at their house. Auntie Susan, Amar's mom, was like a mother to us and was a great lola to Leon when he was a baby: taught him to eat rice with coffee (Yice and feefee!), buy potchi at the sari-sari store, how to duck-walk, and gave him the nickname: Yankee, binaligtad na Kiangan, where RL's maternal relatives come from. Aabha, Amar's sister, toilet trained Leon. Amar and another ex-OSP artist, Ronald, once felt it was ok to break into our house in Q.M. to wait for us right there in the comfort of our living room. We arrived late at night and found both of them asleep: they needed help writing a letter. Amar also marketed some of our productions, and is now based in Manila and is into sales and marketing and will be a father himself soon. He called recently just to ask how things are with us.

Mad was a junior when I was an artist-in-residence in Brent. She was introduced to us by her English Teacher and big OSP fan, Bryan Powles (who left Brent in 2001 but has still maintained contact up to now) right after graduating high school and took a year off from school to work with us. She joined the prduction staff of a Tonyo/Pepe production, helped with make-up and production design of Manifest Destiny and Pangarap and Once On This Island... She is now in New York studying filmmaking, and despite the distance, has managed to remain close to OSP. She's coming home next month with my brother.

Some of them stay, some of them go, some of them remain close, some of them don't even look back. Some of them once believed, and and stopped believing, some even mock the ideals of OSP after they leave.

May mga ibang may napala, may ibang wala, may ibang naniniwalang walang mapapala sa mundo ng teatro, lalo na siguro sa Baguio. The latter isn't exactly untrue.

In our journey to provide the community with an alternative form of entertainment that would consistently present relevant social issues, we remain...

Letters from OSP usually end with the above lines... I'm just glad that at least there are some, who may have moved on to something else, but have remained believers and have not lost faith in the vision of Open Space Projects. - and whatever it offered, provided and stood for and against.

Composing for "Bintao"

2008-01-28T14:40:00.000+08:00

The prospect back then of oil hitting $100/barrel pushed me to say yes to Ferdie when he asked me to compose the music for the play, Bintao. I dabble in music, but I only have the guts to compose music for myself.

Truth is, after composing the songs songs for my plays, "Taguan, Habulan, Patintero" and "Pangarap", I would fiddle with my guitar once in a while, or pound on a piano whenever one's available, and I really thought there's nothing left in me as far as music is concerned.

So I said yes. I will do it. 12-15 songs. In a month or less. I scanned the script of Efren Yambot, and asked if I could re-write some to give it a meter I could easily work with... I was given permission to re-write as I please.

Some of the songs reminded me of some of my previews compositions... thanks to Roman reminding me that this song reminded him of that song from "Pangarap " or "Taguan." Well, I never really exerted any effort to make this sound like or different from any previous compositions. I just wrote and played them as they came to me. So there.

I don't read nor write notes so "writing" music for me entails humming a tune and hoping I don't forget it until I record it, or at least until I've taught the melody to the actor who's gonna sing it. In one of the pieces in this collection, I asked Ethan to help me with the vocal arrangement - and he notated the song for me.

I should learn how to read notes.

Here they are. Hope you enjoy listening to them as much I did making them:

http://altomonte.multiply.com/music/item/32/Bintao_-_The_Songs....

PS: Bintao opens on Jan. 26 at the University of the Cordilleras... for more info, checkout: http://bintao.multiply.com/

Idiot

2007-12-30T17:31:00.000+08:00

After working through the holidays, the tickets to Jovianney Cruz's concert at the Baguio Country Club were heaven sent - needed the break.

We got there a minute late at 5:31, the tickets showed a 5:30 showtime, which meant we were just on time. There were less than twenty people when we arrived, and by the time Cruz began Mozart's thing in C Major, there were only about 50.

And there they were: two photographers clicking away. It was a piano concert, I could here myself breathe, and the sound of their shutters was competing with Cruz's wonderful performance. But, I thought, that's a guy sitting infront of a piano - on a proscenium stage: take a few shots from stage left, move on to stage center, and then a couple from stage right, and that's it: I really thought they'd realize how much their camera sounds (plus the sight of them moving around the ballroom during the performance) were ruining it for everyone (it was soooo annoying and I can only imagine how much more annoying it was for the performer himself) and that they'd get their precious shots done soon and sit down and be quiet like everyone else.

Wrong.

They clicked away throughout the performance. And just when I thought it couldn't get worse - an ABS-CBN crew arrived, noisily the door was opened for them and noisily they settled themselves at the back - all this in the middle of a Copland piece. And then: the ABS-CBN cameraman turned on his video camera and started shooting, first from the sides and then (!) he went right infront of the stage blocking everyone's view of the pianist (!!!)

And then the unthinkable: The guy went up onstage, got so close to the pianist that the camera was practically right in Cruz's face. He didn't stay there 5 seconds, he didn't stay there 10 seconds, he hovered and hovered and went around the piano and got his camera as close to the guy's face as possible. This was worse than Manila Pen, I thought.

And I thought, too, this is how art and artists are treated in Baguio - with utter disrespect.

I couldn't help myself, right after the show I went to the ABS-CBN reporter and told her what an idiot her cameraman was, and just as I was telling her that, I saw the cameraman coming towards us, so I decided to tell him that too - that he's an idiot.

And as for the photographers: I hope you got photos worthy of your arrogance.

PORTRAITS DVD

2007-12-13T12:03:00.001+08:00

PORTRAITS: History of a Hill Station DVD now available. For inquiries email us at portraits.baguio@gmail.com or call mobile (63) 920.631.9593 or visit http://portraitsbauio.multiply.com

A Walk In The Park

2007-11-15T15:09:00.000+08:00

The path laid out before him began in the classroom of a prestigious educational institution where people like him – standing below five feet tall, dark skin, less than aquiline nose – gets derided, mocked, discriminated against. Then that path went on to a few years in Europe where his eyes opened to a much bigger world, other worlds where friars did not rape women nor seize lands from the people, where governments worked for the people and not the other way around. Then that path made a u-turn back home, where courageously continued on bringing with him two books that would open the eyes of his people, and earn him the ire of an abusive government. He walked on and the path ended with a short work from his cell and ended at an open field where he faces a phalanx of soldiers with rifles pointed at him. And Jose Rizal was dead, martyred and now revered as this country’s National Hero.

Andres Bonifacio’s path ended with a climb up a mountain where it ended with a bullet not from the enemy’s gun, but from a fellow Filipino’s. Macario Sakay’s path led him to the gallows. Ninoy Aquino’s path ended with those few steps from the top of a plane’s exit ladder. The farmers who fought for what was rightly theirs found the end of their path at the gates of Malacañang where they were gunned down by the same government forces who were supposed to defend them.

The path to heroism is sometimes fraught with terrifying challenges, ends, but not always. In fact, a lot of times, it’s a walk in the park.

All a policeman needs to do is to not accept that five hundred peso bill, do his job and issue that ticket, and there would be much less accidents on the road, much less smoke belchers and a much cleaner air. All a mayor needs to do is do what he’s mandated to do – serve the people, and make decisions that would result in a better life for his constituents and not in a fatter bank account for himself and his cohorts at the expense of the very same people who put him in office. All a president needs to do is to defend the constitution, as he or she has sworn to do, and not trample on it just to cling to power, or even simply let the wheels of justice turn as they’re supposed to, so as to let the world know that there is hope for justice in this country, instead of letting a monumental crime go unpunished, letting the world know instead that this country’s justice system can be circumvented by those who have enough money, never mind if that money is the result of plundering the coffers of a country where majority of its people are literally starving to death – where even a child can see the hopelessness of it all and end her own life to escape living the rest of her life in misery.

And as for the rest of us, all we need to do is cross the street where we’re supposed to, stop our car for a few seconds to let other people cross the street, not park our cars where we’re not supposed to, throw that cigarette butt in a trash can and not at the gutters where millions of other cigarette butts await that single one.

We can gripe all we want about how wrong the city government was in insisting on collecting only segregated garbage without a thorough information drive to educate the people on how it is done and what the benefits of doing it are, or we can also just begin simply segregating our garbage at home, and start telling our neighbors who don’t that a cleaner, healthier city for our children is surely worth the extra effort of putting biodegradables, recyclables and residuals in separate trash bags.

For some, it’s a journey that ends in death, for others, it’s a walk in the park – and we can all be heroes.

With just a little extra effort...

2007-10-17T08:52:00.000+08:00

Discovery to evolution

2007-10-05T17:10:00.000+08:00

Words of warning and desecrated graves

2007-10-02T09:45:00.000+08:00

Shooting footages for our second episode, which portrays life in Baguio from the early 1900’s to the coming of Word War II, we visited the grave of one of the city’s most esteemed mayors, Eusebius Halsema, who served the city as its chief executive for 17 years. We were given general directions to the exact site and a description: nothing fancy, Eusebius’ grave lies next his wife’s, flat on the ground, no mausoleums, no imposing structures. We search in the general area where it’s supposed to be and after going through the names on tombstones for more than half an hour, we still haven’t found it. There were men playing basketball at a makeshift hoop near the Baguio’s cemetery’s entrance, and exasperated after a half-hour’s search, we approached them and asked if they knew the exact location. They lead us to a secluded site, and pointed to an area overrun by weeds and grass. We clear the area a bit and there were the graves, desecrated: the bronze headstones of both graves were missing. According a caretaker at the cemetery, they were stolen just recently.

After less than a decade of construction frenzy and overcoming criticisms from various sectors of Philippine society – the Americans eventually succeeded in realizing their dream of a hill station in Benguet. After only a few years since they discovered Kafagway, they have built a road that would connect it to the lowlands, a hospital, a hotel, schools, a few government and recreational structures, in the present site of Baguio. This amidst calls for the abolition of the project, particularly coming from the locals who felt that the government was wasting a lot of public funds, Filipino funds, in fact, for the benefit of the Western elite, which is not very different from the opposition just a few years ago to the development of a former military rest and recreation center into a world-class tourist hub.

The construction boom in Baguio in the early years of the 20^th century was guided by a general blueprint by renowned city planner, Daniel Burnham. An urban site that can function as the country’s summer capital, a major health and recreational resort, and a significant market center. While Burnham provided expansive spaces for the construction of private residences and relevant public public and commercial structures, he strongly opposed dense settlement in Baguio. In his recommendation, Burnham stated that “The placing of formal architectural silhouettes upon the summits of the surrounding hills would make a hard skyline and go far toward destroying the charm of this beautiful landscape.” He added, “The preservation of the existing woods and other plantings should be minutely looked after, not only on the eminences immediately contigous to Baguio proper, but also for the surrounding mountains; and the carrying out of these precautions should be one of the first steps in the development of the proposed town.”

The early builders of the city, buoyed by the enthusiasm and hands-on direction of Governor-General Cameron Forbes, religiously followed the Burnham plan, and the result was one of Asia’s most beautiful hill stations.

Looking at the city today, the mountain skyline replaced with one of G.I. sheet roofs, commercial billboards and concrete buildings, it is not entirely to wrong to conclude that Burnham must be turning in his grave.

A change in administration came in 1913, and the new Governor-General, F.B. Harrison, initially was not as big a fan of Baguio as Forbes. The annual tradition of transferring the seat of government to this summer capital was discontinued, for the in the view of the new administration, this practice not only was costly, but downright inefficient for every year, when for a few months government officials would discharge their duties from up in Baguio, communication between the national, provincial and municipal offices was being disrupted.

But it took only a couple of visits to Baguio for Harrison to soften his stand against this mountain resort - he himself was eventually was captivated by the beauty of hill station. Consequently, his visits to the city became more and more frequent, staying longer and longer each time, and perhaps even exceeding the time spent up in Baguio by his predecessor. So while Harrison gave in to the call for the abandonment of the summer capital concept, he nevertheless supported its further development as a place for rest and relaxation.

In 1920, with the appointment of Eusebius Halsema, a civil engineer, the city’s development went into higher gear. Among Baguio’s achievements under the watch of Mayor Halsema were the city’s extensive well-paved roads, which, towards the end of his term as Mayor in 1937, totalled close to 110 kilometres. Baguio also boasted of having, at that time, the most modern street lighting system (sodium vapor lamps) at the market plaza, 3 hydro-electric plants and 600 telephone lines. The Loakan Airport, built to arrest the constant airplane crashes at Burnham Park and the plains of La Trinidad which served as temporary landing areas before, also came to be under Halsema’s watch. From a small city of 5,000, Halsema oversaw the tranformation of Baguio into a vibrant city of 25,000, said to be its maximum holding capacity.

Thus, in the early decades of 1900’s, the Carinos, Suellos, Caranteses, Camdases and Molintases, among the first settlers in Kafagway, together with other nameless Igorots, nurtured the land; Worcester and Wright planted the seeds, Kennon, Burnham, Malcolm, Forbes, and even Harrison, encouraged its growth; and the guidance and efficient administration of Mayor Eusebius Halsema all contributed to the fruition of the “American Dream” of a major hill station in Benguet – a fully developed city in harmony with its natural environment.

Today, all 300,000 of us, as we scratch our heads at what have become of this once highland oasis, let us be reminded by one of Burnham’s forewarnings:

“…unless early protective measures are taken, the misdirected initiative of enthusiastic lumbermen will soon cause the destruction of this beautiful scenery.”

If the desecrated grave of Mayor E.J. Halsema is an indication of how much we value our past and what it tells us, then may God have mercy on this city.

“A century since… the early years,” the second episode of “PORTRAITS: Tales From A Hill Station,” airs Sept. 30, at 4:00PM on SkyCable-Baguio Ch. 12. Replays every Monday and Friday, 7:00PM.

Looking back and up ahead

2007-09-21T16:33:00.000+08:00

Welcome to Baguio, today: a bustling cosmopolitan of roughly 300,000 souls – though on certain days the number may seem so much more than that. A melting pot of different cultures, Baguio is home to people coming from the different parts of the country – and the world. Among those who have made this once quaint summer resort town their home are Chinese, Americans, Indonesians, Indians, Iranians, Australians, British, Afghans, Argentines, Arabs, Brazilians, Danes, French, Germans, Greeks, Jordanians, Mexicans, among others. And more recently and significantly adding to the ever growing Baguio population – Koreans. The city has gone very far from being a densely vegetated, mostly uninhabited pasture land to becoming an American rest, recreation and recuperation resort to a highly urbanized city bursting at the seams.

PORTRAITS: Tales From A Hill Station, is an audio-visual portrayal of the city – all its fascinating facets as told by its rich historical and cultural heritage, and its people.

Among the most common gripes of Baguio citizens these days is the seeming “invasion” of the city by “outsiders.” In a conversation with some locals recently, one lamented that the true citizens of Baguio, perhaps by true citizens he meant those who were born and grew up here, have become a minority in their own city. It is true that in recent years there was a sudden influx of migrants to the city – young families from Manila who wished for a better environment for their children, foreign retirees who took advantage of the city’s invigorating climate and a place where their dollar pensions went a much longer way, entrepreneurs who want to cash in on Baguio’s rapid commercialisation, and foreign students who take advantage of the lower cost of education here, among others. All this happened in what felt like the blink of an eye – one day everywhere in Baguio is less than ten minutes away and you wake up the next morning stuck in traffic and it took you an hour to cover a distance of four kilometers. This “invasion” happened quickly, and so easily, and this is quite interesting: while today all it takes is money and a willing dummy for a foreigner to own land in the city, the once mighty Spanish colonizers did not have it quite as easily as the city’s current “colonizers.”

Though most of Baguio’s written history seems to begin with the arrival of the Americans, it was the Spaniards who first stumbled upon this mountain paradise and realized its potential as a health and recreation center. But conquering the mountain people of the Cordilleras was definitely not a walk in the park, not even for a mighty country like Spain that for centuries was able to build and maintain an expansive empire covering parts of the Americas, Pacific and Southeast Asia. But, from the time Miguel Lopez de Legazpi claimed the whole archipelago in the name of God, his king and his country in 1565, up to the late 1700’s, the Igorots of the Cordilleras humiliated the conquistadores – despite numerous attempts to subjugate the highlanders, they remained free and unconquered. In fact as early as 1630, Fray Juan Medina, a Spaniard, conceded that the mountain people are the most unconquerable of all the natives of this country.

The Spaniards weren’t actually the first foreigners to set foot in the Cordilleras, certain historical accounts claim that the Igorots had a thriving trade relationship with the Chinese back during the Tang dynasty, or about 500 A.D. The Chinese were all over the Cordilleras – passing through Cagayan to reach the Kalingas and the Apayaos, via Vigan to Cervantes to get to the Tingians of Abra and to Bontoc, Mt. Province, and Pangasinan to reach the Igorots of Benguet. The Igorots had access to a much coveted commodity: Gold – among the main reasons the Spaniards just couldn’t turn their backs and ignore the highlanders’ continuing defiance of Spanish authority. So for two hundred years, they made several attempts to get their hands on that gold, but the Igorots prevailed – Governor General Diego Salcedo, towards the end of the 17^th century, described the enduring freedom of the Igorots “a scandal, a mockery, a cause for derision among foreigners that right in the heart of the colony, in the main island of Luzon, this group of people remained pagans, and their gold remained out of reach.”

In the late 1700’s, the highlanders dipped their hands at something that was very dear to the colonizers – they defied the Spanish tobacco monopoly and maintained a clandestine trade of the product in Northern Luzon. This gave the colonizers’ resolve to subdue the Igorots a boost, which led to a proposal for a full-scale invasion of the mountains in 1796.

A series of unrelenting offensives were conducted, and, having to fight both the Spanish military might and diseases like small pox brought in by the invading foreigners, Benguet eventually fell into the hands of the Spaniards. It was not an absolute conquest: though most settlers in the area were forced to move deeper into the mountains of the Cordilleras, throughout the rest of the 19^th century the Igorots bombarded the Spaniards with sporadic uprisings – and by the time the Spaniards have settled and fully established a commandancia politico-militar in what is now La Trinidad, a bigger storm was already brewing in Manila which would spread throughout the country, including the Cordilleras, and result in the demise of Spanish domination in the country – the Katipunan uprising.

And today, we ask, hundreds of years since their defiance of foreign domination, a century since its birth as a city, 50 years or so since surviving World War II, more than a decade since rising from the rubbles of the 1990 earthquake, what do these tales from a hill station amount to? The city’s centennial is fast approaching, and there’s no better time than now to look back and see where the city is now, what it has gone through, where it’s headed, and, hopefully, we may know where we really want it to go and what the best way is to get it there.

Today, as some of us lament the loss of Baguio’s original beauty, its charm, its pine scented air and sunflower covered mountain sides, we may ask: how did the people of these mountains manage to preserve their culture, protect their land and environment, guard their most valuable resources through the ages in the face of mighty colonizers? Perhaps it’s quite simple, really: past generations cared enough.

PORTRAITS: Tales from a Hill Station, presented by local multimedia production group Open Space Projects and sponsored by The Rural Bank of Itogon in cooperation with the Office of the City Mayor, premieres today, Sunday, September 23, 2007 at 4:00PM on SkyCable Baguio Ch. 12.

Created, written and directed by Karlo Marko Altomonte and hosted by Kelly Erin McGurk, PORTRAITS: Tales from a Hill Station is being produced with a purely local cast and crew including RL Abella-Altomonte, executive producer/narrator; Emiloone West Fianza and Ana Badon, researchers/production assistants; Jojo Lamaria research consultant and still photographer; Boybi Sarmiento, technical director; Andre Soriano, assistant director; Katherine Ebba and Freida Fernandez, marketing and promotions.

For inquiries: Mobile 0920.631.9593, e-mail portraits.baguio@gmail.com, or visit our site at http://portraitsbaguio.multiply.com.

Portraits Trailer 4

2007-09-20T12:36:00.001+08:00

Portraits Trailer 3

2007-09-20T12:35:00.003+08:00

Portraits Trailer 2

2007-09-20T12:35:00.001+08:00

Portraits Trailer 1

2007-09-20T12:34:00.000+08:00

PORTRAITS: Tales from a Hill Station

2007-09-02T14:01:00.000+08:00

Open Space Projects' television special. For more info: http://portraitsbaguio.multiply.com

Mang Serapio

2007-08-12T11:38:00.001+08:00

Love for sale

2007-08-10T20:25:00.000+08:00

The posh hotel was quite impressive, I should've worn shoes instead of rubber slippers. The coffee did not taste burned (well, at least the first cup didn't) and the sandwich came with a tiny umbrella.

"We need your brain." All 8 or 9 or 10 of them said in perfect unison. What? "We need some stuff in your brain for this things we're working on." What is this thing you're working on? "A beauty pageant." (Cue: Yanni music fades in).

A beauty pageant. I paused for a while (Yanni music up), wolfing down my 300-peso snack and thinking why I didn't order a 500-peso lunch instead like everybody else, it was past lunch afterall. Sure, what's in it for me? "Nothing." Nothing. Sounds fair. But wait, this stuff you want... from my brain... you're just borrowing it, right? I mean, it's my stuff afterall. "Er... yeah." (Music crossfades from Yanni to Mike Francis' "Lovely Day").

So that night with a sterilized ice pick, a cuticle remover, a teaspoon and a plastic bag with ziplock, I picked my brain. They were nice people, and they were nice about it, so the pain was worth it (which wasn't much anyway), although it wasn't easy picking through the rubbish inside my head. Some brain stuff kept splashing on the heap of bond paper on my desk - I'll use them later for something. I carefully placed them inside the ziplock bag and went to bed, dreaming about tiny umbrellas and fog machines with pine-scented oil.

The next day, I hand over the ziplock bag to them (there were more of them, actually their numbers kept growing as we kept on having more meetings). This time I ordered for something in between a snack and a lunch - tapsilog here is served here without a free bowl of soup like every other tapsilog place does, but that's ok.

"Hmmm, nice stuff," said one while sniffing the bag. Another opened the bag and dipped his finger in it and licked his finger, "would you have something in there to salt this stuff a bit?" You mean right here, right now? "Uh-huh." Good thing I brought that faux Swiss knife I won in a Christmas raffle. So right there, while everyone was enjoying either their grilled prawns or Caesar's salad or minestrone, I picked my brain. I added a bit of this and that into the ziplock bag and the bag was passed around and everybody dipped their fingers into the bag and then everybody licked their fingers and in perfect unison, they said, "Hmmmm, this is good. Take two bottles of freshly ground pepper and we'll call you in the morning."

I left feeling quite dizzy.

They didn't call the next morning, but two mornings after. They wanted another meeting, and they wanted me to bring them more of that brain stuff. Like Clarisse Starling, I trustingly and blindly obeyed.

This brain picking makes me hungry, and I was hungry on that third meeting, so I ordered something two notches classier than the soup-less tapsilog platter.

As they passed around the new batch of stuff around, and just as I was picming through the extenders in my goulash, I heard them say, "there's one more thing we need."

What?

"Your heart."

My heart?

"Yup, we'll pay you."

How much?

"Your brain stuff's good, we're sure you heart's fine too, so name your price."

You do understand that if you take my heart I'll die, right?

"Really?"

Really. So here's the deal, I can give you a taste of my heart and let's take it from there. But bear in mind that I will never allow you to take all my heart away from me, you may use if for your... er... pageant, but it must always remain inside me, ok?

In perfect unison, "ok." I forgot to cue the music for this scene.

We have 10 lunches after that, and on the 11th one which came after a breakfast, we stared at each other for hours until it was time for dinner and I was about to roder something only to find out that they've alreay ordered something for me. Pink salmon.

"Your heart's too expensive."

I almost choked on the salmon I just put in my mouth. Speaking with my mouth full of fish, I said that I wasn't selling my heart, I was merely letting them use it.

"But using it entails costs for us that we find too prohibitive, the equivalent cost of 6 luncheon meetings mean so much to us you know. And besides, we were just wondering if you'd actually sell your heart to us, but you won't, though renting it is fine with us too since we wouldn't need it anymore after the pageant and after we've taken our curtain calls."

I take a sip straight out of the Coke Light can. So what now?

"Actually, we don't really need a heart, all we need is an extra pair of hands... how much are those?"

They're not for sale.

I left in such a haste that I forgot to retrieve the brain stuff in that ziplock bag. But that's ok, there's more where that came from.

Ang Paglilitis ni Mang Serapio

2007-08-09T17:48:00.000+08:00

Synopsis ni Padma Perez
Salinwika sa tagalog mula sa Ingles ni KM Altomonte

ANG PAGLILITIS NI MANG SERAPIO - Isang dula ni Paul Dumol

Sino si Serapio? Bakit siya nililitis? Ano'ng paki-alam natin?

Sa unang limang minuto pa lang ng paglilitis ay tatambad na sa atin ang krimen ni Mang Serapio. Ang pagkakasala niya ay pag-aaruga ng bata. Oo, ang pag-aaruga ng bata ay isang krimen. Unti-unting magkakaroon ng liwanag ang akusasyong ito sa pag-usad ng kwento. Si Serapio ay isang pulubi na kasapi ng isang federacion na namamahala sa arawang-kita ng mga pulubi mula sa pamamalimos. Hinabla siya sa “korte” ng federacion dahil kung tunay nga siyang nag-aaruga ng isang bata, nagkakasala siya dahil bumababa ang kita ng federacion dahil sa pangangalaga niya sa batang yaon. At kung nababawasan nga naman ang kita federacion, kailangan siyang parusahan. Ang maitim na kalikasan ng federacion ay mapaghahalata nang ihayag ng mga taga-usig na ang parusa sa mga lumalabag sa mga batas ng federaciong tulad ni Serapio ay pagpilay o pagbulag, na siya namang makatutulong sa kanilang pagiging pulubi. Ang bawat desisyon ng “korte” ay ginagawa para sa kabutihan ng nakararami sa federacion.

Hindi na bago ang mga balita tungkol sa mga federaciong nagpapalakad sa mga pulubing namamalimos. Madalas tayong makarinig tungkol sa mga ito, at kung tayo'y magmamanman ng mabuti, ang ebidensyang tunay ngang mayroong mga ganitong uri ng federacion ay nasa ating harapan lamang, sa ating mg lansangan. Ang isa sa mga nakakagimbal sa Paglilitis ni Mang Serapio ay ang pag-amin ng isa sa mga kanyang taga-usig na ang tunay na “krimen” ni Mang Serapio ay ang pag-aaruga ng mga pangarap, mga pangarap na hindi naman makakamtan. Para sa federacion, ang mga pangarap at ang mga nangangarap ay mapanganib. Nais tayong paniwalain ng federacion na mas mainam na huwag tayong mangarap, huwag maiba, at huwag pangarapin ang pagbabago, dahil ang pag-asa sa pagbabago ay walang ibang kahahantungan kundi pagkakasakit at kabiguan.

Sa paggamit ng estilong theater-in-the-round kung saan nakapalibot ang mga manonood sa acting area, kakaibang karanasan sa panonood ng isang dula ang hatid ng pagtatanghal ng Open Space Projects ng “Ang Paglilitis Ni Mang Serapio.” Bukod pa rito, ang pagtatangahal na ito ay maaari ring magsilbing plataporma sa pagtalakay ng mga paksa sa araling panlipunan tulad ng struktura ng kapangyarihan sa ating lipunan. Para sa mga estudyante, nagbibigay-daan din ang dula para sa mga talakayan ukol sa mga kaugaliang pilipino at mga konsepto ng ambisyon, pag-asa, hustisya at pag-ibig.

Dagdag pa rito, ang pagsasadula ng paglilitis bilang isang tila palatuntunang pantelebisyon o showbiz blitz ay maaari ring maging tulay sa mga katanungan ukol sa paghubog ng media sa mga impormasyon, mga imahe at ating pag-iisip at kung paano nito naapektuhan ang ating buhay at ang ating mga paniniwala.

Kung ang buhay ay tila nga isang dula, ang Paglilitis ni Mang Serapio ay isang palabas na ipinaloob sa isa pang palabas, at tayo, ang mga manonood, ay mga saksi hindi sa krimeng nagawa ni Mang Serapio, kundi sa mga kawalang-hustisya ng mga ginawa sa kanya.

Bilang mga saksi, kailangan din siguro nating itanong sa ating mga sarili ang mga katanungang ibinato kay Mang Serapio, at maari siguro tayong mapagisip-isip, si Serapio nga ba ay isa lamang hamak na pulubi, o isa ba siyang taong nangangarap, at maari nga kayang isa siyang katulad natin? At kung siya nga ay katulad din natin, sino ang Federacion at paano tayo binubulag nito?

(Open Space Projects' production of Ang Paglilitis Ni Mang Serapio goes on stage at the Bulwagang Juan Luna of U.P. Baguio on August 23, 2007 with shows at 1:30PM and 6:30PM. For inquiries call Dulaang U.P. at mobile 09175060080 or UPCAC at 09102504935 or landline # (074) 4448393)

Sh*t

2007-08-08T16:36:00.000+08:00

RELIGIONS OF THE WORLD

TAOISM – Shit happens.
HARE KRISHNA – Shit Happens Rama Rama Ding Ding.
HINDUISM – This Shit Happened Before
ZEN – What Is The Sound Of Shit Happening?
BUDDHISM – When Shit Happens, Is It Really Shit?
CONFUCIANISM – Confucius Says, Shit Happens.
7th DAY ADVENTIST – Shit Happens On Saturdays.
PROTESTANISM – Shit Won't Happen If You Work Harder.
CATHOLICISM – If Shit Happens I Deserve It.
JEHOVAH'S WITNESS – Knock, Knock. “Shit Happens.”
UNITARIAN – What Is This Shit/
MORMON – Shit Happens Again & Again & Again.
JUDAISM – Why Does This Shit Always Happen To Me?
RASTAFARIANISM – Let's Smoke This Shit!!!

Portraits... tales from a hill station

2007-08-06T20:43:00.001+08:00

Open Space Projects' upcoming tv show... coming in September.

Like a song

2007-07-09T17:19:00.000+08:00

I was bit late, thanks to my printer which for some mysterious reason pauses printing every 4 or 5 pages now (not so mysterious, actually... after 3 years and hundreds of copies of various scripts, design studies, etc., it's ripe for replacement), so it took a long while to print 20 copies of the script for Sunday's script reading.

Baguio theater pillar Ferdie Balanag was there on time, and Jojo Lamaria (theater actor turned gymnast turned photo journalist and returning theater actor), so were most OSP veterans: Syrel Amazona (coming from a couple of years' stint as host in a local ABS-CBN show), Ana and Candice Degollacion (allowed by their mom to juggle HRM and Dentistry (respectively) and being in a play after a whole year's absence in theater), Mai Fianza and Freida Fernandez (OSP's dynamic stage management duo) and Eunice Caburao who was coming from a vacation in Bicol. Those who made it in the previous day's auditions were there on time too (a good sign, I hope they keep it up.). Roman Ordoño was late (surprise, surprise). But that's ok, for now... it was a beautiful afternoon and the sunlight through VOCAS' glass windows was warm and felt good against the cold breeze. Smile. Let's begin.

We started the session with brief individual introductions, then I introduced the cast to the material: Paul Dumol's one-act play, "Ang Paglilitis ni Mang Serapio." Several months after we first thought of staging this play, I think I finally have the right cast. We did do a reading months ago, but somehow the energy wasn't there then so the production was shelved for a while.

I segue into my director's treatment, and as I did I scanned the eyes infront of me to make sure I was getting it across, into them, that we understood each other. As I spoke I began to see images of crowds of young students at the front row wondering if Serapio will indeed be blinded; of the staff rushing to get those props ready for rehearsals, of meals cooked for the cast and roadtrips on dirt roads to Kabayan, of performances in the lowlands, of jampacked vans filled with costumes, props, lighting and sound equipment, and artists trying to get to the next gymnasium full of students somewhere in Pangasinan.

And we began to read. Ferdie has clearly studied the script prior to the reading - except for minor stutters here and there, the lines flowed out of him like a song. The younger ones obviously are new to the theater, not exactly knowing how to read a script, which are directions and which are lines. Jojo's delivery of the word "federacion" gave me ideas for his character as the "Hukom."

Running time: Approx. 45 minutes.

It felt good seeing almost everyone getting lost in the story as the reading progressed. From cold deliveries of the lines the actors slowly began to give more and more life to the script. "Si Sol na anak ni Sol," "Pag-aaruga, pag-aaruga, pag-aaruga ang krimen niya," "Huwag niyong bubuksan 'yan, parang awa niyo na, huwag niyong bubuksan 'yan!" I can't wait to begin blocking this play.

But not yet. One more reading, script and character analysis... then we begin putting together the story onstage... slowly getting those stage movements right, getting the rhythm in sync, pauses when the moment calls for it, outbursts when it moment is right for it, until those lines flow out of each and every actor on stage like a song.

Telling my friends about it...

2007-05-28T14:08:00.000+08:00

I got a call inviting me to help in the campaign of Peds for mayor early this year. To sell out or not to sell out.. but I figured, we local artists spend a lot of time and energy complaining about the city government's lack of support for the arts, but when the time comes when we, just like every ordinary citizen, can make a difference in Baguio, most of us choose to sit it out and watch the elections pass. Mock the whole exercise, even (though a lot of times not without reason, I must add).

Call it whatever you want but I chose to actively participate in this year's local elections. You see a good movie and you tell your friends about it, you listen to some good music and you burn a cd copy for your friends, you read a good book and you can't wait to lend it to a friend after... There are so many things that have been said about Peds, but looking at the other candidates running for the same position, I chose him. And I told my friends about it.

If he does well, then I'll be proud to have contributed to his victory. If he doesn't, then I have all the right to complain for I have been a participant in shaping Baguio's future when I placed my thumbprint on that ballot for him last Monday.

Call it whatever you want, but I just don't believe that sitting on that fence and then jumping to whichever side's convenient when the smoke clears just isn't right.

Dear candidate...

2007-05-03T11:01:00.000+08:00

It didn't rain on Good Friday in John Hay

2007-04-09T13:11:00.000+08:00

The year started with a new car, not a brand new one but a decent sedan offered to us by a friend under the friendliest terms and conditions, so we got it.

I drive down with it and an entertainer to meet up with the officers of this Rotary Club in Quezon City to negotiate a contract for me to direct the opening and closing ceremonies of their district conference (the entertainer brought me into this project). I was supposed to provide my services as director of two production numbers, the doxology (the latest trend is for the invocation to be done in song [Bocelli's The prayer] and dance [a couple of ballet dancers]), 24 dancers, production design, and 15 ballroom dance instructors for the Governor's Ball.

Slacks, Lacoste shirts and shoes, blazers, gelled hair, cigarettes and Scotch, plus me and the entertainer.

She represents me and the lights and sound provider, this entertainer. That's ok, she's put a mark up on every single item that would fall under my budget. Aside from what I was supposed to provide, she was bringing in herself and a brass band. What I didn't know was that that mark up avergaed 50% on every item. Not to mention her 150% mark up on the brass band. An hour into the meeting and it was apparent that the Rotarians thought the budget was too high, plus they weren't really impressed with the lights and sound provider that the entertainer brought with her, as far as they're concerned, they'd rather stick to the lights and sound provider they used the previous year. Sensing that, the etertainer blurts out what she thought would seal the deal - "I won't perform if you don't get my guy." Diva.

Long story short, one more meeting and then they took her out, took her guy out, and chose to keep me. I relay this information to her, plus the fact that they'd only do it if the budget is this much, and under that budget I could only give her 5%. She agrees, or so I thought.

The District Conference happened, with the Rotary's original choice for lights and sound equipment providing technical reinforcement ruining the whole thing with booboos every five minutes (bringing the Rotary Governor to several near heart attacks), and with the entertainer out of the scene but all over town telling the story of how the project was "stolen" from her.

The election campaign fever followed right after the district conference, and I was really craving for some soul food, so to speak. So we decide to do JC-Live - no money, just guts and a great libretto. Perennial benefactors University of Baguio and Rural Bank of Itogon provide some much needed funds to jumpstart the thing. We use some of that money to buy beer for the two VOCAS performances. Nathan dilly-dallies as Herod so we decide to bring in the new kid in town, Ron Luis, to audition for the role. I meet him, he says hello in that rough, Tom Waits voice, and I say, "you're in." He does a blues version of Herod's song.

Ethan's musical direction is at the center of the production, it's a concert afterall. Despite the lack of budget, he thought it was necessary to bring in more musicians adding a keyboard and two blowers to our original band of 5 musicians.

We open in VOCAS with a modestly filled house... the first performance, as expected, seemed more like a dress tech, with hitches here and there, all minor though, thank God. No lights where Judas was supposed to enter, Herod kept disappearing and just as his part was coming next, he decides to go to the bathroom, so he sings the first lines as he was zipping up his fly coming out of the bathroom. Cholo messes up some of his lines, and struggled throughout the Pilate and Christ scene. Yoshi was off by five seconds in that prolonged high note in Gethsemane (but, well, 15 seconds instead of 20 sustaining that high note is already a feat anyway). The second show the next day was a hit, with all the minor hitches ironed out, by the time the overture was played in John Hay on the third day, Open Space rose again. And for the first time, it didn't rain on Good Friday in Baguio. Not in John Hay anyway. And then the usual, "really? you guys aren't from Manila? All these talents are local?" Yeah.

I still have all the lights (those improvised par cannisters fashioned out of G.I. sheets and curtain rods) in the trunk of our car (thirty percent paid and counting). The entertainer cashed her check the day after I left it for her at the front desk of the Manor. A performance art festival is in the offing and will open in a couple of weeks. We're doing our performance art peice designed for the visually impaired.

Some Scotch on the rocks and a day at the beach wouldn't be bad at all. Rain or shine.

It is...

2007-02-10T17:29:00.000+08:00

Posted that same piece below on my multiply site, and it has recieved a couple of comments from friends...

From Padma:

"It is common knowledge that Baguio needs leaders with an exceptional vision of a different sort of future. A future that extends far beyond their political careers.

It is common knowledge that these leaders are nowhere in sight.

It is common knowledge that these days, vision consists of poorly planned flyovers, artificial snow, and sad hollywood rip-offs.

Is it because it is common knowledge, that no one is in an outrage?"

From Su:

"Isn't it strange how things that are outrageous become common knowledge...and thus...as Padma says...accepted. I remember so well when we were all standing up and fighting...when they tried to give John Hay away to the Taiwanese. Sometimes I know it feels so overwhelming to fight and fight and fight some more but we can't give up. I am so glad you made this piece Karlo. I wish there was a way to get it aired over and over on national television."

I do remember a bit of that one battle Su mentioned (the one against the plan to give CJH to a Taiwanese corporation), and I was there myself when the battle shifted to the plan to have CJH turned into an almost exclusive playground for the filthy rich and tasteless. I remember how passionate the whole Baguio community was about it, particularly the its more famous members. It's sad that the fight was not sustained to actually win the battle and now the voices have died down and Camp John Hay is almost a non-issue these days despite the fact the much-trumpeted justification for the selling of one of Baguio's treasures, the money it will bring into the city via rental fees, remains to be seen (almost a decade since they started chopping down trees and building ridiculously-priced luxury homes in the camp).

I remember how the community once again let its sentiments be known on the planned casino in John Hay, and with the protracted war against the abusive pay-parking company, Jadewell - which resulted in the trashing of then Mayor Bernanrdo Vergara, one of the people who brought upon us Jadewell and who tried to ram the casino down our throats, in the 2004 elections).

And so, though we do need a maverick up there in city hall, what Baguio needs is its people to once again make a united stand against the cotinued rape of the city mostly perpetuated by, sadly, the very people we elected to protect the city's interests.

At the end of the day, way more than the government officials, it is the people who make good things happen in Baguio. That, too, is common knowledge.

It is common knowledge

2007-02-07T11:39:00.000+08:00

a tale of two trees

2007-01-17T14:01:00.000+08:00

See my Tabblo>

Rapists

2007-01-04T15:22:00.000+08:00

It was surely a horrible experience, getting raped by one Daniel Smith, in the back of a moving van, in the dead of the night, while she was too intoxicated to fight off the assailant. She files a case, and the whole nightmare must be relived in that courtroom under the glare of camera lights and cynical eyes. She wins the case, and she is raped once again by a group of brainless people who doubted her story and believed that the rapist is innocent of the crime because he's "cute."

And now, the most disgusting criminal act against Nicole to date: GMA, Gonzalez, Romulo, et al, raped her once again, and the country, and its people, by spitting in the face of Nicole to please Bush.

Now it can be told without a tinge of doubt; GMA did not give a hoot about the life of that Filipino truck driver when she pulled out our troops from Iraq to please the man's abductors who threatened to behead him if the pinoys weren't pulled out. She didn't care about him, she cared about saving her illegitimate claim to power, and such a then popular move would do just that. And now that her hold on Malacañang got a bit tighter since, to hell with the Filipina rape victim, make Bush smile, and make sure the rapist is as comfortable as possible, the laws of the land and the sovereignty of this country be damned.

And to think one can go to jail for not standing up while the National Anthem is being played.

Rapists go to hell.

You must be tired of all the people throwing in their 5 centavos' worth on this issue - well, don't be, you shouldn't be, you must not be, this whole thing's a slap on your face too.

Baguio: in ruins and for sale

2006-12-22T11:44:00.000+08:00

Thank you, Christine

2006-11-30T12:44:00.000+08:00

Over pizza and beer at a little past midnight, we talked about how it's probably becoming some kind of a trend already to make one's presence felt with a power outage soon after one passes away: it happened when Santi went, it happened last night soon after Christine passed away.

Padma called last night just as we were having dinner - Christine was at the Notre Dame Hospital and wasn't doing well. I had to end the alread prolonged stand off between me Aeneas about slinky and how to take care of her properly and rush to the hospital.

It wasn't easy seeing her struggling with every breath, I closed my eyes and tried to picture her the way I knew her...

It took a while for me to get comfortable around Christine, I only met her when I moved to Baguio ten years ago. She wasn't really sociable - she wouldn't pretend to be anything she's not. It was only later that I would admire her sincerity: sitting at the Cafe by the Ruins' office laying out the menu. I remember us laughing it off when I made that typo error on one item in the menu - something that I think should've cost 70 pesos but I mistakenly typed 270 and yet that item still got ordered a lot. We joked about splitting the extra profits. I would be her computer geek for the next couple of years - how does one send an email? Make attachments? Open attachments? How to play the Baguio scandal video?

She'd try to watch all our plays, and I particularly remember the time when she brought Andre, who was I think about 7 or 8 years old then. The play was Sex, Drugs, Rock & Roll, a performance-art piece overflowing with cuss words and provocative scenes... when I saw her the next day at the Cafe, the first things she said was, "Gago ka talaga!" Said with a big smile on her face. Then she complained about having to spend all night explaining a lot of things that Andre saw in that performance that same night. I believe Christine Arvisu liked the show.

And then we had Leon. I was really touched by how much she loved Leon and the way she showed this - the way she took care of him when he's at her house, or when he spends the night there for an all-night PS2 binge with Andre. I loved bringing Leon to her, and Leon loved being around her: he just felt so welcome and at ease with Christine and in her home.

Yup, we became friends, I can say that now; we became really good friends, I believe that.

Thank you, Christine, for not saying hi when you didn't feel like it, and asking how we've been when you really meant it, when you sincerely wanted to know how we've been. Thank you for all the happy moments Leon and the rest of my children had with you and your family. Thanks for being a real friend, and being there for us no matter what, and for having us as your friends. Thanks for being a part of our lives. And thank you for showing us what courage was up until your last moment with us. And forgive us if we bothered you a bit too much last night by disturbing the beginning of your journey out there with our hugs, kisses, and words of love: though we knew it was time, it just wasn't easy to let go of a friend like you.

On our way home last night, after a few pizzas and a beer with Mitos and her kids at Volante figuring out if the power outage was city-wide or just downtown, but being so sure that the blackout was your way of letting us know that you're ok, that you're well on your way, peacefully, quietly, RL showed me a text message you sent her last month: Take care guys. Be happy.

We'll do all we can, Christine, thank you. And we love you too.

Take a walk

2006-11-28T15:58:00.000+08:00

First, they applauded the it, until someone allegedly slipped on it and injured herself. So they distanced themselves from it, condemned it, threatened to destroy it, until it started getting good reactions from the community, so they started commending it again...

... until someone came up with a great idea: Replace those mosaics on the sidewalks of Session Road (brainchild and the work of concerned local artists who acted on their own since the city government wasn't doing anything for the longest time to patch up the holes on the sidewalks along Session Road) with our version of Hollywood's walk of fame and have hand-prints of famous showbiz personalities dot the sidewalks all over the Central Business District, beginning with, oh man - Mother Lily's. What does she have to do with Baguio except that some of her productions were shot and eventually, sadly inevitably, shown here? Educate me please.

Since apparently this idea is being endorsed by certain powers-that-be in the city (and we all know that when anything has the approval of the city's powers-that-be, no matter how stupid the idea is, be it a flyover at the BGH Rotunda or a concrete pine tree or a pay-parking ordinance it happens), here's another suggestion:

Why not also pay tribute to and include plaster casts of the faces of JDV; Raul Gonzalez; GMA; Dubya; certain current city officials whether appointed, career employees or elected; a lot of past city officials particularly those itching to make a come back to save face; Rogelio and Norma Tan... you get the drift.

(Oh, and don't forget to also include the faces of those who came up with this idea and are pushing for it).

This would surely make walking along Session Road a lot more interesting... but you better be a lot more careful when you do - you wouldn't wanna step on some shi*t.

Reclaiming Session Road

2006-11-10T16:03:00.000+08:00

Dancers during last June's Independence Day Parade.

How can I?

2006-11-02T16:26:00.000+08:00

So there we were. Ten years later, running around hours before the concert, hauling lighting and sound equipment 5 floors up to VOCAS, buying cases of beer to be sold at P40 each during the show so we can have free booze for ourselves at the end of the performance, xeroxing copies of the repertoire.

Ten years later we didn't have to rent everything we needed anymore - though our very own sound system still wasn't enough for the concert, we didn't need to rent lights: we had to make do with our dozen or so par 38's and 8-channel dimmer board.

Ten years later there are a lot of new faces, and a few old ones, but the last few months blurred the line between the two - everybody felt like everybody's old friend.

Ten years later, half of the cast came in an hour late for the 3pm call time, so our sound check started at 4:30. That's ok.

Ten years later, and a few days' rehearsals later, we were ready to begin, so I went up the stage and asked everyone to rise for the National Anthem. And then, the opening remarks...

Halfway through, someone interrupts my speech from the backrow, I looked for the culprit and found him seated at the steps, looking really wasted. Ferdie got up, excused himself for being rude, and came straight up on stage. I gave him a mic.

"F*ck you, I'm not a drug addict... sorry I had to interrupt you tonight... here's the situation: I need your money... I could have a knife up to your throat right now, but I don't wanna do that... the only difference between you and me is that you're on the ups and I'm on the downs, underneath it all we're exactly the same, we're both human beings... I am a human being... I say f*ck you, I'm not a drug addict..."

For a while the performers onstage were worried that I was gonna lose my temper and maybe just drag Ferdie off the stage, until they saw me mouthing the exact words Ferdie was saying. It was from "Grace of God", one of the monologues in "Sex, Drugs, Rock & Roll". Our very first production in Baguio, back in 1996.

Ferdie ends his bit, I continued with my speech. Ethan hands over the acoustic guitar to Arkhe who in turn hands it to me... we opened the show with one of the very first songs I composed, "Awit sa Bata," from the play about children's rights I wrote in 2000. We also did "Taguan" and "Dakila Ka" to my amatuerish guitar playing with the help of Ethan on his electric guitar.

And then there was the "Pangarap" suite... followed by "Once on this Island" and "Jesus Christ Superstar." For our encore, the group sang "Why We Tell The Story" from "Once on this Island." After ten years of telling stories, it felt really good singing that song.

Rewind performed a set of Reggae songs afterwards, and I just had to join them on the conggas, and in a moment everybody was on their feet dancing. Later the gongs came out and so did Kawayan who started a bonfire in the middle of the dance floor.

Ten years, a few cases of beer, countless bottles of GSM Blue, lots of handshakes and hugs and kisses... How can I possibly get out of this insane, noble, harsh, wonderful, magical, infinite world of artistic possibilites that is theater?

Opening remarks

2006-11-02T15:58:00.000+08:00

The anniversary concert went really well... thought I'd tell the audience that night a brief story about Open Space... this is what I told them:

One night, more than ten years ago, actually, I was in Malate, standing in the middle of Remedios Circle, a few paces from the famous Penguin Café. I was with a good friend and a great actor, the late RJ Leyran. We were a few nights away from JC-Live, a benefit concert for Bahay Tuluyan, a shelter for streetchildren in Malate which was in danger of closing down at the time due to lack of funds. The concert featured music from Andrew Lloyd Weber’s Jesus Christ Superstar to be performed by various artists like The Manila Youth Symphony Orchestra, the band Waling-waling, Pablo Molina, Bernardo Bernardo, Lolit Carbon, Jett Melencio, Raul Roxas, Paul Morales, and many more. We have convinced the artists to donate their time and talent for the cause, and, to be able to convince sponsors to support the event, we needed to be representing some kind of a group, a theater group, a performing arts group, a company. We needed a name. Standing there in the wide open space of Remedios Circle, it came to me… Open Space.

That was 1995. And even though the sponsors decided to ignore the event, a sign of things to come, the concert was a success… and Open Space began to officially exist.

A year later, I was in another café, 5 hours away from Manila, a few paces down the road from here… in Rumours café. My wife, RL, introduced me to one Ferdie Balanag, theater artist, director, actor, lighting designer… I mentioned to him a play I’ve been wanting to stage, a play called Sex, Drugs, Rock & Roll – a series of monologues about present-day survivors – I described to him the characters in the play – a panhandler denying his drug addiction, a philandering yuppie, a has-been rock star trying to make a come back, a paranoid artist (aren’t we all?) - and we agreed to stage the play in Baguio.

In October of 1996, Ferdie and I would meet every single day in an abandoned school in Campo Sioco, sneaking past the building caretaker with our scripts, to rehearse the play. And Sex, Drugs Rock & Roll opened at the BCF Theater, and eventually had a run at the UPCB Theater, and I decided that here, in Baguio, is where Open Space Productions will take root and hopefully, bloom.

I envisioned a theater group that would explore all artistic possibilities in presenting an alternative form of entertainment that will consistently present relevant social and cultural issues. A theater group that would not be stuck to a particular genre – we staged whatever hit us right here – there was Craig Lucas’ “A Prelude to a Kiss”; the trilogy “Mga Ina ng Bayan”; we wrote our own plays, “Taguan, Habulan, Patintero”, “Manifest Destiny,” “Pangarap;” coming from doing intimate productions due to budget concerns, we became ambitious with the musical “Once on this Island,” and later, a dream play; “Jesus Christ Superstar.”

We have performed at the BCF Theater, at the UPCB Auditorium, at the SLU-CCA Theater, at the Dap-ayan of the University of Baguio, at the Griffiths Theater of Brent School, at the gallery of the Workshop for Creative Survival in Guisad, at the CAP auditorium (the one in CAP Building near the post office, and not the one in John Hay: at P100,000.00 a night, we can never afford to mount a play there), at the CCDC Theater in La Trinidad, more recently in Kabayan, Benguet, then down in Tayug, Lingayen and Dagupan, Pangasinan, in San Fernando, La Union, all the way to Candon and Sta. Maria, Ilocos Sur. Once we found ourselves way down south in Daet, Camarines Norte. If we weren’t performing, we’re conducting workshops in some school in Baguio, or in Ilocos Norte, or for some community theater group in Ifugao or Benguet. We dipped our fingers in all sorts of things – we were introduced to multi-media and started incorporating this in our performances, and eventually even produced independent works on video. We tried various approaches to play production as in our experimental production of Rene Villanueva’s “Tonyo,” a multi-sensory theatrical performance that was designed for the visually-impaired.

And more than a hundred curtain calls later, here we are.

In those hundred or so curtain calls, through the years, we’ve worked with established artists, aspiring ones who’ve either moved on to Manila to pursue their theater careers there or work in a call center or have gone abroad in search of greener pastures, so to speak. Can’t blame them, being an independent theater group in Baguio is not easy. Our reputation, or reputations, precedes us – we’re the ones who hold open forums at the end of each show, the ones who’d stop a performance when the audience becomes unbearably noisy and rowdy, we’re the ones who opened a play an hour late at one time, half an hour in another, we’re the ones who had a lousy sound system, and, the one that perhaps sticks out above the rest – we’re the ones who are always broke. We owe this lights and sound provider, this and that artist, at times we pay in kind – a TV set to a guy we rented lights from, a watch to an actor we owed. Our house belongs to a much bigger family beyond me and my wife and our children – it’s a set and props construction space, a rehearsal venue, a photography studio, an editing room, and a lot of times, a halfway house for runaway artists.

The stories go on and on, and with all the struggles, the hurdles, we’re still here, after ten years. One might ask why.

As a line in “Why We Tell The Story,” a song from the musical, “Once on this Island” goes, “life is why, pain is why, love is why, grief is why, hope is why, faith is why, YOU are why....”

What it's all about...

2006-10-31T14:40:00.000+08:00

In Kabayan, there’s no rush hour. Mornings are spent either taking walks or jogging around the school grounds. There’s a couple playing badminton right next to some young men playing 3 on 3 basketball. A policeman steps out the station and greets everyone good morning on his way to a few laps around the school. I’m having my first Camel of the day with a steaming cup of Kabayan coffee just outside the guesthouse, which is right across the school, beside the police station and a few paces from the municipal hall. A man asks for a light, I forgot my lighter inside so I hand him my lighted cigarette… he lights a fat joint.

The day before, we left Baguio a little after noon for the 4-hour drive to Kabayan in a rented Urvan packed with lighting and sound equipment, set pieces, props and costumes, cast and staff of 8. It was a good thing that the van only had a cassette instead of a CD player, the road to Kabayan wouldn’t allow a CD to play more than ten seconds of music without skipping. Towards sunset we were being welcomed by Kenneth at the municipal guesthouse: 2 rooms with 3 double-deck beds in each, one bathroom, a living room with bottomless jugs of coffee, a bathroom, a dining room that doubles as a workout gym for the policemen next door, and a kitchen. Men and women are supposed to stay in separate rooms, as the guesthouse rules dictate, but we decided that couples stay in one room and singles stay in the other… Freida stayed in our room even if Glen wasn’t with her.

We unloaded everything from the van and started setting up in the multi-purpose hall of the elementary school. We took a short break for dinner, and tried to finish the set-up that night so we can have the whole morning to see the town. We finished the set, positioned the props, prepared the costumes, put up the sound system and hung the lights. We were about to wire the par 38s when electricity was cut-off went out. Time to call it a night.

Not that the town emitted enough lights to obscure the sky at night like Baguio does, but the stars seemed a lot brighter when we stepped out of the hall. We spent the rest of the night drinking the carton of basi that a friend gave us.

The next morning, after that cigarette and cup of Kabayan coffee, we continued setting up. We finished with enough time to visit the museum and the cavern that held the skeletal remains of the town’s ancestors. We were back at the guesthouse by lunchtime, with enough to spare for a quick nap and a quick cold bath before the 1:30PM performance. An hour before the scheduled first show the students from the Kabayan National High School, a nice 3-kilometer walk away, started arriving.

This particular production has been touring the lowlands in the last couple of months – Lingayen, Candon, Sta. Maria – we’ve been performing it for mostly high school students and so we’ve had lots of practice performing to noisy audiences who were there because they were required by their teachers to watch, and just can’t wait for the show to be over. But we knew from the time Freida made her entrance from the back row onto the stage that this audience would be different. Not even the slapstick of Ethan and Lloyd was enough to stir up the wide-eyed students to make unnecessary noises. For the next 40 minutes or so, they sat there absorbing every word being said onstage and when the time to sing the National Anthem came at the end of the show, for the first time in a number of performances, the audience stood up promptly and sang with us.

The elementary students in the next show were no different from their manongs and manangs: they held on to every word, ever gesture, ever action on stage.

And I thought, this is what it’s all about.

With so much time to spare in the afternoon, but not enough to make a go back to Baguio without having to drive in the dark, we visited the Kabayan Youth Club’s library. We were shown the National Geographic documentary on the Kabayan mummies, which ended with a short lecture on the documentation process by Kenneth. A lot of us got excited by the library’s collection, but we couldn’t bring any of these books back with us, but that didn’t stop Boybi from borrowing Dune for the night. I went to bed with A Brief History of God and RL tried to go as far as she could with a Milan Kundera book.

Boybi didn’t get to finish Dune, he fell asleep at around 4AM with only a fourth of the book left.

I didn’t stay up that long on our second night, the 4-hour drive the previous day and the two performances earlier forced me to sleep early. I woke up to the smell of breakfast and coffee early the next morning; the teachers who’ve been taking care of us at the guesthouse came in early to cook to make sure that we’d be ready to go by 7AM.

After breakfast, with everything back in the now beat up rented Urvan, it was time for the long goodbyes. One teacher said that after watching the play, she realized that truly, the classroom can only offer so much, and art truly gives us a deeper understanding of the world around us. We promised to be back.

Nah, we begged them to have us back there again some time. This is what it’s all about.

Frank: A long goodbye

2006-10-07T17:09:00.000+08:00

I met Bryan Powles in 2000, when good friend Lee Garrovillo, then an art teacher in Brent, invited me and fellow Baguio-based theater artist Ferdie to join an afternoon’s poetry reading session at the school’s newly constructed art center. In attendance were Brent students, parents and a few guests from Baguio’s art community, and Ferdie and I decided to read a couple of monologues from Eric Bogosian’s gritty and very provocative piece, “Sex, Drugs, Rock & Roll.” I remember editing certain words on the spot so as to avoid offending the supposed conservative sensibilities of some of the parents and teachers present – “I used to love listening to rock whenever I AM HAPPY (get high).”

Bryan loved Bogosian’s “The Artist” and “Grace of God,” and invited Ferdie and I to do an impromptu performance a few days later at a school assembly. We did a sketch on teenage violence, and I was eventually invited to be an artist-in-residence in Brent for a few months. During my residency, I was to conduct a series of workshops for grades 3-12, and then stage a play at the end of the program. I was coming from staging “Cyrano de Bergerac” the previous year, which was almost ruined by my lead actor’s suspension after he was busted for smoking and drinking in his dorm room a few days before opening night. CJ DeRaedt took over the role and learned the part of Christian in a few record-breaking days.

Bryan and I decided that I will perform the whole “Sex, Drugs, Rock & Roll” anthology of monologues as my residency’s culminating event. This was met with violent reactions and objections by some parents, particularly that year’s PTA president, who vowed to do all he can to stop the showing of the play. But Bryan, together with Lee and other Brent faculty members, plus all the senior high school students who were in my production staff as apprentices, were steadfast in their commitment to get the play to opening night. The Headmaster then, exhibiting his abilities in playing politics, tried to stay on the good side of both of the opposing groups – he started by calling me to his office to discuss the possibility of “editing the script” to address the reservations of those opposed to the production. I told him that whole it was ok to “bleep” certain words during that poetry reading session, I cannot allow the editing of the script for an actual performance. In the following weeks, Mr. Headmaster would try to several times to convince me to censor the play.

It was a stalemate for a while. In the meantime, rehearsals continued. It was decided that I would only do 1 performance in Brent – and I thought that it would be such a waste to perform a play you rehearsed for more than a month only once, so I decided that after the Brent show, I would do a full run at the BCF Theater.

The bickering went on and on and on: the pros were all over the campus posting posters and selling tickets, while the antis were all over the campus asking school officials to stop the performance and trying to convince students and other parents to boycott the performance if it actually pushed through. Bear in mind that none of those opposing the performance has actually read the play nor bothered to ask for a copy of the script at all. All these I and my apprentices were all over the campus gathering materials for our set and props – discarded toilet seats, tires, scaffoldings, etc.

At some point, the antis scored a victory – after sensing that the performance will go on despite their protestations, they asked the Head master to at least “change the title of the play.” The Headmaster asked me for a reaction, and I said, “so instead of ‘Sex, Drugs,

Rock & Roll,’ what do we call it, “Love-making, narcotics and some really loud music?”

In the end, the poster had this copy: An evening of theater with Karlo Marko Altomonte at the Griffiths Theater. And, as a sub-title, in much smaller print: featuring excerpts from the play, “Sex, Drugs, Rock & Roll.”

A day before the performance, Mr. Headmaster showed up again at the theater, with a copy of the script in his hand – he said he tried editing it himself and wanted me to at least look at his bastardization of Bogosian’s script. So instead of the monologue “Dirt” opening with “Fuckin’ `ya shit, fuck, piss!,” he proposed something like “Darn it, it’s so dirty and messy around here!.” I didn’t even want to look at how he edited this line in another monologue: “I’ve got a looong, thick, well-shaped prick – the kind girls die for. You’re laughing? So what, fuck you!” I know what I’ve got and the ladies? Hell, they know a lot better than I do!.”

I told him that I’d rather take out whole monologues instead of alter lines from it. I volunteered to take out the one with the long, thick, well-shaped prick, altogether. NAd with it 3 other monologues, but “Dirt” will have to stay or forget about it. But Mr. Headmaster insisted on his “Darn-it-it’s-so-dirty-and-messy-around-here” opening lines.

I said ok. Yes. I’ll open the play evening’s performance with “Darn-it-it’s-so-dirty-and-messy-around-here.”

Opening night. It was a full-house, it turned out that all the brouhaha raised by the PTA officials piqued a lot of people’s curiosity and tickets sold like pirated DVD’s. A parent even said that when he first heard about the play, he wasn’t that much interested, he was not exactly a big theater fan. But when several parents and teachers approached him discouraging him from supporting the production, he got curious, and bought tickets for himself and his kids.

Anthem over, I was wrapped in garbage bags and carrying a plunger, all ready for “Dirt.” I peeped from the sides and saw Mr. Headmaster right there at the front row – looking so eager to hear his brilliant choice of words spoken on stage. I enter murmuring, almost inaudibly, my first few lines as the lights slowly faded in, and, just as the lights went to full intensity, I was standing right at Stage Center, I looked Mr. Headmaster in the eye and said, “Fuckin’ `ya shit, fuck, piss!”

A lot of those who watched that night eventually also watched the following performances at the BCF Theater – where I performed all the monologues. The PTA President who also headed the crusade to ban the performance was sent invitations to both performances, but he never came.

I and the graduating class of that school year, my staff, got close, and later that year they nominated me as their top pick to be their graduation speaker, which of course the Headmaster vetoed. Among those students was that year’s valedictorian, Mads, who up to know is still a devoted and much-treasured member of our group, Open Space Projects.

Bryan Powles invited me to Brent School again after that – to perform a monologue on Rizal’s life, and to direct the play, “An Actor’s Nightmare.”

I held auditions for “…Nightmare,” where I met a young man who has been watching me from the sidelines since I started my whole Brent episode, and who has been wanting to join my productions, but was too shy to approach me or anyone about it. I had two choices for the lead character. One was Bryan, who seemed to have a natural talent for acting, and the other was Frank, whose personality seemed to fit the lead character’s.

Frank was a shy young man, who, during the auditions, can barely be heard as he read excerpts from the script. But I saw in his eyes a strong desire, his determination, to bag that role – so strong it looked almost like a plea: he wanted to be given the chance. Later he would tell me that he admired the way I fought for and never waivered for what I believed in, and that he wished to be like me when his time comes. I was really flattered.

Also, in his eyes, there was a certain sadness, that seemed to show itself despite his effort to hide it. Told that there would be two performances, I cast both Bryan, for his innate talent, and Frank: I wanted to give him a chance, an opportunity to realize his potentials.

They both performed really well, but I was admittedly happier for Frank – watching him take that bow at the end of his performance, he scanned the whole auditorium with a look that seemed to scream out, “I can!.” He came to me right after the show and gave me a really big and strong hug and just looked at me, he couldn’t utter a word. He didn’t have to.

At the end of that school year, Bryan Powles, the hard-headed English Department Head, got in touch with me to ask for my help: Frank has been kicked out of the house by his father and had nowhere to go; he had only one year left before graduating. I volunteered to take him in, while Bryan raised funds to pay for his tuition for Frank’s last year in Brent.

We were living in this tiny apartment in Bakakeng then. It had three rooms: ours, Mama’s, and the helper’s. We had an attic, which served as a stockroom, I offered that to Frank.

Frank called me Sir, but it didn’t feel like the kind of Sir you use to address a teacher, it felt more like the kind you use to address a father you have so much respect for. I didn’t know Frank quite well until then, although he seemed like such a proper young man in school, I had no idea what he was like at home. I prepared myself for late night drinking binges on weekends, and sermons at the breakfast table while he nursed a nasty a hangover. I was really amazed, even embarrassed, to realize after a couple of weeks that Frank was Frank, in school or elsewhere.

A typical day with Frank in the house: I’ll wake up to find that Frank has prepared coffee and breakfast for everyone. He made sure that, if I came home late the night before and we didn’t get to talk, to ask me the next day how the previous day was and if there was anything I wanted him to do or anything he could do to help at all around the house. He would say goodbye to every single one in the house before leaving for school. On days that I’m home early, he’d arrive from school, greet everyone in the house, go straight up to the attic to change, and then join me for coffee to talk about how the day has been. He would then help out in the kitchen to prepare dinner. Right after dinner, if he’s now washing the dishes, he’d playing with Leon. After a while he’d apologize and excuse himself to start doing his homework. He’d ask me for help every now and then with his schoolwork.

He did go out with friends every now and then: but he made sure to ask for my permission, and he never failed to come home at the time he said he would.

I heard from Byran that he’s really been having trouble getting along with his parents. Many times I wanted to talk to Frank about his troubles with his parents, but I wasn’t sure if he really wanted to discuss it, so I never brought it up and instead just waited for him to say something about it if he felt like he needed to talk to someone about it. He did on occasion, but he didn’t say that much about it – but from what he did let out, I was able to paint a picture of what it’s like at home

After a few weeks, Bryan Powles informed me that he was able to secure enough support for Frank that would enable him to stay at the dormitory of Brent.

A long goodbye followed – Frank said he really loved staying with us, but at the same time he didn’t want to cause anyone anymore trouble. He promised to stay in touch. I was really glad.

He graduated that following year, and was introduced to Edgar, who ran an Eco-farm in Pangasinan. He worked for Edgar for a while, helping out with the delivery of bottled lemon grass tea, one of the farms products. He really seemed to enjoy being on his own, and earning his keep. I’d see him once in a while about town, a folder in hand that listed his itinerary for the day, and at times lugging boxes of the products. We’d always stop to talk a while, update each other with what’s happening in our respective lives. He said that he has decided to postpone college for a couple of years, until he’s earned enough to send himself to school. I was really impressed with Frank’s determination to overcome his personal hurdles.

A couple of months ago, while waiting for a cab in front of Brent where we picked up Leon after a soccer game, I saw Frank. I was really glad to see him, he looked really good, but together with that passion and kindness, and that certain sadness, in his eyes, I also saw weariness. In the last couple of years since that long goodbye, it was apparent that Frank has had to go through so much more. But, on the sunny side of Brent Road, we hugged and talked a while. He was finally able to save enough to enroll in college. He was really excited, and so proud, about it, and RL and I were really so happy for him. How I wished he were my son… I wanted to be even prouder than I was already for him. But then I thought, in way, he is. I told him that if he wouldn’t be very busy with school, and had some extra time on his hands, he might want to join me again in a production, be on stage again. We promised to keep in touch.

I was at an interview for some local TV talk show last night, the program aired right before the evening news. During a break, I heard a guy talking about the brother of a beauty queen from Baguio, some girl whose last name was Reiter, Riter, Rieter, who was found dead in his room an hour earlier. The neighbors heard a gunshot the night before, but didn’t think much of it. It turned out to be a suicide, and the young man wasn’t discovered until the day after. The name sounded familiar, but I didn’t much about it.

Later that evening, I was in a meeting in VOCAS, when RL forwarded this text from Grace Subido - “Hey karlo/rl. Grace Subido here. Hate to be the bearer of such sad news, but just heard that Frank Reiter killed himself. He’s at Paz daw. Thought you should know, he seemed happiest when he was with you guys.”

I was gonna run to Paz Funeral Parlor right away, but RL learned that his body is still awaiting autopsy – four hours after he was discovered in that room, they haven’t began the autopsy because they were still waiting for his parents.

I wanted to go see him right away, say goodbye right away, I wished there was some way to ask him why he did it, why taking his life served as the answer to whatever it was that bothered him.

Been thinking about him since I heard the news – I want to be angry at him for not considering other options, even simply running away from whatever drove him to point that gun to himself and pull the trigger.

I wish there was something I could’ve done to prevent this. For Frank, I would’ve been prepared to do anything. He had such great potential… such a waste of that potential, such a great waste.

When I see him later today, his eyes will be closed, those eyes that told so much will be forever closed now.

I will never forget Frank.

Loooonganisa

2006-10-02T11:46:00.000+08:00

Oh My Gulay's chef, Marlon, got married yesterday at, where else, VOCAS. Officiated by Baguio Acting Mayor, Peter Rey Bautista, it was an intimate event, not too many people, just family and some close friends. Marlon asked me to take some pictures.

Got there 5 minutes before the 3pm scheduled start, and both the bride and groom weren't there yet. A couple of minutes later, Peter Rey walked in. I asked the waitress to offer coffee to him and his pal/aide/bodyguard. I was quite worried that he'd get bored waiting for the couple to be, afterall, he's still very young, and the young aren't exactly known for patience.

I walked up to him, and since I couldn't think of something to talk about that would be of interest to both of us, I asked him about something that at least he's knowledgeable about and has been bothering me since I got stranded on the wrong side of Session Road a few days ago: the longanisa brouhaha. Did it actually make it to the Guinnes Book of Records? "I don't know e, I think it might not make it kasi I think it had to be laid out in a straight line, and since it as done on Session Road, which was not long enough, the longest longanisa snaked up and down the road making it hard to make an accurate measurement," he said.

All that for nothing? Aw, come on. Holding up traffic and inconveniencing the public the whole morning must at least yield some substantial result - aside from having a longanisa sale that had this Ilocos pork sausage selling at half its normal price.

I was on my way to BHF Jewelry Shop that morning where I was supposed to return the LCD Projectpor we rented from Clint - one of his production assistants works there during the day. Right after passing Brent Road coming from Mines View, traffic has ground to a halt, and I had no idea why, until the driver said, "bwiset na longanisa pistibal, trapik tuloy." I got off and walked the last hundred meters or so to Session Road. The parade was in progress, and there it was in all its glory: the longest longanisa in the world held up by students parading down Session Road. And noone can cross the road, and BHF was on the other side of Session Road.

Stood there bored stiff (after staring at a few hundred meters of longanisa, it gets tends to get boring, not to mention unappetizing), I was getting impatient, until I saw what looked like the end of the parade. Waited it out a bit more until the last longanisa passed me by, followed by the main sponsor of the event, Mr. Alabanza of the famous Alabanza Meat Store, who I believe provided most of the butchered pigs, if not all, riding proud on an ATV. End of the parade, I asked the cope manning the cordon that prevented pedestrians from crossing if I could corss already, he said no. I asked why, when the parade was finished already. He just said, no, I can't cross yet. After walking the rest of the way to Session Road and hvaing waited more or less half an hour watching a pork sausage anaconda try to make its way to the Guinnes Book of Records, my patience was running low, and so, with then-arrest-me-if-you-have-to-but-I-really-have-to-get-to-the-other-side look in my eye, I ducked under the cordon and crossed the road, before the cop could approach me, abouit 30 other people followed me. So I made it to BHF, feeling so guilty at disrupting public order.

Mabel, Clint's produciton assistant, has been transfered to another branch. Damn it. I would have to talk all thew way back up to SM where Mabel has been reassigned.

And the Acting Mayor tells me yesterday that, nah, the feat might not make it to the Guinnes sBook of Records. All that hassle, all those pigs, for nothing? What a joke. A community, for lack of anything to be proud of, comes up with an idea so blah, mediocre - idiotic, even - spend so much time and energy and money for it, and then in the end, failure?

And that anaconda-longanisa feat was also supposed to be an event aimed at boosting tourism in the city. Duh. Does anyone actually think that having the longest longanisa in the world would make tourists troop back to Baguio? Tourists come to Baguio for the climate, the trees, the fresh air, the forests, the green covered mountains, the visitor-friendly atmosphere, the hospitable local community - all of which have been ignored, nay, ABUSED, by the city's powers that be for the longest time, and all they could think of to make for it to string up tons and tons of pork and parade it down Session Road and expose it to smog, dust and whatever else lurks in the heavily polluted downtown Baguio air?

I get to the SM branch of BHF Jewelry Shop. Mabel decided to take the day off a few minutes I got there.

What a lousy morning.

Pepe in VOCAS

2006-09-19T16:46:00.000+08:00

Open Space Projects performs "PEPE" on September 20, Wednesday, 7:00pm, at the Victor Oteyza COmmunity Art Space (VOCAS), top floor of La Azotea Bldg., Session ROad, Baguio CIty.

Admission is free.

Death March

2006-09-01T11:26:00.000+08:00

I didn't understand what was going on... One side of Session Road, hte on going down, was closed to traffic, usually done when there's a parade. It did feel like a holiday when I left the house. Then, peering through the policemen and the barricades, there it was, a parade. I turn right towards the cathedral and parked the car there instead, and decided to wait it out in some internet cafe.

Used the elevator going down Porta Vaga and out to Session Road to cross to Such & Such internet cafe, I met Martin with his kick-ass camera on his way up to his studio. Good morning.

Out on Session Road, there were some people lined up along Session Road, no animation today, the whole thing looked like a series of still photographs, minus the background music - even the people parading down Session Road couldn't manage to force a look of celebration on their faces. It was eerily quiet.

Like a death march.

I didn't catch the head of the parade, where I might have caught sight of the recently installed acting mayor of the city and the acting vice-mayor, and the acting top councilor, and the acting second top councilor... see, with the removal of the Honorable Braullio Yaranon, everybody moved a step up in a game of Charades, musical chairs, now eveyrbody's in an acting capacity.

It was a death march.

Rats

2006-08-29T17:54:00.000+08:00

Purged this blog and decided to rest a bit from the rantings and ravings, but then...

The mayor’s suspension has been upheld, with finality so it seems. First issued by Malacañang, reversed or revised – I’m not so sure – by an interior undersecretary, and then eventually reaffirmed by the secretary himself. Mr. Braulio Yaranon committed grave abuse of authority, the pronouncement pronounced, when he issued an administrative order to take back the streets of Baguio from Jadewell, a pay parking firm, whose contract with the city is tainted with corruption, and later when he encouraged the people of the city not to honor Jadewell’s authority to collect parking fees from motorists.

This is one of those moments when one wishes that the national government laid off the locals' backs and let them run their own affairs, a time when one tends to give constitutional change a second look and give federalism a chance. It’s amazing that a cabinet secretary, appointed by a questionable president, can disregard the sentiments of the overwhelming voting majority of the city, and suspend him for his actions that the overwhelming majority of the city supports, on an issue that was among the main reasons the overwhelming majority voted for him in the first place.

So now, the cat’s been taken away by a lapdog, and the rats are out. Suddenly the council woke up on the issue with a resolution to cancel the contract due to the many violations they say Jadewell has committed. Those are the same reasons Yaranon and the overwhelming majority have been raving about and the council has been disregarding the past couple of years. If not for the obvious reasons that last year was still too far from next year’s local elections and Jadewell’s resources continue to flow into several bank accounts, it would have been admirable to see the city council taking such an apparent unpopular stand when the mayor was in the heat of battle against Jadewell. From a certain point of view, their stubborn defense of Jadewell may have looked like a perfect example of principled public service that doesn’t just give in to popular demands. But, elections are just around the corner, and taking unpopular stands at this point is a big political risk. And besides, the suspicion of some, according to news reports and local op-ed ramblings, is that Jadewell spent quite a considerable amount to secure that suspension order, if this is true, then the expense must have taken a considerable bite into the alleged local payola budget, and the once steadfast defenders of the Jadewell contract are now suddenly singing a different song, one that the people have been singing in a loud unified chorus for a long time now.

Poor Yaranon, with his suspension, believe you me that even the rats that got elected because of their association with him will now capitalize on that and disown him, even condemn him and his actions, and position themselves for next year’s election. It makes me puke that none of them have stood up to defend the old guy when if not for him, if not for the fact that they got elected only because they were in the same party with him, had their mugs posted alongside his, they'd still be beauty pageant contestants or bumming around.

The only welcome development that may arise from the suspension is that the flies that hover around Yaranon’s office will now dissipate. Those flies have been lording it over city hall since day one and fattening their pockets with every transaction with the mayor’s office they facilitate. But no reason to be happy about that either, since those taking over the reins bring with them their own opportunist flies who will also surely make a mockery of public service.

To the ones taking over, jaded as a lot of us in Baguio has become, please prove us wrong.

And the only people who are genuinely happy with the latest turn of events are the two pimps who prostituted the city during their reign.

Let’s hope the people of Baguio see through the charades. The people began a partial revolution when they booted out a corrupt regime in the last elections. Hopefully next year the revolution will be a complete one that will bring about a complete cleansing of city hall – from the mayor, to the vice mayor, to every member of the city council.

Presto!

2006-08-06T15:57:00.000+08:00

That felt really good.

A Bag Full of Trash

2002-10-29T15:34:00.000+08:00

An unidentified woman, victim of a hit-and-run, was being kept in this funeral parlor. Nothing was found on her that would give her identity. The newscaster proceeded to give a general description of what the woman looked like, then said that the police speculated that she must have been mentally-ill for she was carrying a bag full of thrash when she met the accident.

Maybe she was, or maybe she just couldn’t stand the sight of garbage in the streets that it has become her habit to pick up whatever she can to put these away properly.

You accidentally hit someone with your car, the SANE thing to do is to stop and bring that someone to the hospital. Or to the funeral parlor. But no, the driver just kept going on. He didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down. In fact he must have stepped harder on the accelerator. Yet the police didn’t think that was crazy. The woman was crazy. She carried with her a bag full of trash.

What’s crazy, anyway? Who’s insane?

Is it the driver who stops at a red light in the middle of the night or the rest of them who ignore it and drive past it? Is it the Land Transportation Officer who foolishly makes all license applicants go through the actual driving test making our streets safe in the process, or the rest of them who simply ask applicants for a few hundred pesos not caring if the applicant will endanger pedestrians and other motorists with his lack of actual driving skills or road courtesy? Is it the driver who accepts a citation ticket for a violation and the police officer who issues one, or the rest of them who simply pay off the cops and the officers who actually accept the bribe? Is it the lone pedestrian on the overpass or the rest of them jumping over the fence in the middle of the road?

Is it the one who bought and planted a ten-peso pine seedling who would have to wait twenty years for it to grow? Or is it the man who bought and planted a multi-million-peso concrete one?

Is it the woman with a bag full of garbage or the politician with a mouthful who throws these around in people’s faces, or is it the people who can stomach the trash thrown their way?

Is it the anonymous woman with a bag full of garbage, hit and killed by a reckless driver who’s a product of the corrupt system, a woman who has nobody to claim her lifeless body, no identity – described as probably insane by the system, and who’ll be forgotten by the next commercial break?

Or is it the man who promised garbage when he was campaigning, delivered garbage when he won, carrying with him a bag full of empty promises, on his shoulders an empty head save for some sinful thoughts – described by himself and his cohorts as the best so-and-so ever, and is never forgotten because his name and his face are plastered on waiting sheds, garbage trucks, construction billboards, etc.

Maybe that woman saw an empty Coke can on the other side of the street and proceeded to cross to pick it up. She didn’t see the car coming, the driver didn’t see her walking. The fender made contact with her body, and she was airborne for a moment, and so was her bag. Full of trash. She was already lifelessly lying on the ground when her bag opened in mid-air and all her garbage flew out covering the ground around her. With trash. She’s gone, that crazy woman, and so was the driver, that smart guy.

She’s gone now, the woman with no name. But the garbage remains. Care to continue her legacy and pick up the trash?
Are you crazy?