Interviewing Japanese.

Husband recently bought a used book entitled Shaking the Foundations: Japanese Architects in Dialogue. It features interviews conducted in 1997 by Christopher Knabe and Joerg Rainier Noennig (editors) of 15 Japanese architects. What's interesting about this book, as my husband also mentioned to me gushing about this, is that each of these architects were made to comment on the philosophy and/or works of other architects featured in the book. Some were not intentionally asked to comment but in the course of the conversation eventually did.

Japanese are by and large, not very confrontational. When they comment, it's usually so meticulously edited of any form of negativity that if not read or heard well sometimes sounded like praises. In my experience working with a handful of them, they do not comment, especially if they have nothing better to say.

I've finished reading interview with Kisho Kurokawa, Riken Yamamoto and Kengo Kuma -- all very varied in their philosophy. I especially enjoyed Yamamoto's interview because he talked mostly about city planning, of how architecture directly affects the social structures in the community, and how the government failed . He told of how the mere widening of the street disrupted the social activities of his community, virtually erasing all of what he's known his community for. It probably was the same feeling when the flyover along General Luna was built. it created a virtual wall that created a permanent demarcation between Melly's and UP. Now, very few university students go to Melly's and Melly's has stopped being an influential shady shanty to the high school kids. The UP High are starting to miss a lot of high school now that the flyover is there.

Yamamoto discussed a little about architectural education in Japan. Yamamoto said that Japanese architecture education is engineering and not design oriented which is surprising considering that a handful of them have been well-praised for their designs.

Meanwhile, Filipino architects are now mostly in Singapore or in the middle-east, working as CAD monkeys so they can afford iphones and macbooks. That is the kind of architecture education that you get from Iloilo universities.

Apparently, Architect/Architecture is just some high-falluting title for a profession that could render one virtually penniless. And if one would really choose to become an architect, a lot of sacrifices are made. I understand PF's choice of wanting to practice his profession in the city because if i were in his shoes, i would certainly make the same decision.

as to why, i will discuss tomorrow.


UPDATE:
Somebody from pushpullbar is actually interviewing Kuma-san tomorrow (February 4)! The real interviewing Japanese. Wow, if that forum is not the best forum in the world, i don't know what is. 

The Arrangements.

We have a different arrangement at home now.  PF's working somewhere far and will only be home on weekends. Meanwhile, i now work at the island and leaves the house early morning, comes home later than i usually did in my previous job. And the kid is turning four and has gotten used to the schedule and the old arrangement of his father working at home and me getting home early evening--or sometimes both his father and I, together--and for the next few days i would be repeatedly remind him of this new arrangement, over and over again, so he will not NOT want to go to sleep to wait for his father.

also, i will have to tell him that his parents will not be around for his birthday and that it is very okay because both his father and his mother grew up celebrating their birthdays in the absence of their parents. sometimes not even celebrating them, and yet they grew up to be good and respectful people. and i would need to tell him that it is okay to not have birthday bashes because people do not live for birthday bashes alone. and that on his birthday he must play and enjoy the time with his friends because time spent with friends is more important than a birthday bash. i will tell myself not have to worry about pleasing everyone on my kid's birthday.

Also, his nanny (here, Nanny 1) will be leaving our household this week. his teacher sent me message last week that my kid's nanny confided to her about her positive pregnancy test and that he will be leaving our household at the end of the month. She--the nanny--never confronted me though. she only sent a text last weekend while i was on my way home from work, that she will stop working by the end of the month because she wants to take a rest.
PF said, "Well, so now we know. If they're preggers, they say they will stop working because they need to rest."

The previous nanny which Nanny 1 replaced about 9 months ago also left our household 3 months pregnant. Previous Nanny and I come from the same town and last i heard she was in the hospital to have her baby treated from pneumonia. She was a smart nanny, the Previous Nanny. She has manners and my kid liked her alot. Nanny 1 on the other hand has a mental age close to that of a 12 year old. She has told me of her age the first time she arrive but i've forgotten. i guess she's just 19. and she's pregnant. and she her mental age is 12. i call her a retard behind her back. i am cruel, i know but i can't stand her lack of manners and her presumptuous attitude. she presumes she's part of the family and that she can just take part in any of our private conversations. she answers even if she is not the one being asked. i talk to my husband or my sister while we sit face to face and this retard Nanny 1, who is at the kitchen will suddenly blurt out an answer. to the question she is not asked. any worker must never to that to their boss. and i am the boss. and because of that, she is given the title of a household retard.

I corrected PF and told him: "No, Previous Nanny did not say she's gonna get some rest. She said she's leaving to come home, help and accompany her mother."
Previous Nanny's mother is a battered alcoholic wife of an alcoholic husband.

The person that will be replacing Nanny 1 will be somebody of menopausal age. PF said so. He saw her already.

So for few months i would have to live with this. I have nobody to talk about alot of things when i get home. In the office i still sometimes forget. I tend to summarize and outline the things i am going to talk about when i get home only to remember that PF will not be there. Oh it is sad because i cannot tell him about this new story i read. or my newfound great finds on the net. so i have to get used to that and learn to tell ANIMATED stories about my day to my kid instead.

yes, arrangements.

we got to have them sometimes.

FIN.

Holding a pencil.

in case nobody knows, there is a right way to hold a pencil.

i hold my writing instruments this way, and thankfully so does my kid. at least that leaves teaching him how to properly hold the pencil off my list.

For want of a better presentation.

today i attended a presentation on road traffic injuries. 


it would have been a perfect project with perfect concepts had the consultants have better grasp as to why they are actually engaging in things that are out of the boundaries of their expertise. for one, i did not see any transport planner or traffic engineer or road safety expert in their team, and yet we, the participants were supposed to be taught on how road injuries are prevented. 


(DO NOT, first of all, and again, DO NOT present a stat table straight from SPSS pasted in MS Excel, complete and unedited of all those permutation shits that only a statistic can understand. i say, DO NOT present this to a general public meeting. This does not only come from me, but from my Mr. Senor Statistics Professor. You will only look like you only want to drown them in details but don't actually know shit.)


and no, road injuries are not CAUSED by non-wearing of helmet, or by non-compliance to seatbelt law. we abide by the helmet and seatbelt law on the premise that if ever we DO MEET AN ACCIDENT, we will suffer from injuries that will render us severely handicapped, much more, dead. but non-compliance to those things do NOT, i repeat DO NOT cause injuries. 


take the example of wearing shoes. we wear shoes because we want our feet protected. we do not want our feet to be accidentally pricked by thorns or cut by sharp objects but would the non-wearing of shoes cause result to a bloody cut on your feet? 


i wish that the presentors had consulted first with road safety experts or at least made themselves aware of things regarding road safety because dude, road safety is a safety issue. you do not want to mislead people on matters concerning their life or death.  


(i do not understand why a bio statiscian is explaining a road safety perception survey that took counts of people not wearing helmets or seatbelts and asking them why they're stupid not to wear so. a statiscian, i can understand--any statistician can do statistics, but a BIO stat? what difference does that make?)


it doesn't help that this study is trying to anchor its framework solely on the fact that people who here drink and drive--or at least that's what i am getting from one presentor. come on, lindsay lohan does that all the time. people in the city do that all the time. do not try to make this an isolated case, you presumpter! first of all, the percentage of people who do that is too small compared to people who overspeeds, to infrastructure that would fail the road safety audit or to the fact that people here resort to habal-habal for their main mode of public transport. i would like to think that given those three major issues, we could anchor a road safety/road traffic injury framework there. blackspots, as a term, was not even mentioned. 


i do not know how community participation can be encouraged or solicited through IEC, advocacy and meetings. in my experience, community participation can only gained by allowing the community to feel that they own the project. "sense of ownership", anyone?


Before i could lambast the presentation in my thoughts, just before the session closed, a better presentor took over. although he did not present the project framework and the rationale for frontlining this project (when it could be better given to other agencies who are expert on these issues), he was able to assure me (not directly, of course)  that at least somebody in the team knows what they are doing, stuffs on road safety, and that somebody in the team has actually worked on projects of these kinds. and he mentioned blackspots. (ahe ahe)


i am not an expert on these matters. i am not even a transport planner but dude, i've heard and read better; i do know when i'm being fooled. 




(actually, never mind. never mind what i said. it's just that the invocation was that mass produced prayer-for-training song sung by josh groban and some church-sounding family name woman singer. i wish all training opening programs will just concoct their own prayer and stop using the damn song. it's not funny.)

wow, if it's not amazing news week, i don't know what is.

my kid's play school teacher just sent me a message that my kid's "nanny" is leaving us end of this month. Nanny just got news from her pregnancy kit that she is positively pregnant. she is the second nanny, in the 4 nannies that worked with us, to have become pregnant. the one before her was the first.

husband said he has seen it coming because she seems to have the same habit as the previously impregnated one -- endless time on mobile phones. i tell you, if your nanny is always spending time on her mobile phone expect a pregnancy soon.

i meant to write a story about her because lately she has been getting on my nerves. but i'll think about it now that she is leaving us.

eehh. but the shine is shining today after 3 days of rain and cold so it's not totally but news day. but eh, i realized i'm in the island and weather here is crazy.

eehh.

Island Stories

Over beer, male friend (mf), PF and I agreed to go to the island and visit PF's relatives one time. mf was in town for a while and the three of us have just been reunited. meanwhile, mf and i had just finished our recent field work and was taking time to exhaust all ways of hanging out because pretty soon we knew we'll get tired of each other.

so the date and time of the island date was set. i hoped nobody's too drunk to forget.

i cannot remember where we rendezvous-ed but i remember mf wore his very faded tie-dyed shirt which i totally hated because combined with his frizzy hair, skinny frame and hippie ways, he looked like your local high school pot dealer. and because i'm with him everyone would presume i am THE associate. if i remember well, i think PF's hair was still long, way below his shoulders. three of us might well just look like your unemployed local high school pot dealers.

There are two routes to get to the island and two routes dock at two different ports. there is a reason why these ports were separated but somehow during that time our route was relocated to the same exact port of the OTHER route. meaning, two routes now dock and leave at the same port. but we do not mind, PF is a local so he would know. no matter how confusing third world travelling is, in this chapter of our adventurous life we were sure not to get lost because we have a local and locals always know best.

so we got the newsprint tickets and boarded the ferry.

i think i was sandwiched between my two male companions who i also trust to go out of their way to save me should the ferry sink because i do not know how to swim. PF told me to just trust the life jacket.

Just as the ferry was negotiating out of the River's mouth, I felt something amiss.

"Are you sure we took the right ferry?"

"How can i not be sure?"

"Because the boat's nose is pointing at the direction of the OTHER port."

"No, it's going OUR way. the pilot is just negotiating with the waves. it will make a turn in a few minutes, you'll see."

Trust the locals. I looked at mf. He was oblivious--just enjoying the salty breeze blowing his frizzy hair making it frizzier, and him, scarier.

I waited. It did not make a turn.

"Why is it not making THAT turn you said?"

"The waves are still difficult to manage. you see, if the driver forces it, the boat will capsize, so he is taking things slowly."

"Are you sure? because i think we REALLY are heading the different direction," I shouted above the humming engine.

PF nodded. I tugged at mf and told him of my dilemma, and he kinda noticed, too, so he also mentioned it to PF. PF began to think because the adventure racer mf already did notice we were going to the OTHER direction. mf was after all an outdoor racer and outdoor racers are particular of directions.

maybe we were really heading the other direction.

Mid-way to the trip PF said, "Well, i guess it's not gonna make a turn. Maybe something went wrong with the RIGHT port so all ferries dock at the OTHER port."

I grinned at PF.

then PF remembers that when we boarded the ferry, we used the "outriggers". the one we're supposed to ride does not load passengers via its outriggers.

tsk. tsk. tsk.

when we got to the port, the swarm of tricycle and habal habal drivers asked where we're headed. when they learned of our mistake, they offered suggestions, specific to their own benefits of course--like driving us from this wrong port all the way to the other right port. which pot dealer-looking male friend took as a good suggestion, actually the best suggestion of all.

"Dude, the last thing you'd want to do is go back there. I don;t want to go back there. It does not feel good. It;s like admitting you were stupidly wrong."

he has a point, though.

but isn't taking a tricycle and paying more to get to that RIGHT direction is adding insult to the injury? rubbing salt to the wound? stupider, huh?

and it's tricycle rides could get really cold and i don;t have a jacket and i am wearing short shorts.

PF says Yes. We should not go back.

so we took the tricycle that took us to the OTHER port where we will get the ride to PF's relative's house.

The ride was there, half empty (or half full?), waiting for us. we got in, the three of us. and waited. mf got impatient, he got off and smoked. PF joined him.

"Dude, i so want to grab the burger from the kid. he honestly made me hungry. i;ve never been this burger hungry in my life," he said, and glanced some more at the kid. PF seconded.

there was a kid eating a burger in across mf's seat. good-smelling fastfood burgers.

"You know, if we went back we could have bought some burgers..." I began.

"Ah, no, no, no. that is a different story," mf says.

And finally the driver gets enough passengers to stuff inside his cranky, walking corten steel jeepney.

We did make it to PF's relative's house before dinner and i think i even cooked spaghetti for my starving associates.

start of a new temporary.

It's a wet, rainy, muddy, windy Monday and i have to travel at least an hour from home to work, 3 ride changes with at least 2 transport mode changes.

Test travel to work place led to a conclusion that on a wet, rainy monday morning, i have to leave the house not later than 7am if i want to be in the office by 8.

work is not yet very hectic since i'm just starting, meaning, i have this day to look stupid and keep asking the busy everyones for all the readings so i can familiarize myself with the program.

it was still wet and raining when i arrived at the island; it was even wetter when i arrived at the office. it was half past 8. boss and other staff were busy so i went out for coffee. more wetness and drizzle, and now soft, brown mud all the way to the makeshift shelter that's a canteen. i intended to just buy instant coffee in a styro cup so i can bring it back to the office but no, apparently, nobody here likes their coffee to go so no canteen serves coffee to go so i took my coffee there, in one of the many empty, gloomy tables. i tried to plan my day while sipping coffee and gazing outside the cyclone wire fence. i have a view of my office's brown wooden door.

i remember the day PF, our common male friend and I went to the island and took the wrong ferry. The ferry choice was never wrong until we were in the middle of the ocean and the ferry did not make that unexpected  turn as we prayed it would. So we sat at the wrong dock, contemplating on what to do now that we're practically on the wrong part of the island. I suggested we return and take the right ferry. I remember male friend (mf) saying nobody goes back to correct a mistake. and that we should just proceed and do the correction along the way. correcting, meaning, we get a tricycle from the WRONG port to the other RIGHT port where we're really supposed to dock. it will be more expensive and would take longer BUT it is the macho way of doing things. and dude, i am a MACHOwo man. we got to where we intended to go and i will probably write a better story about it, now that i remember it.

but i must go back to office, now that i have finished my coffee because the drizzle has progressed to a full rain and i don;t want to be soaked in my first day at work.

Mother Studies (#3): Gifts

This are the things that were put inside my apartment last night:

5 crates
(i think there's more that has not been unloaded from the delivery truck.)

about 10 50kg sacks of sugar PLUS
some more in the plastic crates and more odds and ends.

They look a lot more than what the photos show. I cleaned the whole area of other furniture.


when they (my mother and her entourage) starts working, she's gonna spread all the individually packed sugar all over the floor and stick a price tag on them. i cannot even begin to imagine. 


i hope they do not watch TV in full volume while at work.




(UPDATE: since the ever-cranky vehicle stalled AGAIN for the nth time, mother didn't bring it along with her. Just the delivery truck. when they arrived it was raining and there was no parking space because the apartment compound practically opens to a busy street. so the driver (who probably accidentally left his common sense along the way), as per instructions of mudda, parked the truck in the driveway with its head jutting out because the whole body wouldn't fit. Meaning, all the other cars of other apartment owners cannot go out nor enter the apartment anymore. We also couldn't close the gate. incidentally, the driver left to visit his relatives bringing with him the truck keys--see, i told you he lost his common sense somewhere--and now the compound caretaker's car is stuck outside under the rain. I also now am NOT allowed to use any furniture inside our room (except the bed where i could sleep in) but that is another story. but shit, really, i feel like i've just been evicted and lost all authority in my own house. My only hope of getting my own house now is that Afg project. give it to me please, so i can get my own place with my OWN room, with my OWN office furniture.)

FIN.

Mother Studies (#2): Visits

my mother is coming over today.


and it is of course without a bang.


i was just shortly notified by my sister that my mother is coming over from my home town not via a colorum van, nor via bus but via the newly purchase-all-time-breaking-down vehicle. and not just that; she is also bringing along the 6-wheeled delivery truck. How is that possible? of course it is not possible without her bringing an entourage, because after all she doesn't drive. So i will also be expecting an entourage of 2 drivers and an "assistant". she will be bringing, not only one, but three males to stay over at my two storey, 4x8 apartment, already occupied by 7 people.  


I wonder where she'll also park that delivery truck because it will definitely not fit in our apartment's driveway. 


i'm not sure how many sacks of sugar or rice she'll be bringing over and store at my apartment but the sacks are usually gone in a few days so i don;t really mind. besides, they don;t talk so it is okay with me. i dont mind living in tight spaces as long as it is quiet. but i do mind the number of bags. i am trying to imagine now how many bags of unimaginable things my mother has brought with her. she is notorious for her refugee-fashion-style whenever she travels (read: she brings not less than 4 big bags, one bag enough to dislocate a shoulder) that is why my father is always embarrassed to travel with her and more often than not refuses to travel with her. We used to think my father was too harsh on this, on her refugee-style, but we've realized he did have a point. I personally avoid to travel with my mother now for this reason. I will not even tell you about how, when they travelled last new year's eve, a tupperare of leftover rice came tumbling along, rolling over the aisle of the bus, spilling of course, left over rice everywhere.  


this is gonna be a crazy friday. 


i asked PF if he has any idea how we could survive this holocaust. i suggested we camped at the beach or spend the night at his father's house. but he also refused because he is not comfortable in either of the two. if there is one thing PF does not like to do, it is to do things outside of his comfort zone. this is totally opposite of my character, who at 13 has started living in rented spaces, alone. i think the most out-of-his-comfort-zone thing he ever did in his whole life is to actually have a kid and marry me (in that order) and eventually marry into my crazy family. he probably won;t do anything more than that in the coming decades. 


I quickly decided to resume my house cleaning project which has been delayed for a week due to bad weather. I wll scrub the walls of the apartment clean so all the old mess will be gone and the house will be ready to receive a new set of mess. I thought that if i cleaned the house prior to their arrival, when they do leave i will be left with just the new set of mess to clean with. After all, older mess are much harder to clean up. Also, I will be busy for the coming 6 months (and maybe for the next two years if i get to be in that Afg project) starting next week so i certainly will not have time to compete for housewife of the year award. 


and while typing this, i was just resting my ass while waiting for the newly scrubbed walls and newly mopped floors to dry so i can start the mega sweeping before the kid comes home from school. 


In the meantime I will consider my self on a room-arrest for the rest of the time they are here. 

I finally finished the CD Cover i made for the mix CD i produced for ABD.

The artwork behind ABD is by an artist from Silay City, Negros Occidental. I really feel bad that i cannot remember the name of the artist nor the title of this artwork. All i know was this series was called Dreamscapes and it was exhibited during the ICOVAC in Cebu City in November 2010.
ABD posed and i took the picture.

I'm secretly proud of this album cover. really.

In Which Puff Daddy Became a Theorist.

(3 minutes into Cirque du Freak…but not without an introduction.) 

Few days ago i had a short conversation with my sister regarding income, class and status, in the middle of a free dinner courtesy of my very generous mother, following an incessant request from her first (and possibly ONLY) grandson for a chicken dinner.

(Salma Hayek grew a beard in Cirque du Freak! That just made her so qualified for that Frida role.) 

I explained to her about this theory which relates one’s income to his perceived social status and needs gratification. For some reasons, i cannot remember that particular socio 101 theory and frankly it frustrated me quite a bit because it happened to be one of my favorites. This theory only meant to explain that a person who is proven rich (based on her bank statements, assets, liabilities, etc.) will not always see him/herself as such because a high income would almost always result in higher and greater wants. In short, no person will ever feel satisfied and people do have limitless greed. In the end everyone always feels poorer than their neighbor.

"Perceived level of satisfaction?" I tried to say out loud hoping it would ring the right bell. ewww. that sounds like half of a title of an undergrad thesis proposal.

I badly wanted to bequeath these precious knowledge to my sister and let her know she is missing so much in life by, for one, not knowing about this amazing theory early on. It was only then, on the dinner table, in the middle of the chicken dinner that she knew that rich people seldom really feel rich making us, the poor ones, and them, EVEN.

(Half an hour before Cirque du Freak sister told me about this relative who loves to brag on facebook about things that she has that only rich people could afford. It is one amazing relative because we knew the real score behind its so-called achievement. I will give it a separate post if I get THAT evil.) 
(oh my god did you see that??!!, willem dafoe is wearing this over the top horribly funny costume in Cirque. this totally topples over the equally hilarious nautical's assistant costume he had in life aquatic.) 

Because sister told me about amazing relative I was reminded of how idiotic I truly was, forgetting about my favorite theory of all time. Or was it even a theory?

I found Husband and decided to ask. He was just making himself comfortable on the bamboo sofa for the Cirque.

I gave him a brief before I proceeded with the one-million-dollar question. I tried to explain--rich people always feeling poor because with their ever increasing income comes their exponentially multiplying wants, proving therefore that rich ones die terribly lonely while poor people will die hungry BUT happy, wow, that’s comforting enough--hoping it would help him remember.


"Oh, I know that," he said very confidently. My eyes shone with excitement.

"Really? You remember? I think I mentioned it to you a number of times but it was a long time ago.” 

"Let me think.” Which he did and then, “Damn, why do I easily forget things these days?"

I began to have a feeling he’s gonna make a good comedy of this again.

"You're evil. You’re just gonna give me some made up names." 

"No, no. I honestly know about it. I know who made that theory." 

"No, you don't. You didn’t have sociology in college." 

"Yeah, but trust me. I know the theorist.” 

"Don’t tell me Maslow. I know he is POPular but this is not a Maslow theo--" 

"No, not him. some black guy." 

"Samuel L. Jackson?" I pitched in expecting he’d get that I already get what’s he’s getting me into and would prematurely abort his evil plan right there.

"No! Of course not!” 

I feigned thinking.

"Oh i get it!" he exclaimed.

"Who?" 

"PUFF DADDY! y'know the song -- Mo' Money Mo' Problems? Doesn’t that say the same thing about rich people and their money problems?" 

Goddamit.

Rural Road Trip Part. 2

The continuation of the post on the accidental road trip that our family took to the rurals following the hospital visit to my centenarian grandmother who choked on a soft bread morning of January 1, 2011.


I forgot to say that just as we were leaving the town center of Sibalom and approaching the rural areas, my father pointed us an unoccupied and unfinished house (architecture similar to the cake-colored houses I mentioned in Part 1 of this post). He said it belonged to his friend, Bebot, who used to have a store in Belison. I used to come along my father for his daily afternoon chess matches with Bebot at his store. I forgot what his store was selling but it could be general merchandise because he did not appear to me as the farmer-producer kind. I've almost forgotten about Bebot, the chess matches at his store and how his kids and us became friends while we waited for those chess matches to be over. If i remember correctly, he had 2 daughters, one was sickly and the other was fat but both were very friendly. 


Tato Bebot's store had a small patch of soil where they planted catkins. Whenever we dropped by and the catkins were in full bloom, my sisters and I would pick some and bring them home, thinking they were really cats' tails. We played with the catkins until they bruised and turned  brownish-dark violet in color. When they left, nobody tended the catkins and it died a slow, mournful, dry death.


Tato Bebot, i realized, looks like the Filipino Ron Jeremy-- body type, mustache and all, except the hair. Tato Bebot's hair is fashioned in 60's cut with natural waves, and much thicker than Ron Jeremy's. If you care to know about Ron Jeremy you might want to click on the link. But because not everyone wants to click, and I do not want to discriminate the lazy ones, a scroll down option is provided. 


These are the rice fields i was talking about. That's just one of the many of them. 


Have i mentioned that San Remigio is intersected by the great Sibalom River? Now that I did, I guess you now know why the flooding and the washing out of some 2-3 barangays in 2008. 


And then back to the conversation about cemeteries.


We passed not 1 but 2 cemeteries. The second one is San Remigio's. In my very limited travelling experience, it is one of the more laudable land of the deads I've seen. There's something very spiritual about the place that i can't seem to put my finger on. Maybe it's the indian trees? The white washed tombs? And because there was nothing audacious in sight, the tranquility and serenity was preserved. The simple, white-washed entry-way (that also acts as waiting shed, I guess) was so something new to me. Normally, the patrons of the cemeteries would build grand entrances and canopies complete with fake tendrils, columns and of course the image of Jesus Christ or Mother Mary or maybe even God, if they knew how he looked like. But this one is different. We all agreed this was nami.  I took several pictures of it. 

San Remigio Cemetery

My father enjoyed driving to San Remigio so much because the roads were newly paved. In most parts, only half or the 2-laned road was used because the other half was still under curing period. 


I don't know why but i was suddenly reminded of my bus rides around Negros Occidental and/or to Bukidnon from Cagayan de Oro, on the way to SR. It must be the curves and the esses BUT then, the Iloilo-Antique highway is full of that and I have never felt, not even once, a slight resemblance to any of the NOcc or Bukidnon bus rides. Not even once was a memory of a feeling of any other trips was stirred. Travelling to Antique from Iloilo or vice versa is just that--travelling to Antique from Iloilo and vice versa. Nothing more, nothing less. I do not know if that spells tragedy.


Little Baguio was what the marker said when we reached SR town center. The marker was so predictably LGU; so predictably Filipino LGU. It was shaped like a giant heart in light blue paint that's almost fading to white. And of course, no marker or infrastructure in the Philippines is complete without the name of the donor. This marker is right across a Jesus marker, which, yes, you guessed it, marks--something!!--the entrance to the Municipal Hall of SR. And i thought governments are a-religious. 


Actually, I have never been to Baguio. I'm never really a tourist-traveler and much of my travelling were nostalgic, sappy, and just terribly lonely, driven only by the spirit of completing the work I was paid for. They were of course very heavy with lessons but I honestly do not want to travel for work alone again. 
Because I have never been to Baguio and have never experienced the chilly weather that is Baguio, never smelled the smell that is Baguio, I have no idea what to expect upon reaching SR town proper. It is beyond my capacity to affirm what was said in the marker.


"Would you like to see the municipal building?" my mother asked. 
If that is not clue enough, she works for a municipal government. SR municipal hall compound is probably the first government compound I've seen that is not devoid of trees. I would very much want to see what's up there and know why they kept the trees when most would rather cut and sell them for profit. I know, because that's what the Patnongon LGU did. 

My father suggested we see their friend (or comrade?) who lives in the area. They want to surprise her. He carefully negotiated between the narrow road with an oncoming overloaded jeepney. Did i say SR is a hilly (more like mountain) town? Few meters from the marker is the town market which sits atop a hill overlooking the fields below like a sentry. I was again reminded by the feeling of emptiness when i first arrived for a stop-over at Mina, Sipalay. Mina in Sipalay is a village of engineers who used to work in the mines of Sipalay and when the mining industry was over, all that was left of the village were abandoned, rotting architecture (mostly housing) and a market that's almost deserted, even in the busiest time of the year. SR market was newly painted and was not empty but the whole topography of the place to me bore the sadness that was Mina. 

My parents' friend went to San Jose, the man at the market said. He said he saw her leave the town earlier. Instead of turning back, my father drove forward and Sister #1 prompted for the place-that-Typhoon Frank/Fengshen-washed-out. I tried to snap pictures of the markers of the places we passed along and i was lucky to get a clear shot of two of them: Libonan and Trinidad. 


Friendly Brgy. Trinidad, or maybe the barangay after it, was our last stop. At the narrow street adjacent to a Baptist Church, my father took a turn and then another and we made our way back to Sibalom. 


"Where's the washed-out place?" asked Sister #1.
"Farther away, there at the foot of the mountain."


Oh, we so wanted to see it but my father is leaving for the City today, too, so we really had to return.


I can see now why the area suffered so much, in addition to what my father has also explained. The place is practically surrounded by mountains. It is a valley circled by an unbroken range of peaks where there is no other place for the water to go but here. But nature easily recovered and after two years, not a trace of the typhoon or the flooding can be seen. I just can't say the same for the people.


From the edge of the town center to Trinidad it was dirt road. But despite the bumps the kid remained fast asleep, missing out a lot of things in this road trip he so mostly anticipated.   


Maybe someday he'd be lucky to come back and get to know these places better. Maybe he will. 


------


other things you might care to see.

Threshing by the side of the road the newly harvested palay. 

Oh my.

New bridge. We saw a group of pre-teens playing and across them,
a group of teens with bicycles hanging out with their homies.
Generation gap, literally.

FIN.

***Ron Jeremy is an american porn actor known for his 9.75 inch (about 24.75 cm) penis. I think he was popular in the 90's.

Rural Road Trip Part 1

Centenarian Granny and
3 year-old great grandson

My 100 year-old grandmother choked on a soft bread morning of January 1, 2011. It was a 5-minute horrible experience getting her out of her bamboo house into the vehicle and then to the nearest community hospital. But i can easily laugh about it now, especially when i recall the scene involving a topless brudda and a father driving without his slippers or shoes on. I might write about our comedy of errors later but for now let me tell you about the little side trip we had today which, partly, was a result of my grandmother's hospitalization.


A little after lunch we went to the hospital to pick up my sister (will be referred as sister #1) who stayed overnight with granny. Another sister (will be referred as sister #2) will take over for the change of shift so that sister #1 can go home, wash up, eat and have some rest. She will again return later for the night shift as sister #2 needs to go back to the City for work the next day. 


My kid (hence, granny's great grandson) has been raring to go around for days now. And though only 3, we've repeatedly brought him along during hospital visits because he wants to go where the car goes, even if the car takes him to Hell.  For 2 days now, the car has been going back and forth to the hospital so to hospital he, too, goes.


Incidentally, the community (or is it district?) hospital is in Sibalom, a town where there is supposed to be a dam. My dad worked with the irrigations in the 80's so he was right there in the middle of the action when the dam and the irrigation systems were being built, so he knew. He asked if we want to go there, see the dam and all and get the travelling itch off the kid, his grandson. And also because my mother wanted to deliver the fresh molasses to her friend, who lives in town, a local politician, who also happens to be my (birth) godmother. 


So, off we go. 


We first drove towards my godmother's house but she wasn't there so we didn't stay long; didn't even go out of the vehicle to partake the usual Filipino hospitality of juice or coffee and biscuits or whatever's left of the New Year's feast. Then we headed for the dam. Sister #1 asked to see the place that was washed out during the Typhoon Frank (international name Fengshen) in 2008. I think about 2 dead bodies coming from that place were found inside our property (the farm, not the residence), amongst the mess of logs and debris. Bugo, the town that was most severely damaged is in San Remigio, a town next to Sibalom, at the foot of a mountain range.  



Dad said it's a little far, further than where the dam is, but he might take us there. 


When my father worked with the irrigations he was assigned field officer. In the duration of the trip he would point to us the places he'd trekked while on the job. As field officer, he said he was responsible for the maintenance of the equipment and for making sure that the supplies needed to maintain the field operations are in place, like fuel and tools. He said there's a tunnel underneath the road or the fields that channel the waters to garble garble garble. The sound of the motor drowned the rest of is story. 


Along the way i learned that Sister #1 had no recollection of our father working for the irrigations, which i found rather incredulous. That job was like a milestone in our father's career as an engineer. Calculating, she realized she must have been too young to remember--she's just 4 then. 


So i told her, "There goes your childhood amnesia."


Meanwhile i kept snapping pictures. 


We passed by Sibalom Municipal Cemetery which i found rather fascinating, albeit nostalgic. It looks welcoming. But then, you always like the things you don't have and a good welcoming feeling is probably what our church's cemetery doesn't have. Apart from the fact that WE really do not have a municipal cemetery to peacefully bury any dead person's body in absence of inconvenience related to his/her religious affiliation. 


More cemetery talks later.


 The kid fell asleep seconds after we left the cemetery and when it was time for him to see the dam, he's dozed off like he hadn't had any sleep for days. No amount of shaking and calling out "bridge! bridge!" could wake him up so we contented ourselves with admiring the men doing laundry by the dam's causeway (if that's how you call). 


I also took pictures of colorful houses. I personally do not find seeing these kinds of houses comforting nor do I find it uplifting despite the delicious colors. Kid rather associated them with cakes. I would probably never develop any taste for these kinds of houses. But it is worth mentioning that they were built in plots adjacent to each other. Yellow, orange, green and blue. I can just imagine the owners getting together, in a small meeting, maybe in the middle of tong-its or mahjong and coming to an agreement on who would paint their house with what color. 


Yellow house: "Akon tana yellow gid ha so dapat di run kamo magpick kang any shade or tint kang yellow kay akon run ra. Kundi...andaman nyo lang."
Green house: Ako tana, kay inguday kita green gid tana akon. Para lain gid kanimo."
Orange house: "Akon tana orange. Hay hambal da kuno ang orange nga color meaning na kara horny."


I was not able to get a picture of a blue house but i don't really need to, as architecturally speaking, all of them look the same. I leave the coloring to your imagination.  


We also also passed by the rice fields. Lots and lots of rice fields that i wish would never be converted to commercial or residential use. 


This post is too long. I will cut it here and make a part 2 of it. Below, by the way is the panorama of the dam which the kid missed. 

  

Part II coming....