Things Muscovado Making and Farming (Part 1)

For the past five years weekends at the muscovado mill has become a part of our family custom. When i was still without a child and the muscovado mill was just starting, i would accompany my parents to the mill. I would help my mother prepare loads and loads of food and utensils to bring to the farm. The farm was without water pump and we had to bring water containers also. It took us some 3 or so years to acquire a truck, and we still didn't have a car either. To reach the farm with all my mother's stuffs we would go by "kuliglig". From 10 am (sometimes earlier) onwards we would be hanging out in the farm while the farmers boil sugarcane juice to turn them into muscovado. If there were peanuts ripe for harvesting we would help harvest them and boil them for afternoon snacks. Sometimes farmers would bring a bunch of sab-a bananas, and that we would eat for snacks, too. During the corn season, we'd get a sackload of native corns. we would bring the extra home and eat it for the next several days.


On mid-day when the sun is at its highest and the temperature at it hottest, we would pass time lying on foldings beds. Those, of course, were also transported from our house in the Poblacion. 

Our family would stay at the mill until about 7 or 8 pm. By the time we arrived home, we would be too full and too tired to take our dinner. i would just help my mother or the household help clean the dishes and utensils we used at the farm. The mill then was without a storage area--it was without walls--and everything we brought we had to carry back home, including the water containers and the folding beds.  

Then next weekend, we would start with the mini diaspora all over again.

In the past, all that I knew of muscovado was that my grandmother use it to make traditional Filipino delicacies on All Saint’s and All Soul’s day in November. When we didn't have any viand, my grnadmother would cook rice porridge sweetened with muscovado, like a champorado. The little muscovado rocks, we ate it like candy. We would play a game on who has the strongest, hardest teeth and the one that could crack a muscovado rock would win. Muscovado was a poor man's sweetener. 


What i also remember was that at least once a year my grandmother’s farm workers would bring a sack or two of pure muscovado, her share as the land owner. I also knew that it came from pressed sugar cane juice and that it is boiled but how it actually becomes muscovado, that I know nothing of.


My parents revived the muscovado making in this little riverside community of our town. My father said that when he was young, the land where our mill stands now was once a river. This time, during our time, nature decided to be kind; the river changed routes, the river beds dried and agriculture flourished. I used to come to the place when i was around 7 or 8 years old and i remember it to be looking like Sahara. Nothing very productive. In the place where the mill stood i first learned to snack on a mix of grated young coconut, muscovado and rice. 


Before my parents built the mill and convinced every farmer to convert to sugarcane planting, every farmer planted rice. It took a lot of convincing and a lot of monetary investment on the part of my parents but sugar-making won the farmers’ hearts. It does not surprise me since my father is a master of politics. 


For the past five years, our mill has also upgraded to a mere open-air, non-walled, non-screened shack of a mill to something that can produce at least “waya-waya” free muscovado.


In mid-February, my parents receive a couple of visitors who came over to learn about the process of muscovado making. They are putting up a similar industry in Souther Philippines, where they're from, and for several tries all they produced were muscovado of not even a marketable quality. I was home and decided to come visit the mill also. I haven’t been there for almost a year. The farmers have almost mastered life around a muscovado community that my parents have stopped micro-managing the mill. February this year is the middle of the milling season. 


Lots of people around--sugarcane owners, mill maestro, farmers wives, their kids, and the farmers’ farm animals—were around. Milling season is always a happy time in the mill because everyone in the community has work and are looking forward to a fruitful year. 

A farmer stockpiling the bagasse (dried pressed sugarcane stalks) near the burner to be used as fuel 

steam from sugar cane juice being boiled (to evaporate the all the liquid)!!

It puzzled my husband so much. he’s been designing sugar mills for some time now. Seeing this, he realized that a very high ceiling should be a default in all his designs. 

How a bagasse is used as fuel – nothing of the sugarcane is wasted. That's the mill's furnace. The collected ashes at the end of the milling season will be used as fertilizer in the sugarcane fields.

What we call here “lasaw”, “pulot” in Hiligaynon, maybe “molasses” in English. It good for pan de sal (literally bread of salt).

Muscovado!

Farmers passing time near the furnace. They’re usually very shy around the camera but they are our family’s friends so when I ask for their pictures they do not hide, they just smile shyly and allow me to snap away. 

The machinery that does the work.

Made in india. Sadly, yes, no foundry manufactures these kinds of machineries anymore and for farmers who want to put up their own sugarmill they have to source their pressers from other countries, such as india, or Europe. I’ll squeal, but yes, my father is planning to get on a project to document the details of this machine. And who knows. The Philippines can manufacture pressers for Filipino farmers to use and we don’t have to scour india or the UK for this really HEAVY metals. 

Yes, very tall coconut trees. In our farm.

More to come!!!

Things field work.

a week without post. 

I promised i would write an entry about the amazing Monday i went to straight to office/field work coming from a 4-hour travel, lacking sleep and still hung over from the weekend i spent with my husband and my son whom i haven't seen for two weeks. 

We still do not have a nanny and husband is the one looking after the kid because in his work he can bring the kid along. Two of them being away gives me time to contemplate and write at home except that this week, i practically spent the nights catching the zzzzz's i lost.  

------

My work is relatively an easy work. It's the kind that mostly involve coordination. It's a very easy work but it is difficult to explain and most of the time, people who know my work and where i am associated with would rather ask about my pay than the actual work that i do. Most of the time i lie because the truth, I’m afraid, will only embarrass them.

Last february 14, lacking sleep and still groggy from 4-hour bus ride, i went directly to office. I was to join a group on field work. this group is going to conduct road inventory so they can make accurate maps. Field work. I love field work. most of my previous employments involved field work. I practically ate, slept, dreamed, bathed, belched and shit field work since i was a university student.

When I arrived, I saw on every table of other departments little stuffed teddy bears skewered in white plastic sticks along with a plastic red rose, wrapped altogether in a clear cellophane. Happy valentine's day. Our office didn't have any of them because we're wo/men of steel.

I saw Lady 1 wrapped her heart chocolates in opaque plastic and carefully kept them in her drawer,


"I will not eat these," smiling as she announced, "I will keep this in the fridge when i get home so they won't spoil."

"Are you sure your kids won't eat them?" Lady 2 snapped. Lady 2 was ignored by her husband that valentine morning. She was grumpy as hell and everyone teased her about the non-greeting.

"I will keep them in colored containers where they can't see what's inside."

"Hmmph," was lady 2's answer.

Off to field work we go, and Lady 2 kept complaining about her husband. So dense, he did not show any signs of sweetness in that valentine's morning.

"You might get a surprise of your life when you get home," Lady 1, who is much older, teased her. "A bed of roses, maybe? and a good romping tonight!"

Everyone laughed.

"Bed of roses?! Hmmph. He can't even remember to greet me!" Lady 2 sulked.


We took the dilapidated office jeep for field work. Dilapidated jeep drove on paved and dirt roads, parting the clouds of dusts. Residents peered from inside the huts as the Dilapidated jeep sped past their little houses. Hens and their little chicks scampered off the road; the sound of a vehicle approaching drove them wild.

Then i missed my childhood.

And the seemingly never ending dirt road across our house. Our old house, the plaza where we learned to make friends, learned to start a fight and learned to fight back, now barely resemble any memory that I have of them.

I read somewhere that “sentimentality is about lies; nostalgia is about memories, and the truths of the past.” I have no I clue what that means except that I always feel sentimental about my childhood. It was the time I learned to create my own world and believe that we weren’t as poor as I thought we were. I guess that means I lied to myself then.

And I get sentimental at wrong times of the day. Or maybe nostalgic. I rarely romanticize memories.


During the snacks the men talked about their wives getting angry over their bad drinking habits and over text mates. One mentioned that these issues will certainly get blown out of proportion because it’s valentine’s day. A lady asked if the men greeted their wives, too. A fellow announced that Lady 1 received 3 chocolate hearts this morning and they’re all suspecting it’s the husband that gave her. Oh, isn’t that nice, lady 1 and her husband are already in their early 50’s but still treat each other like sweethearts. I like that Lady 1 never bragged about it and when asked, she just smiles and says she will keep the chocolate hearts for her to cherish.

Someone wanted to tell sex jokes but refrained himself because there were “young people” around, he said, looking at me. I told them I am married, so the sex-joker laughed and warmed himself up for the joke. Everyone prepared to hear it but lady 2 kept on sulking.

(man, I’ve completely forgotten about the jokes, oh my god. Now I can’t retell them, damn!)

Then we packed up and moved on. Dilapidated jeep huffed and buffed on the dry, barren trails of powdery limestone trails.


Lunch was practically the continuation of what went during the snacks break. Somebody talked about taking back gifts he gave to his former girlfriends and burning them. And then some told of their wedding day. Weddings during those days, they say are much simpler. Or maybe it is because everyone in the group were not trying to be somebody. Sex joker talked about religion. The group however, lingered on the topic about pre-marital sex and public display of affection. Each of them started contributing about catching high school students in uniform having sex or fondling each other at the back of the school yard. Our offices are adjacent to a high school.


This talk—downright criticizing these young people for fondling each other, I find rather hypocritical. Because when I was young, I had excess of hormones and I got rid of them by fondling. If fondling is wrong, then we should all be nuns and priests. And also, I want to say, that voyeurs do not have the right to criticize, because they are just that--voyeurs.


We broke off after lunch. The dilapidated jeep crew, me included, decided to go back to the office and leave the rest for the staff to continue. It was a hot day. Way, way different from the cold, wet weather 2 weeks ago and the heat was making me sleepy. We took the same route going back to office and I fell asleep from the constant rocking and the monotone drone of the engine. We’re already in the good roads when I woke up, not quite refreshed but at least less tired. It’s still hot, but we’ve got airconditioner in the office. And hot water for my afternoon coffee.


That’s something to look forward to.

>>>FIN<<<<

3 Posts i cannot make.

the past weekend and today were very interesting days and i so badly wanted to write a post but I am so sleepy. i only had about 4 hours of interrupted sleep before I rushed to board the earliest bus to the city (leaving my husband and kid behind) so I can be at the office by 830am. I spent the morning half of the day on field work, travelling again (trip to city took 3 hours then there's 2 jeepney rides then there's a ferry boat ride then another jeepney ride...oh well.). there's also a report that i need to write, which i apparently can't do, given my present condition. i am so sleepy, more sleepy than i am tired and my brain is begging for some rest.

i wanted to make these 3 separate posts:

1. about the wonderful visit we had at this sugarcane mill of one of the old-rich families in one of the towns in my province. the place looked like an abandoned insudtrial community with broken old heavy equipment and a dilapidated mansion. most of the heavy equipment were manufactured outside the country-- the farm equipment and the big truck were clearly american made, the crusher, gears and machineries used to grind the sugarcane were from glasgow--in late 1800s. apart from the machineries being humongous, the old acacia trees were especially big also, they dwarfed the day laborers chopping the sugarcane endings for replanting.

i was terribly disappointed when the camera conked out before i had time to be creative. most of the pictures were taken in snapping frenzy.

i will remember to write about this before the week ends.


2. about the crazy discussions regarding valentine's day. there's a group of people and then i joined them for field work and then over lunch i listened to their crazy stories. most of it involved discussion on sex, religion, marriage, weddings, relationships and, of course, valentines day. plus a 5-minute lecture on GATT. well-rounded lunch (which only 3 of 13 people discussed, because well, only three of us knew about it. damn. frustrating).


3. about my mother and her lack of respect for group dynamics. i will just probably rant about her on this one but i promised myself (and my mentor-friend) that i will talk to her about it. i can;t totally blame her for her lack of skills because maybe, she does not really know...although ignorance is never an excuse for anything, oh well. it's just embarassing listening to my father talk to his guests about the practice of sugar milling and having his conversation hi-jacked by my mother, interjecting about some trivial things she learned at a trade fair or how fresh and healthy the fish soup she's serving is. Guests end up speechless because they cannot not listen to my mother no matter how badly they needed my father to continue his talk.


that's all. i'm sleepy and i got things to do.

>>>

but i've got a dinner date with friends tonight. i think i'll beg off tanduay ice this time. 

Mother Studies (#4): Cosmetology

My  hometown is a sleepy, laid back town which does not differ much from how it was 20 years ago. It only had 1 makeshift beauty parlor that mostly serviced women and girls. the males get their haircut from the neighborhood's most capable haircutters, whose primary qualification is to be able to cut hair in a straight line. The ability to copy the most popular (usually a decade delayed from the actual popularity status of stars) action star’s hairstyle is an added point but since not everyone had access to TV it’s a qualification that's is very difficult to find. Males who work in offices would get their haircut from the barbershops in the capital town so they can go to work without looking like a movie extra.

On weekends my mother would ask the beautician for home service, a usual practice in our sleepy town. There are times that she would need to make reservations as early as Thursdays because by then the list would be long. This nail-pimping frenzy especially happens during special occasions, like the fiestas. 


At times, a handful of my mother’s neighborhood friends would arrange a weekend appointment with the beautician and have her come over to our house. She would do all the necessary “pimp my nails” to my mother and her friends while the group partook the latest rumor in town. The beautician, as all beauticians are, would also contribute and before you know it they’ve formed this little female clique bound together but their orality. 

Some groups had their nails done while playing cards but since my mother vowed since she was young to never touch those cards, she never learned to gamble. Gambling while pimping the nails was never a common scene in the weekend nail services in our home.

When we relocated to the edge of the town center, our house became a little too far for the beautician to visit. We also do not have neighbors that my mother could gather to make better the trip better to the beautician, at least economically. Because taking the trip to our home and only earning enough to break even was not a very attractive offer, the home service stopped coming. My mother looked somewhere else to have her nails fixed. I would later learn she found a new nails lady and that she is being serviced in her office. Along with the rest of her lady officemates. While she signed important government documents, the nails lady would be poking and painting her nails while supplying her and her officemates with the latest and juiciest rumors in town.

She become very close to her nails lady, she became a permanent fixture in every celebration at home. When I worked for my mother’s office some years ago, the nail lady became at ease with me and started telling me about her sexual life. She said she is the more acrobatic of the two of them -- her and her husband. Amazing, these nail ladies.

She was very proud of her skills as a nails lady and I felt guilty for not giving her the kind of importance she gave me. One day I let her do my toe nails, sans the painting, because she said she could make them look better. I didn’t enjoy it although I do admit they looked a lot better after our session. But seeing my mother and her friends, seeing how nails cleaning became some sort of an addiction, I swore not to follow the same path and up to this time, my finger nails were the virginal kind that they ever were and forever will be.

I would say that the nail arts mother’s nail ladies do were interesting. There was a time when this tacky nail art became the fad. At that point in my young life, anything that looked interesting and different is fascinating. I was honestly intrigued by that tacky nail art and always wanted my mother to have it. That particular nail art looked like a square yin-yang, with the yang (the white) bearing the delicately placed dot, same color as the yin. Nail ladies like to suggest provocative colors, like bloody red. During that time my mother was the low key kind and never wore screaming colors, like she sometimes does with the clothes, shoes and bags now. She would choose neutral or earth colors, tan mostly. She did try that yin yang nail art once but immediately shifted back to either French nails or the plain nail paint. She never explained why she stopped donning that nail style, except that it was, she said, “Ugly. Especially when they start chipping.”

The tradition of going to the manicurist never prospered in my time. Except for that one time attempt to get rid of the guilt, never did I again try to let some nail lady touch my virginal nails. I think I will have eternal disgust for manicure/pedicure addiction.

After decades of being in the club, my mother’s nails turned tragically unattractive. It was the direct result of small town, unhygienic practice of calling home (office) service and allowing her to use the same manicure-pedicure set on all of the 20 other clients listed. My mother contracted that awful nail fungus that makes your nails really thick and discolored (dark brown to black), sometimes, smelly even. It does not easily go away, at least in my mother’s case. I think it is curable but because my mother has grown busy (and old) she would rather have those ugly nails covered up by glossy nail polish than stick to the meticulous regimen of treatment required by the dermatologist. She also suspected it’s the un-sterilized set gave her Hepa B, though her doctors thought otherwise. Hepa B can't easily be transmitted that way. 


And I never saw the office nails lady again—the one who candidly told me about her sexual innuendos. I don’t see her in our house parties anymore. But that’s really not something new. My mother’s relationship with friends and nail ladies, just like the nail arts, do not really last as they easily chip and turn ugly.






FIN.

Study of Anger: Part. 1

Dude, I’m listening to “If I were a carpenter” on mp3. An old friend send me the album on zip today. Do you remember? This was your forte. You were good at things Carpenters. They were your favorites. Do you also remember? You used to play this in the house we shared, especially on the nights when we’d stay up late to study. If it’s rainy and things are sadder, you’d play the originals. The ones sang by the real Karen and Richard carpenter. Your favorite was about the one needing to be in love, because you were a sorry case with boys. You’re always crush-struck paralyzed before you even found the chance to flirt.

But I could barely connect the old you with the one I see in the recent pictures of you. I know, facebook magic. I’ve deleted and blocked you already but these things—your picture from a common friend’s album-- still amazingly pop up. Like magic.

sometimes i do wonder how much of your old self still remains.

i envy how easy it was for you to dispose of the friendship because with pure, unadulterated honesty, I will tell you, it took me time to recover. it did not hurt and i did not wallow in sadness but i was bitter. Since then. up until this time i was bitter, especially after i've finally proven i would never get the apology that i wanted from you. Because I made myself believe that we were both on the same boat and we both follow the same set of values. And because i say sorry when i know i've dissed somebody. And you don’t. and you also don’t admit that you’re wrong while I’d profusely apologize. It’s my default setting. I’m sad to learn that despite being from the same assembly line we matured so different from each other. It’s a pity; we almost grew up together.

I know you are the kind that came from some distant universe—the insensitive kind, so I will tell you: when a dear friend stops contacting you, stops asking about you, and, when you finally see each other, avoids eye contact with you, dude, you're one brain-damaged moron not to even feel something is wrong. and you know what, that is exactly what i got from you: a brain-damaged moron’s reaction.

Dude, I so badly wanted to forget about it, and by doing so, I imposed upon myself a gag order and total news blackout. Then I learned that you lied and you kept on lying to my face (but I remained cool and like a martyr lover I remained right where I know you’d expect me), But I’m an idiot and instead of leaving it at that, I retraced my steps and started having doubts; that maybe i was wrong after all, that maybe i was too harsh on my assumptions, too cruel for on my conclusions about your shortcomings. So i did what i was supposed to do. i looked for a second opinion. And where else to get it but from another friend. Level headed big gay heart-ed comic. I asked him if breaking up with a friend is a rational thing to do.

and his most amazing, top-ranking constructive answer in the world was, " People even break up with their religion. Even marriages break. Why wouldn't friendship?" 

"but we were together since highschool. we've been together half our age." 

"precisely, my point. people change over time, why wouldn't high school friends?" 

My thoughts, exactly. and he smiled . It was the best day in the world. And it remained like that until you decided to come back and have a kabaduyan shebang.

Suddenly all the common friends want explanations? Dammit, man, why am I suddenly being asked to explain? Can’t you do it yourself? You have better vocabulary than I.

And man, if you care to know, I now have to endure uncomfortable moments of silence every time i am told of the wonderful dinner our common friends had with you, of this exciting, utterly supercalifragilisticexpialidocious giveaway they got from your kid's party, or of how wonderful your partner is. I have yet to master the poker face. I envy you, you do not have to go through all of this, because dude, none in our group of friends are ever interested to talk to you about me, or my kid, or my husband because i choose to be quiet. they've got nothing to talk to you about me because that’s the way I want it. Can’t you fucking do the same? because frankly, i do not know how to react, or what to say back, except a hypocritical "cute", or "good to know you had a good time". i do not really care about how you are now, how cute your kid is, how eccentric, rich and delightful your husband is. But i have to be told, anyway, because despite my having had made an official press release that you and i have long broken up--separated, hating each other, nil, nada, wala na kami, we're not shitting friends anymore--none in the group seems to remember, or is tactful enough to know that when they tell or show me things about/from you i look at them with an uninterested stranger's eyes, listen to them with deaf's ears.

And because, man, I honestly do not know how to be polite to somebody I do not like. Know that, because you will understand why I did not attempt to talk to you last we saw each other.

And because I am tired of having to explain to our friends why i chose to break away from our relationship. Because I am tired of having to explain to them that dude, things break up. rules break up. lovers break up. married people break up. what makes us so special not to break up?

But i continue to be a hypocrite and respond positively because i am a hypocrite. and pretend—take note, pretend, not LIE--is one thing that hypocrites do. So i pretend and tell my friends that "Wow, that tumbler's cute!" even if i think it's the tackiest, white trash-like giveaway ever (honestly man, baduy talaga. hindi na nga talaga kita friend kasi ang layo mo na, dahil baduy ka na mag conceptualize.) because why why why, why why why up to this moment you keep on wanting to be in my life? why why why can't they understand the rules of breaking up? that when people separate, especially those long separated, the least one should do is talk about parties involved when either party is present.

It’s tact. You can’t buy it from the mall, I’m sorry. But get one, if you can. And, honesty, too.

Because, man, you know, it’s also pretty tiring to have to explain always, and I can’t pretend all the time.

For world peace man, do your part.

....

Say, what?

because i am such an information maniac i did this thing tonight:

i studied kengo kuma's work from the interview he gave in 1997 in the book that i've talked about here. some god at the forum i joined in would be interviewing him tomorrow. and i was sore for not having read the kuma interview thoroughly, especially after i learned the forum god needed more questions for his kuma interview, because i was not able to formulate interesting questions to throw to kuma-san.

Kuma in 1997 interview was an anti-hero. Tandao Andao was already popular then, too popular he could be the poster boy for Japanese architecture. He openly discussed his being a non-devotee of small houses architecture and branded architecture, both of which Tadao popularized--though maybe un-intentionally.

what i am beginning to love about this book is it encourages people like me, non-architects who are interested in architecture--beyond the practice of architecture, the pre-requisite of knowing the technicalities, the sciences and engineering behind putting up a building, and without any ability whatsoever in drawing. It was encouraging, what Kengo Kuma in this book said about the need for architecture to spread its wings. For it to see beyond the limits of civil and material engineering, because architecture of today no longer deals with just the enclosed spaces. Psychology, sociology and virtual spaces are starting to be one of the many components of architecture. Logically, it follows that programs should not be solely made by architects themselves. Meaning, dude, comments that i make, my opinion and thoughts that i shared in PF's studies are so legit (although not necessarily correct, ahe ahe) they matter after all!

i felt vindicated in my want to study this ever evolving field, although i'm still unsure if the RLAs i know feel the same, because usually when they talk architecture they only want to discuss the details of construction. It makes my brain bleed. I'm sorry.

what is probably more important, and where us, Filipinos can learn a lot from is that traditional, village architecture aren't amateur and unremarkable. Ultimately, it is harmonious marriage of space and its intended use (activities in the space) that prevails, not the style, not the brand of style or the state of the art materials used. It will be good if we try to view things in this perspective, sans the theatrics of exoticized nationalism (that the malls sell).

and last advice from kuma master himself: "...it is [not] necessary for architecture to beat every other field." (a lot of moonlighting CEs can also learn from this) every type of media and other fields can certainly be used to work with architectural to achieve a purpose. isn't that humbling?





(now, i move aside and pray i made a correct interpretation/analysis of the interview.)

Points of Clarification

The weather here is still crazy. It should have been hot and dry already. i've been here the past for 2 weeks and i've seen the sun for only about a couple of days. the rest were just clouds and chilly drizzle and freezing breeze--at least to me, because i have very low tolerance for cold. i was born of the tropics. i can only survive in the 24-26 degrees centigrade temperature. my insides freeze by the time it gets to 20 degrees and by 18 degrees, my brain automatically stops working.


Today, we ate lunch at the cyclone-wired-glazing cafeteria and it was cold. our steaming rice has turned to cold lunch in a few short minutes. i did not expect too much from our lunch. just usual brain dead conversations because my brain is practically close to shutting down. but it turned out magical in such a way that i became animated and my normal brain functions were restored. suddenly i felt warm. energized, in fact.


It began with a question on signatories. somebody asked on the required signatories to building a house (getting permits and all). I remember getting asked the same thing by my sister last week. it's best i explain now what i know about this.


without even thinking i said, "Architects." Pause. "And civil engineers for your structural...then plumbers and electrical engineers..."


my voice trailed as lunchmate 1 promptly cut me: "No. You don't really need architects to sign for your architectural plans. Civil Engineers can. They're allowed to do that."


(Oh excuse me while i kiss the sky...)
exactly when was it that civil engineers were endowed with the power to become architects?


"No they're not," I said. Curtly.
why would they be?


But i will confess here that i do not have an extensive knowledge of the National Building Code of the Philippines (PD 1096), the Architectural Law (RA 9266) nor the CE Law (RA 544 of 1956). I applied the very uncommon common sense to it.


"Oh yes, [they] can. It does not take much to design, we can actually do simple building designs and all."


and i thought, "Oh no you can't. You can't even draft because you're not trained for it."


Lunchmate 2, the question poser, although silent but using apparently his common sense, said: "Oh that's understandable. Partitioned responsibilities. like architects do architectural plans and interiors are done by interior designers. stuffs like that."


What came out of my mouth was: "Well architects are the ones that design so shouldn't the liberty on how the design be executed be given them?"


"But CEs can sign. They really are allowed. and what simple task is it to design, CEs can also do that."


(my eyes bulged. yes, like that: BULGED.)


"Well, all i know is that it is the CE's job to make sure that the building is safe and built in the way architects designed it. And as far as i know, in building a building, the architect has the final say to whatever stuff is to be put there. I mean, engineers are necessary because architects consult with them but at the end of the day, it is still the architect that decides the whole building design. He designed in the first place."


(ever noticed my non-gender sensitive use of the word "he" to mean architect and engineer?)


"No, really. In like big constructions, engineers head the whole project. they even get their own design team to oversee the design of the building. but it is usually the engineers that spearhead the project."


my head replied: "A design team composed of civil engineers? Just what the fuck is that?


"I saw this tv program before, in national geographic. It's a feature on Norman Foster. Norman Foster went as far as designing the hinges and the hubs and the connections of the roof --sorry i can't technically describe it--of his building. Of course he consulted the engineers along the way but really, as far as i know, architects spearhead the project along with his design team and there's usually a project management team composed of engineers, apart from the contractors, who are also engineers, who are in charge of getting the building up."


I'm not architecturally nor civil engineering-educated, and may be stupid. I only rely on books for most of my architecture education. and national geographic. and DW-TV and Charlie Rose (via Bloomberg). and pushpullbar (yeah! the best architecture and design forum in the universe!). and documentaries, if i find one. 


I can't remember what she said but i went to explain further.


"I mean, really, if civil engineers can practice the profession that is for the architects, why have architects in the first place? it would be better to have the profession of architecture abolished than make these two professions fight over a piece of paper. and if the philippine government wants to make architecture in the country competitive, she should protect her architects. it's the only way to go, really."


(i stopped there for fear of divulging personal details---that  i am married to an architect-- because that would make my statements, bias, subjective and therefore, not credible.)


I don't know why these civil engineers keep on wanting to SIGN architectural plans. Dude, you already get a lot of money being contractors (because, yeah, that's probably the only thing you're good at), why don't you leave the signing of architectural documents to these poorly paid architects? I feel that sooner or later these civil engineers would even want to declare themselves urban planners because (social) ENGINEERING is part of city planning anyway.

Talking to PF some time after lunch, after i've come upon a decision that i will not comment if discussions like these ever come my way again (because dude, it's like a total waste of my time), he said:

"...It's like a house painter claiming he can do a Picasso..." (No offense to house painters who REALLY can do a Picasso.)

But then, most of them CEs probably don't know Picasso. So i rest my case.

Useful links for the dazed and confused


(whoa! the issue is more complicated that i thought! as i read through articles and memos, i realized that this whole shebang did not only involve warring professions but a newly authored ERRONEOUS National Building Code book and possible corruption on the side of the DPWH--which issued the memo. AMAZING!)


Filipino Architect's Forum link
RA 9266 IRR link
Another site discussing the issue (Philippine Building Online Industry Forum, Oct 2009)--this one i found very useful. there's an additional comment at the same forum thread about an article at PICE's site (as of that time of posting, PICE remained stubborn and urged all building officials to stick to what former DPWH Secretary Ebdane issued--that CEs can sign Architectural Plans).
and the PRC architecture board discussing the issue (forgive the "may the lord bless us all" closing--for the religion sensitive)




DO EDUCATE ME, IF YOU HAVE BETTER THINGS TO ADD.








FIN.

metareview

because i was not feeling inspired to write a follow up on that book review and other thoughts (which you can read here) (PF came home for the weekend, i had a lunch date and some more other dates) i decided to remain lazy instead by posting a series of reviews of the book here:

"Shaking the Foundations reveals the passions hidden behind the cool, abstract exterior of the Japanese design scene. Through a series of in-depth interviews renowned architects such as Tadao Ando, Arata Isozaki, and Kazuo Shinohara speak out on issues ranging from the philosophies of Japanese Modernism to the politics of urban planning in Japanese cities. Often contradictory, but never dull, these interviews offer compelling insights into contemporary Japanese culture." (this one did not have the name of the reviewer...)


and

When the inevitable backlash comes against the cult of Koolhaas, one of the charges against him will be that his polemic about Asian architecture and urbanism is based on a shaky understanding of the countries involved. Koolhaas will no doubt be accused of creating a modern form of what Edward Said termed 'Orientalism'; that is, the tendency to impose a Western construct on Eastern cultures (Murray Fraser, November 1999). (An abstract of the longer article which can only be rad if you are a paid subscriber. Though short, this might be the best comment I've read so far because it reminds me of how Filipinos tend to view Filipino history and culture (yes, including architecture): with western eyes. I will not even begin to tell you how a licensed Filipino female architect called me un-nationalistic after saying that i do not expect Filipinos to really win in international competition. I am digressing, yes. Just because i was not all praises for Filipino works does not mean i do not like being a Filipino nor am i not nationalistic, because for one, I STAYED. HERE. I work here, in the Philippines.) (And also because when i first watched a Koolhaas interview (or documentary--was it?) about his China exploits he looked very haughty. And also because PF said he's really that. a snob.)

Third and last, the omnipresent Amazon Review:

Questioning the spirit of Japanese architecture today, this book tries to identify the mind-set and philosophy driving some of the world's foremost eastern designers. It reveals the personalities and passions behind the cool, abtract exterior of the Japanese design scene in the form of a collection of interviews. Renowned architects speak out on issues ranging from the rebirth of Japanese design after World War II to progressive technologies, while newcomers disclose the trials and tribulation of "making it" in today's competitive market. If past and present are any indication of the future, then this volume predicts that Japanese architecture will gain a stronger foothold and following in global design theory in the decades to come.

that's all folks!