CIRCA 2006

During the impeachment fiasco last year I texted my mom. I asked her, when would people wake up and take notice of what was happening in the country? When will they take responsibility for themselves and their fellow Filipinos? And when will they learn to fight? She answered:

If a new Marcos era comes along. If rowdy, shameless students in Starbucks begin disappearing. If remains of noisy, brainless mediamen are found in shallow pits, if men in uniform begin barging into the homes of farmers, if fisherfolk tie dead soldiers in their boats and drag them around the bay area until their brains spill out to sea and before the eyes of townsmates. If women begin losing husbands and sons and daughters into the night. Just like in the Marcos era. Now? No.

The statement says a lot. Among other things, it speaks of disenchantment and the collective sentiment of a people who witnessed evil during Martial Law, our parents and relatives who are now both idealistic and cynical. It speaks of disgust about more recent political movements and conspiracies--from both ends of the spectrum--that have bastardized and abused the spirit of the original EDSA. It speaks of a people that will not move a muscle unless this spirit is GENUINELY alive, like it was back then when they were fighting a dictator. It speaks of pragmatism, too, and disgust at the crisis we have facing of late, a crisis that unfortunately for their trained eyes and experience still does not merit more than a conversation over dinner.

And maybe they're right. Why will I stand shoulder to shoulder with a politico who the next day will probably jump the fence to the other side? Or with others who nurse fragmented vested interests and carry hollow blocks in their backpacks to throw at the police who will quite naturally retaliate, thus triggering mayhem? Why will I still share hopes of freedom and integrity with those who have attempted time and again to topple past and present administrations, just so they could grab the power for themselves? Why will I believe Ramos, whose attempt at a military junta 20 years ago was the reason people flocked to EDSA anyway? Why will I put my beliefs on the line, only for them to be trampled upon by ill-meaning political elites who have shamelessly and self-righteously dictated out nation's destiny? Why will I want to be a party to this farce again, like I have unwittingly done many times in the past?

We will never have another EDSA, in the full sense of the word. That's what I realized. How quickly does hope fade in this day and age; Edsa Dos is now just a blurred memory. All I can remember now was Jim Paredes throwing out Zesto Juice to the crowds, and my friends and I sitting on the floor of Robinson's Galleria to while away the time. My whole heart was in it then, but why does it seem so distant now? For some reason I feel more strongly for the events of 1986, even though I was just three years old at that time. Today Edsa Dos, Tres, etc hold very little meaning, when I really think about it.

I feel like we're standing delicately on this slippery floor, and we're hopelessly tripping over ourselves. I remember a word used in one of our articles in Kule about the student council elections. Rigodon. Everybody changes places, but it's the same tiring dance.

On the other hand, we need to be alert. Because like I said before, history is still alive in the present, and we are living in what Renato Constantino calls the continuing past. We can't shake off the residue of Martial Law unless we truly learn from it. Truly. Until then, GMA will continue to make warrantless arrests, like Marcos did before. She will keep closing down media outfits, like Marcos did before. Politicians will continue to pillage and deceive and take people for the fools that they are, like so many before them have. In this kind of dynamic, we all lose, because we are all a part of the cycle, and without learning, there is no breaking the cycle. In 1986 and in the years that followed, we were given the power to exercise our freedom. This power is never more real than in our right to vote. But we have wasted and are still wasting that power. What a shame. We are a disgrace to the many who have died and sacrificed themselves so that we can enjoy our lattes and complain about the horrid political system today. This is coming from someone who had campaigned for an actor and seen the people gobble him up like a savior.

The celebration of EDSA at 20 is over. It began with the administration turning a blind eye to the entire thing. It escalated into an ironic deja vu of violence and curtailment of freedom. It ended numbly, with people teetering between apathy and alarm. In the aftermath was a stand-off between opposing factions of the Marines, and messages about impending riot that continue to circulate (Stay away daw from cell sites and government buildings tomorrow, the texts say). And through it all a blanket of uncertainty, covered by a wider and confusing blanket authority.

The celebration was, ultimately, a failure. A failure most especially in the hearts of our people. Our country indeed has come full circle, from that glorious February morning in 1986 to a shocking February day in 2006. And look at us now. We're still the same, only that we're allowed to grow our hair.

EDSA

A state of emergency is declared on the eve of the 20th annual celebration of our nation's emancipation from tyranny through people power. The order is given by someone who herself shot to presidency via similar means.

Go figure.

LOST WORLD

I'm swinging between sleep and excitement. I hope I don't doze off while typing. Anyhoo.

I seem to have hit a brick wall yet again. I can't find a rock-solid, "valid" methodology for my thesis. I'm trying to take the radical path by using fuzzy cognitive mapping and some other graphic approaches. But apparently, no one, at least in this country as far as I know, has done FCM yet. This sucks, because I think it's a good method and it works in other countries that have used it in environmental planning and management. But as it is, in my position, it's extremely hard to justify.

Hmm. Truth be told, my school to me right now looms like a dinosaur. Not physically or spatially (it's a plain, gray, two-storey building with worn-out beams, located at the fringes of the university, and can be crossed from end to end in about ten steps. Hardly intimidating.) but in a temporal sense. It's--dare I say it--archaic. The weight of history and old, undying notions and philosophies falls heavily upon all who enter. The paradox is that everyone in there is supposedly looking towards the future. That is what we do, that it what the profession entails. Yet the pillars of learning, rooted deep in sentimentality, power and authority, are stuck hopelessly in the past. I am blessed to have come across teachers who managed to inspire and move me, and I am forever thankful to them for opening up my hapless mind, but something tells me that there's room for improvement. No, actually, a revolution.

Study calls upon us to be receptive, to be open to new ideas that abound in this great, big world, to imbibe those learnings and to grow through them. But if we sit and sip coffee all afternoon with colleagues, basking in the glory of perceived invincibility, impervious to the changes around us, then that's not gonna happen. It's a contradiction to the very principles we espouse.

Maybe that's why when people leave the school, they don't usually return, and they rarely give back. And so the beams continue to decay, the paint will eventually peel off, the walls will turn grayer and, apart from spurts of reminiscence that it ignites in people's memories, it remains still in the shadow.

SHINY HAPPY

I saw Grosse Pointe Blank again on cable. I never tire of that movie. John Cusack will always hold a special place in my heart. Hihihi.

It's got a slammin soundtrack, too.


I Can See Clearly Now

I can see clearly now, the rain is gone,
I can see all obstacles in my way
Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind
It’s gonna be a bright, bright
Sun-shiny day

I think I can make it now, the pain is gone
All of the bad feelings have disappeared
Here is the rainbow I’ve been prayin' for
It’s gonna be a bright, bright
Sun-shiny day

Look all around, there’s nothin' but blue skies
Look straight ahead, nothin' but blue skies

I can see clearly now, the rain is gone,
I can see all obstacles in my way
Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind
It’s gonna be a bright, bright
Sun-shiny day

IYAK, TAWA, IYAK

It hasn't been five days since I was in a jeep somewhere in Makati feeling like the entire sky was collapsing on me. Every step I took was a mixture of frustration, sadness and fear. I desperately wanted out, I wanted to run away as fast and as hard I as I could, to physically feel each molecule of despair slide off my body. I couldn't, so I just had to push on, ever so slowly. But the tears fell anyway (in McDo of all places).

That was before today. Today my thesis adsiver said I have a "good concept." WOOHOO! Finally I feel like I'm getting somewhere. Rejoice, rejoice!

Haaaaaaaaaaaay. Feeling ko nabunutan ako ng tinik. I just have to beef up my methodology and add visuals to my conceptual framework (good ol' meister mark pointed it out even before Ma'am Jimenez read my proposal. Yes, yes, magaling ka na.). Basta, happy. I've never been so relieved. After all the confusion and sleepless nights, wondering if I even had a point to make, in the endless sea of points that experts have already made about the Philippine housing problem, this is just sweet.

Except that my feet hurt so much now from all the walking I did today. I wonder why my right leg feels so much heavier than my left. Don't I walk straight?

Anyway, I'm home and resting. No more research for today. Yipee. Kick back and surf the tube baby.

Caught part of the Grammy Awards. Kelly Clarkson won for best pop vocal. Over Gwen Stefani, Sheryl Crow, Fiona Apple and Paul McCartney. Huwaaat? Change channels.

Hmm. I have to say, iyakin talaga mga artista. It's a built-in feature. Hardwired for heightened emotional outbursts. I mean, okay, so Christian Vasquez cried on his birthday coz he misses his kids. The next minute everyone was in hagulgol mode. And it's not just coz they're inside the House and they know people are watching--that was First Season--this time they just, well, overflowed. They cried because they felt like crying. It's just the way they are. Even Budoy of Junior Kilat cried his heart out. He explained the advertisement he hung on his shirt for a show that his artist friend is doing, and lamented the fact that many good Filipino artists are struggling to survive, people who don't get noticed but won't give up and compromise their craft. And he bawled his eyes out for those people. I was genuinely touched.

For those who don't get, this is about Pinoy Big Brother Celebrity Edition. Haha! Gawd am I PBB addict? Egad. But it is amusing to watch these "celebrities". Except for that Angela person who's just so prissy and overbearing, and Gretchen who does nothing but karate-kick and karate-punch the air. Enough already, it ain't cute no more. Man oh man, Keanna has gigantic boobs. I mean really big. Way to go mr. plastic surgeon whoever you are, but didn't you overdo it a bit? And hey, my legs are nicer than Bianca's, harhar. I used to watch her brother religiously on Breakfast (Studio 23). Always woke up early, groggily turning on the tv to see him say good morning. Talk about loser. Anyway.

Why is Rustom sooo thin?

I have no idea who will win this season. I'm not really rooting for anybody, it's just fun to watch them be silly and stupid and inane and some of the time sensible, too. But good lord why are conversations inside that house so utterly boring and pointless? Like that talk about people having eyes at the back of their heads (don't ask). It just dragged on and on and on and on. Have they nothing else interesting to talk about? Pardon? Oh, yes, looooove. In the next few days I think we'll witness the unraveling of (rx93.1's) Rico Suave's hush-hush past with singer Roxy aka Roxanne Barcelo (who has one song to her name), who incindentally is also a "housemate". *rub palms together and say ooooh*

Haha, I'm so pathetic. Well, it's this or being at my wits' end with my thesis. So forgive me for patronizing average endeavors from time to time, otherwise I'd be madder than I already am, and you don't really want that.

IT'S THE HAIR

I got out of the house today (I am a caged animal, yes), in an attempt to shake off the blues. Walked around, had dinner, watched a movie. Squealing in the theater while Jen Aniston's character was being raped seemed to do the trick.

What in the world does that girl put in her hair? More than ten years I've been watching her, and I still don't know. It's beautiful, darn it. Always in place--each soft, silky strand--layered, wavy, straight, blond or with highlights or beautiful brown like she wore it in Derailed. Shit I'm lusting after Jennifer's hair.

Anyway, kudos to her. Although her last movie was bland and fluffy like chiffon cake (aaack I can't remember the title, it's that forgettable. I remember it's about a family controversy that was the basis for the movie The Graduate. And I remember her hair. Longer, flew around a lot. Oh got it: Rumor Has It), it's still all good. She has a movie being shown at the Sundance Festival and rumor has it (ha. ha. ha.) that it's good. So snaps for the brokenhearted. Well, not so much since Vince Vaughn arrived, who by the way is a good friend of Brad's. Brad, on the other, has recently acquired dad status. He has three children at last count, and Angelina said she plans to adopt a bunch more, and have more from her own womb. Cheaper by the dozen, Brad?

I am such a gossip whore.

And on that note, I bid good night.