Wish you were here

Monday, October 31, 2005

GAME DESIGN

Labels: Fiction

posted by Señor Enrique at 5:25 AM | 2 comments

Sunday, October 30, 2005

A Sunday Insight: Appreciation

I give thanks for the lessons of the past. Every single problem, every unhappy moment, every heartache, now appears from my present vantage point, to have been a blessing in disguise.

Every moment spent in solitary was an opportunity to meditate upon the truth of my being; prompting me to reach for a higher level of understanding and giving.

Indeed, what may appear as a dilemma at first becomes a steppingstone to spiritual growth.

I now move on with confidence as I pursue my purpose in life.

And for this I give thanks!

Labels: Words of wisdom

posted by Señor Enrique at 7:12 AM | 0 comments

Saturday, October 29, 2005

Featured Humor by GROUCHO MARX

“From the moment I picked up your book until I laid it down, I was convulsed with laughter. Someday I intend reading it." - Groucho Marx



Julius Henry Marx, known as Groucho Marx (1890-1977), along with two brothers worked as the Marx Brothers, America’s legendary comedy team. He loved books and regretted not having finished school or gone to college. However, despite of his lack of formal education, he wrote several books, including the autobiographical Groucho and Me (1959).


Why A Duck
http://www.whyaduck.com/index.htm

Labels: Featured quote - humorous

posted by Señor Enrique at 12:29 PM | 0 comments

Featured Photo by MICHAEL JOSH

The house where I live is surrounded by a few tall buildings, and I don’t get much of a chance to witness beautiful sunsets. That’s why I get excited whenever I come across photographs like this one.

Discovered it while I was digging into Michael Josh’s iBlog photo archives. I was disappointed he didn’t have much of a photo collection but what I found out about this young man was uniquely fascinating.

First of all, he is the first Filipino to podcast. Along with friends, they share their insights on technology, sports, music, food, love and life through The Michael Josh Show.

There are supposedly only 13 Filipino podcasters currently in existence; most of which are produced abroad with only a handful produced locally. I suggest for those of you who aspire to produce your own podcast to check out his blogsite, introduce yourselves and pick his brain, so to speak.

Aside from his keen interest in many Apple products, various other technology gadgets, blogging and podcasting, Michael Josh works as a Senior Operations Administrator at GMA7 news operations.

Based on their excellent work and for their potential to contribute to the practice of good journalism in their communities, Michael Josh was among the three Filipino journalists selected as graduate fellows by the Konrad Adenauer Center for Journalism at the Ateneo de Manila University (CFJ). The fellowship supports the studies of the grantees for the Master of Arts in Journalism.

As if that’s not enough, he's also a music artist. He has his own album, Peace in the Midst of the Storm, from Musicworx Ministries, a non-profit organization into missionary music.

This young man’s enthusiasm to share his interests and knowledge is conveyed by his well-written, easily understood blog posts and by the ease of navigating around his site, which reveal his proficiency in graphic and Web design as well.

Now, go and check out his site!

http://blog.michaeljosh.com/

Labels: Featured blog

posted by Señor Enrique at 5:26 AM | 0 comments

Friday, October 28, 2005

FRAGILE

Anita was exasperated. Nothing was good enough for Helen, her sister-in-law who was vacationing from New York and staying at their house. This balikbayan was definitely getting on her nerves with her wry comments about everything Filipino. Helen would deliver them succinctly, with a menacing smile, and in English, too. Anita thought, only five years of living in the States and this woman has already forgotten her Tagalog.

From the sweet-tasting spaghetti sauce to the vivid palette of her home interior, Helen was unstoppable when it came to dispensing unsolicited critiques of Anita’s housekeeping skills. With a slightly toned down sarcasm, Anita would then apologize for not having yet attained Martha Stewart’s level of mind-boggling ingenuity.

With her cooking either too salty or too spicy for Helen, Anita and her husband, Gary, would often take Helen out to dinner just to appease her. And to top it off, there would be the customary bag of take home sweets as well; the couple always footing the bill.

But as they say, all things must pass, so Anita was deliriously happy, to say the least, when Helen finally flew back to New York. Life at the house went back to normal as usual.

About a year later, Anita’s mother-in-law who was living in the States died suddenly. She and Gary had to go to New York for the funeral. Their kids had to stay behind because of school.

The long flight wasn’t all that bad but New York was in the midst of winter in New York and the biting cold seemed to pierce right through Anita's body. Helen was nice enough to lend her an overcoat but it was obviously the oldest in her collection; there were rips in the polyester lining and holes in the pockets.

The funeral itself was uneventful. It was as solemn as would be expected in a dreary winter morning. But over at Helen’s house during their stay in New York, Anita got a glimpse of her sister-in-law’s real life.

Helen and husband, Mark, bought their house a couple of years ago, but it seemed pretty much like a rushed purchase. It was an old house that required too many things to get fixed before it could provide the ideal comfort. To make matters worse, both Helen and Mark put in long hours at work, while their weekends are usually allocated to doing household catch-ups. Oftentimes, they would be too tired to even think of doing any systematic repairs during the free time they had.

The house is located in a not too desirable section of Far Rockaway in Queens. It’s also quite a long walk to and from the subway train station; nice when the weather is fine, but quite challenging during snowstorms or heavy rains. Mark later on admitted they bought it because of Helen’s insistence -- she wanted so much to be a homeowner like their friends.

Anita also became aware of the couple’s not so rosy financial situation. Although they were earning impressive incomes, they were weighted down by mortgage, car and credit card loan payments. They were literally living hand to mouth.

Immediately after this realization, Helen and Gary took it upon themselves to do the marketing at the nearby grocery store and farmer's market. Anita would then whip up some fine Filipino dishes for dinner. This time, much to Anita’s amusement, Helen no longer criticized her cooking.

On their flight back to Manila, Anita felt guilty for having harbored ill feelings toward Helen while she was vacationing with them last year. Anita realized that Helen’s mean streak was borne by her stressed-out, not-so-fun life in New York. The constant pressures of staying on top of her career in a highly competitive arena proved emotionally taxing indeed.

Behind Helen’s sophisticated façade is a mildly neurotic woman weakened by perpetual exhaustion. She was a fragile spirit on the verge of a breakdown when she came back to Manila. That one month vacation proved therapeutic for her; it alleviated her stress.

With that thought, Anita leaned over her napping husband and kissed his cheek.


Links

Stress Management
http://www.ivf.com/stress.html

Queens, New York
http://queens.about.com/

Tips to Handle the In-Laws
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/8786074/

Labels: Fiction

posted by Señor Enrique at 7:41 AM | 0 comments

Thursday, October 27, 2005

Featured Quote by R.W. EMERSON

It is very easy in the world to live by the opinion of the world. It is very easy in solitude to be self-centered. But the finished man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Labels: Words of wisdom

posted by Señor Enrique at 6:18 AM | 0 comments

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

THE GEEZER

According to empirical wisdom, adolescence, like measles, ought to be experienced once and for all while young, for a recurrence in middle-age may produce serious consequences.

Such was the case with Manong Odi. At age 50, he found himself with too much time on – but nothing to do with – his hands.

Daunted by the grim prospect of having to assimilate into a new corporate culture, as well as having to answer to younger superiors, he opted for early retirement when the bank where he was working at for many years as a senior commercial mortgage executive was bought by another but much larger bank.

His wife, on the other hand, was a ferocious fast food business owner/operator. During the past six years alone, she had turned a tiny gruel and noodle shop into a full service fast food chain with eight branches within Metro Manila. It was such a lucrative enterprise that some of the money she made funded their two kids’ college education abroad.

Manong Odi, on the other hand, as long as he he stayed away from her kitchens, so to speak, got to keep all the money he earned.

To create something to do when he wakes up in the mornings, Manong Odi decided to open an arcade/Internet café shop within the university belt area of Manila. He leased the entire ground floor of a three-storey building, and with a team of innovative interior and sound designers, Manong Odi had transformed a once dingy space into a trendy, cool hangout for both high school and college students in the area.

Much like his wife, Manong Odi prohibited his spouse from meddling into the affairs of his new enterprise. Even his children were refused summer employment much to their disappointment. With the place swamped with hip young people, they would have truly enjoyed working there.

Only a year since its opening, with the help of previous co-workers at the bank, Manong Odi secured a bank loan which enabled him to buy the entire building from its owner who was immigrating to Canada. When asked, Manong Odi would quickly attribute the great success of his arcade/Internet café shop to a business acumen he had developed as a banker for many years.

Well, that may sound nice on a publicity/press release sheet, but nothing could be farther from the truth. But as with anything, the truth has a way to unravel itself.

By the third year of Mang Odi's business operations, everything was business as usual until one morning when his regular patrons were surprised to see it padlocked. They first assumed Manong Odi was ill or late for work, but it remained padlocked the next day as well. And so it was for the rest of the week.

Eventually, word got around that Manong Odi’s establishment was raided by a team of agents from the National Bureau of Investigation after a young girl tipped them off about certain illegal activities going on upstairs of the shop.

Manong Odi, as it turned out, had a number of college-age girls manning computer terminals equipped with cyber cameras in each of the many rooms on the second floor of his building. Anyone from any part of the world could log onto his Flirty Asian Coeds site and with a credit card, choose any one of the young girls available for a live anything goes audio/visual experience.

Investigations revealed that Manong Odi paid each girl five hundred pesos for three hours of work in which he charged the customers fifty dollars per hour on their credit cards. At today’s exchange rate, Manong Odi would make eight thousand four hundred pesos for every three hours that would only cost him five hundred to pay each girl. With a 24-hour operation manned by at least ten girls, Manong Odi could, in fact, rake in at least six hundred thirty thousand pesos a day; that’s almost 4.4 million pesos a week! Not bad extra income for a retired banker.

The girl who tipped off the authorities was one of the many young girls Manong Odi was also having sexual relations with. But when Manong Odi had recently finished converting the third floor of his building into an exclusive members-only bordello complete with a full service bar, he had begun aggressively coercing these young girls to work those rooms as well, along with some new hires.

Out of spite, one of his young girlfriends called the authorities on him. She reasoned that doing it online was fine, and with Manong Odi she had to because she needed the job. But with strange middle-age pot-bellied men reeking of alcohol, diesel sweat and nicotine, it was definitely a no-no for her. She remained adamant even when Manong Odi promised to pair her off with college guys only. Feeling no longer deemed special by the geezer, she made that fateful phone call.

To date, Manong Odi remains on the lam evading arrest. The NBI has no further leads as to his whereabouts although there were unconfirmed sightings of him up in the mountains of Caliraya, Laguna cavorting and trading barbs with the local communist rebels. Another less reliable report placed him somewhere deep in the midst of Dasmarinas, Cavite, protected by a local drug kingpin.

His wife had recently sold her entire chain of fast food restaurants, filed for marriage annulment, joined the Born Again Christian movement, and now living in America with her children.


Links:

Middle Age Crisis
http://www.troubleshooter.com/cf_misc/Columns/ColumnDetails.cfm?ColumnID=282

The Mid Life Crisis: Madness Defined
http://www.overthehill.info/Articles/midlife.html

Internet Pornography Report
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Internet_pornography

Illegal Sites Hosted Offshore
http://www.qlinks.net/quicklinks/hotlines.htm

Labels: Fiction

posted by Señor Enrique at 6:05 AM | 0 comments

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

Featured Quote by WINSTON CHURCHILL

When I am abroad, I always make it a rule never to criticize or attack the government of my own country. I make up for lost time when I come home.

Sir Winston Churchill

Labels: Featured quote

posted by Señor Enrique at 5:30 AM | 0 comments

Monday, October 24, 2005

WINDFALL

Labels: Fiction

posted by Señor Enrique at 7:38 AM | 2 comments

Sunday, October 23, 2005

A Sunday Insight: LOVE

Love is the perfect power within us and is present in all of Life. It maintains our body and sustains all living things. Love is a divine unifying force that keeps the universe in a constant state of perfect harmonious balance.

Love heals, protects and guides. It is the key to happiness, health and prosperity, for love unlocks the kingdom of heaven within from which they all emanate from.

Every problem is but an opportunity to give forth more love. If people seem difficult, silently bless them until enemies become friends – friends who cause us to experience more love. There is no problem which love cannot resolve; no hurt which love cannot heal.

If there seems to be lack in our life, we need only manifest more love, the one true substance out of which the world and its effects are made. Love and praise that which is ours and silently watch it multiply. Indeed, love causes unlimited prosperity in both the spiritual and physical realm.

And so it is!

Labels: Words of wisdom

posted by Señor Enrique at 6:19 AM | 0 comments

Saturday, October 22, 2005

Featured Artist: SHIRLEY HORN

"Horn's taste is impeccable, her conviction contagious, and when she sings a lyric . . . we accept it as pure gospel." - Vanity Fair



Shirley Horn Discography
http://www.jazzdiscography.com/Artists/Horn/shorn.htm

Shirley Horn Biography
http://www.swingmusic.net/Horn_Shirley.html

Shirley Horn, Jazz Singer and Pianist, Is Dead at 71 (by Ben Ratliff, New York Times)
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/10/22/arts/music/22horn.html?ex=1287633600&en=a4fbc4a97e5ddfd8&ei=5088&partner=rssnyt&emc=rss

Labels: Featured artist

posted by Señor Enrique at 2:23 PM | 0 comments

FIRST OF MAY

Divisoria, at 3 o’clock in the morning, would be abuzz with its usual hustle and bustle; wholesale dealers negotiating the day’s selling prices with regular customers, some of whom are public market stall merchants and pushcart vendors.

There would be loads of fresh vegetables and fruits off the trucks from Batangas and Tagaytay farms, as well as produce from the merchant ships docked at the nearby piers, which sailed from China, Taiwan and other Philippine islands.

Mang Domeng, by 5 o’clock, would have already picked out and paid for a stock of fine seedless red watermelons (or whatever fruit would be in season at that time) that he would peddle on his pushcart. His regular customers live in the high-fenced mansions of the affluent New Manila, in Quezon City. After making his usual rounds, he would settle under the shade of an acacia tree along Gilmore Avenue where motorists would stop and buy the rest. By two o’clock in the afternoon everything should have been sold. He would then head on home.

He lived in one of the squatter shacks along the railroad near the Blumentritt Station. He was quite popular among the residents of this area; sought after for his insight and unbiased advice by both the young and old. Although asked by many to run as their Barangay chairman, Mang Domeng would much prefer a headache-free life as a pushcart vendor.

Not much was known about his past. Neighbors only heard bits and pieces about his wife and two kids having perished in a fire while Mang Domeng worked in California as a migrant farm worker. He would be evasive but the sadness revealed by his eyes would discourage anyone from further probing into his private life. Eventually, Mang Domeng’s affable demeanor and down-to-earth wisdom won over the entire squatter neighborhood; it was soon considered disrespectful to badger him with personal questions.

Mang Domeng loves the fruit business; enjoys peddling them and meeting people from various walks of life. Most of those he had befriended would miss him during the wet season when the punishing rains would prevent Mang Domeng from making his daily rounds. Money becomes even scarcer during this time of the year, especially in his impoverished neighborhood. Mang Domeng, generous to a fault, would cook a pot full of lugaw or macaroni soup to share with the neighbors. A gift of some cash would be given to friends with toddlers to buy their baby formula.

Most folks were amused to notice that although Mang Domeng would be broke every now and then like most of them, he never seemed poor at all. He always managed to lead a decent life with respectable though humble means of income. Somehow Mang Domeng was able to generate an income from other efforts during the rainy season.

One beautiful day of May, there was a small crowd gathering around his pushcart; excited over the yellow and green mangoes that filled his cart. Afraid that his entire stock would be sold out before Mang Domeng gets to their streets, some of his regular customers, would get in their cars and meet Mang Domeng at Balete Drive right off E. Rodriguez Avenue where he would usually start each morning.

So on this morning with his pushcart full of the season’s first harvest of Zambales mangoes, Mang Domeng was busily bagging a purchase when someone suddenly called out his name – his full name, Domingo, not Mang Domeng. He was starlled.

He looked up and saw this nicely dressed portly woman about his age. It took him a couple of more seconds before he recognized Celing, his wife’s best friend who had married an American and moved to New York’s Long Island. He hasn’t seen her since they saw her off at Manila International Airport more than thirty years or so ago.

Over coffee that following Sunday at Starbucks in Roxas Boulevard in front of the U.S. Embassy, Celing shed tears after hearing about the details of her best friend’s tragic death along with her two children. Mang Domeng confessed that his inability to cope with that devastating loss led him to alcoholism and ultimately, a derelict life. And it was the patience of their mutual friend, Carding, a priest, who tirelessly watched over him until he regained a grip on his life. It took almost ten years, but he did it.

As if apologetically, he admitted to Celing that he wasn’t the perfect husband as perceived by many. Sure he was working as a migrant farmer in California to provide a better life for his family, but the truth was, he went abroad to somehow recapture his once single life. And whatever money he sent home, it was a mere fraction of what he spent on almost nightly drinking and carousing.

It took the death of his family and losing everything he had to make him admit what a selfish clod he truly was; always out for himself. Ever since pulling himself out of his destitute predicament, he has learned to give; whether being of service to others or sharing what little he has with those with none. He told Celing that giving not only help others, it creates more for the person doing the giving. What he got most out of it was self-forgiveness and subsequently, inner peace.

Celing appreciated Mang Domeng’s candor. She also admired his having gone through and survived a challenging ordeal. She remembered what her mother used to tell her: With adversity comes astonishing insight.

Celing then told him that her American husband, a successful real estate developer, died of a heart attack seven years ago; they were childless. Her husband, during the Vietnam conflict, was exposed to certain chemicals or gas which caused him to become sterile. And although her husband left her with a lot of money, including sizeable real estate holdings, the loneliness after his death has become progressively unbearable. Celing recently went back to Manila with the hope of meeting someone she could spend the rest of her life with.

A year after that auspicious day in May, Mang Domeng and Celing were married at Mt. Carmel Church in New Manila. The wedding rite was conducted by their childhood friend, Father Alonzo, known as Carding to them. The reception was held at a rented mansion in Quezon City which was beautifully decorated for the occasion. Mang Domeng invited many of his friends from the old squatter neighborhood, as well as friends from Divisoria; whereas, Celing invited her ritzy friends from New York and New Manila.

That night, there was no economic divide between the guests; the love that permeated the festivities wrapped them all as one. The abundance of delectable food and great dance music spurred on the celebration until the wee hours of the morning. A great time was had by all.

The couple opened a wholesale fruit business in Divisoria. They also have a fleet of pushcarts that Mang Domeng had assigned to old friends from his old neighborhood. On weekends, they’re usually found in their fruit farm in Batangas. They also spend two months every year in Celing’s sprawling mansion along New York’s Long Island Sound.


Link:

New York, Long Island Sound
http://www.epa.gov/region01/eco/lis/

Mango
http://freshmangoes.com/mangos.html

New Manila, Quezon City
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quezon_City

Divisoria: A Photo Blog
http://photos.houseonahill.net/index.php/photoblog/photos/sunday-in-divisoria/

Labels: Fiction

posted by Señor Enrique at 6:20 AM | 2 comments

Friday, October 21, 2005

TRAFFIC

It has been an arduous morning for Teresa -- fielding David’s redundant questionings, as well as vehemently denying false accusations of her seeing another man behind his back.

She realized the only way she could ignore his belligerence was to get up and leave his house. She came over to give them some chicken salad she made the night before; instead of gratitude, she got another one of his outbursts incited by deep-seated insecurity.

Teresa exuded an air of resignation as she grabbed her purse and scurried out the door. She knew that her walking out would be an outright affront to her fiance''s manhood, a complete disregard for his need to be assured that she completely belongs only to him.

David’s mother would just roll up her eyes, while her spinster sister wouldn't even say a single word. Both women have been exasperated by the young man’s boorish behavior. They have grown fond of Teresa; neither one would want to see her changing her mind about David. "That young man better change his attitude," they'd often tell each other.

David, on the other hand, had convinced himself that a man is supposed to protect what’s his. And since Teresa belongs to him, his jealous outbursts were well-justified.

David never liked Antonio. He'd spend many a sleepless night wondering how Teresa could be so enamored by that scruffy scoundrel; a local portrait artist who deceives people by making them look better than they really are on his paintings. Antonio, as far as Davis is concerned, is nothing more than a sleazy bohemian who squanders his daily earnings on nightly drinking bouts with his slacker friends.

Unbeknownst to David, though, his contempt for Antonio may be borne by his jealousy for what Antonio has -- the inner strength that comes out as confidence and sensitivity, which make people feel safe and comfortable around him.

To Teresa, David’s macho posturing only makes him look like a desperate buffoon. It may work as a means to intimidate rude drivers who make life difficult for a jeepney driver like himself during heavy traffic, but to a woman who has allowed him into her heart, such attitude has no place in what is supposed to be a loving relationship.

What Teresa longs for in a man is a strength of character, the ability to express his thoughts amiably, and a keen interest to listen to what others have to say. Surely, Antonio posses such qualities but it is David whom she loves.

In more ways than one, she appreciates how hard David works -- starting at five in the morning and coming home around eight at night. He may be only 20-years old, but when it comes to his work, he approaches it diligently.

However, with inter-personal relations with loved ones, David does not fare too well. He is too tied up in his own emotional traffic, unable to express and work out his feelings. He would keep everything inside and then get bent out shape when no longer able to contain his frustrations or anxieties.

Teresa knows it’s futile and weak to change any person; she can only change the way she thinks about that person. That is all the power she has as a human being. And as much as she loves David and desires to marry him, they must first strengthen the love they share with each other with mutual understanding, trust and respect.

As soon as the dust has settled from David’s recent outburst, she will tell him her thoughts of late, and then suggest that they put on hold their marital plans until both are older and wiser.


Links:

How to Listen Better
http://www.ehow.com/how_12503_listen-better.html

Interpersonal Communication
http://www.uh.edu/crc/intcomm.html

Getting Married
http://www.troubledwith.com/Web/groups/public/@fotf_troubledwith/documents/articles/twi_topic_008608.cfm

Labels: Fiction

posted by Señor Enrique at 6:43 AM | 0 comments

Thursday, October 20, 2005

MODERN LOVE

The middle-age doctor was telling his young patient how different it was in Manila when he was his age. With the influence of the church at its height and the pervasive sexual mores averse to change, people were imbued with feelings of guilt, inhibition and restricted beliefs about what normal sexual thoughts and behaviors were.

Many were not allowed to express themselves in sexually healthy ways; a rare sight it was for unmarried couples to hold hands in public, let alone display a more intimate act such as kissing or hugging. It was an era of repressed sexuality that even single girls who went beyond kissing with their boyfriends were instantly regarded a puta, the doctor claimed

As he wiped his eyeglasses, he confided it wasn’t until he was in college when he first made out with a girl -- almost two hours of passionate kissing and groping up in the lodge section of the dark Avenue theater in Avenida Rizal. He added it was only on his wedding night that he finally experienced his first sexual intercourse. And that was already the 70s.

With a somber tone, he commented how kids nowadays barely into puberty are indiscriminately having sex. Throwing all caution to the wind, they go at it unprotected. He added that just the other day he had for a patient a 14-year old girl who contracted gonorrhea by having sex with two boys consecutively after she got drunk at a friend’s birthday party. Most of these sexually liberated girls, he noted, were from single parent households or whose both parents work long hours. Without any adult supervision, these latchkey kids were left to fend for themselves.

Fredo listened quietly; somewhat embarrassed by the doctor’s explicit monologue. He has known him for a year now. He once treated his minor cuts and bruises from a motorcycle accident. Now it was for the clap he contracted from a woman he met at a club last weekend.

After removing his gloves, the doctor, gave Fredo a final closer inspection, he advised him to abstain from alcohol and sex while on medication. This time, Fredo was not as uncomfortable as the last visit; he allowed the doctor to fondle it until he was asked to put his clothes back on. He was to return for a check up after two weeks. Before he walked out the door, the doctor handed him an ample supply of antibiotics and slipped him some money for a snack or something.

While waiting for a jeepney that would take him home, he promised himself that he would never again have sex with women from the clubs in Malate. He’ll just stick with the girls from the neighborhood; although much younger, they are more likely disease-free. Also, he didn’t have to waste any of his hard-earned money.

He drives a tricycle for a living. A high school dropout without any promising prospect he took a job as a tricycle driver. He has been doing it for two years now and has developed a steady clientele of neighborhood kids that he drives between their homes and schools. With most parents paying a month in advance for his services, he’s able to budget and save part of his earnings accordingly.

Some of his young passengers develop intense infatuation with older boys, and more often it is 19-year old Fredo they have their eyes on. These girls are intrigued by his handsome dark features combined with a slightly dangerous but sexy quality. Wearing mostly shorts and over-sized basketball jerseys that reveal most of his boyishly smooth brown skin and manly well-toned body, the school girls, as well as the gay men who work the neighborhood beauty parlors swoon over him.

As for girlfriends, Fredo has sixteen-year old Tricia who is madly in love with him; they’ve been together for more than a year now. He also has another girl he fools around with, Marita who recently turned fifteen. Due to her young age, Fredo limits their after school romps to oral sex. Between these two, it is Marita he has developed very strong feelings for. He uses her as an inspiration to save for the future; he dreams of one day buying his own tricycle.

Even though Fredo receives discreet propositions from regular passengers – gay men and middle-age housewives whose husbands work abroad -- it is the young girls he strictly prefers to accommodate, except for one instance, in which he allowed himself to take on Ronnie, a strikingly handsome young boy who hero worships him. In spite of their trysts though sporadic, Ronnie wouldn‘t admit to himself that he’s gay; after all, he has a girlfriend to show for it. Ronnie shares with Fredo his hefty allowance received from both parents working abroad. Such incentive justifies Fredo’s willingness to carry on this covert relationship with the junior high school student.

A couple of weeks later, back at the clinic, Fredo was relieved when issued a clean bill of health by the doctor. Only God knows how frustrating it was for this young man to abstain from sex for an extended period of time. As the doctor washed his hands after having examined the young man, he once again reminded Fredo to always use a condom. He cited the recent growing cases of venereal diseases among young people. However, the doctor knew his advice will fall on deaf ears; kids, in spite of various public awareness programs, choose to ignore the merits of safe sex.

Fredo, already dressed but still seated on the edge of the examination table, was surprised when the doctor suddenly leaned against him and whispered something. He was taken aback but immediately with his head gestured a no. As his patient left the office and closed the door behind him, a hunch suggested this young man might never return.



Links:

Venereal Diseases Explained
http://experts.about.com/q/2106/

Teen Sexual Behaviors: Issues and Concerns
http://www.focusas.com/SexualBehavior.html

Gay Teens Resources
http://www.gayteens.org/

Does Single Parenthood Increase the Probability of Teenage Promiscuity, Drug Use, and Crime?
http://repositories.cdlib.org/ucsbecon/dwp/8-02/

Labels: Fiction

posted by Señor Enrique at 6:48 AM | 3 comments

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Special Photo Feature: RANDY GALANG

Congratulations Randy!

Dusk was selected by Epson as one of the top 200 photos out of 2000 entries to be featured in their coffee table book, Epson's Epix '05. The selection process was judged by famous artists and photographers such as Bencab, Neal Oshima, Bian Bautists and Wig Tysmans. A cocktail party for the 200 winners was held recently at the Shangri-La Plaza.

The 200 best images are on exhibit until October 20th at the 3rd Level, Shangri-La Plaza.

Epson's Epix '05 is currently in production and will be realeased this coming November in time for the holiday season.


Randy is worth keeping an eye on; we certainly haven’t seen the best of him yet. To see more of what this young man does with his camera, check out his photostream at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/randyg/

Links:

Shangri-La Plaza Malls
http://www.wcities.com/en/record/,229351/186/record.html

Epson Events
http://www.epson.com.ph/promo/events.shtml

posted by Señor Enrique at 6:11 AM | 0 comments

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

SECRET

THE IDEA WAS NOT TO TELL A SINGLE SOUL. Neither Papa nor Mama should ever suspect that something was terribly wrong. They were both thousands of miles away from home, living in a foreign country; working hard to provide a comfortable life and a brighter future for everyone. And so as not to upset them, everyone at home must pretend everything was all right as always in Manila.

Right after promising she wouldn’t tell anyone, little Bechay decided to take a nap to sleep off her headache.

ONE MORNING, AS LOLA ARSING WATCHED little Bechay got on the tricycle that would take her to school, she started feeling a horrible sense of guilt. It wasn’t right, she told herself, to involve her granddaughter into this brewing dilemma. Little Bechay was much too young to participate in the adult world of pretense and deceit. But the burdened grandmother was left without any other choice.

She also noticed that Little Bechay has been spending more time alone lately; obsessively brushing her doll’s hair. She seemed lost in some world of her own.

The other day, she once again had to dip into the family savings entrusted to her by her daughter. What she had withdrawn so far indicated a significant amount. She was certain it would warrant her daughter’s suspicion once discovered. Lola Arsing hated the daunting task of having to explain everything to her daughter and son-in-law when they come home for vacation in a couple of months -- in time for the summer fiesta.

Lola Arsing wrapped the rolled up bundle of cash with her linen handkerchief and pinned it inside her blouse. She grabbed her pocketbook and folding fan and then swiftly headed out the door. The waiting driver of the tricycle knew exactly where to take her.

She arrived at the hospital just as Carmen finished a sponge bath assisted by her mother. Carmen’s bruises and lumps were healing just fine, but her doleful eyes still reflected the deep sadness of losing her baby. Seeing Carmen made it difficult for Lola Arsing to find a good enough reason to forgive Manuelito for having brought on such tragedy into these people’s lives. She uttered apologies as she handed over the money to Carmen that would pay the remaining balance of her hospitalization and medical expenses.

LATER THAT EVENING, LITTLE BECHAY was on the phone speaking with her father. Papa’s voice was as exuberant as ever. He was asking how his little princess was doing in school. Little Bechay did her best to put on a happy front; impressing even Lola Arsing with her pretentious chatter. However, just as the last few times Papa called, his voice lost its gleeful timbre once told Manuelito was not around to talk to him. Lola Arsing told him that his 15-year old athlete was still in school for basketball practice. "Don't worry, Manuelito is fine,"she assured him.

Actually, Manuelito had gone into hiding somewhere in the lush mountains of Quezon -- far from the vengeful hands of Carmen’s aggrieved husband. Crossing the street one Saturday evening, the couple froze in fright when the motorcycle driven by the intoxicated Manuelito came careening from the corner -- racing uncontrollably towards them. The impact sent Carmen flying off and landing on the sidewalk across the street. It caused her a miscarriage. It was the young couple’s much anticipated first child.

That tragic senseless accident happened three weeks ago on Manuelito’s 15th birthday. The young couple, with the urging of the barangay captain, agreed not to file any criminal charges against Manuelito if his family assumed all medical costs.

LITTLE BECHAY WAS RATTLED FROM HER REVERIE by the ringing telephone. She hesitantly answered it. Just as she feared, it was her mother on the line. She wanted to know if her precious little girl was able to keep a secret. If she were capable of such, Mama would buy her the bicycle she had been asking for.

Little Bechay asked in return if it were going to be for Christmas. Mama excitedly said sooner. But she must first know if Little Bechay could keep a secret. Apprehensively, she answered yes. Mama then told her that she and Papa will be arriving this coming weekend for a month’s vacation; two weeks sooner than expected. No one else knew about it, except Mama’s precious little girl. They wanted to surprise everybody.

Immediately after hanging up the phone, Little Bechay decided to take a nap to sleep off her headache.

Labels: Fiction

posted by Señor Enrique at 6:31 AM | 2 comments

Monday, October 17, 2005

YELLOW CAB

Some of the more perplexing yet, intriguing characters you can meet in New York are its cab drivers; not those who work the daytime shift, but the ones at night (they seem to have more of an edge about them).

One I came across was an Israeli who, as a teenager in Tel Aviv, spired to join the Mossad. With military service a prime requirement for applicants, he prepared for it by signing up for a stint with the Israeli Air Force’s pilot training program. It was so intensely gruelling -- both intellectually and psychologically -- that afterwards, his frailed nerves suggested a career in kibbutz management might be a more suitable choice after his discharge.

At one solo flight exercise, he was to fly sideways underneath a bridge; its clearance allowed just enough space for the aircraft to go through without clipping a wing.

I could only imagine that four years of excessive adrenaline rush from his training turned him into a reluctant addict that upon immigrating to New York, he was immediately drawn into the perilous excitement that New York cab driving offers – dodging holdups, theft of service scams and incorrigible New York pedestrians and passengers; all that while negotiating hair-raising overtakes and evading the unmerciful men in blue.

The next day, over lunch, I mentioned to one of my best friends who is Jewish how badly I felt for this man who was so rattled by his air force training that he failed to realize a teenage dream. He retorted that the driver was not so much tormented by the grim prospect of crashing a million-dollar jet into a bridge and die in the process as to be overwhelmed by guilt for having wasted millions of dollars for destroying both the jet and the bridge. Guilt, he exclaimed, is a major issue to the Jewish psyche. I guess he meant to be funny.

The other memorable cab driver I chanced upon was a struggling artist from Madison, Wisconsin. He was so new in the city that I had to navigate our entire journey from midtown Manhattan to Brooklyn’s Williamsburgh section. He was so dazed and confused – not with the city streets but in his entire demeanor – I figured he was either an innately brilliant artist or just took fine arts because he didn’t like math. A couple of months later, a friend dragged me to a gallery exhibit opening at the Lower East Side. While working the room, so to speak, I was surprised to run into this artist/cab driver. He didn’t quite remember me but told me anyway that he had just started working for Mark Kostabi. I didn’t know whether to be happy for him or not.



Links:

Mark Kostabi: Profile of an artist/industrialist
http://epe.lac-bac.gc.ca/100/202/300/artbus/1996/artbus.b02/featureone.html

New York City Taxi Cabs
http://www.ny.com/transportation/taxis/

New York City Address Locator
http://www.ny.com/locator/

Labels: Life in New York

posted by Señor Enrique at 8:34 AM | 0 comments

Sunday, October 16, 2005

Special Photo Feature: spiritchild

Labels: Featured photographer

posted by Señor Enrique at 6:38 AM

Saturday, October 15, 2005

GOLDEN YEARS

Walter could only grunt his consent when out of the blue, Ate Osang hastily flew home to the Philippines after receiving a letter from a cousin. She was rather vague about her reasons but Walter knew better than to press her for details. The more definite he wanted her to be, the more convoluted she would get. She assured him it would only be for two or three weeks the most. That was almost two months ago.

Married for almost 25 years, this was the only time they were away from one another. Had it not been for the Yankee playoff tickets he received as birthday gift, he would have gone with her. But then again it was Ate Osang who gave him the tickets. "Were these tickets part of some shady scheme," he asked himself paranoid.

Walter didn’t know whether to get upset or what, but Ate Osang’s rare and brief phone calls would usually come in the middle of the night. It would rouse him from sleep and he had to groggily make sense of what she was saying. Before he knew it, she was reminding him to stay away from junk food and then the call would abruptly end.

Walter finally called the U.S. Embassy in Manila to find out if his wife had registered as he had suggested. If she did, they could provide him with a telephone number where Ate Osang could be reached in case of an emergency. Unfortunately, she didn’t. Walter was getting frantic. The only relatives of hers that he personally knew are all dead now. What exactly was his wife up to, he wondered. He forced himself not to wallow in negative thoughts.

Walter was upset at himself for having neglected the mail piling up on the desk. He was so absorbed by Ate Osang’s abrupt departure and long absence that he overlooked other important matters in their life. As he made out checks to pay the bills, Walter almost had a heart attack upon seeing the latest bill from the American Express credit card he shared with Ate Osang. It indicated a cash advance of fifty thousand dollars. The transaction was made in Manila a week after Ate Osang arrived there. He was now feeling both belligerent and fearful.

Friends soon got wind of his dilemma and tried to help, but they immediately felt guilty about their collective ignorance of Ate Osang’s background and relations back in the Philippines. After all these years, they had considered her such a significant aspect of their American life that they had ignored everything Filipino about her.

Over dinner at one of these friends’ house one night, Walter recalled the time he met Ate Osang at the U.S. naval base in Olongapo City. He was a lanky 19-year old sailor back then, stationed in Subic for two years, while Ate Osang was a recent high school graduate whose aunt worked as a housemaid for a top ranking naval officer inside the base.

One time, the officer and his wife threw a big party for some visiting admiral and needed extra hands. Osang helped in the kitchen. Walter volunteered in exchange for an extra weekend pass and was tasked to handle the barbecue pit. The two met and two years later, Osang and Walter were off to America to build a life together. They have two girls who are both married now, with children of their own; one lives in Oregon, the other in Maine.

After giving notice to the girls he was going to the Philippines to find their mother, Walter flew to Manila with his best friend Hank, who was more than happy to finally go to back to the Philippines. Last he was there was on an R&R when he was a marine stationed in Vietnam. Hank’s wife died of cervical cancer five years ago. He was hoping to find a nice Filipina for himself while on this search and rescue mission.

It wasn’t so hard to find Ate Osang after all. Upon landing in Manila, they rented a car and immediately headed to Ate Osang’s hometown in Subic. Once there, they asked the first man they saw if he knew anything about Ate Osang or any of her relatives after giving him her family’s last name. This was a small town. Any news about anyone vacationing here from the States would be common knowledge before the end of the day. The man gladly directed them to where Osang was staying.

Sure enough, there was Ate Osang seated under a mango tree busily chatting with some women while they snacked on dried and salted watermelon seeds. Ate Osang screamed with delight upon seeing her husband and Hank. Walter was just as thrilled to see her that all feelings of exhaustion from the trip vanished. After the usual hugs and kisses, he suddenly felt famished.

Both Walter and Hank could hardly get up from their seats after enjoying such a hearty meal of fresh vegetables, chicken and pork adobo, and ripe mangoes. Walter jokingly remarked that he missed the tropical weather and the fresh food so much they ought to just stay in the Philippines. With that said, both men and a couple of other people were whisked off by Ate Osang to another place. With Walter and Hank and the others squeezed into the compact sedan, Ate Osang drove heading towards the beach.

As they reached their destination, Ate Osang proudly pointed to a small house being built. It was her gift to her husband for their upcoming 25th year anniversary. For many years, she saved some of the money she made from her job at the supermarket. She had always dreamed of one day buying a small parcel of land right on this beach where she grew up, and building a small quaint house to where they could spend their golden years together. And her dream came true when her cousin wrote her a letter to say that the owner was selling the property to pay off some gambling debts.

Walter was speechless. For years he also thought of spending their retirement in the Philippines. He was just afraid to bring it up because most of Ate Osang’s Filipino friends in New York only had negative things to say about the Philippines. He thought she would never dare go back to her native country, but was he glad he was wrong.

Ate Osang suddenly shouted that these two Amerikanos ought to start getting some color on their blinding pale skin. Both men were embarrassed at first but soon joined in the laughter. As Ate Osang led them to another hut where they could change into their swimming shorts, she mentioned that she was in such a frenzied state she forgot to make a withdrawal on her savings account before she left for Manila so, she used their credit card to get immediate cash. Walter told her not to make any withdrawals from her account to pay off the bill; he already paid it with his personal checking account. That would be his gift to her.

As the two men enjoyed the warm water of Subic Bay, Walter remarked about his wife's booming voice as she gave instructions to the men building their house. It would get progressively louder the less the men understood her. Walter realized that even in tagalog, circumlocution seemed like a mastered art for his wife. Hank could only smile in response. But then Walter realized, however Ate Osang choose to express herself, he couldn't live life without his Filipina wife.

Nowadays, Walter can be found tirelessly cleaning his small powered boat or playing chess with Hank in front of their house on the beach. Hank had married Ate Osang’s cousin, Ate Linda, whom everyone thought would die an old maid. They had bought the vacant lot nearby and built a nice bungalow on it. The two Filipina housewives had started a business of creating trinkets made of local shells, beads, and washed stones.

The four of them plan on going to New York next year for the Christmas holidays. Ate Osang suggested to bring along some samples to show to Bergdorf's fashion jewelry buyer. Walter quickly quipped that Ate Linda should make the presentation; much to his regret as Ate Osang slowly turned to face his cowered husband.



Links:

Bergdorf Goodman, New York
http://www.bergdorfgoodman.com/

Subic Bay Travel Destination
http://www.tourism.gov.ph/explore_phil/place_details.asp?content=famousefor&province=14

Labels: Fiction

posted by Señor Enrique at 12:57 PM | 0 comments

Friday, October 14, 2005

Magazine Feature: VANITY FAIR

My brother used to stuff Vanity Fair magazines in whatever free space there was in the balikbayan box he'd ship over now and then. He knew how much I enjoy reading this magazine. Subsequently, as I assimilated into the local culture, I made a wonderful discovery: the used book kiosk at the university belt area that I pass by often also sells back issues of some U.S. magazines, including Vanity Fair.

After two or three months of buying from this kiosk, while walking by one afternoon, I was pleasantly surprised when the saleslady who has now gotten to know me by face, motioned for me to come over. I was certain she had a newly-arrived edition saved for me. She bent down to dig up something from a shelf behind the counter. Although enclosed in a plastic bag, I could tell it was a magazine as she -- as if in some clandestinely fashion -- revealed the top portion of its glossy cover. It wasn't Vanity Fair. Noticing the puzzled look on my face, she exposed just a little bit more of its cover. Suddenly, I realized she was showing me some gay magazine, which I presumed was too salacious in cover and content as to be publicly displayed with the others.

I could only chuckle in response. With Vanity Fair’s covers – of mostly stars in the film and music industries styled in elegant couture -- the saleslady must have assumed it was a publication in the same league as Vogue, Harper’s and Cosmo whose readership comprised mostly of women and gay men.

I should have told her that, on the contrary, it is more in the company of smart magazines such as New Yorker, Life, and Esquire. And that Vanity Fair, launched way back in 1913 as a voice for the avant-garde, evolved into its present form as a fascinating mix of image and intellect; highlighting people, places, and ideas that define modern culture.

With celebrated writers like Dominick Dunne and Gail Sheehy, and award-winning photographers like Annie Leibovitz and Bruce Weber, Vanity Fair gives fascinating profiles of people and power like no other magazine. Most of their contributors are famed novelists and seasoned correspondents. As a whole, Vanity Fair’s literary style is intelligently accessible; its photo journals superb.

They will feature say, the masters of modern architecture this month and on the next, expose the power behind hip-hop’s dark underbelly. They can be iconoclastic on one story, and absurdly silly on another. From the majestic abodes of the English royalty to the seedy dungeons of L.A.’s S&M subculture, from the bizarre to the sublime, Vanity Fair will cover any intrigue either through image or text, or both.

Vanity Fair is unpredictably cool.


Get a taste of VF now, click here.

Labels: featured magazine

posted by Señor Enrique at 8:23 AM

Thursday, October 13, 2005

WINDSWEPT

Although Layla has all the accoutrements of a grand dame, she is tired of the senseless shopping sprees, lavish dinner parties, and exhausting travels to outlandish places. She is tired of getting all dressed up but without any important place to go. Worst of all, she is tired of being alone.

As she has learned to accept her husband’s infidelity, she has also learned to wallow in similar wicked behavior. It doesn’t really matter whether her husband, Charlie, knows about it or not. At first she did it to spite him but now it’s to recapture pieces of her lost youth.

Her latest lover is Carlo, a once popular teen heart-throb. Lacking any foresight to invest some of the big bucks he raked in as a teen star, he spent his money as fast as he made it. Old at 19, Carlo began a 4-year descent through a local actor's hellish circles: minor roles in low budget movies, guest shots at mundane TV shows, and hosting insipid entertainment shows at the malls. Broke and a has-been at 23, Carlo could only settle for the next best thing usually offered to a fading star -- a kept man.

Calloused by years of desperation, Layla would only shrug off her husband’s caustic remarks about her expanding waistline and sagging breasts. No longer were there tears to hold back. She would just ignore him like leftover food stuck at the deep end of a refrigerator shelf. Unable to share genuine innermost feelings with each other, she and her husband live a life of repression and denial; finding solace from material possessions and illicit affairs.

Her Chinese husband, ostracized by his clan for his ill choice for a wife, is a self-made man who made his fortune in precious metals. Layla, a former beauty pageant queen of Bacolod, once loved him dearly but Charlie loves his money even more. A casualty of romance, Layla sees no meaningful purpose in her husband’s life other than to look glamorous -- paraded like a prized trophy at her husband's business functions. She doesn’t even remember the last time they had sex.

The security that Charlie’s money provides is not the reason she hasn't left him. There has never been any crucial need for her to leave, because Charlie is never around anyway. Even when he’s home, they hardly see one another in their sprawling mansion. They run more into each other at the gas station than in their dining room. They are as good as separated.

Using extended business trips as excuse, Charlie would be gone for weeks on end, spending time with any one of his mistresses. And to appease Layla, Charlie gives her a generous allowance, regular gifts of dazzling jewelries, and a brand new car every year. He had also bought her a couple of condominium apartments to add to her own investment portfolio.

Aside from the sports sedan that Layla allows Carlo to use, she has also given him a set of keys to one of her condos so he could live there. Carlo also receives a substantial amount of spending money on a weekly basis. How long this arrangement will last, nobody knows. It all depends on how long Carlo can continue to satisfy Layla’s carnal desires. Actually, it has only been a year since they hooked up, but lately, Layla’s mind seems preoccupied by a new prospect. Carlo is becoming a little too familiar and predictable; no longer as sexually stimulating as he used to be.

There is someone new that tickles her fancy, Jasper, the part-time ball boy at the tennis club. Weeks of inconspicuous flirtations eventually paid off. Much to the boy’s delight, she had arranged for them to spend a weekend together in Tagaytay next week. The boy sees Layla as a potential ticket to attaining his college diploma. Layla sees the boy as her new toy.

As for Carlo, when it’s over, Layla will give him a generous gift of cash, get her keys back for the condo and the car, and pass him over to her gay hairdresser in Greenhills. A less brutal option is for Layla to buy him a plane ticket to Los Angeles where Carlo could peddle ridiculously-priced pots and pans to homely Filipina nurses -- a career stratagem for faded Filipino stars. Such is the life of a kept man in Metro Manila.

Charlie is in Moscow trying to close another lucrative deal. From there, he will proceed to Geneva to explore a new business prospect. Carlota, his new personal secretary is with him on this trip. From Geneva, they plan to spend a week in Paris and a week in Monaco before heading back to Manila. On the other hand, Layla and Jasper will have enough time on their hands for a couple of weekends in Tagaytay before Charlie comes back. Meanwhile, Carlo will start a new relationship with the gay hairdresser or he could be off to Los Angeles to begin a new career in cookware marketing.

Together, Charlie and Layla enjoy a life of great affluence, but the wasteland in their soul seems too abysmal to be fulfilled by their wealth and lovers for hire. Separately, they move from one beautiful person to the next in search of that special someone to warm their cold hearts. Ironically, this sort of searching is the only thing they have left in common. Such is the life for a windswept couple in Metro Manila.


Links:

Sex Addiction
http://healthymind.com/s-index.html

Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous
http://www.slaafws.org/

Females and Sex Addiction: Myths and Diagnostic Implications
http://www.sexualwholeness.com/isw/resources/7093/Farree2001.pdf

Labels: Fiction

posted by Señor Enrique at 10:52 AM | 0 comments

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Featured Artist: Joaquin Zamora

Joaquin’s intention with a camera as he puts it is “in the hopes of capturing scenes that would never repeat themselves and to find order in the midst of chaos.” This somehow reminds me of the artist, Marcel Duchamp, whose use of chance factor in shaping a work of art had a profound influence on the development of abstract expressionism in painting, indeterminate music, and much of the conceptual art of recent years.

Whereas, Joaquin’s photographs remind me of what English visual artist, Russell Mills, once wrote about T.S. Eliot; “In his critical and analytical writings, T.S. Eliot has often suggested, in diverse permutations, the possibility that the poem a reader reads may appear to be better than the poem the poet has written. While an author may consciously imbue a piece of writing with specific meanings, a reader’s interpretation of that writing cannot be predicted. Similarly, this then can be applied to visual images beyond those that the artist has consciously embedded within a work.”

As I then searched my mind for appropriate words to describe my personal reaction to Joaquin’s photographs, I was surprised to have come up with only a single word, in Italian, bellissimo! It was the same exact word I shouted from the grandstand when Andrea Boccelli finished belting out Por Ti Volare (Con Te Partiro) at Araneta Coliseum.

The principal translation of the word bellissimo is very beautiful (wonderful). It is a fitting word to describe Joaquin’s body of work, for it reveals the beauty that already exists within his soul as an artist, and in which his photographs reflect. In essence, his beautiful photographs are mere extensions of the beauty within him. Anyone who could make a pretty picture out of a rusted screw or evoke a spiritual experience from captured sunsets deserves such accolade.

I thought I’d end it here until I was suddenly reminded of what I once read about the poet Baudelaire. He suggested that “the truest response to a work of art, the purest act of criticism, was to produce a second work of art in a different medium.”

Hmmm … I no longer have my keyboard, drum machine and sequencing software; stuff I used when I dabbled in electronic music ala Brian Eno. The only work of art I can offer is this blogsite. It isn’t much of a canvas or sheet music, but it’s the only medium I have at the moment for self expression; a work in progress.

Salamat po, Joaquin, for sharing with us the beauty that you see in this world.


I consider Joaquin as among my newly-discovered friends or kindred spirits at flickr.com whose talents and photographs never cease to amaze me. To view Joaquin’s fine collection, click on the following sites:

http://www.flickr.com/people/95351495@N00/
flickr.com

http://imageevent.com/quinits/photogallery
Makati, Philippines

Labels: Featured photographer

posted by Señor Enrique at 1:03 PM

OH NO ... SNOW

It was so much fun the first time. Catching snowflakes with bare hands; even sticking your tongue out to get a taste.

What used to be seen only in the movies is now actually falling down on you, on all the rooftops and all over the ground. You welcome with glee its accumulation as you bury your boots in them. Indeed, experiencing snowfall for the first time can be a magical trip; turning an ecstatic adult back into a child again.

As snowfall becomes as natural a phenomenon to you as rainfall in Manila, you sort of feel bad at first when you find yourself detesting an impending snowstorm. What used to be delightful is now troublesome. All that salting and shoveling is a lot of work.

Accumulated snow turns into awful slush that can tarnish your leather shoes; not to mention wet your socks with freezing water. If not slush then, they become perilous sheets of ice that coat the sidewalks and streets. Did you ever slip and fall hard on your butt? Well, it’s not as painful as the pain of embarrassment for having slipped and fallen hard on your butt in plain sight of about a hundred people; although some are also slipping and falling hard on their butts along with you.

As pretty as it is in the beginning, snow can be as unwelcome a sight as an overstaying relative.


The above photo was taken during one of New York’s bitter winters with the temperature hovering below zero degrees Fahrenheit. I had just purchased a pair of Columbia snow boots that could withstand a minus 20 degree temperature, which I tested by trekking along the path that cuts through Central Park from East 79th Street to West 59th Street. I used a Yashica pocket camera with Advantix film. It was such a dreary winter afternoon that only various shades of gray colored the entire landscape. Wintertime in Manhattan can be a drag but with proper clothing, it becomes manageable.

Labels: Life in New York

posted by Señor Enrique at 6:49 AM | 0 comments

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Special Photo Feature: PROUST

Once again, many thanks to our friend Proust at flickr.com for sharing with us this whimsical photo. It was taken at Los Banos, Laguna which is about a two-hour drive from Manila.


To enjoy more of Proust’s photographs, click here.


Links:

Source for Research on the Health Benefits of Coconut Oil
http://www.coconutoil.com/

The Health Benefits of Virgin Coconut Oil
http://www.naturalhealthweb.com/articles/vandenbrekel1.html

Diabetes and Virgin Coconut Oil
http://www.coconut-connections.com/diabetes.htm

Virgin Coconut Oil: How It Has Changed People's Lives
http://www.mercola.com/forms/virgin_coconut_oil.htm

Labels: Featured photographer

posted by Señor Enrique at 9:17 AM

Monday, October 10, 2005

THE MEANING OF NO

Funny thing, friendship. You spend a lifetime nourishing it but with only a single misunderstanding or misdeed, it can suddenly cease to exist. And only in very rare occasions could an altruistic act of forgiveness resurrect it.

Jepoy and Jekwah are best of friends; more like symbiotic twins, for one couldn’t seem to exist or be seen without the other. Those are not their real names received at birth, but nicknames, or more appropriately, terms of endearment given by one to another.

It all started at kindergarten when Jekwah would cry every morning as he refused to go to his classroom. His older brother, Julian, who was at the sixth grade, would plead with him to act like a big boy, but to no avail. They would always end up as two lone souls in that vast empty schoolyard; the other students already inside their respective classroom. Teacher would look out the classroom’s window and from a distance see Julian crouched in front of his sobbing little brother; wiping off the tears with his handkerchief. Having children of her own and of the same age, she felt better than reprimand Julian for his incessant tardiness.

It wasn’t until Jekwah befriended a classmate, Jepoy, when he felt safe and excited enough to willingly attend his class. Jepoy named him Jekwah because he was a crybaby, and Jekwah named him Jepoy because he immensely liked champoy (Chinese in origin, champoys are bittersweet nuggets enjoyed as snack munchies).

With their houses not too far from one another, their friendship grew beyond the confines of the schoolyard. They soon included each other’s siblings, as well as their respective playmates as parts of their widening circle of friends. Both boys even summered at each other’s home province. When they graduated from elementary school, they enrolled together at Arellano High School, also a short walking distance from their homes.

And so life went on as usual for these two boys until one summer morning. Jepoy, already a fifteen-year old with raging hormones, was acting much too feisty. He had a crush on this pretty long-haired girl , Lisa, who recently moved in the neighborhood. She gave Jepoy her cellphone number the night before and asked him to check back with her the next day. She would know by then if her parents had given her permission to gallivant at the mall with her friends.

Unfortunately, that morning, Jepoy's cellphone indicated a zero balance on his prepaid load. He rushed over to Jekwah’s house to borrow his. Jekwah, waiting for an important reply from his father, said no. However, if Jepoy could wait awhile, he assured him that he could use his cellphone right after he heard back from his father. However, awhile seemed forever to a boy smitten with what could be his first love. He was in no mood to accept a no for an answer. He badgered Jekwah hoping it would annoy his friend into giving in. It was a futile attempt; Jekwah placed too much importance on hearing from his father.

Jekwah had placed his cellphone on the side table next to the sofa where his friend was seated. And when his attention was riveted to some anime program on TV, Jepoy, with arm’s length reach, grabbed the cellphone. Somehow the cellphone slipped from Jepoy’s grasp. It smashed on the tiled floor. The battery flew from its case from the sudden impact.

Jekwah’s eyes teared with rage. His most treasured possession lay shattered on the floor. It was a birthday gift bought with pooled money from his parents and brothers. It was the latest Nokia model at that time, a 6600.

For the very first time in his young life, Jekwah verbally assaulted his best friend with venomous curses. His mother had to make a sign of the cross upon hearing such vile words spoken inside the house. She was certain hardened criminals in maximum security would cower into submissiveness if lashed with such filthy, degenerate language. Jekwah came close to landing a fist on his best friend’s bowed head. He opted instead, on that fateful day, to declare Jepoy persona non grata. Word soon spread in school and the neighborhood about the bitter end of this childhood friendship.

A couple of months later, one morning, two weeks before Christmas, calamity struck this fairly quiet neighborhood. Three houses were swiftly razed to the ground by a fire caused by faulty electrical wiring. One of the houses was Jekwah’s. After the fire was finally extinguished, the entire family was on the street blankly staring at a spot where their house used to stand. His parents were visibly distraught. They had no idea where to seek temporary shelter or find a home where they could relocate. Their senses were too debilitated to think and act coherently.

Jekwah sat on a bundle of meager remnants they managed to save from the fire. All he was able to save for himself were whatever clothes he had on and a pair of worn-out slippers. Everything else he owned was engulfed by the flames. Jekwah’s slumped body and bowed head conveyed utter desolation. He was staring mindlessly at a pebble on the ground when suddenly a pair of familiar looking Nikes appeared within his peripheral vision. He didn’t have to raise his head to figure out who it was; he was too enfeebled with fear and self-pity to acknowledge his presence. Did he come to thuggishly mock and vilify him in revenge, he asked himself.

Jepoy fell on his knees facing him. He then wrapped his arms tightly around Jekwah. It was an embrace Jekwah had never felt before. It spoke a thousand words, mostly healing words buoyed by a spirit of forgiveness. And when he did start hearing actual words from his estranged friend, they were an invitation for him and his entire family to stay at Jepoy’s house until a suitable place was found. Jekwah broke down and sobbed. You’re a real crybaby, Jepoy teasingly whispered to his ear.

After dinner that night, while their mothers cleaned up the kitchen and their fathers enjoyed a bottle of beer, Jekwah thanked Jepoy for having forgiven him. Jepoy, in turn, thanked Jekwah for having taught him the essence of the word no. He realized it was the hardest word to say, especially to a friend. He then acknowledged the consequences of his ignorance and infantile behavior which precipitated Jekwah’s anger; even admitting how miserable it was to lose a true friend over the simple word no. The long silence that followed was broken when Jekwah invited his best friend out for a walk and perhaps, see where their house once stood. Jepoy gladly obliged.

And so it was in the neighborhood since the fire. Jekwah’s parents were able to build a new house on their property and the two boys, as before, are often seen together; always engaged in some animated conversation as they walked by the row of houses and mom-and-pop stores in the neighborhood. They are now in their final year of high school and both boys intend to pursue studies in software engineering together at a nearby college. They are conspiring to someday become the next Steve Jobs and Steve Wozniak or Bill Gates and Paul Allen. Jepoy and Jekwah are confident they can achieve this dream.


Links:

Forgiving
http://www.forgiving.org/

Forgiveness-Related Websites
http://www.forgivenessweb.com/Pages/links.html

Labels: Fiction

posted by Señor Enrique at 1:30 PM | 0 comments

Sunday, October 09, 2005

Food Feature: Lechon

Being it’s Sunday, the day in which most festive gatherings are held, posting a Food Feature seems appropriate. And nothing better to start this off than with our national food, lechon; the delicacy most of us Filipinos would rather stay away from but couldn’t.

Some claim it as Chinese in origin while others say it’s a Spanish cuisine; that leche means milk in Spanish and lechon meant suckling piglet. Whatever its provenance, for some coronary artery bypass grafting veterans, lechon means the culprit.

Be that as it may, to this day, a party wouldn’t be grand without having one as its centerpiece. Such is the power of lechon in our cultural psyche. Not only are these succulent roasted pigs esteemed with their very own parade in Balayan, Batangas, but more recently, in La Loma, Quezon City as well.

The turkey, although an American holiday staple, doesn’t have its own parade in New York. Thanksgiving Day Parade, yes; Turkey Parade, no. More power to the lechon!



Links:
Lechon Delights
http://www.buygifts.com.ph/lechon.asp

Lydia’s Lechon
http://www.lydias-lechon.com/main.html

Lechon Roasting Recipe
http://www.globalpinoy.com/ch/ch_category.php?category=pinoydeli&name=Lechon&table=ch_pinoydeli&startpage=61&endpage=75

Labels: Featured food

posted by Señor Enrique at 6:01 AM

Saturday, October 08, 2005

MY LIFE WITH A DOG

Right after a friend gave me a puppy for my birthday, my brother handed me a calling card of a psychiatrist who specialized in treating patients having difficulties in coping with the loss of a beloved pet. He advised me rather sternly to keep the card because I might need it someday. However, I was too excited for having this puppy to be bothered by some grim prospect, but I kept the card anyway.

Another good friend, paid for the puppy's obedience training. However, two months into it, I had it stopped. He was becoming a little too disciplined; acting like a grown-up dog. Also, he seemed terrified by his trainer whom we suspected in jest of harboring Gestapo sentiments. After about a week of not seeing Hans the trainer, he began to enjoy his puppyhood once again.

Named Niko Burrito on his American Kennel papers, I took him along with me to work during the first three years of his life. As he became more socially adept with people and other dogs, so did I; we got invited to silly dog birthdays and other bizarre Manhattan private events for dogs. In the end, Niko seemed happiest when it was just the two of us strolling at Central Park.

He had his medical and periodontal check-ups on a regular basis. His veterinarian was rather grumpy and abrupt with people, but simply amazing with animals! For his grooming needs, a gay couple who operated a pet salon in Chelsea took care of that. And if I were too busy to take Niko myself, for a fee, they would send a dog taxi to pick him up. My doorman would fetch Niko from my apartment and hand him over to the driver. I would then pick him up from the salon right after work. If the weather was good, we would walk home from Chelsea.

As for his apparel needs, he had ample supply of sweaters, raincoats, trendy collars, and rubber boots to protect his paws from the salt used to melt the snow. Almost all of these items were gifts, though. I would be too embarrassed to walk into one of New York’s specialty pet boutiques to rummage through doggy clothing and accessories. Except for the sweaters, he hated the rest, especially the frivolous costumes he had to wear to doggy theme parties. It was a struggle to put that stuff on him. Eventually, we managed to avoid attending those parties by hiding out at my brothers’ house in New Jersey during the weekends.

In return for all these, Niko showered me with unconditional love. He was the only one I ever lived with who easily forgave me for my shortcomings. Living with Niko also gave me the wisdom to never ask any single Manhattan female to choose between me and her pet dog.

Niko, at 17, died of heart ailment a month after 9/11. What a year that was.

Cocker spaniels usually have a lifespan of only 14 or 15 years, but thanks to his highly skillful but grouchy veterinarian he lived a longer and a healthy life. I never felt any need to call the psychiatrist on the card my brother gave me. I knew I took good care of Niko, like a parent would to his child. Also, we had lots of fun times together.

When the time is right, I’ll get a new puppy.


Links:

How to House-Train a Puppy
http://www.ehow.com/how_32_house-train-puppy.html

Dog Problems
http://www.dogproblems.com/clicksecrets.htm?hop=googlepr0

Clicker Dog Training Worldwide Online Directory
http://clickertrain.meetup.com/lists/worldwide/

Pet Loss Grief Support
http://www.petloss.com/

Labels: Life in New York

posted by Señor Enrique at 3:00 PM | 4 comments

Featured Artist: TET BAUTISTA

Tet usually includes a brief historical backdrop with his drawings of people of great significance. Very interesting.


Link to Tet Bautista’s blogsite:
http://www.tetbautista.com/blog/

Labels: Featured artist

posted by Señor Enrique at 6:17 AM

Friday, October 07, 2005

Featured Book: THE ALCHEMIST

I first read it during a long flight from Kennedy to Narita. It was a gift from a dear friend. Although a small book and a quick read, its insight had me contemplating every now and then. This book is about the pursuit of a dream in magical ways; an absolute must read for artists, visionaries, entrepreneurs, and dreamers.


Amazon.com books
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0062502182/103-1910990-5171015?v=glance

National Book Store (Philippines)
http://www.nationalbookstore.com.ph/details.asp?sku=6054388

Labels: Featured book

posted by Señor Enrique at 5:20 PM

Featured New York Club: CBGB

Hey, yo … let’s go!

Ever since it was announced that CBGB might lose its lease and close its doors on the Bowery, a number of people have rushed to defend the club's merits, praising the sound system, the slanted stage, the iconoclastic owner, the long list of bands whose careers began there. But a significant architectural feature has been forgotten in all the tributes - namely, the club's bathrooms, which David Byrne once described as "legendarily nasty."

To read more of this New York Times’ article, Interior Design: The Final Frontier by Steven Kurutz, click:
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/10/02/nyregion/thecity/02cbgb.html


Bleecker Street, in all its deeply wack splendor, literally ends at CBGB's doorstep. So it's fitting that this bar, which took a chance on a shitty band called the Ramones and thus midwifed the punk-rock revolution, is the archetypal Bleecker Street rock landmark. For better or for worse, the lifestyle of the modern hipster was born here. Seeing music is almost beside the point: If you're not standing bunched together with strangers; if you don't leave with a beer spilled all over your new shirt; if you don't visit the most godforsaken bathroom in Christendom, then you haven't really been to CB's. (A more conventionally pleasant time is to be had in the downstairs lounge.) —Rob Kemp

http://www.newyorkmetro.com/pages/details/4122.htm


CBGB
http://www.cbgb.com/

Labels: Life in New York

posted by Señor Enrique at 2:16 PM

Thursday, October 06, 2005

WHICH ONE'S PINK?

A balikbayan friend on vacation in Manila called to ask me to meet him at Chow King for a late night snack. We both like this place, which somehow reminds us of Little Quiapo, a once popular restaurant located somewhere in the university belt area. As he feasted on his congee while I on halo-halo, we spontaneously began trading when-I-was-young-and-stupid stories.

His best was when he flew to Lima, Peru to visit his parents during spring break. One afternoon, he told his parents he wanted to go out and check out some local sights on his own. The parents reluctantly consented as he promised to be back home in time for dinner. Well, unbeknownst to them, it wasn’t so much the local sights as the local homegrown cannabis that he was after. Spurred on by college friends before he left Boston, Seth anxiously went on his mission: to taste Lima’s local produce and give them a detailed account of its merits

He chose to approach a young streetwise-looking kid and attempted to ask him where he could cop a joint. He thought it was safer to ask a kid than an adult who might turn out to be a plainclothes policeman. The kid struggled to make sense of his Spanglish; however, with the aid of hand and head gestures, the kid soon got the gist of it. After another two more minutes of this cryptic conversation in hushed tones with animated gesturing, Seth handed the kid a five U.S. dollar bill. The kid quickly ran off to do his errand.

In less than fifteen minutes, the kid came back with a large paper bag filled with marijuana. Seth didn’t know whether to be ecstatic or involuntarily relieve himself because of fright.

All he wanted was one or two already-rolled joints. What Seth didn’t realize was that in Lima during the early 80s, five U.S. dollars would get you about five kilos of potent homegrown cannabis, not a couple of loose joints as in Manhattan. He was petrified that if caught with such amount, the Peruvian authorities could suspect and charge him with illegal trafficking; not to mention the ensuing embarrassment it would cost his father who worked for the government as a career diplomat.

He dared not touch that bag in which the kid nonchalantly left on the ground next to him. He nervously walked away from it and turned the first corner so as to disappear immediately from view. After a couple of blocks, feeling relieved he had escaped unscathed from that situation, he suddenly heard the kid calling after him with the large bag in tow. The kid must have thought he had absent-mindedly left it behind. Lucky for Seth, there was a taxicab waiting for a fare on the curb. He jumped in it and ordered the driver to floor it!

As always, retelling this story would prompt him to segue into an exhausting debate about a dated issue, the true mind behind Pink Floyd. At that point, I feinted sleepiness, but promised to pick him up early the next morning for a jog around Luneta.

Seth lives in New Jersey with his wife and three boys and works in Manhattan as an accountant. Recently, up for a dream promotion, he conveniently adopted the classic I did not inhale Clintonesque stance.



Links:

Lima, Peru
http://www.geographia.com/peru/lima/

Pink Floyd Online
http://www.pinkfloydonline.com/

Which One's Pink
http://www.whichonespink.com/

Legal and Medical Cannabis-Related News
http://www.cannabisnews.com/

Labels: Local culture

posted by Señor Enrique at 1:44 PM

Special Photo Feature: RANDY GALANG

Manila Bay, Philippines
Photo by: Randy Galang

Although 25-year old Randy travels quite a bit, he calls Manila his home. In his College Yearbook Write-up (University of the Philippines Manila - BA Organizational Communication '03) one of his close friends wrote:

A classroom is just a room until he walks in, because Randy is the only person in CAS with class. Gifted with a keen eye for details, Randy has that knack for delivering comments that hit the mark every time. He is a man of many passions. His technical writing skills are such that he has been the only one who obtained a perfect score in a letter writing exercise. Good as he is with words, he is even better with a camera, with shots that can give Raymund Isaac and Earl Miller a run for their money. Randy also entertains fantasies of making it to the CIA, with his impressive collection of gadgets (you better make sure there are no bugs or worse yet, bombs, on you). Still, he has his feet firmly rooted on the ground, so he will just settle for being a speechwriter in Malacanang. A few more years, and Randy will be moving the president of the Philippines to tears of joy with his speeches.

Perhaps, one of these days he will share with us a sampling of his writing style. But for now, to enjoy more of this young man's photographs click:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/randyg/sets/160147/

Labels: Featured photographer

posted by Señor Enrique at 6:30 AM

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Featured Artist: ROMEO FACTOR

Untitled
Artist: Romeo Factor
Wood Sculpture, Molave

Representation:
Contreras Sculptures
The Artwalk, SM Megamall
contrerasscultures@hotmail.com


Links:

About the Molave wood
http://www.windsorplywood.com/tropical_woods/molave.html

Labels: Featured artist

posted by Señor Enrique at 9:06 AM

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Special Photo Feature: ENZO

Pearly Gates
Photo by Enzo
Location: Intramuros

To enjoy more of Enzo’s photographs, click: http://www.flickr.com/photos/quiapoilalim/

Labels: Featured photographer

posted by Señor Enrique at 9:31 AM

LOSING THE SIDE OF CIRCLES

Even at a young age, Maximo had mastered a lesson that both friends and rivals in school seemed unable to absorb: that the three most important features in a young man’s appearance are style, style and style.

And so with an allowance far more substantial than most kids his age, he frequented SM Manila and Robinson’s Malate to hunt for the latest pair of K-Swiss or Lee Pipe jeans. As for the other trendy outfits, electronic gadgets, or PC games, all he had to do was log on to amazon.com or paragonsports.com, place his orders, enter the number of his supplemental credit card, and have the items shipped to his father’s address in Seattle, Washington. His father would then bring those items home with him when he comes back for a brief visit every six months.

His father is a structural engineer for an aeronautic consulting firm in Seattle. He took this job in America hoping a change of scenery might assuage his mounting grief over the loss of his beautiful wife; she died in a tragic plane crash in Spain when Maximo was only six. She was a flight attendant. Maximo, an only child, was left under the care of his grandmother. To compensate for his absence, he showered the little boy with overseas phone calls and gifts galore. When Maximo began high school, he was given a hefty allowance plus a supplemental credit card. He could practically buy whatever and whenever he wanted. He lived in a world where lack did not exist, only abundance.

At 16, Maximo’s brooding good looks and stylish clothing continually received adoring glances from the girls in school, as well as from the young women at the malls. He didn't bother getting to know any of them; he already had a girlfriend and enjoyed an active sexual relationship with her. She was older by three years; a junior at a nursing college in Manila.

This relationship between 16-year old Maximo and 19-year old Sarah may be frowned upon in western cultures; however, in Manila, their relationship was seen by their contemporaries as evidence of a liberating new trend in which older women are dating younger men. For Maximo, having an older girlfriend further enhanced his image of cool. That was the only social statement he cared about.

Indeed, Maximo thrived in what seemed to be a perfect teenage life. That was, until his bubble burst one Sunday afternoon, two weeks after he graduated from high school. Sarah broke up with him. She had decided to live with another guy she was seeing sporadically during the past two months. Not that much older than Sarah, he worked as a futures analyst for an American investment bank in Makati. He was willing to financially support Sarah provided she moved-in to live with him.

At that very moment, Maximo’s internal defense mechanism kicked-in; appearing unperturbed by Sarah’s revelation. He sustained his image of cool by assuring Sarah everything would be all right with him; even suggesting he might seek a new relationship with someone his age. He kissed her cheek as she left with tears in her eyes. She loved Maximo dearly in spite of his juvenile antics at times. But at 19, she had got to be more cognizant of the future she wanted for herself. Maximo's mind was oftentimes too fickle as to dabble in issues about building a future with someone. As Sarah faded into Glorietta’s Sunday crowd, Maximo suddenly felt totally alone in the world.

He deflected friends’ inquisitions with his usual flair and style; often spicing them up with spurious claims of having lost interest for Sarah or longing for a new girlfriend or two. His friends always took his answers at face value. Being good-looking, they predicted he would have a new girlfriend anytime soon. They were also unfazed by Maximo's nightly invitations to go out drinking. Being summertime with nothing else better to do, his friends were more than happy to oblige.

Towards the end of summer, as his friends busily prepared for college for the upcoming school year, Maximo slipped deeper into depression. Unable to deal with the abysmal sense of loneliness that haunted him, he resorted to bingeing on alcohol.

The pain of his loneliness was unlike those from the bruises and lumps received from teenage brawls of the past. This one's definitely more painful; searing the fabric of his psyche. He terribly missed Sarah and wanted to see her badly, but still too angry at her to make any attempt. Despite repeatedly cursing her with the vilest of words, the pain remained.

He could not eat, sleep or think of anything else but Sarah; he was an emotional wreck. Oftentimes, he would spend the whole day in bed in a zombie-like state, staring mindlessly on the TV monitor. His bedroom was in a shambles; his once neatly organized clothes were left unlaundered and strewn all over the floor. He even stopped responding to his friends’ phone calls and text messages. His cell phone’s battery would go uncharged for days.

With his grandmother and the household help, he was becoming unbearably boorish. He was also becoming smelly and grungy. There would be days without him taking a bath or brushing his teeth. He had lost his sense of style and his penchant for personal hygiene and grooming. He had become oblivious both to himself and to the world around him; even forgetting the date his father would be coming home from the States.

Agitation was etched on the man’s face when he asked the driver where Maximo was; upset that his son wasn't around to meet him at the airport like he used to. He wondered if Maximo was getting too old to be excited by the balik-bayan box filled with presents.

As they headed home, the father remained silent as the driver told him about the disturbing changes in Maximo. It suddenly dawned upon him that perhaps, after all these years, Maximo remained a little boy to him; not as a young man with changing values and needs. He felt guilty for not having been there for him when his son needed him most. When they got home, Maximo’s father rushed into the house, gave his mother a quick hug, and then went upstairs to his son’s bedroom.

Maximo was seated on the edge of his bed, tying his shoe lace when his father walked in; obviously startled by his sudden appearance. The father froze momentarily, appalled by the sight of his son. Maximo had lost a significant amount of weight. His body looked emaciated, his face gaunt, and his sunken eyes conveyed deep sorrow.

He slowly walked towards Maximo as the young man apprehensively got up. Not a single word was spoken. As they tightly embraced each other both father and son cried. His father saw in Maximo his own image of when he was overwhelmed with grief over the loss of his first and only love, Maximo’s mother. Instinctively, he knew Maximo was coping with an inner turmoil just as devastating. He whispered to Maximo that it was okay for him to cry. Maximo needed no further urging as he let out more tears.

Moments later, as he regained composure, Maximo began to feel that things were about to get better from that moment on.

Two weeks later, the night before his father flew back to the States, father and son went out to have dinner at a fine restaurant in Greenbelt. It was then that Maximo mustered up the courage to ask his father why he never delved any deeper into the cause of his malady after knowing it was brought about by the break up with his girlfriend.

The father, at first, sounded vague, but he continued to articulate his thoughts ever so carefully, as if walking on thin ice. It was a sort of rite of passage, he claimed, for a man to fall in love for the first time and then suddenly lose it. While Maximo experienced it at a young age, his father lived through it when he was already in his thirties. Nonetheless, regardless of anyone's age, no one was ever prepared for such traumatizing experience.

He admitted there was nothing anyone could do or say to soothe Maximo's pains from this emotional roller coaster; the turbulence of which could deafen one’s soul into oblivion. And whatever healing words of wisdom he had to offer, Maximo would remain unable to hear them. Maximo was, in fact, manifesting an extended lapse of reason; sort of temporary madness. The only thing his father could do was to be there for him to help cushion his pain from any leftover shock, so to speak; to make sure that his son did not attempt anything foolish.

He added that the joys and sorrows one experiences in love is a soul thing; an intensely subjective phenomenon because no two people go through it in exactly the same way. And Maximo’s object of desire, Sarah, shall forever be carved in his heart; therefore, it would be futile to try forgetting about her. Neither would Maximo ever lose his love for her; the only thing that would wane with time is the craving for her intimate company. In essence, he would no longer be in love with her; rather, he would just love her. Such is the mystery of love.

What Maximo would be left with at the end was the inchoate ability to handle life’s constant challenges, whether they may be matters of the heart, career or just about anything else. As he moved on, going though various stages of his llife, he will further polish his inner sense of style of dealing appropriately with things as they presented themselves.

Trying to absorb everything his father said, Maximo looked pensive but relaxed as they finished the rest of their dinner. He surprised his father when he grabbed the check from the waiter and offered to pay for their dinner with his supplemental credit card; proudly proclaiming it was his treat. His father could only smile in amusement; he knew he would end up receiving the bill and paying for it himself anyway.

About six months later, on a Christmas afternoon, Maximo knocked on the door of Sarah’s parents’ house in Tondo. As luck would have it, Sarah opened the door and was pleasantly surprised to see him. She gave him the warmest and tightest hug she could. It felt good to have Sarah in his arms once again, he thought.

She then stepped back but remained holding on to his arms. She studied Maximo from his head down to his feet; admiring his ensemble of distressed denim jeans and an elegant navy blue jacket over a knitted off-white cotton T-shirt. As Sarah brushed her fingers against the fine fabric of his jacket, Maximo sheepishly whispered, Prada. A Christmas gift from his father. And when she gave an extended look at his shoes, he uttered, Camper, which he bought for himself at Robinson’s. Sarah then gave him a classic runway model pose and screamed SM; referring to the popular mall where she bought her clothes. They both broke up in hysterical fits of laughter. He then gave her his Christmas gift, a silver friendship ring with matching bracelet.

Sarah’s parents begged him to stay and join them for dinner. He needed no further prodding, for Sarah’s mother’s delectable dishes were too much to resist. An invitation to one of their festive gatherings was like a ticket to indulgence; their buffet table overflowing with scrumptious dishes and sweets of all sorts.

Later on, as they both sat on the steps by the front door while the little kids noisily played on the sidewalk, Maximo and Sarah talked just about anything and everything that came into their minds. Sarah confided that her relationship with the investment banker was short-lived, but she was able to continue on with her studies through the generosity of an aunt. Maximo then told her that he would be flying to Seattle next month. He planned on spending a couple of months with his father and then start his studies in illustration and design at the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York City. Sarah was delighted to hear such good news, but saddened by the daunting distance between Manila and New York. Maximo hastily wrote his new email address on a piece of paper and handed it to Sarah.

It was already late at night when he kissed her goodbye on the cheek. Sarah kept her gaze on Maximo as he headed toward Tayuman with his usual cool, confident gait. She felt they were bound to meet again someday, not in Manila, but in the States somewhere.

And as Sarah closed the door, she acknowledged something different about Maximo. It was his newly-developed style emanating from the inside, she thought. He was no longer an aloof, brooding young teen. He had developed a charming demeanor that exuded warmth and candor. In only a few months, Maximo had managed to transform himself into a fine young man. Unbeknownst to Sarah, she was the inspiration and catalyst of Maximo's newly-developed inner style.




Soundtrack: The Day You Said Goodnight by Hale
http://www.tristancafe.com/music/flash/dayusaidgoodnight.html

Self-Help Feature: How To Mend A Broken Heart
http://www.ehow.com/how_116958_mend-broken-heart.html

Tips For Teens: The Truth About Alcohol
http://www.health.org/govpubs/ph323/

Teens and Substance Abuse
http://alcoholism.about.com/od/teens/

Labels: Fiction

posted by Señor Enrique at 8:00 AM | 4 comments

Monday, October 03, 2005

Special Photo Feature: Manila in the 70s

Manila, circa 1973
Photographer: unknown
(Click on image for enlarged version)


Our many thanks to Perry for sharing with us his collection of Manila photographs taken some time during 1973. He’s running a contest asking people to identify the locations where these photos were taken. He’ll announce the winners next week.

Go visit Perry's site and enjoy more of his collection:
http://perryv.i.ph/blogs/facesmoon/?item=metro-manila-in-1973&comment=792#comment792

Labels: Vintage Manila photos

posted by Señor Enrique at 9:27 AM | 0 comments

FADE INTO THE NIGHT

She will be coming home late again tonight. After punching out from her day job as a janitress with a bus company in Caloocan City, Ate Luming will be stopping by at a client’s house in Quezon City to do her nails. The extra income derived from this nightly home service is quite good; however, it isn’t so much for the money that she does it; it is more to keep herself busy.

It has been three years since her husband of 23 years bid her goodbye for a younger woman. Although she had accepted such fate, still comes a time when loneliness sets in unexpectedly; making her yearn intensely for the warmth of his company. What made the separation difficult for her to accept was the fact that her husband, Nick, was a decent, loving husband; even providing for her seven children from a previous relationship as if they were his own.

Ate Luming was only 16 when she fell in love for the first time with an 18-year old, Eduardo. There was no marriage, for her parents did not approve of this young man. Although they fared well from their coconut business and had no significant financial problems to speak of, Eduardo, precipitated by drunken stupor, would brutally beat Ate Luming, and then have her submit to his sexual demands, bloodied and all.

This was an ongoing episode throughout her relationship with Eduardo; a classic case of a battered wife. What made matters worse was Eduardo’s mother asking her, for the sake of the children’s welfare, to cope with the beatings. As they say, the fruit does not fall far from its tree, and this woman, too, as it turned out, suffers a similar fate from Eduardo’s father, the tree.

It took almost nine years of anguish and four of her front teeth getting bashed in with a coconut before Ate Luming gained the courage to escape from this sado/masochistic relationship. With the help of her parents, she absconded and hid somewhere in Davao. She left the children with their father; there was never any incident of child abuse before and after she left him so, she was comfortable with that decision.

Leading a life of freedom as a single woman, she took a vocational course in cosmetology at a local academy. Eventually, at 25, she met Nick, who was two years her junior. Contrary to the common phenomenon that women end up marrying someone exactly like their ex, Nick was a complete gentleman. A couple of months into their blossoming relationship, he demonstrated his sincerity and love for Ate Luming by asking her to marry him. She accepted. They moved to Manila and spent the next two decades enraptured by their love for one another.

All things must pass as elders often remark and so did this relationship. On her 52nd birthday, she spent almost three hours at a beauty parlor getting the works, so to speak. Later on that evening, wearing a brand new dress and matching shoes, Nick took her out to Kenny Rogers for dinner. Three days prior, Nick had mentioned something important he wished to discuss with her. Over dinner on her birthday night was the appointed time for it he said. Ate Luming excitedly anticipated some special gift was in the offing.

That evening, as she was enjoying a plate of juicy roasted chicken with mashed potatoes and some kernel corn, Nick calmly revealed the truth; there is another woman. At that instant, the whole world seemed to have stood still for Ate Luming; even a piece of chicken lodged momentarily in her throat causing her to frantically grasp for air.

Tears flowed as she vaguely listened to the rest of what Nick had to say. Her mind was spinning; unable to accept the reality of it all. Earlier, she was as giddy as a school girl expecting a special birthday gift from Nick; now completely shattered by her husband’s revelation of having another woman.

Nick also told her about his desire to get out of their 23-year marriage. He blamed it all on their childless relationship. Now at 52, he was telling her this. Had he mentioned it ten years ago, she could have given it a try; would even consider dancing at Obando Church, if needed. She was sizzling with indignation at this point, but still remained quiet. She was hoping that her silence would earn her the mercy to make him change his mind. Later on that same night, Nick packed up and left.

As for Ate Luming, a 350 ml bottle of San Miguel gin became a constant companion; providing a nightly source of comfort during the following six months since his departure. Aside from the pains of losing Nick, Ate Luming also had to endure the shame of a failed marriage in which she blamed herself for it.

Subsequently, as she overcame the anger of losing her husband, she regained the inner strength to accept the situation. She had also developed a more forgiving spirit for her husband, as well as for herself. There are still bouts with sudden tears, especially during the holidays, but she has managed, for the most part, to get on with her life.

Tomorrow night, she has on her schedule a client in Malabon desperately needing to have her nails done; thus, she will come home late as usual.




Soundtrack: 214 by Rivermaya
http://www.tristancafe.com/music/flash/214.html

Self-Help Feature: How to Forget About an Ex
http://www.ehow.com/how_61_forget-about-ex.html

The Battered Wife Syndrome
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battered_wife_syndrome

Smart Women, Foolish Choices
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0451158857/103-1910990-5171015?v=glance

.

Labels: life in Manila, Local culture

posted by Señor Enrique at 7:40 AM | 0 comments

Sunday, October 02, 2005

Special Photo Feature: PROUST

HEAVEN AND EARTH
Photo by Proust

A visual commentary on Metro Manila’s striking economic divide (taken at Osmena Avenue near Buendia at the entrance to the South Superhighway).

To see more of Proust’s photographs, click:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/proust/

Labels: Featured photographer

posted by Señor Enrique at 7:35 AM | 0 comments

Saturday, October 01, 2005

Special Photo Feature: RAUL ROA

Untitled
Photo by Raul Roa

Explore Raul's other photographs
http://www.flickr.com/people/raulroa/





*

Labels: Featured photographer

posted by Señor Enrique at 3:36 PM | 0 comments

Life in Manila as observed by a former New Yorker who with a laptop and camera has reinvented himself as a storyteller. Winner of the PHILIPPINE BLOG AWARDS: Best Photo Blog in 2007 and three Best Single Post awards in 2008.

 

Designed by The Dubai Chronicles.
All rights and lefts reserved.