My Blog

It was bound to happen. It was just a matter of time before somebody would, arguably tongue-in-cheek, name a store that by all indications specializes in beef, “Makibaka!”

And why not? Aside from the penchant for humorous and sometimes outlandish names for establishments (a flower shop called Petal Attraction in Quezon City, the Funeraria Mabuhay in Las Pinas, the Kini Rogers chicken rotisserie here in Davao), I think that there is recognition of mobilizations or what is sometimes called the parliament of the streets as an important aspect of Philippine political life. In a manner of speaking, we mobilize to our get our collective beef addressed.

Here’s a quick quiz, how many ads can you think of that show mobilizations of some kind? There’s the Tide ad, Globe and Smart had them too. Even the CIDSS-Kalahi ad showed clenched fists. And there’s a more recent one that features a rallyista being interviewed and endorsing some kind of energy drink. Now, one can easily argue that those are just examples of how advertising has successfully hijacked striking images for marketing purposes. But precisely, if the target consumers can not connect with the image, no self-respecting ad agency would even dream of using it.

Also think about how the word “mob” has crept into our daily talk. You don’t have to be an aktibista to figure out the question “sumama ka ba sa anti-ConAss mob nung Miyerkules?” And you often hear this in jeepneys stewing in the middle of the street at mid-day “trapik, may mob diyan sa kabilang kanto”.

The energy of some groups to mobilize despite State brutality is such that RC Constantino once quipped about PLBM forces (Pukpok Lunes, Balik Martes). They may surrender the streets today to truncheon-wielding police but they will be back tomorrow.

Admittedly, despite the streamer pulling, we cannot hold a candle to the roughhousing among Taiwanese and Japanese legislators who have been known to go into free-for-all in the middle of intense debate. (Although after HR1109, the idea of certain legislators being given public spanking did cross my mind. Either that or they be forced to watch a looped video for 24 hours straight of PGMA promising in front of the Jose Rizal monument that she would not run in the elections).

Mobilizations, be they marches, rallies (marches often culminate in rallies), pickets, vigils, sit-down strikes, are not a monopoly of any group. The Left, the Right and those who define themselves as being neither Left nor Right orchestrate mobilizations. Huge banners and vigorous flag-waving mark those of the Left. There were the flower power images from EDSA 1. And weren’t there some starlets in tight-fitting shirts who joined the pro-Marcos marches immediately after 1986?

Anyways, if this piece is beginning to sour (it’s not funny, Mags) then I should quit while I’m ahead. I only meant to say that we Filipinos take freedom and democracy seriously, whatever our belief systems, and we are prepared to fight for them. Also that we have a healthy sense of humor and can laugh at ourselves (takot ma-flame e, hehe). 

And yes, “Makibaka! ‘Wag matakot!”  (Unless you’re a Filipino who is into Hinduism, in which case I will then hastily paraphrase the call as “Dare to struggle! Dare to win!”)

The bring-me/show-me game on yesterday’s Cebu Pacific flight made me go hmmm. First, the crew asked for a “pocketbook”. Now, I’m not so sure what was actually shown by the winning passenger but I remember that when I was in Grade 3, the high school students who were in the same school bus I rode often talked about the characters in their “pocketbooks” and eagerly swapped um, books, mostly Mills and Boon (I think I just gave away my age with that detail). With the passage of time, I came to realize that the rest of the world understood “pocketbooks” differently – that they were actually referring to purses or small handbags. Too bad, I didn’t look up quickly enough to notice what today is considered a “pocketbook”. Maybe they’ll play the same game on the way back. I promise I’ll pay more attention so I’d be more up to date.

For the second round, the person who was in charge of the game asked for “a milk”. At first, I couldn’t believe my ears, but she said it again “who can show me a milk”. A hand was raised and mercifully that round was finished. Time was when it was proper to ask for a can of milk or a glass of milk, or reference was made to a drop of milk. Maybe times have changed and it’s now acceptable to ask for a milk.

I’m certainly vulnerable to charges of quibbling. After all, the state of governance being what it is, education performance has fallen behind owing to a number of factors among them budget and instruction quality. But lest this be misconstrued as an affirmation of the English-as-medium-of-instruction policy, I merely wanted to highlight how easy it is to be waylaid into quibbling when national leadership is a joke.

Years ago, “accountability” was understood in a more straightforward way. It meant that people who received a mandate for public office were charged with looking into the expectations of their constituents and to at least not be (very) brazen about their political ambitions. By all accounts and going by the practices of politicians, “accountability” now means pleasing the current resident of Malacanang and then lying through your teeth about it. Talk about definition and times changing…

But maybe that’s precisely the point. In the spirit of asking for “a milk”, maybe it’s not too much too ask for a change, a thoroughgoing change.

And then if one is going to ask that, then one must be prepared to get off one’s ass and actually push for thoroughgoing change. There are mobilizations today all over the Philippines against the recent efforts of a body of asses (er, what’s the plural for ass?) to make um, asses of the rest of the country.

If you can’t march later today because of where you are, send vibes and stay connected. And oh, marches don’t get organized by themselves, so tangible support is also welcome.

1. No, I did not shoot in sepia
2. Yes, I had lighting problems (understatement there). I struggled with the strobe and ended up using the G9’s flash which was very weak inside the underwater casing and the ambient light was, um, sepia-ish, to begin with.
3. The good news is (and this reminder is courtesy of Shena) if you click on the images in the last blog you can magnify them. The colors still aren’t right, but the details are more appreciable.

It’s not what you think. But you must admit that title got your attention.

Applied myself to more skills build-up (yup, that’s what I’m calling these dives now) in underwater photography Sunday and had to spend a fair amount of time on my knees or flush against the sand.

Macro photography or close-up photography makes sense given where I am in my skills curve. Most macro subjects do not move a lot compared to more active marine life forms, and hence presumably, are easier to shoot. But they can be very hard to spot because in most cases they are very well camouflaged.

Divers compensate by moving as close as possible to the subjects and this could mean getting down on one’s knees, or literally dropping to the ground.

Moreover, macro subjects are mostly found in, how shall I put this, conditions that are not ideal. In fact, macro photography happens mostly and — dare I say — more successfully amid muck such that it’s not uncommon to hear divers plan to go “muck” diving. In land speak that would be the equivalent of saying to your SO “sweetie, I’m going to go to the outskirts of the dumps today to take photos.” (shaking of heads here and mutters of “…those nutty divers”)

The second dive was off Babusanta in Talicud Island, which in the afternoon often means battling the currents and diving in a soup of easily stirred silt and trash. But most times, dives there are rewarding.

The ambient light bathed the area in brownish tones and at some point I felt that it was diving in sepia. I gave up on using the strobe as flash because I still haven’t figured out how best to use it and it washed out and overexposed my shots.

In the spirit of sharing (or you can also call it making public my humiliation), here are some photos. (You can tell I’m really into this now and that I’m a newbie no? hehe)

This little ornate ghost pipefish was battling to stay close to the soft coral formation that it called home.  Ghost pipefish are able to mimic very well the color of their host and it takes a good spotter to find them.

Charlie patiently waited for us to catch up so he could point out these two robust ghost pipefish. The bigger one is the female. They were openly drifting in the current and could have been easily mistaken for floating dried blades of sea grass. I wonder if they were moving to another host.

Most scorpionfish (sometimes they’re called stonefish) huddle against coral but perhaps this one opted for what was readily available and cozied up against a starfish. There was more rubble than coral in that area. Stonefish spines are nasty and can be very painful. But steamed stonefish makes a really tasty dish (grin).

Maeng found two spiny seahorses amid the rubble and their coloration made spotting them doubly difficult. Also, they were very shy. One buried its head in the algae; and the other one plainly fled and even turned its back on me. I felt like a paparazzi making a nuisance of myself trying to photograph a star. The seahorses probably felt the same way.

Over lunch, somebody remarked that frogfish (a kind of anglerfish) were hard to come by these days. (It’s been noted that it is relatively easier to find frogfish in Davao compared to other dive sites. Gerry mentioned that he saw frogfish being sold for Php150 a piece in Cartimar. Which is a total waste, I don’t think they are good aquarium fish and I haven’t heard of any frogfish dish.) So we were very elated to find this spotted warty frogfish that was about an inch and a half big (or an inch and a half small). For a frogfish, it was very active and it kept moving about on its tiny legs (yes, their fins end in what appears to be stubby digits and they’re often found resting on the two fins. So much so that to sign for frogfish, I’ve seen divers mimic a mime with two hands spread out, keeping the arms close to their chest like somebody doing “bulaga!”). But it was so tiny that I had to hug the sea floor to get a passable angle. Judging from this photo, I wasn’t very successful. That also left my knees free game for the sea urchins that had colonized the area. If you look closely, you can see the esca or lure on top of the head which they wave about simulating the movement of worms to attract fish. Much like somebody doing angler fishing (kaya nga sila tinawag na angler fish in the mistaken notion that nature imitates humans). Frogfish may seem slow compared to other fish but they sure can gobble prey in a flash.

And look, a star on a star. The photo doesn’t show it very well but there’s a tiny brittle starfish on top of this horned seastar.

My favorite shot of the day is this nondescript tube anemone being whipped by the current. If you look closely at the left side of the body you would see a very tiny white and orange-striped anemone shrimp.  I know, you don’t carry magnifying lenses with you. But hey I just had to point that out.

Reviewing the shots, I realized that I had taken more photos at Babusanta than at Dizon Wall. The latter, a slope that ends in a wall, is more colorful and diverse and is a favorite snorkeling site in Talicud (the other one being Coral Garden). It does not disappoint. But sometimes I find the excess of details distracting.

The appeal of Babusanta, to me anyway, is its minimalism and the challenge of a search. Stripped of competing colors and shapes, one learns to scan but also to home in and focus; what life forms there are, at the very least, merit a cursory examination. And there is the reward of a find and being absorbed in it and by it.  

I wonder if the analogy can be extended to experiences, to a life, marked by surplus to a point of excess. After some time, the eyes can glaze over at the bonanza of shapes and colors; and one can become indifferent and end up taking things for granted. But I imagine that one’s eyes would light up at a simple find after much searching. Who was it that said, “what we obtain too easily, we esteem too lightly”? 

Somebody remarked after seeing my cut and scratched knees and elbows after the dive that I was a bit too old to be sporting them. But – and be warned that this a bit of a jump in the narration – as I recall a number of religions entail worship that involves being prostrate — dropping to one’s knees and being on one’s elbows. So as far as paying homage to the holy in the ordinary maybe I’m not too off the mark.

But that, mon ami, is another story.

ChEinstein!

So, I finally ventured into underwater photography. Totally unplanned but we’re encouraged to be open to new experiences that plop on our laps. Near literally because my soon-to-be new experience plopped on to a table. In a mall. And I promptly drooled over it. But I digress. (Er, you did guess that I was talking about a camera set-up, right?)

And yesterday I brought the equipment down. (Simple statement that — seven words belying a full day’s preparation, more reading than I’ve done in a week, and a consultation process that rivaled in-House effort to bring about Charter change) 

My first coherent thought as I struggled to stay trim AND manage the camera settings: “I promise that I will never again diss published underwater photographs of any kind” Why? Because to take a fairly decent image underwater one has to be a fairly good diver AND adept with photography. I also promised that I would refrain from doing a Wayne and Garth (”We’re not worthy! We’re not worthy!”) every time I encounter an accomplished underwater photographer. (”Wait, was that Gutsy Tuason? On your knees you lot!”)

Not to make the discipline sound elitist but in underwater photography one has to be looking at and fiddling with six things at the same time:

• one’s scuba kit (at the very least keep an eye on the gauge and the dive computer)
• where and how your buddies are (try being in the middle of an unfamiliar dive site and looking up to realize that you’re not seeing the bubbles of your divemates)
• the camera settings (I kept forgetting to turn the strobe on; and auto settings just don’t cut it)
• the ambient lighting
• the immediate marine environment (was that a crunching noise I just heard?)
• AND whatever it is you’re taking to take a photo of

So no matter how adept one is at multi-tasking, underwater photography is challenging. The last time I took photographs above water (you know, that phrase came across really strange), at least I didn’t have to fiddle with gauges and worry about where the buddies were.

Anyway, after two dives I ended up erasing about 95% of my shots because they were:

• overexposed
• underexposed
• the object/s I was trying to take a photo of had left the frame (”Oh look, see, this is the end of the tail of that fish I was trying to photograph.”)
• snowed under by backscatter
• just plain ugly

So you can already tell that I’ll have a lot of practicing to do to build up skills in this department. (grin; more time underwater)

I now understand why nudibranchs (them caterpillars of the sea) make for popular subjects. Yes they’re colorful and often uniquely shaped, but I think for neophytes like me, the motivation is mostly because they stay in place. Try convincing a clownfish to be still long enough to get photographed (”Hold still, you!”) 

I was thus relatively pleased to have come up with a recognizable photo of a clownfish. But I must confess that I considerably agitated and probably nearly blinded the poor thing.

 Among the terrors of the seas, other than dynamite and other illegal fishers,  and the indiscriminate spearfisher, is the trigger-happy photographer with big strobe lights. Next to bleached coral, I suspect that one of the most common manifestations of modern-day mayhem in the marine world are half-blinded critters. 

Also saw a very sorry sight that day — dead fish strewn all over the ocean floor. I originally thought it was some big fish that just had a good feed. But then as we saw many more mangled bodies, it was evident that we were looking at the results of dynamite fishing.

Were that it need only take a few images to shock people into stopping plain bad behavior. But no, for many humans the sight of wasted marine life does not yet evoke full indignation. 

I intend to contact the local government of Samal about what we saw. If it wants to live up to its name as the Island Garden City of Samal (and I’ve heard local officials swear so), it should pay more close attention to the gardens underneath the waves. 

Ironically, the most cooperative marine lifeforms I found on that dive (from a photographic point of view) were probably courtesy of that dynamite blast:  a blue starfish on top of a dead fish.

I know that starfish are bottom-feeders. It’s just that I never figured they’d scavenge after fish. Well, not that many starfish probably come into a bonanza such as an amply-sized fish. But it does make us wonder about the changes that are wrought on the natural world by our activities.

The Bible celebrates name-giving as among the key functions (powers?) of humans starting when Adam and Eve gave names to all that they saw in the garden of Eden.

One wonders though if in the garden of Samal and in other places, humans have taken that power over the rest of creation to an extreme form:  from exuberant name-giving to indiscriminate life-taking.

I like getting a massage every now and then. There’s nothing like a massage to set me right after road trips and more-stressful-than-usual times. All that pressing, kneading and stretching leave me feeling wrung out and fresh, like newly-washed clothes hung out to dry — ready to face another drubbing (kidding there). 

It’s probably an indication of the high levels of stress that city dwellers have to endure that massage parlors are sprouting left and right. Take Davao for instance, from the high-end spas to the freebie massage bundled with the haircuts at the neighborhood barberohan, massage opportunities are available to Davaoenos on a 24-hour basis.

Obviously, it no longer is a perk exclusive to haves. Factory workers and those in the informal sector take recourse to a good session and many massage outfits are filled to capacity on paydays. Going rates for an hour of a no-frills session are Php180 on one end to Php900 on the obviously high end.  (Tips are de rigueur. Put yourself in the shoes of the masseuse).

I frequent a center run by a cooperative of blind masseuses. I like the no-nonsense service, the fact that they’re a self-help organization, and the friendly banter which sometimes includes collective worry over whether they are making enough for the overheads. Once there was a big to-do because they had to turn away somebody who had come in a little late. One of the members argued that the customer shouldn’t have been turned away because “basi’g kapoy ‘to ug nanginahanglan og serbisyo.” If that’s not a clear orientation for service I don’t know what is. They run two branches; one at NCCC and at South Mall (aka JS Gaisano Mall). Check them out.   

Massage roughly translates to masahe and hilot in Cebuano. Have you thought about the difference between the two? Is it masahe when it’s meant to mainly bring about relaxation, whereas hilot is more oriented towards healing? I remember being brought to hilots to fix childhood sprains and maladies. Some of the manghihilots used oils that were vaunted to have healing powers. Others used saliva (was that the power of spit?). But that’s another story. 

I appreciate massages for another reason, because of the analogies I can draw between reflecting and getting a massage.

Some massage techniques, particularly shiatsu, are oriented to take out the knots in one’s muscles. Much like accupressure, the emphasis is on applying pressure to specific areas using fingers. The sensation is akin to probing and bearing down on points much like what what happens in reflection when we mull over things to unlock them and get to their roots. Chances are it will be initially uncomfortable. In accupressure, a sensitive spot signals blockage or sluggishness in the associated organ. A point’s significance is likely to be directly proportional to the pain one experiences in the exploration. So one endures the discomfort in anticipation of relief and release. Truly, isn’t it wonderful when one finally “gets” a point and connects to it? Sometimes when that happens, the buzz is almost like a jolt of energy, motivating one to act and to change.

Other techniques emphasize paying attention to muscle systems. The Swedish style emphasizes long, flowing and repetitive strokes to improve circulation. Some days it feels like I’m hopelessly stuck on a groove, going round and round the same mass of thoughts.  But then I become unstuck and things flow again.

Thai massage features stretching, bending and vigorous slapping. I find that inner conversations can help us flex our systems and enable us to become more resilient. And sometimes, the “slaps” bring us back to our senses and reactivate our clogged value systems (”whap! what was I thinking?!). 

For the spa-bitues, a spa session nicely rounds up the massage, and the steam lets one sweat. A good sit-down with the self can do that too — make one sweat (to become uncomfortable with the way things are), open up, and flush out the toxins of negative thoughts and emotions.

Taking recourse to massages and periodically stopping to reflect are measures that can help us cope in today’s constricting environs. They can enable us to relax and avoid excessive grasping. They can aid healing and be a source of daily renewal.

They also fulfill what I would consider a basic human need: the need to be touched and to get in touch. Babies apparently respond well to touch, and perhaps a massage serves the same function. Receiving ministration and attention, our body feels encouraged to perform the myriad functions that spell out our survival. When we reflect, we tune in to our selves and our sense of what is sublime, and tune out the noise of everybody. It is a way of saying “I am not totally lost, I am still in touch with my mind and soul, the inner me.”

I wonder if the number of people who get massages approximate the number of those who also take time to reflect?

I’d like to think so. After all, if one cares enough for one’s physique to get a massage, why won’t one similarly tend to one’s psyche?

I listened to Zen lectures via podcast on my way back from Marawi and learned about the ”It’s okey” mantra being popularized by this American Zen master and thought about what might pass for a similar saying in Filipino.  

And I figured it might just be the notion of “ayos” for the following reasons:

• “Ayos” could mean “okey” (”Kumusta ka?” “Ayos lang!”) and could stand for equanimity amidst turmoil and change.
• It sometimes refers to “pag-aayos” — to sort things out and to get them in order. To reckon with what is through investigation, and to come to terms by way of understanding and acceptance.
• It could be caustic (”ayos ka lang?” or “ayos ah!”) but skepticism is not a bad thing in the face of too much stimuli and pretense.
• “Umayos ka nga” could be an exhortation to get centered, seek balance and to avoid extremes.
• A well-earned “ayos!” is a celebration of things going well, and with further cultivation of one’s inner resources could lead to inner peace.

Ayos ba?

Have you seen a potter at work at his/her wheel?

I’m mesmerized by how the tiniest of deliberate action can cause a mass of clay to take shape and become something else. By pushing against the side of the mass, the clay rises up. With the press of the thumb, an indentation is formed. A thin slice of wood when pressed against the rim cuts a strip of clay and leaves an even edge. All the time the wheel silently whirs. And in minutes one has the makings of a vase, a bowl, a cup.

Sometimes I wish the work for peace and development were as precise, and change as evident as the creation that happens in pottery.  

Reading Thomas Friedman yesterday I realize that in a sense we are involved in pottery-making of sorts. The earth is our ever spinning wheel and she adds a dynamic that is entirely her own. We who have made change our life’s passion press and shape with and against clay only that it’s a living one. Live clay that has its own intentions and potentials and peculiarities.

It’s bound to be messy. And sometimes we have to begin all over again. But soon enough, many earth revolutions later, a vase, a bowl, a cup, take shape. We have to let them sit out and properly dry; and they have to be fired up just so. And what was once a lump of soil is now a vessel with its own beauty and purpose. And hopefully the change will hold.

So let’s continue to hunker over our respective masses of clay, we lot. And let us be passionate and excellent at our craft so that the living mass can be what it wants to become.