I Love You, Goodbye

First things first. Let me clarify that this is not a movie review.

This is what I have resolved not to write once I stepped out of the movie house, with my face furrowed with a mixture of disdain and disbelief. Besides, it's not even an hour's worth of writing!

But you are now, you say.

Again, this is not a review. I write this on behalf of my responsibility as an intelligent viewer and a graduate of Filmmaking in U.P. Diliman. I do this because I’m a concerned citizen.

Sure, just like everyone else who paid the expensive tickets, I was deceived that the film, though in its obvious commercial/mainstream value, still has a great story to tell. I also felt it was interesting to see how Angelica Panganiban's thespian skills have evolved since Santa Santita. And yeah, it didn't hurt Derek Ramsey is such a catch!

In the film, Angelica Panganiban is Leizl, a coffee shop barista living in with Dr. Adrian (played by Gabby Concepcion). Adrian is a rich man, soon to be divorced to his ex-wife, played by Angel Aquino.

Early on in the film, the all-too-familiar theme of economic status difference is revealed. Adrian's mom is the quintessential matriarch, who thinks poor Leizl is just after her son's money. Boohoo. Leizl appears to carry on, believing that Adrian's love is enough, even as Adrian's daughter Issa (Kim Chiu) apparently loathe her and did not waste any screen time to show her predictable bratty, attention-hungry portrayal.

But hang on, viewer! This is not the story altogether. Surely, there's a twist. And sweet and obedient as Leizl is (like a puppy on her sugar daddy's lap!), a poor girl like her certainly has ghosts in her closet. In a long, seemingly unending, distasteful flashback, we find out that two years ago, Leizl was madly in love with Gary (played by real-life boyfriend Derek Ramsay), a struggling, lower-class and blue-collared worker like her. They were happy and had the grandest plans for a bright future ahead. In a few days, they were off to work in a cruise ship, to earn lots of moolah. Only one test to go and they were off. Unfortunately, Leizl wasn’t able to jump off the boat out of an anxiety attack. Gary is furious and leaves for the cruise ship, without even saying goodbye. This left poor Leizl heart-broken and lonely.

Without even attempting to heal on her own, Leizl finds solace in the arms of Adrian, who, coincidentally is the doctor who treated her for her anxiety attack (note that Adrian was a heart surgeon in the film. To the writers, did you actually do some research?).

When Gary comes back to the Philippines for Leizl, our protagonist is torn between him and Adrian. It is in these parts that I find Leizl's characterization offensive. At first, she was seemingly loyal to Adrian. But when Adrian became aloof and cold-hearted to her one day, Leizl was quick to jump ship and have sex with her ex. When both men propose marriage to her, Leizl chooses Gary over Adrian.

I Love You Goodbye is portraying a Filipina heroine as someone who is subordinate to men, and relies her happiness and identity to men. Shown as weak, fickle and impulsive, Leizl is an object that men compete for. They brandish their shiny cars, riches and diamond rings to win the woman's affection and eventually, love. And yes, a woman's woes and aches can be erased when the church bells ring and a man finally marries her.

When Gary doesn't show up at their meeting place to elope, Leizl is again a mess. But, well, there's a guy waiting for me at home, Leizl thinks. I might as well marry this guy.

Just as the film was about to end with Leizl's conlusion to marry her "second choice, it is revealed that Gary died on his way to meet Leizl. And Adrian was the informant who reported his death. I guess this is the part they say the film resembled Unfaithful. Leizl confronts Adrian, who confesses that he knew for some time about Leizl's affair. That in his jealousy, he confronted Gary to walk away and leave him and his future bride alone. But in an illogical, hilarious and contrived twist of fate, Gary is ran over by a speeding car.

And for the final blow of it all, I Love You Goodbye concludes with a happy ending. A utopian world, that might as well have been a scene in twilight zone, where all is forgiven and forgotten.

And love simply conquered all, smoothing out the edges, erasing all the evil in the world.

The characters can smile all they want, but it cannot fool me and the rest of the moviegoers. Again, Star Cinema shows us how their cowardice in telling genuine stories and reflecting the realities of life.

Instead, their example and the rest of the rotten films of MMFF 2010 are constant insults to the great films produced in MMFF in the past. Remember Mike de Leon’s “Kung Mangarap Ka’t Magising” (1977) and “Kisapmata” (1981), Ishmael Bernal’s “Himala” (1982), Lino Brocka’s “Ina Ka Ng Anak Mo” (1979), and Chito Roño’s “Dekada ’70” (2002).

Wake up, movie big wigs! It's time to put your money and influence to good use. Revive Philippine Cinema's golden era now!

Christmas in Neverland

I have a deadline.

To post my Christmas entry right before Christmas ends and the way it’s going on now, I feel like I’m rushing to edit a TV segment, airing live in five, four, three, to one…

Ho-hum! Just one of the things I love about blogging, though. I can write whatever the hell I want. It’s my space, my words, at my own pace and time. Yet it feels fun imposing pressure. Writing’s nature is half of that, I suppose.

Now what to write? I can jot down my 12 days of Christmas; or upload pictures of our noche buena; or will an essay entitled “My Christmas Vacation”, ala-grade-school-english-assignment do? Maybe something political, touching on the oppressive consumerist aspects of Christmas, and how capitalists use the season to make us – the common men— shop 'til we drop, buy now, buy more! (eewww...buy, such an ugly word, don't you think?)

Instead, I decided to write down the smallest, simplest things that make me happy. In Peter Pan’s world, these are “happy thoughts” that make Wendy and her brothers float and fly into Neverland. I guess I’ve come to a point when Christmas doesn’t mean festivities and gift-giving, lights and lanterns, sparkles and peace signs passed around. It’s a state of mind, a state of being, a line of thought.

This Christmas, my gift for myself is not the coveted full body massage or diamond peel, or a purple cute sandals I've been visiting in Shoe Salon for a year now, earning suspicious glances from the sales ladies. Instead, I give myself this— a list of precious, priceless memories and thoughts I can go back to, time and again, just to remind myself how blessed I am to have been created by Jesus and be surrounded by so much love.

1. The smell of my mom' dusters. I loved to sniff them when I was a kid every time mom was away for a business trip. It made bearing her absence much easier. Mom never used perfume. She has an innate scent, a combination of dough, mint, jasmine - it beats all CK and Cool Water and all those famous perfumes. I used to fall asleep, hugging her duster.

2. My sister running, throwing herself in front of me, to save me from a hearty beating from Dad. I believe I have the greatest ate in the world. I used to ruin her birthdays, snatch her gifts, bite her, scratch her, even ruin her solo pictures, by inserting my hand or foot just when the camera clicks. I've done the meanest, cruelest things to her when we were kids. But ate was just altogether a different species. I thank her for teaching me what it really means to love.

3. Back in grade 3, as we were heading home in our school service, I just couldn't keep still. I knew it was the day we were going to have our new car! I was too anxious to get home that I even shared this fact to my bus mates. Around 3 blocks from home, a run-down, dirty silver owner-type jeep passed by and honked. The owner was just halfway done. It did not even have a roof and the engine was out there, naked. My brother honked again. I swallowed a little. Then, chin up, I stepped out of our service and sat next to my kuya and beamed back to my bus mates.

4. Dancing "Ice Ice Baby" with my grade 3 buddies Tiudy and Ida.

5. Auditioning for a slot in our Drama Club and landing it with my very own rendition of Katya Santos in Ang TV. Plus I also imitated the "Flintstone" commercial, where little sister keeps pestering big sister why she's wearing a dress, putting on make-up, etc. And ate keeps answering "Because!!!!"

6. Sneaking out of school during mornings. This was a private, all-girls, nun-administered high school and we weren't allowed to leave the school's premises. That would be like cutting classes, right? But often, we snuck in a friend's car and hid at the back to have breakfast in Mc Donald's, St. Francis. I hated the pancakes, but was just in love with the thrill of getting caught! Luckily, we weren't.

7. Ranking 3^rd in a carbonara-eating contest in college, organized by the student council. Competing with THREE hungry boys, and a starbucks GC at stake, I bid poise goodbye and chomped away.

8. The first time I sang in front of a crowd. It was for a freshmen orientation and our org UP UGAT was presenting. I sang "Here's Where the Story Ends" by The Sundays (with partner Adam David). While singing, I just felt the whole auditorium listening, really listening. After the performance, a girl from the next band introduced herself and said she liked my voice. I was in bliss!

9. And hmmm....I remember Fete de la Musique in Podium. I was with K4 and some of my orgmates in UP CAST. Something was already going on between me and Sam, but we weren't official yet.

That whole night, Sam and I weren't together. But during the Cynthia Alexander gig, finally, we had time alone. It was the first time he wrapped his arms around me from the back (spooning, in short!). I felt goosebumps all over! My head was light, and my cheeks were on fire! The crowd, the heat, the sweat, the rush of people moving here and there made me feel dizzy. I held on to his arms just to keep from fainting. I also knew then that I was falling in love.

10. My pamangkin Andeng's sweet, impish, mischievous smile. Ang pinaka-pilyang bata! She totally changed me. Before, I didn't understand why people go gaga over kids. For me, they looked all the same, just...well, kids. But when Andeng came, I finally understood why.

Oops...it's past midnight already. And I'm already sleepy.... hope you're not though! My buzzer beater greetings to all, keep those happy thoughts coming, Merry Christmas! Tata, I'm off to fly fly fly in a faraway land, in the secret pockets of my dreams! Goodnight everybody!

On Christmas and Crisis: You can never be too cheap when it's about the spirit, after all!

With the global crisis and skyrocketing prices of gas, vegetables, and practically everything one has to pay for, what's a girl and guy to do?

So today, Sam and I have officially said goodbye to road trips in Tagaytay, weekly splurges on foodie-fact finding missions in posh restaurants and expensive movie dates.

Hello cheap, but nonetheless fun and thrill-filled dates!

For our first stop: Greenhills Shopping Center.

Every night, from 7: 00 to 10: 40 pm, masa people troop to Greenhills to watch a Christmas show staged in a life-sized manger, while enjoying cheap, but great food and strolling the night market.

The food binger in me relished in the abundance of Philippines' best cuisine. Street food, what else? From everything inihaw (corn, squid, isaw, bangus, betamax) to

Oriental (siopao, noodles, congee and siomai) to Pinoy's favorite Christmas staples like suman, bibingka and puto-bumbong. Chairs and tables are available for those who want to eat, while watching the show.

And while you're at it, why not squeeze in a bit of shopping? The place is filled with tiangges, where cheap finds and thrills are sure to be discovered. Plus, you can ask for bargain prices with a little bit of prodding

and charm. In other words, make "TAWAD!!!!!"

The looped Christmas show might not be music to the ears once you've heard it for the nth time, but the throng of people coming in, not to mention the sights and smells, might just provide variety and ample entertainment.

For me, just imbibing the Christmas spirit is worth it. I remember feeling so much awe when I watched the show the first time in COD, Cubao, when I was six years old. They transferred the show to Greenhills around three years ago, I think. But every year, I make it a point to watch, just to remember how it feels when I was kid. When Christmas was all the magic and happiness I've known it to be.

The night ended with our stomaches bloated from too much food, and yet our wallets and budgets intact. Best of all, blue, green, red and yellow lights blinked on our faces as we kissed good night. Without words, we knew it was the best pre-Christmas date we ever had.

[BUDGET BREAKDOWN]

Commute to Greenhills: P22 (two persons)

Entrance Fee: None

Ferino's Bibingka: P95

Gulaman: P20 (two persons)

Rice with 3 pieces isaw: P69

Inihaw na Mais: P20

Fishballs: P30 (two orders)

Siomai with noodles: P25

TOTAL: P281

My Mom, The Author.

I used to joke Mommy, with hurt in my voice, “why didn’t you give me your payat genes?” I was referring to her special gift of gobbling sweets and carbohydrates without gaining an inch on her waist. Whereas I, her bratty bonch, have accepted my fate of diet pills, crash diets and gym sessions just to keep insecurities away. I learned to accept eventually that I was going to be chubby all my life. Tough luck, huh?

But this doesn’t mean I didn’t inherit anything good from her. In fact, I have a lot to thank her genes for. I got her unflinching “work before play” attitude; her go-getter stamina, a zest and passion for life and...according to her, a creative flair for words.

My mom writes like she breathes and eats. She conjures words and phrases like she stirs and throws ingredients in a pot of stew.

And I’ve got to admit, growing up with a writer for a mom made my life “more interesting” in school. Hey, don’t get me wrong, she didn’t write anything for me. She wanted me to sweat it out like the rest of my classmates. That’s how great a mom she is! Well…let’s just say she edited me and edited my essays well, making masterpieces out of relatively “ho-hum” compositions.

But in college, I started attending more scriptwriting classes than creative writing ones. Perhaps, it was a conscious or subconscious effort, knowing that I could never measure up to my mom as a creative, feature and technical writer. I carved my own niche, but I realize I wouldn’t be a great TV Writer now if not for my mom’s merciless editing and bashing, her gift for finding better words and syntaxes, which still amazes me to this day.



Knowing all these all this time though, didn’t prepare me for the wealth of emotions I felt the day my mom launched her first book—IN ANOTHER DRESS last November 27 in UP, Diliman. Under the pseudonym AnnaManila, also the namesake of her blog ode2old.blogspot.com, my mom wrote mostly about retirement jitters, the pains and joys of growing old, always with a dash of humor and a relentless quirky tone that can topple any top magazine editor-in-chief.

The night before my mom’s launch, and as I read on, page after page of my mom’s stories in chapter two (Whimpering, Simpering, Blundering Youth), I realized that even though my mom and I are very close, as in girlfriends/BFF-kind-of-close, there are still so many parts of her I didn’t know.

I knew her only as my mother— the working mom, the caring mom, the worrier mom. She told me she came from Tondo, sported pigtails in high school and liked eating Horlicks. But I never saw this shy, insecure girl, who pined for her father’s approval and her sister’s recognition. I never ever saw my mom as a struggling colegiala, who wanted to gain new friends and be “ensconced in college society”. Never imagined my mom, my dear, loving mom, grieving over childish mistakes.

I never imagined what my mom went through, living in Tondo, raised in a lower middle class home, studying and working at the same time, raising a brood of 6 while balancing a career-- what my mom had to go through just to be the strong and talented woman she is now. To be my mother that she is now.

As I continued to leaf through the pages, I felt a surge of emotion overcoming me. The night before the launch, mom was in full panic mode.

What if they hate my book?

I hate my book!

I hate my hair!

What if too few people attend? What if there’s too many?

What if I stutter, what if I fall, what if--!!!!

I knew I wouldn’t be able to control myself any longer, even as I planned to prepare a small speech at the launch. There was no better time than this, I thought to myself.

Tears started to well in my eyes as I told her, “Ma, this is a great book. I’m so proud of you.”

Mommy replied with a tight embrace. “Now, I don’t feel so nervous about the launch anymore. Thank you my bonch.”

Stripping myself of biases, being a book-lover and my mom’s toughest critic as well, I can honestly and with all sincerity say that AnnaManila wrote a great book. Any reader, regardless of age, class, gender and status will surely cry, laugh, sigh and daydream with AnnaManila. For in four chapters, and forty-eight stories, AnnaManila succeeds to “undress” herself, and speak from the heart. In the end, it’s “another dress” we’d fit over and over again, and never get tired of.

As for the daughter in me, I thank my mom for always being there to edit not only my words, but also the work in progress that is me.

The First Day of Christmas Project

Exactly four years ago, I watched a documentary film entitled Bunso. It was about juvenile delinquents locked in jails in provinces, and it touched me so much that I was inspired to organize an outreach for them. I started out in Pasig City Jail. It was tough to do since I had to ask permission from DOJ and all the red tape I had to go through. But they were very supportive and together with my friends and orgmates in college, we gave the kids a very memorable Christmas.

Today when I received an email from Miss Jaedee regarding the First Day of Christmas Project, I felt not an ounce of hesitation. My immediately said yes.

And since I cannot explain the project better than the blog site itself, please feel free to click on this link to find out more about the project:

http://firstdayofchristmas.wordpress.com/2009/09/14/the-return-of-the-first-day-of-christmas-project/

If you're interested, kindly email me (my email is found above) or you can contact Jaedee directly at jaedeelight@yahoo.com.

Advanced Merry Christmas everyone!

Behold my mighty, shinin', spanking new planner!

So there I was, walking straight to the school supplies section. My steps were small but quick. I was eager to hold and turn the cover, smell the fresh pages and dip my hands on clean texts of dates and months.

I was elated when I saw a a whole shelf of planners, brimming with colors. There were big leathery planners that were too expensive for my taste (and budget..yeah, but mostly budget!), small ones with a few pages with colorful covers to make up for its thinness, and other medium-sized ones that were either brown or black, like no-nonsense, comely secretaries with round-rimmed glasses and stiff freshly-starched skirts, ready for business and eager to organize its next master's life.

And I was the most willing, over anxious master.

But then all of the planners had one glaring defect-- it all had the year 2010 stamped on them. I felt my hope waning.

I approached a National Book store sales lady near the area and asked if there were any 2009 versions left.

"Ay, phased out na po Ma'am yung 2009!" (Translation: Hibang ka ba, magtu-2010 na! Siyempre wala na davah?)

Well, of course it is! I know because my naughty kid neighbors have been letting loose their fireworks as early as now. Yes, it's just two months before the Happy New Year of 2010 arrives. But because my 2009 planner (my 2 beautiful 2009 planners -- from Starbucks and Skin Food) floated in murky and did I mention stinky flood waters of Ondoy (which submerged our entire home last September 26, oh that ill-fated day!), and since this November, I will be taking my Masters and working as TV/NGO Writer/Producer at the same time, not to mention doing voice overs and writing for Hinge Inquirer magazines, I need, am in desperate and in dire need of a planner!

Anyway, just as I was about to turn around, my shoulders hunched, about to give up my fate to writing my life plans on my Jollibee Kids notebook (which managed to survive since I brought it with me when I was in Ateneo for the exam..hmmm...it's funny how the old things survived Ondoy, the ones we often reject and almost laugh at, like our old car that managed to be wreck and mud-free from it all), Sam (my bestfriend and my boyfriend-- yes I'm lucky to have found both in one guy)pointed out a lane of organizers, hiding in the dark part of the book store.



And there it was-- black and small and cheap. It is sensitive enough to include 2009 in its roster of years (it has until 2013 I think). It has sections for weekly, monthly and even hourly planning. I grabbed the lone organizer and squeezed it between my arms.

Today, I opened my new planner. It might just be a planner, that's all. Just an organizer, no big deal. But for me, it was so much more. After Ondoy, my plans in life suddenly changed, as if my world stopped.

But then, here I am, clutching a new planner, starting anew, taking off from where I was before Ondoy.

And I'm so excited to fill it up with my messy handwriting. And get elated over the special dates where I have to do some stunts just to get over the day.

Hello, new planner, are you ready for my schedule and my calligraphy handwriting? I'll try my best to get you dry this time! But I can't do anything about my handwriting, sorry.