The European w/ the Epic 471MB Flash Drive

 

The European with the 471MB USB

From time to time, customers at our food place would compliment our piped in music. Not to brag, but I do curate our playlist to match the mood of the place. Music contributes a lot to the ambiance and overall experience. I love doing it too, an excuse to search for more music and expand my own personal catalog.

The shop’s music collection is stored in a bunch of USBs that we alternately plug into our speakers. I recently just updated one USB to accommodate Christmas music (yes, we’re slowly crawling our way to Christmas so might as well soften the “blow” by conditioning ourselves through music haha.)

Recently, our staff said that a customer once again expressed how much he loved our music, praising one particular song. He asked for the title, but no one in the store knew. I wasn’t present that time. He and my partner chatted a bit and my partner mentioned that it was me who’s in charge of our store music and I was the one who could provide the song title.

A few days later, he came back to dine in again. I was present that time, so we chatted a bit. Let’s call him Fred. He is German who lives in Switzerland and travels the world for work. The dream life. He was in Baguio for a few weeks to conduct some business with the LGU.

I asked him, what was that particular song you liked? He said, it was a male singer, with a guitar, and the song is relaxing, warm. He couldn’t remember the melody though.

In my mind: Oh no, that could be any song. That particular USB is 90% folk/indie/acoustic.

Good thing he conveniently had a blank/empty USB with him, and I volunteered to transfer all the music from our USB to his (at least the USB that contained his desired music). We worked on how he would pick it up, as I had no means to transfer the music that night- my laptop was at home. He was also about to leave Baguio in 2 days. We agreed that he would pick it up the next day.

Funny how I even said, “If you want, I can give you all my music since you seem to love folk.”

He said, “If it’s not much of a hassle?’

I said, “No, it will probably only take 5 clicks max.”

He said thanks. It’s always nice to share music with strangers.

I made a mental note to do it first thing when I get home.

That night, when I arrived home, I plugged his USB into my laptop, ready to do those 5 clicks:

Click 1: Open folder of USB A (I keep a back-up in the laptop of the catalog in every USB. Music is that essential.)

Click 2: Ctrl +A  – Select All

Click 3: Ctrl + C – Copy

Click 4: Open his USB…

---- OH.

His USB’s storage is 471MB… that’s not even 5 albums.

Abort!!!

Oh no… how am I going to transfer all the music from USB A, when the entire catalog is about 2.5 GB?

How come a European from a Developed country STILL owns a USB like this? Hahaha kidding.

Funny how I simply assumed that no one owns a 400+MB USB anymore. Last time I had one was in college, in 2006.

If only I knew which song he liked, I would just transfer that specific album/playlist. Most of these albums are MP3s converted from 2-hour YouTube playlists, so 1 playlist file is about 90MB-120MB at least. And the USB had about 10 playlists in there, plus other albums and popular songs that didn’t match the description of his song choice. His song is definitely in one of those YouTube-to-mp3 playlists.

I didn’t want to disappoint him, but I also didn’t know how I was going to make things possible at this point. The first step I thought of was to eliminate/delete all those albums and songs that I was sure didn’t match the description of THE song. Next was to compress the remaining playlists. I went online to find an MP3 compressor that would turn 120MB files to 50MB ones.

Those 5 clicks I predicted that would take up a maximum of 5 minutes… turned into multiple clicks and 2 hours. Hello, Philippine Internet. LOL. Anyway, I would compress one file, and leave it loading, then go about my evening, then do another, and so on.

Finally, when all files were able to fit the epic 471MB USB, I called it a night, put the USB in an envelope, scribbled “for Fred” with a marker, and put it in my bag, making a mental note to hand it to our staff or my partner the next day to hand to him.

It was all worth it, because not only did he leave a Thank You note, he also left a bottle of Soju. He wrote that if ever my partner and I find ourselves in Germany or Switzerland one day, we should contact him. His email address was scribbled on the note too.

Two hours is nothing compared to making a new friend, for sure, who will hopefully enjoy the music wherever he is in the world (he said he was off to India next). Music in his 471 MB USB (sorry, it is now an inside joke).

We surely enjoyed the Soju, 3/4 of which I drank.

Any other person interested to have music transferred to your flash drive, please bring one with 8 GB storage space at least…

- Ivee (10/06/22)

Despite Sickness

Today, three friends and I visited the homes of two friends, both recovering from ailments.

The first one is a visual artist, who suffered from paralysis & heart problems last year. We're happy to see him painting again.

The second one, a crafter, suffered a stroke years ago and is still unable to move the left part of her body. Thankfully, her joyful energy never faltered, greeting us with so much warmth and excitement.

Seeing them today was a bit of a reminder of how fleeting & insignificant most of our concerns are, how basic things like the ability to move and carry out simple tasks should not be taken for granted. I am happy to see them both recovering, that even in sickness they try to move within their space, within their capacities. 

Friend number 1 is still painting, creating, despite the physical difficulty of doing so.

Friend number 2 has maintained her "loudness" (her words), her infectious laughter, and entertained us by telling us stories of her many interests, from bugs to Mesopotamia.

Workspace of Friend number 1

After bread, coffee, and stories were shared, my friends and I left our second friend with a bit of a heavy heart, that helpless feeling of not being able to change her situation. We decided to "process" our experiences over a bowl of noodles and bread. Most of the processing was really just us shedding off the weight quietly as we had our lunch. Later on, we asked each other - what was our takeaway from the interaction?

"Deepen connections, take care of each other," said one friend.

"Don't be too extreme or hard on yourself, everything in moderation," said another.

"We never know when sickness hits us," said the other

Aside from all that they've said, I'm also asking myself, "what are my perceived limitations and how can I move within this space in my own capacities?"

In a way, I saw that glimmer of empowerment in them, and how DESPITE these difficulties, they move, they carry on with their day, no excuses. This is not to undermine how hard their situation is, or anyone's situation for that matter. This is the situation, this is the circumstance, this is the condition. Now what? 

I read somewhere that we can only truly just show up every single day, with no expectation of perfection or control. As a bit of a closet perfectionist, this is a breather. 

We can't do it alone, we need community, and maybe that's a big chunk of the "now what" part. 

I just wish for them to get better fully, so they can move further and take up more space.

Let us take care of ourselves, let us take care of each other... 

- Ivee B (10/04/22)

Pag-Usad (song)

 

photo taken in 2021

PAG-USAD (song)

Natapos din, ngunit hindi nakamit ang ninanais, ang pinaghirapan mo.

Hindi lahat ng layunin ay makakamtan, 'di ibig sabihing ito'y walang kahulugan.

Maglakad at maglakbay, ikumpas ang iyong kamay sa pintig ng iyong puso kahit na...

Tila naisantabi ang layunin.

Nakapikit ang katabi at nasisilaw pa sa liwanag ng pag-asa

Ayos lang, hawakan ang kanyang kamay.

At magpatuloy sa pag-usad...

At sa iyong paglakad, ang daan ma'y mabato

O baka maputik ang tatahakan mo.

Natural lang yan, may daan ding aspalto

Huwag mag-alala, kasama mo ako...

Maglakad at maglakbay, ikumpas ang iyong kamay sa pintig ng iyong puso kahit na...

Tila naisantabi ang layunin.

Nakapikit ang katabi at nasisilaw pa sa liwanag ng pag-asa

Ayos lang, hawakan ang kanyang kamay.

At magpatuloy sa pag-usad...

-Ivee B.

When I look at the sunset

 

Sometimes when I look at the sunset,

I want to grab it with both hands and keep it in my pocket.

To go outside & breathe it in.

Because windows don’t do sunsets any justice.

And curtains can make you oblivious,

whether you’ve drawn them yourself

or not.

It compels me to be there for it.

 

I need to, I think.

I may miss it.

I may look the other way one moment,

snatched by a thought, a person, a worry,

and turn back around

only to exhale in regret.

The sun has set,

the sky’s pink-orange hue has thinned out to blue-black-grey.

 

Now you understand why

I need to chase it,

‘till I get to sunset’s end

and a door is waiting for me to claim it.

The claiming period is a few minutes so best hurry.

Or I may have to wait for tomorrow.

 

Maybe that’s what sunsets are here for.

Not to cap the day

But to give a preview of tomorrow.

If ever there is one.

- Ivee B

 

 

Thank you, Eyes

 

It’s 11.30pm. I am writing this on the last night of having myopia which I’ve had for 24 years. I will be undergoing LASIK tomorrow, a procedure that I hope, I know will change everything.

Yes, I was formally prescribed glasses at 13, but by then my eye grade was at least 100. I remember having difficulty reading things written on the blackboard as early as 10 years old. As a child, I was not one to tell my caregivers what was wrong, or express my needs.

So I just pushed through, thinking that blur was normal and I was just abnormal for having to move to the front seat of the classroom to copy stuff from the blackboard. Then came high school. One of my prospective schools required a comprehensive medical exam. The school doctor made me read the eye chart, and I could no longer recite the last few lines. She asked me to see an optometrist, and to tell my parents. I remember the feeling of first wearing my prescribed glasses at 13—wow, the world is THIS clear? I was living in darkness. Oh and only then did I have a clear view of the map of acne on my face. 

At 20, my kind cousin, ate Urice, gave me a powerful, empowering college graduation gift- contact lenses. She accompanied me to the optometrist, taught me how to use contacts, and guided me on how to purchase contacts on my own the next time I needed new ones. I got the monthly ones, which cost 220 per month. Since then I rarely wore glasses again, only doing so at home or when going on long trips. I kept a mental note to myself to always have a job so I could support my habit/need of wearing contacts. Add to that- contacts solution, and spare pairs, just in case. That was my addiction, or at least my "luho". Not that costly, but required consistency.

Contacts changed my life, and gave me a new sense of self-esteem. It was empowering as I entered the young adult life. But it also compelled me to be extra conscientious and sometimes fastidious. For instance, in my early 20s straight out of college, my first-ever job involved a LOT of field work in the Cordilleras. This meant bus rides and sleeping in homes in different communities. I had to always consider these two plastic things stuck in my eyeballs as much as I had to think about my job. I got used to it eventually, and the clarity these two plastic thingies provided helped a ton, outweighing the periodic inconveniences.

It was my litmus test for dating too- will you be patient enough as I conducted my 10-minute ritual of removing, cleansing, and disinfecting these two tacky things on my eyes, and putting it back on? Will you help me blindly find a missing piece in case I accidentally drop one on the floor?

One time, I accidentally dropped one of my contacts inside a drum of water, and an ex-boyfriend had to “dive” into the drum to retrieve it. The relationship didn’t last, because although he passed this particular litmus test, he failed in all others.

In the last few years leading to today, I’ve had “vision scares” – one doctor even tagging me as a “Glaucoma suspect.” One clinic in QC required me to undergo all kinds of tests, only to say, “Come back in 6 months,” with no clear diagnosis or next step. Another vision scare was me going on runs and all of a sudden not being able to see, because my contact lenses would wiggle their way to the back of my eyeballs. I got into a running accident in February because of this, falling flat on my face on the pavement, one knee completely bleeding, my pants ripped, and me calling to wake up my husband early in the morning to come pick me up. By now prolonged wearing of glasses makes me dizzy, as they're farther from the eyes and has a different prescription, so I can’t wear them outdoors comfortably.

In hindsight, throughout my “fully conscious”, mature-enough existence, I never really saw the world as it is, or how I think it’s “supposed” to look like. Is there even one way of seeing?

That moment at 13 in the optical shop, when I first saw myself and my surroundings clearly, it was an AHA! moment, a moment of me realizing that how I viewed the world was not only unclear, it was inaccurate. “So, all along, other people SEE differently than I do?” – I remember thinking.

Tomorrow, the laser will cut through my cornea, creating a flap. The flap is opened, then the laser will proceed to do its precise adjustments inside my eye. Ahh, technology. Beautiful. And slightly overwhelming.

I’ve never had surgery in my life, and I sure hope I will never need one. This will be a first. Just the thought of having these major organs, these precious eyes, cut by a human-made machine; and the thinner-than-plastic surface of the cornea oh so gently sealed back into place by the masterful hands of a doctor… is a daunting thought. My eyes will never be the same again, and I am more than grateful.

Thank you, current cornea. Tomorrow, you will be renewed. Something will cut through you, and you will be in different form in less than 24 hours from the time I finish writing this.

Thank you, eyes, for always attempting to see, even when it’s almost always hard. Thank you for adjusting and readjusting, for blinking, for crying, when need be.

Thank you for guiding, for absorbing, and registering this beautiful visual world unto my brain.

Thank you for being with me, and still opening up every day, even when all that’s greeting you is always a big blur - the ceiling, the people around me, the chances I sometimes fail to acknowledge, the changes I delay making… or myself.

Even in darkness, you try your best. Thank you, thank you!

And I can’t wait for you to finally see 20/20, or close enough, so at least there will be no need to always try so hard, to pretend to be conscientious… to no longer fail to appreciate what this life still has to offer, and truly capture what’s right in front me.

<3 Ivee

The Lost Art of Burning CD Mixes, And Other Niceties

Left- CD Mix from my friend Iza.
Right- CD Mix from my older brother Thommuel .
(I made Spotify playlists of both Mixes, available below!)

The last time I was at my parents’ house in QC, I got to rummage through memorabilia and things, particularly my old CDs- Mandy Moore, a bootleg copy of a live recording of Lea Salonga’s concert from 1990-something, The Cardigans, and other albums of artists kids these days probably wouldn’t care to know. 

Still, there’s nothing like those burned CD mixes that carried well-thought out playlists.

I have two burned CD mixes that I still remember to this day. 

One was this CD burned by my friend Iza, who’s one of the most musically talented people I know, and it just made perfect sense that she’s now a music teacher. She’s a multi-instrumentalist but I think I admire her most as a cellist and singer. I used to hang out and play music at her place a lot. She gave me this CD as a graduation gift (I’m two years ahead of her so when our class graduated she had sepanx. Agree, Iza?). 

The other CD was burned by my older brother Thommuel, who barely exists in the interwebs but I think he’s really just ahead of his time. He used to wear pomade in the mid-2000s when it wasn’t cool (he had to buy the lolo type of pomade at Mercury Drug that had a strong lolo smell), and he introduced me to Itchyworms and all these other bands back when they were first starting out (My favourite Itchyworms song is actually “Happy Birthday” from “Little Monsters Under Your Bed”). Kuya Thommuel gave me this CD to reaffirm his position as THE musical authority. 

 

I have other burned CDs from ex-puppy-loves, ex-loves, ex-friends, and friends-turned-acquaintances, but let’s not go into that. I still kept the CDs though, not so much the people. That’s how life rolls, people metaphorically burn and drift into nothingness, think End Game. Lol.

I’ve also had my fair share of CD-burning, which was both a treat and a task. I remember those days when dial-up internet made it impossible to download songs at home (well it WAS possible, but then your prepaid card would be used up by then. Yes, kids, we used prepaid cards for internet back in the day), so I’d go to an internet shop to have CD mixes burned. These CDs came with a free case and a printed copy of the track listing, usually in Comic Sans or Jokerman font. Gotta love those fonts.

Then came better internet (well, “better” in those days), better computers, better or at least more evolved taste in music, making it easier to burn CDs at home. It was common practice to hoard blank CDs that came with sticker labels, but since they looked boring I’d go for those CDs with printed designs (Tweety/Bugs Bunny CDs, floral CDs, and anything that screamed “I’m cool and unconventional,” only to realize everyone was going for cool and unconventional). Even with those stickers and designs, I think we always ended up just writing ON the CD, usually with colored pens. The CD Burning sages would advise against it; they warned that the pen’s chemicals could affect the CD. I guess nobody believed it because everyone was doing it anyway.  

From Reddit

Once the CD mixes were burned and gifted to friends and family, it was going to be either one of two things- they would listen to the CD, or not. There was a much higher chance that they would listen because unlike today where you can Google everything and pretend you listened but actually just Googled the lyrics, it was polite behaviour to listen. Well I never not listened, and probably still never won’t listen, but apparently some people nowadays won’t and don’t, but pretend to. Which sucks.

Burned CD mixes are a thing of the past, and that’s OK. There was just something about burning a CD mix that made you appreciate the effort, and made you say, gee thanks, I’ll keep this forever. I have the utmost respect for people who still do it to this day. I understand that many of us want to produce as little waste as possible, thereby going CD-free. But these days, how many people say things like, hey, I made a Spotify playlist for you, listen to it?

Thoughtfulness used to be a thing. I remember it was standard behaviour to always bring something when you visit a house, or send a thank you note or text after meeting a friend or acquaintance. I’d still do that sometimes, but without much enthusiastic response. Maybe I’m just a boomer, just too old-fashioned and left behind, but I think we should maintain these niceties. 

Niceties seem to be lost in the rubble of coolness and apathy, the haystack of hustle and grind, the murky river of influencers, endless scrolling, and meaningless “hearts”. We think we know people just because we see them every day on Facebook or Instagram, just because we chat with them occasionally. It’s weird how you always chat with some people and think you’re good friends, but the actual face-to-face interaction is totally different and underwhelming, maybe because you’ve exhausted everything and there’s nothing left to talk about or know about each other?

It’s scary to think that this is the future (present?) of social interaction, and I know I’m guilty of being on Facebook more frequently than I’d like myself. I refuse to accept it though, we should refuse to accept it. Not that it’s all that bad; these online tools are “tools” for a reason. But friendship doesn’t end there. We all deserve good friends and meaningful interactions, and it takes some work to get or maintain these.

Back in the day, the “work” involved little acts that build up, like burning CD mixes, spending after school hours eating fish ball outside campus, talking on the phone, writing letters, and really being present. Now it’s all scrolling and half-listening, user-friendliness (as in using people and calling them friends when you need them), and online interactions with short-term acquaintances who you probably don’t mind ever meeting again anyway. No wonder loneliness has been called an epidemic. 

We cling so much to short-lived but seemingly good “memories” thinking everything must be eternal, like keeping people that we barely have life-giving connections with. Eternity isn’t always good. It robs us of the present and robs us of more meaningful relationships and interactions to come.

But yes, burned CD mixes and niceties are eternal. Oh and as an act of love or at least a nicety, I’ve made Spotify playlists of the two CD Mixes from Iza and kuya Thommuel, all for you. Enjoy. :)

  

Click to visit the Spoitfy playlists :)

Spotify CD MIX 1

Spotify CD MIX 2

I can’t write when I feel like shit

That glamorized image of a writer, painter, musician, insert-type-of-artist-here, down in the dumps, creating genius work in a place of darkness, isn’t true for everyone.

I don’t consider myself a “writer” but someone who likes to write from time to time. And no, I can’t write when I feel like shit. And right now I feel like shit.

It’s a wonder how these artists are able to carve out something beautiful or worthy or just plain something, anything, out of that piece of [metaphorical] fecal material.

Energy matters to me a lot, so when the energy is just not there, or at least the energy is not this raging fire ignited by inspired energy (it’s a loop really), nada.

Though there are a badigikijillion energies of different frequencies, the two main types are really positive and negative. Positive could be anything from beauty to awe to inspiration to excitement to learning. Negative could be anything from sadness to fear to hate to constipation.

Apologies for my sailor’s mouth (or mind). Sociologist Brene Brown said that in intense moments, the two things we do are cuss and pray. Fall on our knees in full surrender to the Greater Being, or fall flat on our backs in frustration with not a smudge of care for propriety.

Cussing and praying sometimes happen simultaneously. I do more cussing in my head than praying, or sometimes even include some cussing in my prayers. Don’t tell me you don’t do that, Pinocchio.

Anyway, going back to the two energies, positive energies are easier to navigate than the negative ones. It’s easy to be open, to communicate well, and to be kind when we are feeling good or happy. 

But when we’re in negative energy states? (Wo)man, that’s when shit gets real.

That’s when we elevate ourselves. In the words of the not-a-guru guru Tony Robbins, that’s when we “raise the bar.”

Time for me to raise the bar now and stop feeling like shit.

Uhm, did I actually just write something in this shitty state or what?

May Musings: Manipulating Time and Memory

It’s May. Goodness. Ang bilis. I can almost hear the groans of frustration, cheers of excitement (for the ‘ber”months? Please, not yet!), gasps of wonder. It’s easy to get overwhelmed by the fast pace of time and the gradual formation of wrinkles on our foreheads.

There’s this lady I’ve been listening to on podcasts- Laura Vanderkam, a writer and “time expert.” (As in her research-backed body of work is on time and how to manipulate it). By “manipulate,” she simply means being able to take control of our time by being more intentional with it. Her method involves tracking your activities and seeing which ones take up more time than necessary (as you deem it should, or not).

Time as a resource, a gift, is not as tangible as say money or other material things. According to Vanderkam, time is associated with memory. When we’re on a vacation, doing something new and exciting, or enjoying ourselves doing something or being with someone (or “doing” someone. Haha), we tend to be fully immersed into every moment, fully relishing every second, which is why time feels like it’s ticking fast and we can’t get enough of the experience. Meanwhile, if we’re doing something so familiar and everyday, or something we may hate, like our day job or having to small-talk with people we don’t seem to align with, time can feel slow and staggering.

I appreciate this insight far more than Eckhart Tolle’s “be in the now,” which I also agree with in some ways but let’s face it, we all can’t be fully in the now because time and space are relative according to Einstein, right? Even though I may be in the Now, my ego may be somewhere in the past, maybe at a time in my childhood when some needs were unmet, etcetera. So I may be here now but my auto-pilot responses to the present moment may not be being Present. And I think that’s OK, because we are human and how we navigate the world is through the “prism of expectations shaped by our past experiences,” said Jason Silva.

Vanderkam notes that the way to “manipulate” time is by creating more meaningful memories around it. Of course as humans we can’t always be happy, that’s never going to happen no matter how many Tony Robbins seminars we attend or how much cannabis we smoke. Life is suffering, that’s how it is. Deal with it.

But I guess what Vanderkam is trying to say is in those mundane moments, create more meaning. Whether it’s as simple as listening to songs we love while stuck in traffic, instead of crappy music on the radio, or creating more pleasant sensory experiences by say making ourselves a cup of tea as we’re ruminating our problems, or truly being “present” with the person we’re having dinner with, or trying something new every day to spice up an otherwise “normal” day, and so on.

And what about time tracking? Her method involves literally writing down every single thing that we spend time on on a day to day basis, but I personally find that a chore. I tried doing this activity and tracked my time for an afternoon but it just didn’t work for me; not only did I forget I was doing it, much of my time was also spent trying to make how I spend my time look good on paper (in short, fool myself).

I don’t really have much of a routine; our life right now can’t be routinary because we’re entrepreneurs, and how we spend our tomorrow is really determined by how today/yesterday went. I am trying to wake up at more or less the same time every day, and stick to a morning routine, because the rest of the day is 95% all over the place. I know I need structure. One thing I rely on (aside from cups of coffee & 10 minute meditations) are to-do lists—I write down priorities for the day (for work, passions, and relationships), then work my day around it. I always assume that there needs to be time for other unexpected things, because yes as the day goes by things happen. I’m still working on my system really. We all have our own way of navigating our daily life, whatever our job or state of life. We have to admit though, we’re all still trying to “perfect” our own time manipulation systems.

Why? Maybe because time will always be this fluid, crazy thing. Memory is equally erratic. One of my most favourite people to have ever lived is Carl Jung, and I resonate with his collective unconscious theory. I believe we all have that deep infinite well of shared experiences from who knows where and who knows when. I know that when I meet people I just share a spark with, whether we know each other or not.

Maybe we really are limited as humans, limited in how we can understand intangible gifts like time and memory. I like it that way. Because maybe we’re supposed to stay in that state of wonder and curiosity, that maybe, we will never really know. We will never fully take control of our time, or form a hundred percent factually-accurate memories, or even move ourselves to be our most present selves every day.

But we can try to, I guess 

Why I Love Halloween and Why I Don't Believe It's Evil

By Ivee

I'm seeing Bible thumpers criticizing Halloween on my Facebook feed. "It's evil," they say. Personally, Halloween is one of my favorite seasons. I have great memories of it and i love seeing and taking part in all the creativity involved in  coming up with costumes and decorations.

When we were kids living in a typical barangay  in Quezon City (Bgy. Nayong Kanluran, then Bgy. Pinyahan), our parents would drive us all the way from QC to Alabang (or Elebeeeeng) so we could have a taste of Trick or Treat and how the richest of the rich do it. Ayala Alabang opened its doors to the meek middle class and it was a dream: an overflow of chocolates, candies, and Whammos (!), houses and mansions decorated in ways I've never seen before, and perfectly-thought out costumes. By the end of our Trick or Treating, my siblings and i would check our candies and chocolates and trade or share with each other. Yes, it was a time of sharing and generosity; we'd often look into our own overflowing treat bags and see what the other failed to score, and we'd give some.

Each year, we would look forward to Halloween as much as we'd look forward to Christmas. There was nothing "evil" about it. For me, the opposite of "evil" is "divine," and the Halloween experience was exactly that-- both as a kid and up to now.

After Halloween Trick or Treat, our parents would then take us to November 1 mass the next day.

It just makes me cringe how people impose their beliefs on others. It's one thing to raise our opinions, it's another thing to flat-out judge others and tell them they're immoral for enjoying something that's customary to them. What's hell and more evil, celebrating a time loaded with good memories, a time that brings people together, or ignoring the actual hell created by the real-life demons around us? I wonder why the very people who lambast Halloween, complete with Bible verses, can't seem to lambast politicians saying rape and killings are okay? Isn't the Bible filled with rules saying these are flat-out wrong? If only these Bible verses and the "morality" stance surface when discussing these topics too. How interestingly ironic.

People saying Halloween is wrong argue that the symbolism of ghosts, skeletons, witches, vampires are celebratory of evil. Is it? Or are we dressing up in these said images to mock evil, to say to its face, "We're so over you, we ridicule and make fun of you."

Why are we so afraid of these symbols anyway? Maybe because ghosts and skeletons remind us of the dead, witches of non-conformity, and vampires of blood suckers. But death is our truth, non-conformity is a risk we have to take sometimes, and being sucked by metaphorical vampires is something we all have to deal with at some point.

I think it is human nature to be fearful of things that are said to bring us closer to our mortality, to reject activities that seemingly pull us away from our suppposed purity and divinity.

Yet, what keeps us close to our goodness is not being fearful or dismissive, but leaning in to joy and oneness, which for many people, is what Halloween brings.

We believe what we believe, and no amount of Facebook memes can sway other people, unless of course they're actively choosing to change beliefs.

But that's just what I think. Don't take it too seriously, because this is just a blog post written by a girl thinking of her Halloween costume. 🤣

In Sickness and in Self

I've been feeling quite sick and under the weather lately, and not the i-have-the-flu kind. It's not debilitating enough to handicap me to do things or to sing. It's really more of a weak body that may just succcumb to full-blown sickness anytime soon.

stocking up on honey, vitamin C, and peppermint tea helps heaps

The weather in Manila has been unpredictable these past few weeks, shifting from extreme heat to heavy downpour without being considerate enough to at least warn us with gloomy skies or a casual pre-rain drizzle. This crazy weather is enough reason to be sick, for sure.

Still, I know me. The times I get sick almost always coincide with the times when I'm being too hard on myself, or the opposite. Since childhood I've been oddly aware of how my health goes. I know when I'm about to get sick, and know how to remedy it. Growing up with doctors really helped me gain that awareness. But more than the physical side of sickness, I've always had an understanding that sickness is akin to an alarm that goes off, a signal that we need to be in tune with ourselves once again.

It's my non-stop chattering mind that's been bugging me lately, worrying about the future, anxious about problems, as I am in limbo right now in some aspects of my life. It doesn't help that I'm turning freakin' 27 in a few weeks. Surely everyone has their own limbos, their own existential crises. If you're like me who constantly asks, "what is my purpose in life?", then you know how this limbo feels. Haha.

With laughs aside, being sick is something I'm actually grateful for, as it somehow *forces* me to sit down, take it easy, write, watch movies I don't have to analyze extensively...to just be kinder to myself. Self-sabotage is something I'm amazing at, and what I have to give up to live a full life, yes yes. (cue om meditation music with Zen master speaking in a monotone voice)

Sickness is a way to return to "self", to be authentic. It could mean anything for anyone-- being more decisive and making a leap, taking a pause from working too much and just relaxing, or living healthier and junking junk food (for the time being, or permanently if you may).

In my case, it's about eating more of this yummy porridge.

soothing 

Stay healthy :)

♫♪,

Ivee

On Iron Man 3, Terrorists, and an Outdated Lupang Hinirang

(written- April 24-25, 11pm-2.30am; edited & posted somewhat later for fear of being labeled a spoiler :p)

I can’t sleep.

Aside from the stimulants that I took today—Café Latte, Caramel Macchiato, 3-in-1 coffee, and black tea (in separate cups of course, during different times of the day, and not the kind that costs more than fifty pesos, really), one concoction is keeping me awake.

Iron Man 3.

So now I have decided to just open MS Word to fizz all these off. My adrenaline pumps up hyperactively after watching a movie, show, or concert that I tremendously like. I remember watching The Repertory Philippines production of The Wiz as a 5-year-old, and I was so in awe that I thought about it all night and slept in kindergarten class the next day. I woke up to the sound of our teacher’s voice, Mrs. De Oro, discussing the different modes of transportation (“Ivannee, what is a tuk-tuk?”, I think she asked me that as punishment).

My friends Kay, Shamee, and I were able to catch the 7.30pm showing of Iron Man 3. Kay, who is one of the most energetic and endorphin-filled people I know, helped elevate the excitement of every action-packed scene throughout the movie. We were giving each other high-fives during epic superhero or cheesy romantic scenes, and she made me belt out “Oh My Gosh!”, complete with hand-covering-the-mouth-wide-eyed reaction. Meanwhile, Shamee agreed that the Lupang Hinirang in the beginning of the trailers had a handful of boo-boo’s and was irresponsibly outdated (Aetas were pictured in random “indigenous” garb. Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo was the last president featured, with the caption “A Strong Republic” under her name. That made us say “Whattt?” 90s-rapper-style while mouthing the National Anthem. Arrest us now for breaking the law). We also agreed that the image of a terrorist with a long beard and a Middle-Eastern persona was so passé and stereotypical (more of this later).

Overall, there were no dull moments in the movie. Much more, along with the edge-of-your-seat action, Iron Man 3 is also thought-provoking and relevant. Now I am no movie critic whatsoever; the closest I’ve gotten to doing a movie review was when I said “Titanic is so long and boring!” when I was nine, “Titanic is so long, but I just realized, Leo de Caprio is cute” when I was fourteen, “Titanic made me cry” when I was seventeen, and “The character of Winslet, Rose, is projecting an image of a/an ‘insert-nerdy-Psychology-book-neurotic-term-here’ “ when I was nineteen and taking up Psychology, thereby over-analyzing everything (I still do up to now).

It greatly helps that I have not read a single review of Iron Man 3. You see, I’m one of those gullible loons who believe movie and music writers more than I believe journalists from CNN or the Philippine Daily Inquirer. Among my favorite writers throughout my adolescence and up to now are Igan D’ Bayan and Ms. Regina Belmonte, who write about the Philippine art scene, mainstream and alternative music and films, popular culture, and all kinds of reviews. As a teenager, I believed everything they wrote, cut out their column illustrations and pasted them on my scrapbook, and got up early in the morning every Friday to read their stuff. I trusted them much more than I trusted the front page news, because I knew they were authentic in their writing. They wrote what they believed in, filtered nothing, and they didn’t care if the readers agreed or not. Mr. D’ Bayan’s writing influenced me a lot and he reinforced much insight and contributed to a wider worldview, which I personally could not extract from the front page news, in most academic textbooks, or in chick-literature.

This review, however, could end up turning into a fan girl review, so brace yourselves.

How was Iron Man 3? Below are three things that I liked (and a few things I did not like) about the movie:

1. Pepper Potts

It is refreshing that every now and then, the image of “damsel in distress” is deleted and replaced with “strong, smart woman with the abs”. Though the abs part is totally irrelevant, it’s still a breather from the big-boobs, skimpy/girly outfit, and far-away stare that dot the image of women in movies. Though Ms. Potts was used as bait for Tony Stark, which is typical in superhero movies I suppose, she played a huge role in saving his life and his essence. My favorite part was when she wore the Iron Man suit. Ms. Potts also is, corny and hazardously cheesy as it may sound, Tony/Iron Man’s anchor. (There, I said it! It’s so cheesy you can’t take it that you’re almost lactose-intolerant!) Instead of girl-needs-guy-to-redeem-herself ala all horrendous Nicolas Sparks movies, it is the reverse. Well actually, NO. That’s not the case, really.

They don’t need each other. They live for a higher purpose, something beyond themselves, and their relationship is just there to fuel that, not to complete themselves or their lives. Unlike Spiderman where Peter is totally smitten with Mary Jane (though I like spidey, but that’s another story).

“I wake up every day with a woman beside me who still has her soul,” Tony says in the movie. (or something like that)

Are you vomiting yet due to the cheesiness?

2. The Image of a Terrorist, Cleared

In the earlier-to-middle part of Iron Man 3, I had raised eyebrows about the villain, Mandarin (played by Sir Ben Kingsley, a severely talented actor). Typically, he seemed so... typical. He’s like every terrorist we know (as portrayed by media that is)- Osama Bin Laden-ish with the long beard, the Middle-Eastern accent. I was murmuring in disagreement, I was almost disgusted. Hollywood was boxing in stereotypes once again. And what’s with long beards? In the movie, Mandarin appears on tv, arousing a big scare throughout the entire United States of America.  There were also scenes picturing women in burqa (attire of women in some Islamic traditions) and men in taqiyah (caps worn by Muslim men) being interrogated.

And then, it happened. The clearing.

In the latter part of the movie, Iron Man finds the headquarters of this terrorist (in Florida, not in Istanbul or Kabul), only to discover that this Middle-Eastern-looking guy is actually a British marijuana enthusiast from Liverpool who is also a convincing stage actor. All along, he was simply playing a role; he was a mere representative, someone to promote fear. His image, after all, is what the world thinks a terrorist should be.

In truth, the real mastermind terrorist is a white guy in a suit (Yes! Now we’re talking!), who holds both science and sad beginnings in his hands. For me, this earns the movie plus points. It is made clear that “terrorist” doesn’t necessarily have to be the “terrorist” that we think.

After all, how many people do we know have overt/covert pre-conceived biases against groups of people wearing burqas or taqiyahs? Okay I’ll say it- Muslims? I personally know a guy who hates Muslims, all of them. And this guy is educated (complete with a Masters degree), but his hate overpowers him that not even his brilliant mind can fathom the concepts of peace and diversity. You might be asking: what does this have to do with terrorism? Well, I think it all starts from there. Hollywood, media—these biggies reinforce the hate or ignorance that is kept within us. Remember the Philippine Daily Inquirer controversy of a woman in a burqa shaking hands with PNoy? No? Well, click here (but finish reading this first, darling).

Interestingly, in the comic book, the Mandarin is Chinese (obvious ba?). Why did they not portray him as Chinese then? Is it because the image of an Asian terrorist is less threatening than a Middle-Eastern?

Oh, and I personally did not like the portrayal of Persons with Disabilities as angry and sad people seeking for revenge and redemption by succumbing to a mad science experiment (of the sad smart terrorist) which turns them into monsters. That is a little unempowering.

3. Tony Stark’s Process

We know Tony Stark as a suave braggart who has every reason to swank. After all, he is Iron Man, swoon-worthy, intelligent, good-looking, innovative. He gets the girls. The world is in love/in hate with him.

In the past two Iron Man movies, we witnessed his transition from materialistic corporate guy who sleeps with every hot woman to socially-responsible person who shifts from creating weapons of mass destruction to armors of national security. He’s had his issues with his father re-surfaced, which provided an empathic view for us to understand his psyche.

In Iron Man 3, he experiences anxiety attacks and insomnia. His billion-dollar house blows up along with his fancy cars, his laboratory, everything that he materially has. He lands in a small town, all-cold, stealing a parka from a Native American statue. His anxiety attacks worsen. Thanks to a kid who helps him (not only by allowing Tony to use his house as a laboratory, or giving him a tuna sandwich, but also therapist-style) and says “Okay just breathe. You’re the mechanic right? Then build something”, Tony realizes his essence—he builds and fixes things.

There is something very human about this. It is that cliché that I know you’re expecting from me (I’m a cliché fan, yes)- Iron Man is only iron from the outside, but deep down he is also flesh, hormones, nerves, trauma, and everything that makes up any human being. Be-ing.

In the end, his mechanical heart is removed and he is back to functioning with all his arteries and ventricles  intact. What a simple yet endearing way to cap the story.

And I guess I should make a conclusion now. It is almost 3am and I have work tomorrow, people at work will notice my eye bags and attribute my spaced-out state to my lack of sleep.

Spaced-out is always my state anyway, but right now, I’m still gushing over Iron Man 3 and Robert Downey Jr. like a cheesy fan girl.