Let There Be Lights on Christmas/Manila Bulletin

I am astounded by lights! Today, I am even more astounded to be on the front page of the Manila Bulletin. My essay "Let There Be Lights on Christmas" is the headline with a beautiful picture of the Manila Bulletin  holiday festive decor taken by Rudy Liwanag (coincidence?).

Read it here

http://mb.pressmart.com/manilabulletin/PUBLICATIONS/MANILABULLETIN/MB/2012/12/25/PagePrint/25_12_2012_001.pdf

Let There Be Lights on Christmas

By Army Alcayaga-Granada

What is it about  Christmas lights that make us wonder, that make us dream, that make even the most cynical of us be childlike at the sight of brilliant lights?

I take pictures of lights. It is a little redundant. The Wikipedia, the I Ching of netizens, said “a photograph is an image created by light falling on a light-sensitive surface”.

So I am “drawing light with light”. Many people take pictures of other people, animals, beaches, mountains. Filipinos love wacky poses. I take pictures of lights.

Light, aside from being mysterious, is beautiful. When I stand there, in awe of some Christmas tree swathed with lights, I cannot help but be nostalgic. I have this mosaic of Christmas pasts that dance like a ribbon of music in front of me. Pictures of my memories of Christmas.

The lights are the most awaited element of Christmas. Before we lighted the Christmas tree, my father would utter the magic words, “Let there be light!” And there was light.

I have been rounding the stores for some presents for our never dying ( walang kamatayang) exchange gifts, thinking what can you buy for someone whose identity you don’t really know for two hundred bucks. So off I go into the stores to engage in the highly evolutionized sport we call shopping.  I had to buy something warm for our Baguio soujourn slash reunion anyway.

In Shangrila Plaza, I saw a huge white Christmas tree that was veiled with thousands of lights, tiny, throbbing little things that rendered me stupefied. It says, Christmas is just around the corner. This cliche, nomatter how unoriginal and worn out is never truer than today.

Not only did I get the things that I want, a black Giordano turtleneck sweater for my youngest daughter, and a scarf that matches my aubergine colored pantsuit which is a rage nowadays, I also got pictures of my lights and other Christmassy stuff.

Last year I got to take pictures of Policarpio Street and the city hall of Mandaluyong. It was astounding to see swarms of people gathering to enjoy the lights while eating puto bumbong and bibingka.

Like moth to flame, Pinoys flock to the Christmas lights that literally light up the skies of the Yuletide season.  Our eyes widen when we see the symbols that have given meaning to us, meanings that may be too farfetched but nevertheless, a Pinoy’s comfort trip to the so called nostalgic child that lies hidden in each of our hearts.

If I remember right, come Christmas time in the late 70’s my father would haul us to Cubao to watch the C.O.D. spectacles which included puppets on the rooftop of the C.O.D.building. I guess people remember those days like a dull ache on cold mornings. Nowadays we see that pageantry in Greenhills. Sometimes there’s Cinderella twirling with Prince Charming or Barbie dancing with Ken. Although they are not considered as Christmas symbols, they remind us of the childhood we have lost in the sands of commercialism.

When I was a child, I never questioned the reality of Santa Claus. Many of us waited for Santa when we were young. Hapless and romantic, we believed we could catch him sneaking around with bags of toys on his back. Like light, Santa Claus is a symbol of Christmas that one cannot deny.

When I asked my children what they most like on Christmas, they each had an image that makes them smile. The reunions with all cousins and the exchange gifts, the door to door Christmas carolling, the smell of hot chocolate, orange and apple mingling with the cold mornings.

Like what the late great Harper Lee once said, “The real Christmas was for the children, an idea I found totally compatible, for I had long ago ceased to speculate on the meaning of Christmas as anything other than a day for children”.

What can we give our children? A well lighted, warm home, a sensible upbringing, and many beautiful Christmasses to remember.

Light is hope, light is life and light is God. A happy Christmas to all.

Christmas Movie List

My family watches favorite movies on Christmas season. We relish those movies we love most and introduce some new ones. Here are the top feel good movies we keep on watching through the years...

1. Shawshank Redemption
2.Love Actually
3.Edward Scissorhands
4.Forrest Gump
5.Nottinghill
6.Green Mile
7.E.T.
8.Star Wars (with Luke and Lea doing the Tarzan thingy)
9.You've Got Mail
10. Aliens

Of course I didn't include the new ones...

Virginia Moreno's Batik Maker: My View

Filipino students are mystified, often stupefied by poems.

The easiest possible way to a poem is to know who is speaking. No, it’s not always the author who is speaking.

There is a persona or a character that the poet uses, just like a character in a short story.

Who is the speaker (persona)?

The “ I” in the poem is the speaker. As in " I cannot touch him".

What is the speaker talking about?

The batik maker is in the speaker’s dream. The batik maker is weaving or making a design on a cloth.

(This gets a little complicated). The image that the batik maker weaves is like a surreal painting. Dreamlike. I see a man, a huntsman who is pale, (why?).  He is ensnared and he cannot move (he cannot move because he’s ...dead?)

The speaker said,  I cannot touch him.  Why? 1. Because it is a dream.  2.The speaker is in denial.  3. maybe because she or he is afraid.

Lengths of the dumb and widths of the deaf are his hair...so here we can surmise that the dead cannot speak or hear anymore...dumb, deaf (get it?).

Wild orchids thumb ...  we can imagine that wild orchids are crawling on the hair of the dead huntsman, whose mouth is open and looks like screaming. But of course the speaker hears only some birds screaming sadly (elegiac) as though mourning for the dead.

And I cannot wake him...this part is heartwrenching. Imagine a woman who mourns for a lost loved one, trying to waken somebody who cannot come back anymore.

What panthom panther sleeps in the cage of his skin and immobile hands...  a panther is a strong animal, and the huntsman, being what he was, must have been strong and fearless when he was alive. But now, the feline sleeps forever.

And I cannot bury him...

This line is self explanatory...

Well, understanding the poem is just part of the process. A poem has images, and like a painting, the poet must convey his feelings through images. If the poet just said,  “The speaker is sad beyond words,”

That wouldn’t really be a poem, would it?

Someone would say, but a batik maker doesn’t weave? Which can spark a debate, which can lengthen the discussion etc.

Poems have meanings. Some poems are really puzzles. Mortals like us can only guess at the  hidden agenda of the poet. Take heart. Usually, the simplest explanation is the best.

View the complete poem here.

Let There Be Lights!

I have always been attracted to light. Like moth to flame I get stunned by the beauty of  blinding lights. Every Christmas I can’t fail to take photos of Christmas trees and lights. They soothe me, and bring back the memories of Christmas past.

Rustan’s has my favourite trees every year. Made of white lights, they’re like snow in a tropical setting. The ice like drops fall so gracefully and I can’t help but click away at the magic.

Quest for Anawangin Cove

Quest For Anawangin Cove Slideshow: Army’s trip to Subic was created with TripAdvisor TripWow!

Wish I could go back soon....

Silver Morning

And when i think of you...

That's all I wanna do

 For the knowing that you're there 

Is all I need...

I am walking through the silver morning

and after the music inside me

what can say

when i need you more and more each day...

       If you imagine yourself walking on these foothpaths, it's as if you have walked with me on a cool silver morning... Living in the city where green things are so rare, I am lucky to have these footpaths that recharge me before I enter the web of a busy day... 

Silver Morning

Music and lyrics by Kenny Rankin

Jogging paths going to
Bonifacio Global City, Taguig Metro Manila

Katy, The Jazz Queen

            Curtains open. A vamp of a woman sashays into the center stage donned in a tight bustier gown and around her neck a black satin ribbon cameo choker necklace with matching black gloves. The piano rolls a few opening notes and the woman mumbles a few husky drawls. Then comes the ear splitting Balllllut! The infamous native delicacy becomes the star of the limelight as Katy dela Cruz sings “Balut”.

           Katy dela Cruz or Mommy Katy to her fans and friends was an iconic performer who dominated her genre, the bodabil in the 1940’s and was active for 80 long years before her demise in 2004 at the age of 97.

           One can argue that nobody really took her place in matters of popularity and pizzazz . The bodabil, the offspring of vaudeville, is a string of short, flashy performances such as song and dance numbers, magic acts, jugglers, comedy skits, and the like. 

          The bodabil used to be performed in the Zorilla Theatre and the Manila Grand Opear House. Katy reigned queen as a total performer whose jazzy numbers and husky, voice can be likened to scat queen Ella Fitzgerald, and French iconic singer Edith Piaf. I say likened because Katy actually became a star at the age of 18 being the highest paid performer at the time, when Piaf was only 10 and Fitzgerald, 8.

             The young Katy, born in Intramuros, used to frequent the ferias in the vicinity and" sing and swivel her hips so that people would throw coins at her." More of these very entertaining anecdotes from Manila Carnivals

             Again, Director/writer par excellence Nestor Torre directs Maestro Ryan Cayabyab’s music to the lyrics and script of Jose Javier Reyes.

            The musical extravaganza is topbilled by Isay Alvarez as Katy,Tirso Cruz III, Gian Magdangal,Epi Quizon as Golay(a.k.a.Dolphy), Lou Veloso, Tricia Jimenes and Dulce . They have a sneak preview today, Sunday, October 14, 2012 at the Atrium of The Podium, Mandaluyong.

(Photo from Manila Carnivals)

            Of course it will not be possible without the stage management of John Aries Alcayaga, one of the most versatile personalities behind Philippine stage.

Virginia Moreno's Batik Maker

Batik Maker

Tissue of no seam and skin

Of no scale she weaves this;

Dream of a huntsman pale

That in his antlered 

Mangrove waits

Ensnared;

And I cannot touch him.

Lengths of the dumb and widths

Of the deaf are his hair

Where wild orchids thumb

Or his parted throat surprise

To elegiac screaming

Only birds of

Paradise;

And I cannot wake him.

Shades of light and shapes

Of the rain on his palanquin

Stain what phantom panther

Sleeps in the cage of

His skin and immobile

Hands;

And I cannot bury him.

Virginia Moreno
(Photo from Aliww)

         Virginia Moreno’s poem, Batik Maker instantly became my fave when the haunting lyrics installed itself into my being after we read it in college (PNU where I took up AB/BSE English). My college professor, Dr. Venancio Mendiola would do his stance, his silhouette ( I say silhouette because we see his profile) while looking at something distant and obscure, and say our names randomly, usually to recount a story we were assigned days earlier.

          That day, our topic was the immortal Batik Maker.

          Dr. Mendiola asked what imagery we see from the poem, I raised like my hand like an enthusiastic child about to show her new toy.
I could see an image in my mind and I drew a canvas of what I hoped were the poet's thoughts.

What I drew was something like this:

I interpreted the lines:

Shades of light and shapes

Of the rain on his palanquin

I was so proud of that image. My professor didn't utter a comment (perhaps he was thinking I should take up Digital Arts or Fine Arts instead).

Time went on. It was years later when I found the poem again and mulling over the " lengths and depths" of  the pain that echoed in those words, I can only surmise from where they come.

No wonder she's called the High Priestess of Philippine Poetry.

For my view on Batik Maker, please see here.

The Talented Mr. Ripley: A Novel by Patricia Highsmith

From Amazon.com

     
    Sometimes you watch a film and get that feeling that somehow it has crawled under your skin and you cannot quite shake it. The erotique psychological mystery thriller The Talented Mr. Ripley is one such movie.  It is a surprise for me to know that it's based on a novel in the 50's and that there was a movie starring Alain Delon as Tom Ripley in the 70's.

        The remake in 1999 became Matt Damon's first and only journey into the antihero character ( ah , I forgot the departed). For me, this is his best performance so far. He gave the hero antihero Ripley a reality that makes one cringe. Damon is one of those actors who have unassuming faces but can render the audience breathless in their performance.

         Patricia Highsmith who wrote the novel was already making a name for herself when her first novel Strangers on a Train was made into a movie by the incomparable Alfred Hitchcock.

         Highsmith had an "ambiguous sexuality" and she experimented in her plots as well as her relationships. The "stark prose" and theme of self exile in which she was well known made her a good example of a writer of existentialism.

           In the film, The Talented Mr. Ripley, Tom Ripley is a nondescript freeloader whose talent as piano player and ass kisser gave him a free ticket to Europe as a baby sitter for jet setter Dickie Greenleaf. But Ripley began having his own unbridled fantasy, to become Dickie Greenleaf.

          To what extent will he go to make this fantasy come true?

Patricia Highsmith circa 1941
Photo from  the Swiss Literary Archives

To Write, Perchance to Dream

I used to astonish people whenever I told them I was a writer. Many of them went catatonic for a millisecond not really grasping whether it was a gag or if I had been taking Valium (the local version of Prozac). The word writer does have a mystical ring to it.

Of course I was young then, a teenager. I had that self-important look on my face when I uttered those words. Some of those poor people stared at me, mouth agape, as if the earth were ready to devour me anytime.

I was proud of my poems, crude as they were. I had an early fan base you might say. My weepy love poems were a hit among friends and classmates who harassed me for copies, whether to give as a gift to their inamorata or to use as a target practice I really do not know.

My poetic career fizzled out once I learned I couldn't really make money out of it. I wrote on the side though, hoping and wishing, that maybe, the Muse would tap me on my shoulder once more and say, “Come with me, and you’ll be in a world of pure imagination.” with a Lou Rawls totally cool boom voice.

I switched to writing Filipino romances for a while. After a few titles, (which I know in my heart had become hard to find books collected by my fans) , I decided that it was time to move on and become “serious”, so I wrote a World Lit textbook.
So there.


And here I am, writing another romance that I'm not sure would see the light of day, but who knows. I promised myself to write one paragraph at a time. Who knows, maybe next millennium I will...