Come Hell or High Water: Facebook in the time of catastrophe

For those of us who live in a country with an average of 19-20 typhoons a year, the news of an upcoming tropical storm is often greeted with resigned casualness. First, it can’t be helped that we’re in the typhoon path and second, there have been many occasions when the alarm bells sounded by PAG-ASA, the country’s weather bureau, were a dud. That was how I regarded the news of Typhoon Ondoy’s (international code name ‘Ketsana’) impending arrival last week. We had already been hit by a spate of typhoons in recent months so I figured, what difference would another one make? If it was stronger than the last, we would always survive it – if at all, it would still be nothing compared to Typhoon Arroyo (and there’s a whole lot of them!) that has engulfed this country in the last six, or should I say, nine years.

A day before Ondoy’s projected landfall, I left for Hong Kong with my colleague, Mara, to conduct a series of interviews and focus group discussions with Filipino domestic workers on their access to SRH services (which will be another blog). I knew that Ondoy was expected to hit land on Saturday, September 26, but the sunny/humid weather in Hong Kong soon made me forget about it. That was until mid-afternoon, when I started receiving text messages from friends, asking how I was (and yes, how my owls were doing), in the midst of the storm. I started feeling knotty in my insides. It is not a good feeling when something happens back home and you’re far away and unable to do anything immediate. And because I travel a lot for work, it happens to me all the time. One time, I left the country for a meeting in Bangkok. When I came back a few days later, a greedy gnome had already replaced Erap as the president.

When the messages of concern kept pouring in by mid-afternoon, I started to get seriously worried. I called my neighbor/caretaker and asked her whether there was flooding in our area. She said it was just ankle deep, but Kamias, which was about two-three blocks from our street, was already waist-deep in water.

So I did the next most logical thing. I hooked up the wireless internet connection (hurray for free hotel wifi) and combed the Philippine news websites for the latest news. Then, I logged on to my Facebook account to check on wall posts from friends. First came the status updates about the incessant rains and the unusual flooding in certain areas. Facebook and Youtube became virtual newsrooms, with people posting advisories, uploading photos and videos of the typhoon. In just six hours of incessant rain, the actual horror of Ondoy sunk in: people wading through waist/neck-deep waters; former alleys and roads transformed into waterways; dead bodies being carried in makeshift stretchers; vehicles being tossed and swept away in the mud, houses submerged in 15 feet of water; people stranded on their rooftops, waiting to be rescued. The entire metropolis became waterworld, only it was real and colossally more disastrous than Kevin Costner’s bomb of a movie.

Quezon City, where I lived, was heavily affected, but the situation was worse in low-lying places like Marikina, Cainta, Angono, Taguig and Montalban. I didn’t see that many postings about the City of Manila, perhaps because there’s nothing new about it getting flooded.

From delivering the latest news updates, complete with side (or should I say, snide) comments, Facebook transformed into an Emergency response network. People posted information on rescue efforts: who to call for what, where to go, what to do. Messages asking for assistance and help were being posted and reposted and reposted, ad infinitum. Did these reach the intended recipient? We didn’t/wouldn’t know. As the hours passed, the list of institutions doing rescue operations grew longer and longer, until somebody had a stroke of brilliance and made an algorithm out of it. Calls for donations and monetary pledges to various organizations were posted: even someone who was celebrating a birthday requested for donations instead of gifts.

The following day, Facebook (and Twitter) had become the nerve center for anything and everything related to Ondoy. Rescue operations were continuing but relief operations predominated the status updates of almost everyone. Calls for relief goods such as cooked rice, cooked eggs, water, blankets, medicine, and clothes started pouring in. And in keeping with the times, the need for more environmentally-friendly packaging of the relief goods was also being problematized. Suggestions ranging from banana leaves to brown paper bags, to using plastic bags (with an instruction to re-use and recycle) were made. The call for volunteers was also ringing incessantly – although one can glean the early disorganization (with people coming forward to donate or volunteer) but found the drop-off centers empty and without people.

By afternoon of Sunday, Facebook became the editorial and opinion page. People were registering their disbelief and shock, echoing their fears, airing their disappointment and grief and venting their rage --- in various degrees and proportions. There were calls for better governance and leadership; better urban planning; improvement of sanitation; garbage disposal and sewage systems; and, better budgeting and spending -- since it was reported that the President had utilized a chunk of the emergency funds to finance her foreign trips (beginning 2007, she was spending US$ 255,000+ per day). Photos of food packs bearing the name of Manny Villar, a presidential aspirant, were condemned as crass opportunism at a time of disaster. Frequent references to the presidential dinners in New York, which cost thousands of dollars, resurfaced. Even a photo of the presidential son buying liquor (though unconfirmed if it was done during the typhoon aftermath) circulated. And then, the rumor mill emerged – the opening of a certain dam, which caused massive flooding; the crocodiles that escaped from a Nature Park (don’t we already have a lot of them in Congress?); and the supposed hate message from a Dubai-based OFW (saying the people deserved the disaster because they were ‘sinners’). The latter has since issued an official statement about her account purportedly being hacked. Boy, someone must have been pretty pissed off at her to do such a thing.

By evening, Facebook evolved into the sympathy and prayer page. Friends offered prayers and messages of support, hope and encouragement to other friends who suffered from the typhoon, mainly from damaged/lost property. Indeed, many were lucky to be alive, but the prospect of starting over, of reconstructing their lives, had yet to begin. Updates on clean-up operations, again complete with photos and videos, were being posted. Relief operations were continuing, especially for areas not yet reached by previous rescue and relief efforts. There were calls for delivery trucks; compressor pumps (to siphon off floodwaters which have not receded); cleaning equipment; more food; more water; medicines and yes, even breastmilk.

The updates also carried news about celebrities who had to be ferried out from their homes the height of the typhoon; of rescue efforts using jet skis, speedboats and yes, even a surfboard; of politicians and local officials halting relief efforts because they were waiting for media coverage; and the record attendance of the majority Congressmen and women (including the president’s son) to dismiss the impeachment complaint against the Ombudsman (while everyone else was busy with relief operations). So the rumor was true after all, the crocs were in Congress!

And as Pinoy as we could get, some postings started injecting humor and a slice of “Pinoy” life. Lagusnilad, the underpass in Quiapo, Manila, became a virtual swimming pool, with children using electric posts as diving boards. A group of men posted a video in Youtube to show how flooded their street was – they were swimming their way through the neighborhood, and joking how the street had transformed into the sea.

Yesterday, a virtual candle was lit on people’s profiles, in memory of those who perished. Status updates extolled the so-called “bayanihan” spirit and heroism of the Filipino, including Muelmar Magallanes, an 18-year old construction worker who was swept away by floodwaters after bringing 30 people to safety. Links to foreign and local news articles, commentaries, weather updates, and political analysis about why Ondoy happened were being shared. There too, were the more “forward looking” propositions: the need for better disaster preparedness and management; the need for individual responses to climate change; the call for better governance and leadership. Relief ops were getting more organized --- and it was truly awe-inspiring to read that the spirit of giving is very much alive.

It is now thursday (five days after the storm), and there are frantic updates and warnings of an upcoming supertyphoon Pepeng (codename Parma). I hope it doesn’t give me a wet and windy welcome when I come home to Manila on Friday evening, but that seems to be the target landfall.

Indeed, the Philippines will survive this crisis (as it has and does, time and time again), even without or despite this government. Call it resilience, call it survival instincts, call it unwavering faith, call it sheer doggedness. As the song Noypi goes, “Pinoy ako, buo aking loob, may agimat ang dugo ko.” And how can we not survive, with Facebook, Twitter, Youtube, SMS and blogs? Come hell or high water, we shall rise above it all.

My Short-lived One-Armed Bandit Existence

"How did that happen?” “What did you do?”

I was met with these queries when I showed up in an international meeting with my arm in a sling. Okay, the sling was not the heavy-duty type – my arm was neither in a cast nor mummy-wrapped in several meters of bandage. I was wearing a very simple belt-like contraption, intended to keep my bent arm in place and prevent the inflamed area from being further strained.

Flashback. A few days before I was set to travel, my left arm was feeling a little sore. I didn’t pay much attention to it and in fact, went to the gym twice that week. I was however, very cautious and conscious to not lift weights, although I did a few machine exercises. A day before traveling, my arm was positively hurting. I was a little anxious, given that it showed the same symptoms of a condition I had several years ago. Back then, I literally couldn’t move my left arm – couldn’t twist, raise or bend it. Making a fist hurt and I learned to do basic functions like eating, taking a shower, and dressing up with just one hand. Thankfully, it was my right. “Calcified tendinitis”, the doctor told me then, a condition which refers to the build-up of calcium salts in a tendon, usually as a result of an injury, trauma or stress, leading to inflammation. Apart from taking medication for it (Bextra, which is no longer available), I had to go through two weeks of daily physical therapy, which included having electric current run through the affected area for about 20 minutes.

I did not see a doctor, which was quite stupid, actually. I figured, I’ll just take painkillers to ease the pain. The flight (13 hours to Amsterdam and another hour to Geneva, with two hours of layover time in Schipol airport) was uncomfortable, to say the least. I tried to distract myself from the pain by reading Norman Lebrecht’s, “The Life and Death of Classical Music”, while listening to Gautier Capuçon’s recording of Rachmaninoff and Prokofiev’s cello sonatas. The book is a fascinating read – it takes you to the innards of the classical recording industry, from the early 1900s up to contemporary times – but that’s another blog – if I get to it.

By the time I got to Geneva, which was at 10 in the evening, the pain signals from my brain went full throttle. I managed to sleep, albeit uncomfortably, but resolved that I had to get medical care the next morning. Just as well, because when I woke up, my left arm had gone on strike. By mid-morning, I texted my friend, Hendrik, who’s with the Philippine mission in Geneva assigned to the UN Human Rights Council. Hendrik belonged to Batch 12 of the Cadetship Programme for foreign service officers – the first batch for which ACHIEVE conducted a two-day HIV and Migration seminar-workshop.

Hendrik took me to the clinic, which was just a couple of blocks from my hotel. In all the years I’ve traveled outside the Philippines (since 1993), I’ve only been to a foreign clinic once (this was in the UN headquarters in Bangkok when I had tummy upset during a workshop – which I surmised later – was caused by indiscriminate popping of ibuprofen). ACHIEVE’s work on migration and health issues resonated so distinctly, especially with regards to access to health care of migrants and mobile populations. I single-handedly (no pun intended) validated some of the findings in our research, especially with regards to barriers in accessing health care/services. One is that many migrants don’t seek health care because of language/communication barriers. It was a good thing that the doctor could speak in English, and even though he was not very fluent, his diagnosis of my condition was comprehensible. Second major barrier is economic. Our NGO partner in Malaysia, Tenaganita, has said that migrants often have to pay first-class cost for third-class medical service.

The doctor who attended to me was quite helpful. The first thing he asked me was if I had health insurance. He examined my arm and said it was already inflamed. He then informed me that he would prescribe medication to ease the pain and stop the inflammation. Since I would be going home in five day’s time, he suggested that I should just do the proper medical tests and treatment in the Philippines, i.e., X-ray and blood test (to check for possible infection or uric acid build-up), as it would be very expensive to have it there. He did warn that if my condition did not improve within 24 hours, I should go back to the clinic. For that consultation, I paid 120 Swiss francs (US$114.00 or PhP 5,400.00), which I hope my travel insurance would cover. Having the lab tests would have cost me an additional 300-400 Swiss francs (US $280-US $380 or PhP 13,500-18,000)! 

The next two days, my arm was nestled comfortably in that sling. I must say, many of my colleagues in that meeting were impressed with its unobtrusiveness. And it perfectly matched the color of my clothes. My condition did improve because by the third day I could dress up using both hands (although still slightly pained). By mid-day, I was able to do without the sling; it was getting a tad inconvenient to move around with it. Yet, my arm was not completely functional. When Hendrik, I and our friend P.A. went out to have fondue for dinner that evening, I had to ask P.A to break my bread into pieces and cut the steak in small slices. On the fourth day, I could already clean my left ear using my left hand. I still couldn’t tie my shoelaces, though, so I had to forego using my sneakers, and consequently ended up buying a couple of black socks for my other shoe.

That didn’t deter me from shopping though – I got the three C’s: chocolates, cheese, and classical music CDs. It goes without saying that I got owls too (one was a Swiss-made locket – something similar to what I got in Kobe many years ago).  Speaking of CDs, there’s a tiny shop under the Gare Cornavin train station which has a very extensive stock of classical and jazz music CDs. And some come as low as 4.90-9.90 Swiss francs (US$4.65-9.40 or PhP 220.00-420.00). Not bad at all! To think that classical CDs sold commercially in the Philippines is as common as seeing a barn owl in one’s backyard. Don’t ask me how many CDs I ended up hauling – all I can I say is that the inflammation in my left arm was not a major deterrent at all.

I am writing this blog on the flight back and oh, it’s great to be able to type with both hands again. Tomorrow, I shall see the doctor and will subserviently succumb to whatever treatment he/she prescribes. In the meantime, let me listen to a scratchy Al Jolson recording.

P.S. I went to the doctor today. He asked me to get an X-ray of my left shoulder/arm and a uric acid exam (although my blood chem test results last April showed normal uric acid levels). So I did both. He told me to continue taking the anti-inflammatory medicine and see him next week (which might be a little problematic as I am going up to Baguio for a vacay with my office, yey!).  Only then will I know if I have to go through physical therapy for it. Best thing about the check-up today -- my HMO covered everything. My uric acid result was normal (in fact, low-normal) but the impression in my Roentgenological findings (okay, that’s the X-ray report) read: Peritendinitis calcarea.

There’s still one pleasure I’m deprived of: being able to scratch my back with unbridled abandon.

 

From: http://www.ajronline.org/cgi/reprint/133/6/1139.pdf

Calcific tendinitis of the flexor carpi ulnaris presents a characteristic radiographic appearance of amorphous calcification near the pisiform. This calcification frequently is associated with acute symptoms and may be related to certain occupations and hobbies.

There are several synonyms for this inflammatory condition. They include penitendinitis calcarea, peniarthnitis calcarea, calcific tendinitis, calcific bursitis, and calcareous tendinitis and bursitis. The exact etiology of these calcifications is uncertain. They may actually represent a common soft tissue response to a variety of insults. While clinical symptoms occasionally date back to a specific event, a definite history of trauma usually is not elicited. Calcific tendinitis does seem to be related to certain types of activity, such as sudden repeated motions, and it may be associated with certain occupations and hobbies such as typing, golfing, or violin playing.

Clinically, this inflammatory reaction causes severe localized pain, tenderness to palpation, limited motion, swelling, redness, and increased warmth. There may be proximal extension of redness and swelling, but usually there is no local adenopathy, toxemia, or fever. Treatment is the same as for any calcific tendinitis or bursitis and includes analgesics, anti-inflammatory agents, heat, local anesthetic and/or steroid injection, mechanical disruption or aspiration of the calcification with a needle tip and (rarely) surgical excision. The relief afforded by these measures is thought to be due in great part to the release of tension within the area of calcium deposition with subsequent dissemination and absorption of the calcium salts.

 

 

Labasan, Keluar, Salida, Ausgang, Sortie, Exit -- to Where?

On May 22, 2009, MTV Pilipinas held the MTV “Exit Concert” at the MOA Concert Grounds. Exit stands for “End Exploitation and Trafficking”, a global campaign against exploitation and trafficking (mainly of women and girls), supported by USAID. As I’ve articulated in previous occasions, I have issues regarding USAID’s perspective and responses related to trafficking.

Indeed there are many women and girl children who are trafficked into sex work or bonded labor by unscrupulous and intricate networks of traffickers. They get physically abused, sexually violated, psychologically tortured and financially deceived. There are many documented stories of girls and women who survived to tell the tale of their ordeal. Because trafficking is more often conflated with sex work or prostitution, many of these raids and rescue operations are done among sex workers. While there is a need to seriously address the issue of trafficking, several women’s organizations and sex-worker groups, particularly in Thailand, Cambodia and India, are also saying that a clear distinction should be made between trafficking and sex work, as not all women who enter prostitution or sex work are trafficked. Some of them do so at their own agency and that they are not coerced into becoming sex workers. In fact, I’ve met some of these women and on these superficial interactions, they appear very steadfast and resolute in their decision to enter sex work. Who am I then, to challenge a very personal decision? In the same vein, it cannot also be denied that the women who are trafficked into sex work, are subjected to the worst imaginable abuse and exploitation. How then does one navigate these two extremely conflicted positions and contribute to the cause of ending exploitation of women – regardless if they were coerced or chose to do sex work?

But that is not what this blog is about. And just for the record, I don’t have issues about sex work being recognized as ‘work’.

I went with my friend, Patty, who’s here from the US on a Fullbright scholarship. Che, a friend who works in IOM (International Organization for Migration), a partner of USAID in anti-trafficking efforts, facilitated our entrance. As someone working on HIV and AIDS issues for the last 10 years, I’ve never gone to any MTV AIDS Summit (mainly because of travel schedules). Thus, I had no pulse on what the atmosphere in an MTV Concert would be like, and save for the warnings about how ‘jologs’ it would be, I decided to brave it anyway.

Patty and I arrived late – and so we missed Kamikazee, Parokya ni Edgar and a few other bands. I would have wanted to see Jay Contreras flinging his wild hair, gyrating with wild abandon and screaming at the top of his lungs, “Wala, wala, wala namang napala!” Rico Blanco was on to his third song when we got in, and yes, I surmised he had already performed his gem of a song, ‘Your Universe’.

It was an eclectic crowd – but majority were young people (which is a good demographic target for the cause). Teenage girls in their short minis (which reminded me of 70’s fashion) and scrawny teenage boys in their skinny jeans sauntered around the sprawling concert grounds. It was a very relaxed and breezy atmosphere at the back, where Patty and I decided to nest. In contrast, the area closer to the stage was filled to capacity -- of sweaty, sticky bodies.

Several acts followed Blanco: some were more memorable than others. Itchyworms, a band I’ve not really followed, sang their catchy tunes. Pupil, and its perennially stoic frontman, Eli Buendia, tried to “warm up” the crowd. Spongecola also did their bit, including a performance with Gary Valenciano. Gary then performed his own set. I'm not really a fan of Gary V, but if there’s one thing that can be said about him, it’s his staying power. He was already ‘Gary Valenciano’ in the 80’s – and 25 years later, he is still strutting his stuff. Moymoy Palaboy’s performance was a happy distraction. There’s something lovable about these internet sensation dudes from Pasay. You take them as they are, like you take on street food – raw, in your face, and natural. Their rendition of Teeth’s Laklak, to the tune of Rodel Naval’s “Lumayo Ka Man Sa Akin”, was downright hilarious.

Just when I was wondering where the girls were – in a concert that seeks to protect women -- a girl-band named Duster burst in. Okay, pardon my ignorance, but I’ve never heard them play so I was kinda trying to place their music. I suppose if you have Myrene Academia (Sandwich bass player) spearheading the band, then maybe they are on to greater heights. That night, they also had award-winning music video director, Marie Jamora, on synths, which I thought was cool. I think they projected well – the lead singer has a Bjorkish appeal sans the weird outfit. Next performer was Kitchie Nadal who played her popular soap opera ditties. At some point, I thought she was more interested in throwing away those pink EXIT bracelets than singing. By then, Patty was already lying on her back and inching closer to dreamland.

By now, I need to interject that the band performances were broken by spiels of the concert hosts, Kat Alano (who spoke fluent Tagalog) and Epi Quizon. It was good to hear that the messages centered on prevention of trafficking in general, covering both sex trafficking and trafficking for bonded labor. All throughout the show, they kept stating that it is okay to pursue dreams, to go abroad for work, but care must be taken in realizing these plans and dreams. ‘Be informed’, ‘know your rights’ -- were the core messages that resonated throughout the evening. Whether these messages would be taken to heart by the audience, remains to be seen, though. MTV is hugely popular among young people, so it is a good avenue to raise the level of awareness of these dudes on these issues.

I must also say that by then, my butt and lower back were positively hurting from sitting too long on the concrete grounds. There was only one act left and it was the main act I had wanted to see. They had to be the last, which I suppose, proves that they are the biggest act in the local band scene today.

And it seemed surreal – people who were slouching down and lying on the ground -- all got up on their feet in unison when the opening strings to “Hallelujah” played.

To say that Bamboo is an energetic performer is an understatement. He leaps, kicks, punches the air, stomps his feet, bangs his head, and traverses the whole length of the stage. And the voice does not fail, not even once, unlike other local vocalists who perform miserably when live (will not name them, though). The crowd roared louder when they played a Rivermaya favorite, Elesi. By the third song, Bamboo was already sweating profusely (and he would, until the end of their set). You gotta give it to this guy – he really gives his all – and the same goes for his bandmates. Their latest anthem, Kailan was followed by the progressive ditty, Tatsulok, a song that Buklod or more specifically, Noel (Cabangon), used to sing in the rallies I attended way back in the 90s. Sounds like it was eons ago. So for Bamboo to put their imprint on this political classic that calls for a reversal of the prevailing socio-economic order, is something to crow about. It was great to see versatile sessionist, Wowie Posadas, doing keyboards for Masaya and also hear, albeit briefly, bassist Nathan Azarcon’s solo. And the last song they performed was Nopyi, the ultimate antidote to that major earworm sung by the famed pugilist that is currently plaguing the airwaves big-time (I don’t even know the title but the irritating chorus goes like this, ”Pilipino, Pilipino, Pilipino ang lahi ko”). What else can I say, six songs later, the crowd is thoroughly energized and invigorated. I am happy and so is Patty, who now lists Bamboo as one of her all-time favorite Pinoy musicians.

Why Iphone Sucks or Why Form Wins Over Functionality

It can’t receive and send business cards.
It can’t receive and send multimedia images.
It can’t make a draft message.
It can’t forward contact details or messages.
Its Bluetooth function is useless (it’s only for the headset to receive/make calls, imagine that?)
It can’t delete a single message (you have to delete the whole conversation thread).
It has very few built-in ring and message alert tones.
The touch-feature is too sensitive. Unless you have tiny fingers, it will key in the wrong letters.
On top of that, the phone company informed me that I had to charge the phone everyday. Like, everyday?! WTF!!

But it does look nice and sleek. And saves one the risk of thumb-related RSI (from too much pressure on the thumb when texting).

Okay, I’m a little biased. I’ve been a Nokia user through and through – for the last 10 years! One of the reasons I got an Iphone was because I’m a Mac user and I thought compatibility would not be a problem. It isn’t, actually. Using the Iphone is like using a Mac – it kinda grows on you. And yes, I’m a very happy Mac user and have converted several friends already (hey I should get an incentive for this). I guess, I’ve not let Iphone get to me, yet. Will it ever?

My sister wants to get an Iphone. Hmmm, maybe it will grow on her instead.

Go Figure

Davao Detour Deluxe (or A Day in Eden Garden Resort, Davao City)

“Ah, ma’am, may reservation kayo?” says the guard.
“Wala po.”
“Ah, so ‘detour’ lang kayo?”

While not comprehending what “detour” meant, I said yes. Does it mean, we’re eschewing the guided tour schedule and going into a separate direction? Or is there a different route that we can take inside the garden resort?

I found out what it meant when I went up to the ‘detour’ office.

It’s the kind of tour one does for a day. Go figure.


Saved by the Bell

“Ma’am, small bell lang po”, said the cashier as I made my way to pay a small bottle of hair product. For a split second, I thought, ‘does she think I am buying a bell (a small one at that)?’ Then I realized she just wanted me to pay using small notes. Go figure, again.

Anything that can go wrong, will

First of all, I was not even supposed to go to my hometown, Gensan. My previously arranged trip was for Puerto Princesa, to conduct a seminar (because one day is not really enough time to do a ‘training’) for OFWs on migration and HIV. Just as I was dreaming about munching on cashew nuts and exploring PP (as I’ve only been to Coron), we get a call from the organizers that they have also scheduled the “training” for Gensan to be held on the same dates. And since blood will always be thicker than Palawan waters, I decided to head off to Gensan. Getting there was a logistical nightmare of booking and rebooking the flights (which should have been a foreboding) but after the airline and flight schedules were all ironed out, I did not expect any major fiasco to happen in this trip.

The seminar itself was kinda uneventful – the participants were not OFWs – but fisherfolks who traverse the waters of Indonesia and Papua New Guinea. Yes, folks, the tuna population is rapidly dissipating in Southern Philippines. Almost all the participants had not attended any seminar on HIV and AIDS, which made my task easier. Oh, and the training was held at the city’s premiere Fish Port – where fish get unloaded and classified for export or local consumption. There are currently 55 fishing companies that operate in the city, although, there’s been a glut in the fish supply – but that really is not what this blog is about.

Fast forward to Saturday, February 28. My Philippine Air Lines flight was scheduled to depart at 10am and for the first time in years, I was not flying Mabuhay. That’s because the training organizers got my ticket at a very cheap promo rate and if I wanted an upgrade, I would have to pay P3,700 (one way). I had earlier paid P1,600 for the upgrade from Manila to Gensan (the steaming arroz caldo, fresh fruits and canapés in the Mabuhay Lounge at the Centennial airport are kinda worth it). Since the Mabuhay Lounge in Gensan really only serves cookies, brownies, dried mangos, dessert bars, coffee, soda and juices, I figured that 3,700 was not worth it. If I had excess baggage (which was also one of the principal reasons why I always fly Mabuhay), I can just shell out P56.00 per kilo.

After reading three stories from Jhumpa Lahiri’s 'Unaccustomed Earth' in the waiting lounge, I realized that it was already past 9:30 a.m., yet, we have not boarded. By 10:00, I stood up to ask one of the staff about the delay of our flight and I was told that they were still fixing something in the plane and that they were waiting for communication from the pilots to the ground staff.

By 10:15, there was a cackle in the PA system, followed by a muffled announcement that the flight was cancelled and passengers were requested to line up to rebook their tickets.

I managed to wiggle my way through the crowd and get second in line. We were given two options: take the 4:40 pm flight in Davao City that same day or leave the next day, at seven in the morning. Davao City, in case you don’t know, is a good three-four hours by land travel. And it was already 11:00 a.m. The only thing in my mind was that I had a birthday dinner (mine!) to catch. It was not just my belated birthday dinner but also the birthday celebration of two other very good friends. Second, it had taken some time to arrange this party to accommodate everyone’s schedule (not that we’re assembling a hundred people – actually, it was just eight people). So, I call up Camille, who’s hosting the dinner with E, at their place. I hear a panic-stricken ‘nooooo!’ from the other end of the line. ‘You can’t cancel, it took a long time to get everyone to agree on this date!’ ‘But I don’t have anything to bring. I'll have no time to cook the beef ribs adobo and cheesy baked potatoes!’ ‘Never mind that! We’ll take care of the food, you just have to be here!' This time, friends are thicker than blood – as I decided to go ahead with the Davao trip option and pass up the opportunity to spend another day with my family.

By then, people were cussing, grumbling, complaining and getting pissed off at the PAL staff who seemed rather unperturbed by the stress and aggravation they had caused to roughly 200 passengers. If we chose to go to Davao, would they bring us there, would there be a shuttle? ‘No’, they said, ‘we’ll give you a cash allowance of P600’.

The long and short of it is that I was able to rebook my flight, claim my P600 cash allowance (which is insanely inadequate for all the trouble and costs of traveling to Davao – if you include food, transportation and terminal fee), retrieve my baggage and request my father and brother to drive me to Davao.

Surprisingly, I was very calm -- or maybe (thankfully) I was not PMSing. At other times (and especially during PMS), I would have been outrightly upset and indignant. But what can one do in this situation, really? Mind you, I was silently consoling or cajoling myself that I was paying something forward.

My aunt, who also happened to be on the same flight, was assisted by Joseph (a college batchmate of mine) who was arranging the rebooking of six other people in his company.
So, I decided to take our aunt with us on the trip to Davao. But not before a hurried lunch at home (yes! we managed to have lunch and savor the last bits of the kalderetang kambing). Despite the fact that my brother (who was scarily sleep-deprived) was speeding like a maniac, the trip seemed to take forever. But the road trip turned out to be a pleasant surprise as it gave us an opportunity to catch up and converse with my aunt about family matters.

At 4:00 pm we arrived at the Davao International airport – almost at the same time as the other Gensan passengers who also decided to rebook their flights. It looked a little funny – kinda like Amazing Race -- as we unloaded our baggage, went through x-ray check, and made a beeline for the check-in counters.

Everything seemed to go smoothly from there. We reached Manila two hours later but it took a long time to disembark as the plane parked in the north side of the airport and we had to be bussed over to the south side – which also took forever.

End of story: I got to my dinner a little late (but two other people came later, hah!). No gifts, no beef ribs adobo, no cheesy baked potatoes. Just moi and my love for (or fear of?) my friends. Oh, btw, the chocolate truffles from S, made it so worth it! But that's another blog.

RANTS AND GRUNTS 02

Nice (sometimes) Gets You Nowhere

Murphy was right when he said, “Never argue with a fool, people might not know the difference.” The problem is, will the fool ever know that he/she is one?

Last wednesday, January 28, I had the misfortune of being trapped in a futile debate (or should I say, very heated argument) with a person from a government agency (must not mention the name and agency lest I make someone (in)famous inadvertently). Our argument had to do with the formulation of HIV prevention programmes for migrant workers, which is something I have been involved in for the last ten years. And in those ten years of HIV and AIDS activism, of having forged constructive and productive partnerships with various communities and institutions (both private and public, local and international), I never had a face-to-face collision with someone who was incomprehensibly intransigent and obstructive (wait a minute, what am I saying, yes, I have encountered such people, but not in the context of my work). I am not a confrontative person; anger management experts would never earn a single cent from me.

It’s not that I don’t get angry. I do. But I never let it take over me like a malevolent spirit. You know how other people appear to be perennially shrouded by a black cloud (literally) – or a very dark aura – as my esoteric and spiritually-inclined friends would often say. These people often have a dark, unpleasant and obnoxious disposition – like the world is their boxing ring and every person they encounter is a potential adversary or threat.

I will not replay the dialogue (or should I say, wrangle) here, as it still annoys me to no end. I will, in the next coming weeks, find a way to constructively provide feedback and information to the institution where that person works.
Actually, I just wanted to write about this incident to illustrate that finally, and for the first time in my adult life, I can now comprehend the expression, “nagpanting ang tenga”. Literally, I felt intense, burning heat creeping out of my ears. It was a bizarre sensation – like I was Mt. Pinatubo waiting to explode.

Fortunately, there was divine intervention – in the form of my friends and colleagues – who admonished me to keep calm and refrain from indulging that person’s tireless tirades. And so, with eyes rolled and a slight smirk plastered on my face, I muttered under my breath, “Frankly my dear, I didn’t give a damn”. And I did my most casual walk away from that fiend.

RANTS AND GRUNTS 01

From Litterbug to Little bits

I always get nervous when I see someone opening a car window. Is he or she going to spit, throw a candy wrapper, drop a banana peel, or flick a cigarette butt? When and how will people learn that it is so uncool to throw their trash onto the streets? Does EDSA (and other streets) look like an infinite borderless garbage bin? Well, admittedly, some areas do, especially along Pasay and Caloocan. But then again, that doesn’t give anyone any license to further pollute these thoroughfares. And then they complain when the streets get flooded during rainy days – that’s cause it’s clogged with all the litter that they mindlessly dispose of, stupid! Some days, I have this fantasy image of all trash (the ones carelessly thrown) crawling from all directions and converging into what will become a giant litter monster. Then it starts chomping these litterbugs into tiny little bits before tossing them into the non-recyclable bin.

RAVES AND WAVES 02

You Wanna Obama?


I must admit, I rooted for Hillary and not for Barack. I thought sexual rights, reproductive rights, LGBT rights and all other rights (considered social evils by conservatives and fundamentalists) had a better chance of being addressed if she got elected into power. Besides, Barack was pretty vague about his stand on LGBT rights.

So, he got elected – and the whole world seemed to be elated with the prospect of an African American with an atypical upbringing leading the world’s self-proclaimed most powerful nation.

Well, he did one very good thing after being elected, that is, immediately and quietly reversing the “global gag rule”. His ruling lifts restrictions on U.S. government funding for groups that promote sexual and reproductive health (SRH) and rights, including abortion counseling and services abroad (though many of these groups do not even focus on abortion services but in preventing unwanted pregnancies and abortions through provision of contraception and other health services).

We hope this will augur in a new era of more sustained programming for SRH services in resource-limited countries such as the Philippines. Although, in our case, it’s not so much a question of resources but political will – especially since the Catholic Church has such a stranglehold on our political leaders – whether they’re in the administration or opposition.

So, to all those Obama-wannabes who have their eye on 2010 – I dare challenge you to include sexual and reproductive health and rights in your political agenda. Otherwise, don’t think that you can even come close to the man.

RAVES AND WAVES 01

Wishing Wanggo Well

Being a non-Skycable subscriber, I am rarely able to watch ANC, its local news network. So, while vacationing in my hometown last December (my parents subscribe to Sky), I was pleased to catch an episode of “Storyline”, a documentary show which features snippets of lives of individuals going through personal struggles. One of the stories was that of Wanggo Gallaga, a 29-year old guy, who came out with his HIV+ status. Finally, after many years, here came someone who broke the silence and seeming invisibility of people living with HIV (PLHIVs) in the country. And I mean someone from the mainstream – not from the existing community/network of PLHIVs (as there are courageous people like Joshua, Mau, Bobby and Owie who have come out to the media). Indeed, most people have a vague memory of Sarah Jane Salazar and an even vaguer memory of Dolzura Cortez.

Ever since Wanggo wrote his coming out article in one of the major dailies late last year (which unfortunately I was not able to read), I’ve been hearing about him from friends and colleagues in the local HIV network. I also managed to catch an episode in a Sunday showbiz talkshow, which featured his father, acclaimed film director, Peque Gallaga. Having worked fulltime on HIV and AIDS for the last nine years, I must say that Peque’s supportive and non-judgmental stance towards his son was a breath of fresh air.

Finally, the issue had a fresh face: young, courageous, and articulate. My only concern was Wanggo’s constant reference to a lifestyle that involved “promiscuity”. No, I’m not at all bothered by his “lifestyle” – I think people should have the right to make decisions about their bodies and their sexuality, as long as they are responsible for their actions and they don’t harm anyone. My concern is more the implication of attributing HIV infection with promiscuity (though this may not be his intent – he was probably just being candid about his sexual behavior) because we all know that even a single exposure to the virus can get one infected. Or multiple exposures/sexual contact with only one person, such as a spouse or a regular partner, as in the case of many women in Africa.

I hope Wanggo’s coming out will send a signal to people that what being HIV+ really means is that there is a virus in a person’s body that makes him immuno-compromised and this can be aggravated by various physical and psychological conditions. PLHIVs are no different from you and me; they have human rights and they deserve protection against stigma and discrimination. It’s surprising how ignorant most people are about HIV and AIDS – which is the basis for all the negative and “morally” judgmental attitudes vs. PLHIVs.

I wish Wanggo well –and that he will continue to provide encouragement to those who are still confronting their fears, guilt, pain and feelings of shame.

The Collectors’ Support Group

Last weekend, I hosted a belated Christmas lunch for a group of friends from work – we all operate in the HIV and AIDS circuit in the Philippines. Through years of bumping into each other in endless meetings, trainings and consultations and occasionally traveling and working together on some projects and activities, we’ve developed some sort of a bond. It is a bond woven with unflinching (almost) commitment to HIV and AIDS activism, spirited storytelling, and love for good food, quotable quotes and laughter. So, a lunch date was set and I had only one condition for my guests.

The invitation read: “I’m hosting a New Year lunch (should have been for last Christmas) at my house. You don’t have to bring anything but an owl – could be something you made, recycled, bought (doesn’t have to be expensive), but not borrowed or stole.”

As the first gathering I hosted this year, it will be unforgettab-owl! Imagine getting owls from eight friends all at once: a handmade hat, a pair of luggage tags, stickers, wooden figurines, a stuffed toy, a framed photo and a toy. After needless banter that P’s stuffed toy owl looked more like a bear or a tiger or a cat than an owl, we also realized that there is still an abundance of creativity in each of us, especially when required by the occasion.

After feasting on the meal (beef spareribs adobo, native chicken binakol, pako salad, kinilaw na tuna, tofu in pineapple and chili, green mango with bagoong and desserts: moist eggless and butterless chocolate cake for our resident vegetarian; banana chocolate chip cake, fruit salad, and puto brought by C), a plan was hatched. We realized that stress was inherent in our work and that we needed to unwind as frequently as possible. We also found out that at one point in our lives, all of us had collections of some kind. Mine was obvious – I have two cabinets crammed with owl collectibles (with more waiting in line to be shelved). So we made a list of what each one collects:

M1- clowns
M2 – owls (that’s me)
C1- fish and fowl (which also included owls)
C2 - unicorn
R- elephants and owls (as well!)
N- dolls and colored pens
P- masks
J1 – fashion and interior design magazines, GQ with female on the cover; montagut shirts (guess who is the ultimate hoarder)
J2 – initially had no recollection of a collection so we decided for him to start collecting AIDS pins.

So, on January 11, 2009, the Collectors' Support Group (CSG) was formally constituted. After hearing about my Springmaid Owl Saga (see previous blog), my friends also unanimously agreed to launch the Ultimate Quest for the Springmaid Owl. The deal is, anyone who finds it first will receive P500.00 from each of the group members (excluding myself). An added price would be a congratulatory dinner or lunch, which I would be most willing to host for the group.

Wait a minute, what if I find the Springmaid owl myself? Am I entitled to P500 from each of them as well? That, my friends, is the question… Which is life. Abangan!

The Owl Springmaid Mirror Hunt

The search for the elusive owl Springmaid mirror is alive! My friend Joel and I had an unusual near-find but it fizzled out when the dude who owned it became inaccessible for unknown reasons. Okay, just a background – there is a site called guys4men. If you don’t know what this site is about, you can go check it out yourself (uhhh, it’s possibly limited to those who are 18 years old and older).

One dude posted a photo in his profile wearing nothing but his white underwear. Joel was brimming with excitement when he led me to the site and showed me the dude’s photo and I thought to myself, this is just another one of his virtual manhunt finds. I had to squint my eyes to see beyond the dude’s butt and guess what greeted me – a yellow owl springmaid mirror! So we both screamed in excitement.

One of my iconic memories while growing up in the 70s, was our own owl yellow Springmaid mirror. It had the shape of an owl, with a pair of black and white eyes and curly eyelashes. It came in different colors (yellow, pink, orange) and it seemed that every other household owned one.

So Joel strikes a conversation with dude:

J: Hey there, my friend is interested in your owl Springmaid mirror.
D: In exchange for what?
J: How about we meet for coffee to discuss it?

End of conversation.

Some days later (or was it weeks?), Joel checked the site again to see if dude had responded to his coffeee offer. He clicked on dude’s profile but this was already disabled. Waaaah!! There went my owl Springmaid mirror! Hmmm, did Joel’s offer had anything to do with it? Was he scared to part with his Springmaid mirror? Or was it the coffee invite? Because I know that one rule of thumb in gay cruising for those for are already in relationships, is that sex (with other men) is okay but coffee is not, because the latter means conversation and conversation can lead to an emotional attachment. In other words, a real affair – which, in turn, can threaten one’s existing relationship. You may ask, if he was in a relationship, why would he be posting his provocative photos (with an owl Springmaid mirror, no less) in a gay cruising site? Having so many gay friends, I already know that being in a relationship has never been a deterrent to one’s engagement in manhunts, virtual or other.

In any case, there went my potential owl Springmaid mirror find.

If anybody can lead me to one, I will greatly appreciate it, (and he or she doesn’t have to pose in his/her underwear).

Of emasculation and Colt 45 Beer

“Men should act like men”. “Strong beer should really be strong”.

Stupid ads should really be stupid.

The recent Colt 45 Ad series is a joke. It looks like a desperate attempt at valorizing masculinity, to render toughness as an essential attribute as opposed to tenderness, an ascribed feminine characteristic or trait.

While the previous ad, which Bamboo (the band) endorsed, portrayed him (Bamboo, the vocalist) exterminating an aggressive thug to smithereens (though in a twisted fashion it kinda makes him one as well), the new ads resurrect that thug in a rather ridiculous way.

One ad shows a group of men rowdily watching sports on TV. One of them leaves the group to take a phonecall from someone – doesn’t show if it’s from a woman or a man. He furtively makes sweet utterances to that person and a giant beer bottle falls on him.

Another ad shows a group of men ogling (or drooling is more like it) at a girl wearing a swimsuit. One of them comments that stripes does not suit her and in true stupid fashion, a beer bottle squashes him as well.

And then the tagline: “Men should act like men”. “Strong beer should really be strong”.

This ad caused an uproar within the gay community – with my friend, gay activist Danton Remoto, going as far as writing to Asia Brewery to pull out the ads.

While I do think the ads do not explicitly indicate that both dudes were gay, and thus, cannot be immediately construed as anti-gay, one can glean the desperation in its attempt at resurrecting and privileging outdated and rigid notions of masculinity.

It also seems like a reaction to the archetypal modern metrosexual man, who can also be sensitive, caring, and affectionate. But, isn’t this the kind of man that most heterosexual women and gay men now prefer?

Will drinking Colt 45 make one a “real” man? It’s a no-brainer.

Besides, does anybody ever drink this beer, anyway?