Borrowed story: Dear Doctor Heart

There are stories, and then there are stories! Stories that stay with you for years. Unforgettable, gritty, meaty... those that can be re-told and passed on and would always, always be striking.

We all have them. They can be personal experiences, or told by a friend from his or her own personal experience, or they may even come from strangers, but once you hear them, their yours! They burrow into your consciousness, jar you out of your own little self-centered Universe, and make you human. Story-telling has been part of humanity since Creation. I mean, how else do we know that In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth? That the earth was void, and formless, and darkness was upon the face of the deep? How else would we have known that the Spirit of God hovered above these chaotic waters--if no one bothered to tell this story and pass it on generation after generation?

Thus, we know that from nothing, God created everything... that we have a beautiful beginning. Thus, we know, too, that in the end, everything will be beautiful again. (John told us the story of our future in the last chapters of Revelation.)

Story-telling is in our blood. That's why we have epic poetry of old. That's why we have theater. That's why we have movies (like New Moon and 2012 and Christmas Carol). That's why we turn on the news and gasp in horror at the massacre at Maguindanao and rejoice that CNN awarded a fellow Pinoy as Hero of the year. Strange that in this nation, the blood of heroes and murderers run through our veins. I digress, but even those are stories that cannot be forgotten, at least not soon.

Thus I attempt to share with you some stories that have stuck with me. These were told to me either directly or indirectly and now I wish to share them with you. Humbly, I launch through my blog the "Borrowed Stories Series." I hope these stories haunt you as much as they do me.

Let's begin with this story. I was on my commute to work. The bus had the radio on and it was that program were a gay DJ (although I'm not sure if he's just pretending to be gay as a gimmick) gives advice to listeners who call in with their love problems. Here's the story:

The situation was this. The girl couldn't forgive the boy. They were boyfriend and girlfriend for years. It seemed a match made in heaven. He was faithful, virtuous, respectful. In fact they were engaged. His mom treated her as her own daughter. It was a beautiful relationship.

Then one day, the boy broke the relationship off. For absolutely no reason, it seemed. He even cut off all contact. He changed numbers, wouldn't answer her calls, her emails, her letters. He wouldn't agree to talk to her, or even meet up with her. He just suddenly went away.

The girl was still in love with him, and was hurt and confused by his sudden defection. Was there a third party? Did she do or say anything wrong? What happened?

Months stretched to a year. And then longer. Still, the boy refused to speak with her or contact her. She was devastated.

One day, she calls his home again. The boy's mom answered.

"Ma, please tell me what's wrong? Please... You said you love me like your own daughter. I still am waiting for him. I don't want to be married to any other person but him."

"My dear," she answers. "You're young. Go meet other boys. Live your life."

"But please tell me what happened. Please."

Finally, his mom relents. "Honey, he died. It was brain cancer. The moment he found out, that was when he broke off with you. He didn't want to hurt you, that's why he didn't tell you he had cancer. He didn't want this burden on you. He passed away six months ago. I'm really sorry, anak."

That was the story. The girl tells the DJ: "I can't forgive him! I love him so much! How come he didn't trust me enough to tell me? I could have been there to take care of him! I could have shared his pain! How come he didn't trust me to be strong for him?" Then she breaks down and sobs.

It was silent for a long moment. Then the DJ said, "There's no use being angry at him. There's no use. He's dead. No matter how angry you are, nothing can bring him back. You have to move on. You have to live. You have to forgive him. Whatever his reasons are for keeping that from you, let them rest with him. Let him go. You only hurt yourself."

And then this stupid DJ plays "Calling your name again" which was the song Richard Carpenter wrote as a tribute to his sister. Thank God I had my jacket then, not only because of the air-conditioning at the bus but because I had something available to put over my face as the tears filled my eyes and flowed down my cheeks.

Amazing grace

When I think about God's grace long enough, like really spend time meditating on it, I weep. It happens mostly at church, while listening to the Sunday message. It happens when I spend enough time with the Bible. It also happens at odd times. I may be walking down the street or riding the bus and there! It hits me, and I cry. I cry because, immersed in God's grace, I am filled with gratitude for Him. Realizing I don't deserve what I already have and the blessings yet to come, I am humbled and grateful.

I wish I can say I am filled with love for Him, but that's not always the case. Sometimes I don't know if I love God. Like really love Him. Sometimes I feel that I love Him. But I know feelings are fleeting. Sometimes, when I do ministry, I don't necessarily feel any emotional attachment to Him. How does God know that I love Him? How do I know that I love Him?

These passages come to mind: "If you love me," Jesus is speaking, "you will obey what I command."

And then there's King Amaziah who did what was pleasing in the LORD's sight, but not wholeheartedly.

So how do I know if I love God with my whole heart and soul and mind and strength? I'm sure only the Holy Spirit can tell for sure.

But I was talking about God's grace. It brings me to tears because each time it hits me, I realize how much I don't deserve it. First, I am a sinner. Not only that, I am a sinner from an island in the Far East. I have not a drop of Jewish blood in me. And yet, Gentile sinner that I am, Jesus shed His blood for me before I was even born. God has already provided the Way for my salvation. Now my family has come to worship Him.

Grace is being given something undeserved. No strings attached. Being shown kindness when you've been unkind. Being helped when you can't give anything back in return. That's what happened at Calvary many years ago. I deserve to die because I am a sinner but Jesus, the sinless Lamb of God, died in my place. He took my sins upon Him. And He placed His righteousness upon me. Plus, I get to spend eternity with Him.

God's grace also shows up in amazing ways. Ondoy came and we got hit. (One day, I'll be able to tell the story, when the trauma has abated. I promise you. The story will glorify God.) Months after Ondoy, I am having a hard time writing. It wasn't so easy as before. There's a clog, a plug, a block. Writing for me now feels like banging my head on the wall, asking for inspiration, as if the words will come out when I have banged my head sufficiently enough that the blood breaks through my skin. I realize, this difficulty, is God's grace, too.

Suzanne, a friend of mine, who got flooded, too, years ago and lost everything she owned then, tells me to take it easy. An artist herself, she tells me it took her at least three months before she was able to try returning to the routine of daily writing. She said I shouldn't jump the gun. This seeming writer's block I'm going through is normal.

God knows me. God knows I will strive and strive to write. He also knows that if I couldn't write with ease as I am wont, I would punish myself severely. Left on my own I would push myself to get things back to normal sooner rather than in its own time; rushing for results instead of taking stock, taking it slowly, allowing myself to heal after the tragedy. God's grace shows up by limiting my creative output so I don't damage myself unnecessarily. I am forced to be still, to stoke up energy, to enjoy His presence.

God's grace also shows up when, at the crucial time, creativity flows. Just now I was asked to collaborate for two Christmas presentations, one for kids, one for grown-ups, both evangelistic. I would have loved to say "No, not now, I'm convalescing. I am currently blocked right now. Go ask somebody else..." but then there is in me the longing to do this for Jesus, and to minister to people.

So I say yes to these opportunities to share the Gospel. And here, suddenly, in a situation where I need to create with my broken artist's spirit, I turn to God. I went for a morning walk, and there met God's grace.

His Spirit spoke, "Call Ophel. Ask her if she's willing to shelf her script for the moment. Suggest to do Luke 15. Now, email NxtGen and tell them your concept for the Celebration. Tell them it's a collaboration. Everyone will give their input..." I get creative ideas again. The Director is giving this actor directions again. He is letting His voice be heard like before. That is God's grace in my book.

I go online and I get to chat and open my heart to my brother. I tell him about some resentments, fears, doubts. I feed on his faith and am strengthened. That is grace, too.

And yes, I am moved to tears.

Mother of pearl

I read this from The Artist's Way at Work, Riding the Dragon by Mark Bryan:

"Creative blocks are anything that we use to lessen our anxieties, our ability to stay in the 'empty bowl.' These behaviors keep us from effectively using our energies...

"To be able to create, we must be willing to learn how to quiet our minds, feel our emotions, and stay in the vacuum so the ideas can well up from our deepest place of knowing."

This has got to be the bedrock of all the lessons I needed to learn this year. To be able to silence the mind that says, "Play some Pet Society for a while..." "You're hungry, go get something to eat!" "Wouldn't a choco-filled doughnut be scrumptious at this time?" when the only thing I know I need to be doing is writing.

I need to learn to stay with the anxiety of unknowing or whatever and from there, to sit down and write or memorize lines. It's tough, but it's as real as my skin. It's always easier to tune out when faced with the empty bowl. Ah, there's a phrase: cop out.

The ego does not want this. The ego wants to take control, and if we let it, we lose control.

I think that's why years ago, when Ate Imee was teaching me to write, she said, "Think of a problem--a problem in society--that you want to address. One that personally affects you. One that you want to say something about." When I do this all sorts of feelings, often uncomfortable, come up. I shouldn't be afraid of these feelings. They're me. It's what Bill Hybels called a "holy discontent," a passion that should be stoked, not quenched.

Then, finally, I know just to shut up and sit down and write and ride my mind. I can't go, "That's too unpleasant. I feel sad thinking about that. Maybe I'll get a bar of chocolate." I can't create that way. I'll only get lazy.

Who said we can't create out of disharmony? Who said it won't be painful? Even God created order out of chaos, everything out of nothing. In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep. God didn't go traipsing off somewhere else more pleasant. Instead, the Spirit of God hovered over the waters.

Then God said, "Let there be light." God didn't tune out. He tuned in. From Him we artists must take our cue.

Pearls are formed when an irritant, say a small shrimp, enters the soft tissue inside a mollusk such as an oyster. The oyster then coats this irritant, often a parasite, with a substance called nacre. This becomes the "mother of pearl." Over time, this hardens and we get a round, iridescent gemstone that is the pearl.

Mother of pearl. What a telling phrase. So, too, that our Motherland is called the Pearl of the Orient Seas. Do we need to wonder why it is when the irritant enters into the vulnerable insides of the oyster and not bumped off by its hard shell that the pearls are formed?

Life is full of intruders. Our tough exteriors can bump them off. Artists do something else. They allow life to reach into their vulnerable souls--that soft part in them where their personal nacre is--and from there, create their art.

Why structure is important to language

Joed Rea was the tallest boy in my fourth grade class. He was a firefighter volunteer. At first I didn't believe it even if he showed his firefighters ID. How could anyone be in grade school and have a job already? I was convinced he was lying. I told myself not to believe anything Rea said.

I was in fourth grade when I discovered writing. I'd buy spring notebooks and in them I wrote ghost stories, monster stories, detective stories, mystery stories, with a cover page and illustrations. I went wild about it. I mean, absolutely wild.

So did my classmates. Suddenly there was Rico, writing stories more exciting and fun to read than My Readers Book 4. What's more, I didn't end any of my stories with, "What's the lesson learned here? What's the moral? What's the theme?" I didn't even need to finish a story before my classmates devoured it. They'd ask, "Is it done yet?" I'll say, "I'm done with a chapter," and then they would read and pass around the notebook. I'd get it back later with them asking, "Then what happened? Write some more."

This happened for sometime until one day Rea (we called him by his last name) came up to me and said, "In your next story I want to be the monster." I thought he was kidding. Why would anyone want to be the bad guy in a story?

I did write Rea out to be a flesh-eating aswang in my next story. Halfway through the story, he said, "Each time a character says something, put quotation marks and start a new paragraph. That way it won't be confusing to read."

I said, "What?"

"That's how it's done in our books."

I looked and he was right. That was when I started to believe in Rea. It was a kindness that he came up to me and showed me what my work needed. That incident also started me on a journey of careful reading. No more was I reading our assignments just to be able to answer the teacher's questions that followed. I was really digging. I thought how come other writers tell stories better than others? How come there are characters and plots I can never forget, that make me sad or laugh? I noticed words for what they are, in their dignity and weight. I noticed choice of words, turns of phrase, punctuation marks. I took parts of speech and figurative language to heart. And as I read more, I wrote more. I wrote and I wrote, into high school, through college, and even after I dropped out of University. I went on writing.

Second year high school, I saw Rea on a noisy firetruck as it chased a blazing fire in the city. He was a firefighter after all! I yelled, "Hey, Rea!" but the sirens drowned out my voice. But I already believed he was one. I've believed it for years. Ever since he talked to me about quotation marks and paragraph indention, I believed him.

Korporasyon Corpse

Hello, hello po! May tao po ba diyan?

Wala, halimaw lang. Matakaw.
Lalamunin ko ang utak mo.
Barya-barya isusukli sa'yo.

Hello, hello po! May kailangan po ako.
Gatas ng anak ko, pambayad sa landlord at ilaw.
Gamitan tayo. Ako tao, ikaw halimaw.
Talino ko pamalit sa salapi mo.

Hello, hello po! Please lang, sumagot.

Rawr! Gusto ko ang iniisip mo.
Kakainin kita, paunti-unti.
`Di mo mamamalayan
Ang aking pagbabate.
`Di mo mamamalayan
Akin ka na.
Ang iyong utak at kaluluwa.
Magsasama ako ng kapwa ko demonyo
Unti-unti naming iisa-isahin kayo
Naglalaway, nagjajakol,
Kumakalam sa singit

Barya lang ba hanap mo?
Marami niyan ako.
Kailangan ko ang utak mo.
Payamanin mo ako.

At pag-ika'y nanguya
At tuluyang mawala
Parang buto ng fried chicken
Ika'y iluluwa.
Magdiriwang ang mga diablo
Sa kumpanyang ito
Ikaw ay pawawalan
Na payat at buto-buto.

Tao po, tao po... Mamamasukan lang.
Marunong akong sumunod
Sa H.R. at sa memo
May maipakain lang
Sa sanggol at asawa ko.

Tao po... Tao po...

The Power of Fear: Lauren Ambrose

I know Lauren Ambrose. She's the cute, chubby, wallflower girl in the teen movie Can't Hardly Wait. I watched it more times than I care to admit. Can't help it. The movie came out during my senior year in high school. Or around that time. Maybe it came out weeks after our graduation. Can't remember. (IMDB says 1998.)

Well, Lauren, like me, has grown up. And in her craft, too, admirably. I am grateful that she articulated something I have always felt about acting and taking on a new role. Read on.

The Power of Fear: Lauren Ambrose
(reposted from Oprah.com)

At first glance, Lauren Ambrose's dewy face and doe eyes suggest an innocent naïveté. But anyone familiar with her devastating performances knows that her exterior belies an extraordinary intensity and a preternatural ability to convey the humanity of her characters. Best known for her Emmy-nominated role in the HBO drama Six Feet Under, Ambrose, 31, recently wowed audiences in a Broadway production of the Eugène Ionesco play Exit the King, and can be heard in the film adaptation of Where the Wild Things Are in October. Here, she pulls back the curtain on her favorite emotion:

I enjoy playing roles that push me to my absolute capacity, emotionally and physically—that feel like a leap of faith. I often take a role without knowing what I'm supposed to do, what's required of me. Figuring that out is a process, and for me that process starts with fear.

Every single time I begin a job I think, "I'm a fraud. I'm going to get fired. What am I doing here? They're going to find me out." But you can't tell yourself you shouldn't feel that way, because that doesn't help. What helps is really living with what it feels like to be that afraid, and beginning from there. The fear is the way through.

You can't deny, either in life or as an actor, what's really going on. So even though I might be playing the most confident person in the world, if I'm ready to throw up with nerves, that fear has to be present somehow. I think I need it—that daunting feeling like I'm looking up at Mount Everest. It's what lets me go into rehearsal without expecting anything. But I also know that through diligence, and not letting the fear take over, something will come. I love that feeling, like jumping off a cliff—it's a big, powerful, enlivening, animal feeling. I think, "What will come up, what will come out, if I really relinquish? What real, live thing can happen in the room, and go into the art we're making?" That's what's truly scary, but also such a thrill.

Promises

One reason children become bitter toward their parents is broken promises. Parents make promises to their children they do not or could not keep. I love my parents, but they're not perfect. Still, I can learn from them. Now that I am a parent, both to my daughter Dana and to my inner artist child, I must not make any promises to them that I don't intend to keep.

I think promising an artist date and then not showing up would break my inner child's heart.

I was, I think, 8 or 9... maybe 10, when the "Zyklone Loop" came out in the Philippines. That was the first roller coaster here that had a 360-degree loop. I wanted to get on it. I wanted to experience my feet being thrown over my head!

I asked my Dad if he would take me to Star City (the theme park) and so I can ride the Zyklone Loop. He said yes. This never happened, though. Every year I would wait and wait if the promise would be fulfilled. I only stopped waiting when I was in high school, when I decided that roller coasters were childish stuff.

Not that I'm bitter towards Dad because of one broken promise, but at that time, I do remember being severely disappointed. But I never told him about it.

It was December 31, 1999. I was 17 or 18 at the time. I stepped out of Sofitel (then Westiin Philippine Plaza) giddy after having seen Lea Salonga in person for the first time. Unable to find a cab because it was close to midnight, I found myself buying a ticket to Star City. I was alone. My family had gone home to visit Grandma and was expecting me to follow. I thought, I had to spend the turn of the millennium alone, I might as well do it in the theme park. Lo and behold, I found the Zyklone Loop. It was rusty, rickety, dangerous-looking. I thought, heck, why not? I have been at that point been on the Space Shuttle countless times and wasn't scared one bit. So I thought I might as well ride this one that looks like its nuts and bolts are gonna give with each ride.

I did it. I rode the Zyklone Loop. Never mind that I was no longer the kid that I was with a daredevil's smile. Never mind that Dad wasn't there watching his son trying to be brave.

While being flipped over, I thought of Dad, waiting for me in Grandma's house. Then I smiled.

A Tale of Two Warriors

There are two kinds of warriors. There's only one prize, but it's enough for all. That treasure is guarded by the troll who lives under the bridge.

The first warrior sees the troll. It is his enemy. He lashes at it, but the troll fells him. He hits the floor and stays there. Then he raises a fist to the skies and whines, "It's not fair. The whole world is against me. It's keeping me from getting what's rightfully mine."

The second warrior is different. He sees the troll as his friend. Not a nice friend, but an honest, selfless friend. He charges at it, and the troll easily throws him down. He gets up and charges again. He falls again. And again. And again. Each time, he'd get up, and attack the troll. Every time the troll simply brushes him off like a fly on the cheek.

Battered, bruised, blistered, he braces himself again. With what remains of him, he charges at the troll. His strength is thinning, but his resolve remains solid.

The first warrior, still on the floor, thinks his companion is foolish. The second warrior agrees with him but keeps trying anyway. The first warrior's whines get stronger, louder. The second warrior's mind and body get stronger and sharper. As he becomes stronger, he becomes worthier to take hold of the treasure. The troll knows this. The troll sees this. The troll waits for the right time. When it comes, the troll simply steps out of the way and let's the warrior through. It becomes satisfied, knowing that the treasure is won by someone who will not give it up easily.

The second warrior finds the treasure chest. His heart seemed ready to burst. Then he finds he has not the key. Another troll arises from deep in the woods. The key is between its teeth.

The second warrior rises to his feet. He still needs to prove his mettle. He needs to show just how much he wanted the treasure. With a coy smile, he charges at the second troll.

Tonight

The air is pregnant and humid.
The night is warm like late afternoon.

I hope for a cool breeze
and stare at the half-moon
yellow as my teeth.
I claw at Fate for a chance
to see you again.

Disrobed, I stand
naked with emotion

despair, longing, desire, anger,
lust, burning, wishing, gratitude,
consignment, acceptance, loathing, love

Perhaps to embrace each one
as real and part of me
and grant them the right
of passage through my belly
till they scorch a moon-shaped hole
through my chest.

The teachers of my life

Here are mine:

Eric Morris. I never studied directly under Eric Morris. I have read his five books on acting, and that's as far as any instruction I can ever get from him. I have never attended a workshop that faithfully taught his system. That's okay. The truth is, you don't learn acting from books. Still, Morris is a force in my life. His unquenchable quest for truth in acting is something I strive for in my work. He teaches emotional honesty and the value of daily hard work.

I am a bad student of Morris's. I have never learned sense memory or how to use it in my stage or scene work. I do know it works, though. I once was given a single white rose by a lover. Thrilled, I sniffed it all day. I fell in love with the fragrance of that rose. Without any effort to sense memorize its scent, I kept putting it up my nose for pure pleasure. A week later, when the rose is dead and dried up, I was watching TV. It was the Avon Color commercial with Lea Salonga. Suddenly, a bouquet of red roses bursts out of nowhere, and I smelled it. I was watching the flowers on TV, but their fragrance filled my nose!

I might have abandoned his lessons on and off for years but I keep going back to BEING and relaxation exercises, and relationship exercises, and inner and outer awareness. These have helped me tremendously. Eric set me up on a journey towards a creative discovery and honesty in craft. He piqued my curiosity and opened my eyes to the possibility of being absolutely truthful on the stage, and to get to that it involves a lot of daily work.

Julia Cameron. The Artist's Way is pivotal for me. Where Morris was extremely pragmatic, Cameron was that, too, and also spiritual. I still do my morning pages. I'm due for an artist date today. I learned how to nurture myself because of JC. Most importantly, I learned to humbly ask for God's help whenever I'm out on a creative task, and whenever I run dry.

Natalie Goldberg. I learned vipassana meditation from S.N. Goenka, but Nat showed me another form of meditation: writing practice. I am on it now and it keeps me off my lazy butt pushing pen onto the page. I am a writer, yes, but also a human being. That's what I learned from her. Morris lit the torch for my acting, Goldberg did the same for my writing, Cameron was the glue that gelled both together. Strangely, my writing affects my acting. This is a recent discovery, and I"ll be exploring more of it for years, God-willing.

Thanks, Nat, for showing me another path. You're a trailblazer.

Anton Juan. I'm biased but Sir A is my favorite professor of all time. Morris, Cameron, Goldberg were absentee teachers. I learned from them through their books. But Anton Juan was present for me. You stand beside him and he is there, present with all his being. He showed me how integrity is the most important trait of the artist. He taught me this by living it. He taught me with his work, with his life. He will forever be a cherished teacher and a good friend. It's a great privilege to have been in your classes.

Emerita Tagal. Mrs. Tagal taught Literature in my high school. I wonder if she's still there, awakening and cracking open young minds to the beauty and majesty of world literature. I hope so. I looked at the website and I am pretty sure that's her in the picture: http://www.sja.edu.ph/services.htm. But here's a secret: I saw her one afternoon reading a Robert Ludlum novel. I thought, "Ludlum's not part of our reading assignments. Why, he's a suspense writer!" Then a synapse connected in my brain. You mean we can read books that aren't in the reading list? We can read just for the pure pleasure of it? The answer is a resounding Yes!

Without Mrs. Tagal I would not have pursued the art of the written or spoken word. I fell in love with literature, whether between the covers of a book, or on stage in the theater, because of that one day when I saw Mrs. Tagal enjoying a suspense novel.

Jonathan Bradford. Pastor Jonathan has something only gifted teachers have: the power to inspire his students to learn and study on their own. He told us of how when he was young he'd study the Scriptures, and still does so today. He reads the Bible out of pure love for its Author. He teaches with humility, clarity, and authority. After his classes on Basic Doctrine and Bible Interpretation, I never read the Bible the old way again: haphazardly, nonchalantly. Now I take out my tools and dig, dig, dig until I get to the jewels. Pastor Jonathan, when we get to heaven, I'm sure your crown will have many, many jewels.

Melvin Lee. Now I have to add Teacher Melvin to this list. He plays Chelsea in PETA's Care Divas. He also taught Basic Acting in PETA's Summer Workshop in 2011. The greatest thing he's taught me, and our class for that matter, is the value of balance. Moderation. Living life fully both on the stage and off. His immortal words to me are: Relax, okay? Be grateful for the idea of participating in the drama called life. A toast to you, Sir Melvin. You made a fan of my wife, too!

There they are. The teachers of my life. They say when you find one teacher who enriches your life forever, consider yourself lucky. Well, I've had more than one.

How about you? Who are the teachers of your life?

At Burger King with friends

I was at Burger King with two friends. BK has this promo that if you upsize your drink and fries or onion rings, you get a free burger. That's a little too much for my appetite, grease and cholesterol and all, and here I am trying to cut down. I am sure I'd be unable to finish my X-tra Long American Chicken Sandwich with free Whopper Jr.

I'm not a huge fan of Burger King's foods, but there's free wi-fi, movie (right now it's Harry Potter 4: Goblet of Fire), massage, even shoeshine. The crew are friendly, too. I've been here one time too often and they smile with familiarity. "There's the writer," they seem to say. They already know I prefer onion rings to French fries and write for hours in my notebook.

Halfway through the meal and some writing, Jojo said, "Don't look now, but there's a street kid knocking at the glass. Look away." We were seated near the doors where the ramp for the disabled goes up and around the store. Beside that is the drive-through.

Jeanette quietly reached out for her half-eaten sandwich, wrapped it up in the wax paper, and with the back of her hand, pushed the glass door slightly open enough for one little grimy hand to reach for it.

"It's against the law to give coins to these kids," Jojo kindly advised.

"It's a sandwich. I've no coins to spare," Jeanette laughed. "Besides, I'm really full."

"The point is, we shouldn't encourage them. They hang around here until the guard shoos them away. Where are the parents? They should be doing something. That's why the government dissuades us from giving alms. It encourages the wrong things."

I thought Jojo must be right. We were discussing virgin coconut oil on the way here and I was eager to go back to the discussion.

"Until the government or anyone gets these kids off the streets into proper homes, I'll share what I can spare."

"Hindi naman mauubos yang mga `yan, eh."

I didn't want to join the argument. But as I looked, the young boy unwrapped the sandwich like it's the highlight of his day. He caught me looking. I couldn't hear from inside but he said, "Salamat po." I pried my eyes away and looked at the E. Rodriguez Ave. traffic outside. The weather was bleak--a welcome break from months of dry heat.

Two students walked by and gave their baon pizza to the boy. Then another street kid came. They shared the loot. I noticed both of them wore over-sized T-shirts that said "Like Mike for Mayor." Another customer from Burger King stood up and gave the kids a plastic cup of water each. The kids sat along the ramp in an instant picnic. They carried plastic bags filled with empty C2 Tea bottles. The guard found them and shooed them away. They quickly gathered their plastic bottles and food and left.

I wish I took Jojo's advice and looked away. But why should I? I'm no better person than those boys. They are, like me, human beings. I am, like them, a sinner in need of a Savior. The guard was only doing his job. If God has a purpose for everyone on this earth, what He have in mind for these children?

Later, the boy came up again to our glass again and begged for my large Coke. I didn't bother to look away. I took my last sip of Coke. The boy can have the rest. The manager came out and chased him away.

The ramp was empty afterward, devoid of interesting life to watch.

This crazy little love affair with writing

I love reading writers who are exact: they use the exact words/phrases to convey exactly what they mean. They are deliberate in their expression and intentional in their word choice. When they are equivocal, they are decidedly equivocal.

I love it when I'm able to write this way.

I love it when I am able to write, period.

Here are some things writers said about writing:

Not to lie, ever, in writing a novel, that is my goal. To keep pushing for what feels like the ultimate truth. I don't have an elaborate conscious sense of the truth, so much as a sense of what is genuine. I write in order to exist; not to feel like a monster. I write to be human. ~ Anne Rice

The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say. ~Anaïs Nin

If there's a book you really want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it. ~Toni Morrison

Substitute "damn" every time you're inclined to write "very;" your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be. ~Mark Twain

Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart. ~William Wordsworth

The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible. ~Vladimir Nabakov

Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass. ~Anton Chekhov

If my doctor told me I had only six minutes to live, I wouldn't brood. I'd type a little faster. ~Isaac Asimov

The most beautiful things are those that madness prompts and reason writes. ~André Gide, Journals, 1894

Every author in some way portrays himself in his works, even if it be against his will. ~Goethe

I want to write books that unlock the traffic jam in everybody's head. ~John Updike

If you want to get rich from writing, write the sort of thing that's read by persons who move their lips when they're reading to themselves. ~Don Marquis

Ink on paper is as beautiful to me as flowers on the mountains; God composes, why shouldn't we? ~Terri Guillemets

Write down the thoughts of the moment. Those that come unsought for are commonly the most valuable. ~Francis Bacon

Be obscure clearly. ~E.B. White

What no wife of a writer can ever understand is that a writer is working when he's staring out of the window. ~Burton Rascoe

Writers are not just people who sit down write. They hazard themselves. Every time you compose a book your composition of yourself is stake. ~E.L. Doctorow

How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live. ~Henry David Thoreau, Journal, 19 August 1851

Words - so innocent and powerless as they are, as standing in a dictionary, how potent for good and evil they become in the hands of one who knows how to combine them. ~Nathaniel Hawthorne

When I write, I'm conscious of creating a world in which I want to live and breathe; and when violence inevitably enters into that world, when things go wrong, when bad things happen, I don't feel I can fully control it anymore than I can accept it. I strive for authenticity and courage. ~ Anne Rice

Lost!

I have a beautiful edition of C.S. Lewis's The Complete Chronicles of Narnia published by Harper Collins. For the life of me, I can't find it anywhere. It was a birthday gift from my ex-girlfriend Marivic, now my wife. I can't find it in any of my bookshelves.

Did I forget it in a metal cabinet in a company I used to work for? Did we leave it behind when we moved out of Meridian because of Ondoy? Did I lend it to someone who has no plans to return it? (Warning to booklovers out there: Never, ever, lend your books. Ever.) I feel like a kid who misplaced a cherished toy. (I heard Toy Story 3 is a great movie. Must watch it with the Mrs.)

So I prayed, "God, You know everything. You know where my Narnia book is. Please help me find it. Please?"

From July 26 to August 5, Veck and I will be in Indonesia, doing community work for the ethnic groups there, and ministering and equiping the missionaries already living among the people groups. It will be a great time to learn and experience how it is to be a missionary. I believe the Lord will move mightily in our lives and transform us during and after that trip. Our eyes will be opened to the great need to fulfill Christ's commission to make disciples of all nations.

By God's grace and provision, the amount we needed to raise, which is P60,000.00, is now down to P32,000.00. God has used many men and women who generously gave financial support for this mission trip. Now, we are praying for 32 individuals who will pledge P1,000.00 each for the balance we needed to raise. We need to send in the P60,000.00 by July 15. We continue to trust the God who created everything out of nothing and owns the Universe to provide for us. We trust that the Holy Spirit will touch the hearts of at least 32 people to give to the missions.

God said, "The longing you feel for your lost book cannot compare to the longing I have for the lost. My Son has died for their sins. Please tell them about Jesus."

I thank God that I experienced this loss of a cherished book, at least to give me a miniature sense of what He feels for the Muslims and the Buddhists and the Hindus and all the people all over the world whom He loves.

I was at a church once (I'm not saying which) during an evening prayer gathering. The speaker talked about how a family was praying for the salvation of a loved one, the father, the head of the family. They have been praying for years. Still, the father refused to receive Jesus. God gave the speaker an opportunity to share the Gospel with this man. By God's grace, he received Jesus into his heart. Amen! In a few days, he passed away due to illness. But the bereaved were at peace. They know they'll be together with him again because of Jesus.

I applauded when I heard that story. Jesus saved a person from eternal damnation! And just in time! Woohoo! Jesus the Savior does it again!

Can I tell you that I was the only one clapping in that gathering of about a hundred people? No one else applauded. I was a bit embarrassed by my enthusiasm. I thought, well the angels are partying in Heaven for this man who repented. I just wanted to join in the fun.

The speaker then went on to tell the story of how his child needed money (for enrollment, or something I now forget) and God provided in the nick of time! It was another miracle. This time the whole congregation applauded.

Okay, c'mon. Yes, the Lord deserves to be praised. The Lord is our Provider. He is a great God. It is absolutely normal for people to get excited with stories of God's provision. But for people not to be excited about a sinner ushered into Heaven because of the work of Christ... that's scary. Have we become too familiar with these salvation stories that it's nothing new anymore?

I wanted to pray again for my Narnia book, so that I can find it or at least remember where it was, but then I thought people are more important than books. Besides, when we get to Heaven, I can ask God for a copy. Maybe the hardbound covers will be made of pure gold, and the glossy paper will never fade or age or get dusty. So I prayed for the lost. I prayed for the people who have never placed their faith in Jesus for their salvation. I prayed that somehow, God uses me to reach out to them.

But God knows my heart. He is my Daddy after all. He knows I want my book back. And He wants me to be full of joy. That's one of His fruits... joy.

I found my Narnia book. Right here, at home... on top of our wardrobe.

I am here online announcing it to the whole world! I found my Narnia book! I lost it, but now I have it back! Hooray! Do me a favor. Read Luke 15. That's exactly how I feel. Party! Just like how God and all of Heaven feels when a sinner repents.

Lost!

I have a beautiful edition of C.S. Lewis's The Complete Chronicles of Narnia published by Harper Collins. For the life of me, I can't find it anywhere. It was a birthday gift from my ex-girlfriend Marivic, now my wife. I can't find it in any of my bookshelves.

Did I forget it in a metal cabinet in a company I used to work for? Did we leave it behind when we moved out of Meridian because of Ondoy? Did I lend it to someone who has no plans to return it? (Warning to booklovers out there: Never, ever, lend your books. Ever.) I feel like a kid who misplaced a cherished toy. (I heard Toy Story 3 is a great movie. Must watch it with the Mrs.)

So I prayed, "God, You know everything. You know where my Narnia book is. Please help me find it. Please?"

From July 26 to August 5, Veck and I will be in Indonesia, doing community work for the ethnic groups there, and ministering and equiping the missionaries already living among the people groups. It will be a great time to learn and experience how it is to be a missionary. I believe the Lord will move mightily in our lives and transform us during and after that trip. Our eyes will be opened to the great need to fulfill Christ's commission to make disciples of all nations.

By God's grace and provision, the amount we needed to raise, which is P60,000.00, is now down to P32,000.00. God has used many men and women who generously gave financial support for this mission trip. Now, we are praying for 32 individuals who will pledge P1,000.00 each for the balance we needed to raise. We need to send in the P60,000.00 by July 15. We continue to trust the God who created everything out of nothing and owns the Universe to provide for us. We trust that the Holy Spirit will touch the hearts of at least 32 people to give to the missions.

God said, "The longing you feel for your lost book cannot compare to the longing I have for the lost. My Son has died for their sins. Please tell them about Jesus."

I thank God that I experienced this loss of a cherished book, at least to give me a miniature sense of what He feels for the Muslims and the Buddhists and the Hindus and all the people all over the world whom He loves.

I was at a church once (I'm not saying which) during an evening prayer gathering. The speaker talked about how a family was praying for the salvation of a loved one, the father, the head of the family. They have been praying for years. Still, the father refused to receive Jesus. God gave the speaker an opportunity to share the Gospel with this man. By God's grace, he received Jesus into his heart. Amen! In a few days, he passed away due to illness. But the bereaved were at peace. They know they'll be together with him again because of Jesus.

I applauded when I heard that story. Jesus saved a person from eternal damnation! And just in time! Woohoo! Jesus the Savior does it again!

Can I tell you that I was the only one clapping in that gathering of about a hundred people? No one else applauded. I was a bit embarrassed by my enthusiasm. I thought, well the angels are partying in Heaven for this man who repented. I just wanted to join in the fun.

The speaker then went on to tell the story of how his child needed money (for enrollment, or something I now forget) and God provided in the nick of time! It was another miracle. This time the whole congregation applauded.

Okay, c'mon. Yes, the Lord deserves to be praised. The Lord is our Provider. He is a great God. It is absolutely normal for people to get excited with stories of God's provision. But for people not to be excited about a sinner ushered into Heaven because of the work of Christ... that's scary. Have we become too familiar with these salvation stories that it's nothing new anymore?

I wanted to pray again for my Narnia book, so that I can find it or at least remember where it was, but then I thought people are more important than books. Besides, when we get to Heaven, I can ask God for a copy. Maybe the hardbound covers will be made of pure gold, and the glossy paper will never fade or age or get dusty. So I prayed for the lost. I prayed for the people who have never placed their faith in Jesus for their salvation. I prayed that somehow, God uses me to reach out to them.

But God knows my heart. He is my Daddy after all. He knows I want my book back. And He wants me to be full of joy. That's one of His fruits... joy.

I found my Narnia book. Right here, at home... on top of our wardrobe.

I am here online announcing it to the whole world! I found my Narnia book! I lost it, but now I have it back! Hooray! Do me a favor. Read Luke 15. That's exactly how I feel. Party! Just like how God and all of Heaven feels when a sinner repents.

Remembering IFF

The play, Information for Foreigners, is about the fascist regime in Argentina and as it turns out, the playwright, Griselda Gambaro, never allowed it to be staged in Argentina for fear for her family members. There have been several workshops and scene studies of the play in Argentina and in drama schools all over the world, but never has the play been staged the way it was written... performed in a house or warehouse (in our case a whole building) where audiences are ushered by tour guides (I'm a tour guide in the play) from one scene to the next. So for the duration of the play the audience is on its feet, walking up and down hallways and stairs and ushered into rooms to witness a scene.

So, yeah. I'm very proud to have been part of the world premiere of Information for Foreigners.

I was a mess before the start of the show... a total bundle of nerves, even crying and all that. I received some bad news about a friend, which really brought my spirits down. I needed to clear me up for the play, so I did writing, prayer, centering.

Thank you, everyone, for sending positive energy my way!

And thanks to Joel, Yayo, "Steph," Mr. Teodoro the businessman, and the rest of my tour group. So yeah, you all made theatre history, too. Cheers!

It's 21 September, the anniversary of the declaration of Martial Law in the Philippines, so I expect tonight's performance will have added weight to it. May God's Spirit keep us.

Finally, to all the families of desaparecidos, may the Spirit of God bring you comfort and healing. The God of justice shall be your Mighty Defender.

How Julia Cameron's "The Artist's Way" helped me in characterization

I want to briefly talk about some TAW tools I used for the last play I was in last year.

One friend commented:

"Knowing you and knowing it was you, your role confused me a little in the beginning. By about ten minutes into the evening though I actually forgot it was you! I can't think of a greater accomplishment or compliment for an actor. Thank you so much for this evening and your seemingly effortless indifference."

(My role and job was to be indifferent to the other characters throughout the play. I play a Tour Guide that ushers the audience from one room to another where they see scenes of torture, and I comment and explain the scenes nonchalantly.)

One other friend exchanged sms with me:

RICO: How did you like Information for Foreigners?
FRIEND: It was pretty intense. I didn't know you watched it, too.
RICO: That was you with Ping, right? (Ping's a famous TV actor here.)
FRIEND: Yes. I didn't see you, though. Too bad! I didn't know we watched on the same evening.
RICO: I'm sure you saw me. You couldn't have not seen me. I was wearing this tall hat with glowing brains spilling from the top. And striped shirt and pants.
FRIEND: Gasp! You were our tour guide! OMG! You were our tour guide! Hahahaha! I can't stop laughing! Of course you were our tour guide! I didn't recognize you! Hahahaha!

Well, haha. That's what happened. I really don't have a theory on acting, except to read the script at least a hundred times and to listen to the director. I don't have anything against acting theories and they have their function in today's theatre. For example, it has almost become a backstage joke when actors suddenly fall quiet and say, "Wait lang. Nag-be-being lang ako," in reference to Eric Morris. I do know it works for some actors. And there's lots out there: Stanislavsky, Uta Hagen, Don Richardson, Judith Weston... The trouble happens when the actor becomes more concerned with servicing his acting school/method/teacher rather than servicing the material and his audience.

But here's how The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron helped me, though.

1. Morning pages show directions to take the play to the edge... attacks and choices I would normally not think of on my own.
2. Artist dates trigger synchronicity.
3. Imaginary Lives. Remember this in Week 1? I put in "Mad Tour Guide" as an imaginary life, and go on from there.
4. Image Files. I pull images here and there, pictures of what I think would show up in my character's thought life and dreams.
5. "Just show up." Whenever my resistance is up and the last thing I want to do is to go to rehearsals, I remind myself to just show up the way I do for morning pages when the last thing I want to do is to get up and write.
6. Affirmations. Our arsenal. Woot! Affirmations work. Three I used for Information for Foreigners are: "I am big inside and I can let that out" ... "God is holding me and I am safe" ... "I believe in this play. I believe in what I say."
7. The Virtue Trap Quiz. When circumstances prop up against me, I immediately recognize this as the virtue trap, wanting to leverage me back to old scarcity thinking and defeatist behavior. I wake up and plunge on with the work I need to do.

TAW has taken me further into my Christian faith. Now we don't have to be Christian for TAW's tools to work. I just think that TAW allows us to be truer and truer to our individual truths... TAW drives us gently into who we really are. We become who we really are, whatever it is... Christian, agnostic, Buddhist, Moslem, father, mother, husband, spouse, child, and ultimately, artist.

Borrowed story: A glimpse of grace

There was a professor, he wanted to teach his students the meaning of grace. So on the final day of the exam, he got all the students all together.

“I am going to review the final exam.”

So they went through the test questions one by one. He asked them questions. Some of them could not answer then he asked them how come they don’t know the answer.

“Sir, I really don’t know.”

He said, “Turn to this page, it’s there.”

So they reviewed everything about the final exam. And then he said, “Now you are ready.” So he gave them their test papers.

“Don’t turn to the front page, do it together. Now, together, turn!”

They were surprised. Their names were written on the exam paper -in red. All the correct answers were written down.

At the last page there was a sentence. “This is your final exam and all the answers are correct. The creator of this exam has chosen to give you the answer, to give you grace. You all will get a grade A, because this is grace.” And he went to each student.

“What is your grade?”

The student said, “A.”

“Did you deserve it? Did you earn it?”

“ No.”

Then he asked the next student.

“What is your grade?”

“A.”

“Did you deserve it? Did you earn it?”

He asked each student.

“What is your grade?”

“A.”

“Why? Because you studied hard? Because you earned it? No, because it is grace.”

And at the end of the class he said, “Certain things in life you learn by lecture, and certain things in life you learn by research, but there are certain things in life you will only learn by experience. And today you just experienced grace.”

And he said, “100 years from now, when you see Jesus, you will know grace.”

When I stand before God someday, the report card that I will get will all be A’s. When I stand before God, the report card that God will show me will be all A’s. Why? Grace.

***

I heard this story and thought, "What a wonderful glimpse of grace." If I were a student in that class, I believe that will profoundly change how I treat other people. Having experienced kindness, we can be kind. Having experienced grace, we can become dispensers of it to others.

But suppose one of the student refuses and cries, "That's not fair! I worked hard for this exam. Give me whatever grade I deserve." I believe the professor would have to respect that student's wish. Now the student could've fair and square met the standards of his course and deserved an A. Or it could be a B- or a C. Whatever it is, he missed the point. He refused grace.

On matters of salvation, I would always choose grace. I cannot and will never be able to meet the standards of the Law. I will foul up sometime. Why, just this morning I flung murderous thoughts toward my boss.

Give me grace anytime. And let it so transform me that I can learn to give grace too, even to my boss with his unprofessional remarks, or to my officemate who sings on top of her lungs, or to the guy behind me who thinks he's a Greek actor and talks loud enough to be heard up the hills of Dyonisus. Or towards "family members" who have harmed my life and those of my loved ones. And even to a fallen leader who preyed upon the innocence and trust of a once-young man.

Give me that grace.

Borrowed Story: In life or elevators

I heard this story on K-Love radio:

I was stuck in the elevator between the fifth and sixth floors. I began panicking because I was alone. The elevator won't budge. I even called 911 to help me out. I began to be really scared and anxious, and then I thought to myself: "Wait a minute. God, why am I afraid? You are here with me."

Immediately the elevator started slowly descending and the elevator doors opened and let me out on the first floor. There were all sorts of people there looking out at me. The repairman came and yelled, "Is there anybody in there?"
I said, "I was in there." And he asked, "How did you get out?"

"I prayed."

And all the people looked at me as if I was crazy. (She laughs.) But it's true. You pray, you give God your faith, and He takes care of you.

Well, sometimes it takes for us to get stuck--in life or in elevators--to recognize how powerful God's love for us is. Prayer is the crazy option sometimes but it does put us in direct contact with the Creator of the Universe.

Pride stinks

I recently heard that pride is like body odor. If you have it, everyone around you knows except you. That was a revelation to me on many levels. When I heard it my face went like this: O_O

You mean a person with body odor doesn't know he stinks? What an awful fate that is! I always thought that it was that person's conscious decision to stink. I thought he decided that he's antisocial or mysoginistic that he swore never to take a shower or use a deodorant ever again. "I hate you, world! Here! Smell me!" Or maybe he hates the planet and so in expression of anti-environmentalism he decided to make his armpits his weapons of world pollution.

So then a person with B.O. doesn't know it? Wow. That's a whole new perspective for me. Has he not any friends who can tell him? That's not hard to imagine. But suppose he does have friends... don't you think they must tell? Or maybe they don't know because they have B.O. too and they're unconsciously outstinking each other?

Now I'm thinking about pride. The Bible says God is opposed to the proud, but gives grace to the humble. That's grace. That is God not allowing you to stink with pride so He is opposed to you so that you may change. In the pride-body odor analogy it also makes sense because Psalm 141 says, "May my prayer be set before you like incense." Now a humble man would recognize his need of God and would continually pray, hence God goes over to him and takes a good whiff. Humble men must really smell good to God as they keep on praying. Also of course since Jesus died and rose again for us, He has covered us with His righteousness, so that must smell pretty good to God, too.

Proverbs 6 says there are six things that the LORD hates and haughtiness is top of the list.

So pride stinks. And a good way to ward off pride is to practice the hygiene of humility. Show up before God and ask Him to examine your heart and just BE before Him. Get a heart check up. Besides, God is opposed to the proud so that may be an indicator when you begin to notice that He's being opposed to you (what a scary thought!) then there must be pride in your heart somewhere.

Andy Stanley's book: "Grace of God"

Andy Stanley has a new book called "Grace of God". I thought, Great. Another book on the subject. I already read Philip Yancey's satisfying treatise on it (What's so amazing about grace, Zondervan © 1992). Do I need to read any more?

The publishers of Stanley put on their website, Grace of God book.com, free downloadable pdfs of the first two chapters. I suggest you go take a look see and read them. It's amazing!

It's a shame that I need to be reminded about the grace I received about God, having supposedly embraced it since I was 12. But I do. In the first chapter, Andy shows me how the very first chapter of the Bible is already full of glimpses of God's grace... Imagine that! The act of creation is an act of God's grace. For artists, that says a lot. It's already by grace that I am given the talent to create art. And tracing it back to the original act of creation by the Great Artist, I realize I am given a great privilege and example to follow.

Finally, I need to be reminded about the grace I received because I am so prone to sinning. I forget how awful it feels after having sinned. But I do sin from time to time. I feel I deserve to jump off the bridge. That I totally blew it this time and I can't slink my way to God's presence with another "I'm sorry" but show up with a memorized Psalm 51 dramatic monologue. Then there are songs that help, like Matthew West's More or Casting Crown's East to West.

But finally, I know that what I need is to just really show up before God and, like Abraham did, place my trust in His Person, in His Son, in what He did on the cross before I was even born, how the stone was rolled away because the grave couldn't keep Him. I place my trust in Him that what He said He would do He really would. That while Jesus hung on the cross all of God's anger for what I have done (my lust, my unforgiving spirit, my murderous thoughts, my lies, my cheating) He bore. He bore the full brunt of it. And I am here, writing, tapping away at the keys and God declares me righteous. That the righteousness of Christ is credited or attributed to me.

It's just... wrong. Unfair. Renders me grasping for words. But what can I do about it? Even before I was born, God has decided that's the way to be. That's the way out for me... the way to be forgiven and saved. The Way to meet my deepest need.

And then that's not all. He gives me Himself. The Holy Spirit lives in me and makes certain changes and gives me the desire and the power to obey God's will (Philippians 2:13). What wouldn't I give to get a deal as good as this? But it's all part of the package I receive all by doing nothing and trusting that what I needed to give to get the deal has already been done--not by me, but by the Son.

I write this here now not to proselytize or pontificate. I write it because I need to be reminded what grace is. I am a cup full of holes that can't hold water and is therefore good for nothing. Grace is God taking me, hole-y as I am, and putting me under a waterfall and declares me "Holy." With all that water, I overflow.

For the knowledge of your name

If I knew your name I would cherish it.

I would pronounce it
ever so carefully
lavishing each syllable with love.

I'll hold it in my mouth
rolling it around, tasting
it the way I do each Christmas
candy I only have once
a year.

If I knew your name
I would write it in
margins
of my math papers
and bi-monthly reports.

I shall doodle
pretend to be a Cubist artist
draw your name like
graffiti on my bathroom wall.

If I knew your name
I'll rest my head on it
forsaking the pillow of my childhood.

But alas, I don't
and my world stays
dangerously the same.

Oh, for the knowledge, the thrill,
the magic mystery of
just knowing,
knowing
your name.

tick tock

[11:18:18 AM] Parang museum dito
[11:18:25 AM] Na apat na beses mo nang nalibot.
[11:23:33 AM] Ang sarap umawit sa Panginoon.
[11:23:43 AM] Gusto ko magsomersaults.
[11:24:00 AM] Baka ngayon mas kaya ko nang mag-split
[11:24:12 AM] tulad ng mga acrobat sa cirqus.
[11:24:22 AM] Ilang tsokolate na nakain ko.
[11:24:28 AM] Nagrereklamo na lalamunan ko.
[11:24:50 AM] Paano kaya umaakyat ang langgam sa dingding?
[11:24:58 AM] Gusto ko matuto mangisda.
[11:25:09 AM] Siyet. Ang bagal ng oras dito sa opis.

A frozen moment

In November 2010 ago NU 107 closed. They've gone off-air indefinitely. Someone told me it was management decision.

We happened to have passed by their office in Ortigas the evening they closed. There was a huge crowd outside. At that time I thought a rock star or some celebrity must have visited. Someone like Marc Abaya or Jett Pangan. I didn't know it was their last night on air.

I write now on the steps of their old office, empty now. The sing NU is gone. The glass doors reveal there's nothing inside but fluorescent lamps and empty chairs. So, even "nu" things come to an end.

I wonder how they ended. Did they throw a party and invited only loyal listeners and intimates? Did they hand out their CDs? Who got the Smashing Pumpkins?

My cousin of DOKI fame plays bass guitar and has had the privilege of guesting at NU to play "live." They went on at 10:00pm. I didn't catch it because I'm already fast asleep at that hour. In fact, I've never heard his band play. I'm an actor and he's never come to see my plays but we're both cool with that.

All our lives on this earth are at once ordinary and special. We define the specialness of the events of our lives. Going to work each morning maybe daily and ordinary (or dreaded, like the splash of cold water in the early morning shower). But this morning is also a moment that will never happen again. Yesterday I got up extra-early to get to work and rode in the same jeepney as Ryan, an officemate. Last night I got on a bus and I saw Tums, an old colleague in a doomed website I used to write for, whom I haven't seen in a long time. Things don't really happen the same way twice. Which is good. I never want to sit beside the same passenger with body-odor morning after morning.

Moments in our lives can be ordinary and extraordinary at the same time. What we call special may not be so with others. Accept this as truth. My first entrance and the moment I meet the audience; my cousin's basso solo hitting all the right notes at the right time every time. We cherish these moments and then we let go of them. That is what memory is.

It is every artist's responsibility to create memories by cherishing moments and then letting them go. That's what moves a painter to his easel... the memory of an image that is burned in his mind. The writer paints his picture with words; dancers with their bodies. Actors step on stage and becomes the image with words and their being. It's how we stand up to the impermanence of things and say, "We lived! We breathed! We were here, and this is how it was." The vibrations in the air and the NU radio waves that music created continues to resonate in our bodies and minds as memory.

I am not MacGyver

Of course, at six years old, I didn't know that. So I climbed to the top of our wardrobe, thrice as tall as I was, opened two umbrellas, and leapt off in a MacGyveresque stunt.

The very moment I jumped into the air I knew something was wrong. I wasn't parachuting slowly down to the ground. I was going down fast! Dangerously fast!

I landed on my ankles. It hurt like hell. I sincerely thought I was gonna die. I must've laid there prostate for a good twenty minutes because I couldn't move.

Then, like a soldier in battle, I crawled. My bed was just a few feet away but it took me forever to get there. When I did, I closed my eyes in relief.

I woke up the next day. I was conked out. My feet still worked. I thought it was a dream but the umbrellas were still on the floor. It was then that I decided that if I can't be MacGyver, I'll be Inspector Gadget.

Steps

My friend Ryan shared an observation of his to me a while back. He said it's easier to go down the stairs than it is to get up. But he noted that going down the stairs (or a hill) has more impact on our joints and knees than climbing up. Climbing up, on the other hand, has low impact and does more for our health by exercising our legs and cardio-vascular system.

He is using this as a metaphor for decisions. Going down is "the wrong way." Going wayward. Climbing up is "the right way," although you struggle and you wheeze and when you get to the top you puff and puff for breath only to look up and see there's more climbing to do and much farther to go.

The few times I climbed a mountain--the rock marble peak where I almost died at Lapus-Lapus Beach came to mind (that is also where I got baptized, so from near-death experience to a declaration of new life)--I remember the exhilaration of reaching the top. There's also a certain peace. You get clearheaded on a mountain peak.

Paul said, "Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up" (Galatians 6.9).

During the times in my life I were going down (the wrong way), I hit rock bottom. In that proverbial place there's "no where to go but up." So it's not altogether a bad place because there I found the hand of God restoring me. It's only sad when we refuse to be helped and decide to stay in the bottom. Wallowing in self-pity has its charm and shadowy reward.

So whether you're climbing up or going down, it can be good because you're going someplace, discovering the world and yourself. Theodore Roethke said, "I learn by going where I have to go." If you think about this you become open-minded and open-hearted.You don't judge people you meet on your journey. Some are going up, some are going down, some are traveling alongside you, some go slower, others speed past you. It's okay. The important thing to know is we are all learning by going where we have to go, whether consciously or not.

But when you're on your journey and your tired and you gotta sit it out for a while, do so! Learn from the people passing by. Some would love to tell stories. You learn from storytellers who write their stories down for us, from actors who show us how human we are, from poets who show us how deeply we can penetrate life. You simply sat and rested, the way Nature does during winter. You get lessons from the outside, you process and learn from the inside. So then when you continue on your journey both your body and mind is refreshed.

Now whether you are resting or going on your journey, pray. Connect with the God who made the mountain you're in and the legs that carry you and the oxygen that fills your lungs. Pray and listen. God loves to talk to us.

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Okay, I thought I should post one blog each day. It used to be I waited till I get a shimmering insight before I posted it here. Now I think, hey, it's a Blog. People use their blogs for a variety of reasons, even to sell their wares. Non-writers write on their blogs. People with cameras post their shots and instantly become photographers. Why can't I simply post here whatever is in the moment? I'd love every moment to be filled with meaning, but that's not what happens.

So I'll post here and be dull and boring and wasting cyberspace but at least I'll know I'm alive and my mind is wild and "boring" is just an excuse for fear of the present truth.

How my William audition went

I suppose you'd want to know how my William auditions went. I was not able to walk to PETA from home because of the weather. I planned to drop by DM's so we can go together, but when I texted he said he was still in the shower so I went on ahead.

When I got to PETA none of my BA classmates were there yet. I arrived around a quarter past three. I listed in, was number "9," and asked to take a seat in the waiting area. There was already a lot of people and some had the same idea I had: come in high school uniform.

I didn't wear my St. John's Academy uniform, no! Good luck if that would still fit even if I were able to find one that survived time. I approximated my uniform. I wore a sando and a white polo with a simple print design. I wore khaki slacks. I decided, because of the weather, not to wear my leather shoes. I used my rubber shoes. I was gunning for the Erwin Castro (matamlay at mahiyain, di katangi-tangi) role, so I thought rubber shoes will make me look plain and ordinary (not that I need help in that area).

I played Gloc 9's Walang Natira over and over again. I'd alternate between my rap piece and my monologue. I felt more comfortable and ready with my Shylock piece, so I focused on my rap. I still tripped over my lines. Soon, Dene Gomez came. He wore a long-sleeved white polo with a fashionable slim tie, black formal pants, and pointed leather shoes. He also carried a guitar. "Did you go to IS in high school?" I quipped. He admitted that was the look he was aiming for. Soon, Avery Salaya came, too.

There were so many people who auditioned that someone said that this was the biggest turnout that PETA has had for an audition yet. And I was called to go up at 6:30pm. Yep, 3 hours of being very nervous! Good thing because Veck and I were set to watch Care Divas that night at 8pm and I didn't want to miss that!

Avery was fooling around with me and singing Stupid Luv by Salbakuta and whenever I hear him sing it I forget the rhythm and tone of Walang Natira and would've to play it back again using my music phone. I use my wife's Samsung earphones and somehow the way they're built allows me to hear my own voice when I hum or sing along to a song I'm playing, so at least I know when I'm off-key. Melo Uy came to give us her support.

I also want to note that I was nervous, but not helplessly so. I was praying and praying and I didn't care anymore if people saw me with head bowed. I bumped into someone I met in PUP (I'm sorry I forget his name), and coincidentally he was doing the Shylock speech, too. (Dene was doing the same speech, too.) My acquaintance from PUP said he's not memorized his monologue yet so I lent him my codigo. He didn't return it though, but it was okay because at that time I didn't need it anymore.

Another boy in pink-striped longsleeves came up to me and said he was doing the same speech I was doing. When I asked him from what play, he said he wasn't sure. I asked, what role? He said he wasn't sure. I said recite some lines and when he said, "If you prick us, do we not bleed," I said, "Oh, yeah, you're doing Shylock from Merchant of Venice." Talk about coming prepared for an audition!

Soon I was called into Studio A for my turn. I was about ready to die. I wanted nothing else but to make a dash for the restroom and take a dump. Instead push open the studio doors and see Ron Capinding, the playwright, grinning like a happy camper. The director, Maribel Legarda, was among the panel and she was very nice and patient. I didn't recognize the rest of the panel, though.

I said, "Good evening, po."

Maribel said, "Oh, you're from Melvin's class! You're the lion! I enjoyed your showcase."

You can imagine how good I felt when she said that.

I decided to do my monologue first: make a good "first impression." I did my Shylock making sure I do it as far away from Al Pacino's interpretation as possible. I didn't want to be a copycat, and who knows? Maybe this would be the only opportunity in my whole lifetime that I get to be Shylock, even for just a few minutes.

Then came the rap part. I am not a singer but I am willing to learn. (What you just read is a disclaimer.) I am not comfortable with my singing. So when I opened my mouth, my voice shook. I tried to just "face the music" and go on with it and do my choreography alongside the rap, but I tripped, as expected, over the fast Tagalog words. Maribel said I can hold my lyrics, it's okay. I did, and I just went through the song as fast as I could.

Oh, they were all laughing all throughout. Yeah, I am that amusing when I try to sing. Like Shengka Mangahas said, "It's fun to make a fool of yourself." Well, fun for those who watch, I guess.

Then they made me sing the National Anthem, which I totally didn't expect. I only got through the first two stanzas and they laughed through it as well. (You would, too, if you were there.) Then they said amongst themselves, "Okay, he's a baritone."

Wow. I'm a baritone? Baritones are singers. If I'm a baritone and baritones are singers, therefore... yeah, I didn't do well in Logic 101.

So they asked me to stay and read TJ Domingo (makisig, atleta, mahina sa akademiko, siga), who is the polar opposite of Rico del Rosario when he was in third year high school, but hey, it's "acting." They handed me a script and told me to study scene 2. After a short while, they got enough auditionees to fill up all the roles in scene 2, which are the teacher, Miss Lutgarda Martinez, and the whole gang of students. I secretly envied the guy reading Erwin Castro, but TJ's a lot of fun, too. His lines are very funny and I made sure I hit my punchlines during our scene. (Who knows if this is the first and last time I get to do TJ or do a scene in William?) It felt good because I heard some people from the panel laugh. I tried to conjure in my memory how the biggest bully in my high school life behaved. His name is Betong de Guzman. He would threaten me with his fist if I didn't show him my test answers. One time I decided not to let him copy and it felt good. I wonder how he is now.

All in all we had fun, all six of us who did the scene together. Then I thanked the panel profusely, headed out and met Veck who was shopping for milk at a grocery store nearby. We ate at KFC and spotted Manila's theatre critic Gibbs Cadiz. We saw him later in the audience at Care Divas.

Well, about 11:06am the next day I woke up to my phone was ringing and the caller identified himself as Aaron from PETA and he was informing me that I'm due for a callback on June 28! Yay! I literally was jumping up and down after the phone call. Dene Gomez and Avery Salaya are in the callbacks, too. Also Neomi Gonzales, J-mee Katanyag, and Eji Carreon. Woot! Break a leg, guys!

My question is, what does one do to prepare for a callback? I certainly don't know. In the meantime, kee kaa kee kaa kee...

And do send us lots of good vibes so we make it through the callbacks! Thanks!

William Auditions Today O_O

I am going on an audition today for PETA's William, a play by Ron Capinding. I don't know the story but I think it's about high school students whose lives unwittingly mirror those of Shakespeare's immortal characters.

I am 29 years old. I'll turn 30 in August. And I'm auditioning for a 15- to 16-year old role. Well, it's the theatre.

I'm doing a rap song from Gloc 9 and for the life of me I can't do it without tripping over the words, so I have to be extra careful. I am not so worried about my Shylock speech ("If you prick us, do we not bleed") although I need to do choice hunts for that. I was planning to re-read Anne Rice's "Angel Time" to give me a picture of the sorry plight of Jews in history, but I ran out of time for that. Otherwise, my plan is to love Shylock. As another Jew by the name of Apostle Paul wrote: "Don't just pretend to love others. Really love them." So ayun. What I did was I read Merchant of Venice (nosebleeeeeed!) until I got to that part so I can understand where all of Shylock's anger is coming from. Truth is, not until I read all the preceding scenes did I understand what "To bait fish withal" means.

What also helped is a book I found in my library. I bought this last year from Books&Mags for P29.00. (Interesting, I'm 29 years old!) It's called "Shakespeare Alive!" by Joseph Papp and Elizabeth Kirkland. It's subtitle says: America's foremost theater producer brings Shakespeare's England to life." The book really helped me get a picture of the prejudice the Jewish people received in England, and suddenly I realized that Antonio was not cruel towards Shylock just as a theatrical device, but that he really is a product of his time, and he reflected the general or common feeling or attitude of the English towards the immigrant Jews during Shakespeare's time. I also began to understand why Shylock is in the moneylending business. (I plan to have Dene Gomez, who is doing the same speech for his audition, read the chapter on Jews in the book.)

I realize, slowly, that for the most part, Shakespeare's characters are really truly living and breathing three-dimensional people. I used to find it cheesy when actors talk about the characters in their plays as if they were real and living, as if what they read wasn't a script or play but a newspaper. Hello? Fiction, non-fiction! I recently had a dose of this when after a Titus Andronicus reading, I was listening to the conversation of Joel Saracho, Gwyn Guanzon and the director George de Jesus. That's how they talked about the play and the characters. As if Titus and Tamora and Aaron were in the showbiz section and they're commenting on the dirty business of their lives. Hey, a young actor learns!

For Gloc 9, I plan to walk all the way to PETA from my apartment and recite it all the way, as a warm-up and a desperate attempt to memorize the fast parts of "Walang Natira." This is my fault. I should have been reading the same amount of Filipino literature as English. Then my tongue would be used to our own language and not trip over the lines. I promise you, I can sing "Another Hundred People" from Company, or "Gangsta's Paradise" and not mess up the words. But I don't think those two would make good audition pieces. Besides, me, sing Sondheim? No.

Okay, I also wanted to say I fouled up two auditions I went to recently. The first was for a Samsung hosting event I didn't care about much because they'd have us dress up as Iron Man and deliver lines in that ken. Hyuk! I do wish their event a success. The casting director behaved as if he's good friends with Melvin Lee and Anton Juan, and then asked me to ham my acting up. Anyway, I read in a book if you don't feel "right" during the audition, if you don't feel good vibes in the working environment, most likely the actual rehearsal/production work would be worse.

The next was my audition for Upstart Production's Much Ado About Nothing. I did my assignment. I read the play. I dressed nice. I came on time. My mistake was, I relied on me. All on me. Me, me, me, and my abilities. Big mistake.

Jacob told Dan, his son, just about before he was to breathe his last, "Dan will govern his people, like any other tribe in Israel. Dan will be a snake beside the road, a poisonous viper along the path that bites the horse's hooves so its rider is thrown off." Amazing abilities, huh? Jacob was blessing his son and showing him his future. Looks like Dan has it good. But then Jacob interjects, "I trust in you for salvation, O LORD!"

See, trust in the LORD for salvation. Not in one's own blessings or abilities. That I didn't do. I came to Much Ado reading all "Oh, I can wing this. I can muscle my way through. No need for my daily morning meditation, no need for prayer. I'm uber-talented." Well, Joel Trinidad texted me and said, "No roles for you now. Maybe in July."

So I won't mess up today's auditions. Finally, here are some of my personal tips culled from personal experience when going to auditions.

01) Never leave God out of the picture. Include Him, make Him central to your art, your acting. He is the God of the Arts and the Theatre, after all.
02) "Don't think you are better than you realy are. Be honest in your evaluation of yourselves, measuring yourselves by the faith God has given us."
03) Offer your audition piece as a sacrifice to God.
04) Don't think it's an audition. Think of it as an actual performance. Have complete freedom and let your imagination soar in your own attack! Take the audition as a chance to do a scene study.
05) Come prepared. Theater companies would post what they expect, and you must try your best to meet their expectations. If they say come with a Shakespeare monologue and a rap song, be sure you have that and then some at your arsenal.
06) Breathe. Work out. Steam your vocal cords.
07) Don't make the audition about Yourself with a capital Y, although you really are selling yourself as an actor and artist. Try to focus on the character you are presenting in your monologue. That way you behave as if you've already got the part and you're presenting it before an audience.

I guess that's it. Now I'm off to practice what I preach. Boy, am I so nervous!