The Second Circle, by Patsy Rodenburg

I devoured this book as soon as I received in but soon realized it needs a slower, more alert and careful reading. I just finished reading it the other day and I must say, Patsy Rodenburg's "The Second Circle" deserves a second reading (and a third, a fourth, and so on). There is just so much gems of practical advice in the book: it's a treasure chest!

Patsy talks about the energy we were all born with as our birthright. She explains the three Circles of energy, and her thesis that living in the Second Circle is the only way to live fully in the present life. She then gives exercises to initiate us into Second Circle and help us abide in it.

Now I am a slow learner. I don't read a book and then be able to say, "A ha! I got it! I know what the author is trying to say." This is good because this book deserves to be worked through. The exercises have to be experienced to be able to encounter Second Circle and BE in Second Circle.

The exercises work and I am seeing much improvement with my work and relations. I plan to integrate these exercises into my life.

If you see "The Dog Whisperer" on TV, what the show host is talking about with dogs, that Presence, is exactly the same with what Patsy is talking about, but Patsy shows you how to use this Present Second Circle Energy into every area of your life.

The principles and exercises are applicable to whatever situation you are in. Read the book, try the exercises, experiment with the principles, and suit them to fit your life!

The 33rd Manila International Book Fair

The place was packed when we got to the SMX Convention. Yeah, here are booklovers braving the rain and traffic to come together and celebrate literature.

Recently in the news, they said that reading is dropping among Filipinos. Fewer and fewer Filipinos are picking up books to read. I wondered how they arrived at that conclusion. In the news report, they showed a sharp decline in visits to local public libraries. That’s understandable. I think most readers in the Filipinos would rather a) download an e-book version, or b) buy from a bookstore. Bookstores are fine and all, but there’s nothing like owning your own copy.

Speaking of owning, in the MIBF I bought:
1. A coloring and activity book for Dana
2. The Wolf Gift, by Anne Rice. Fiction. I held out for so long from purchasing this book, and now I gave myself persmission. Feels gooooooood!
3. Mozart’s Ghost, by Julia Cameron. Fiction. A snail-paced romance. Will reserve for days I don’t like to think too much.
4. Secrets of the Alexander Technique. Non-Fiction. I forget the author just now, but Alexander is something I want to learn right now and add to my arsenal of acting tools for the next time I take to the stage.
5. The Bible in World History, by Stephen Leston. Non-Fiction. A sort-of almanac situating biblical events in world history. I just began reading it and I love the illustrations.

Today I finished reading The Second Circle, by Patsy Rodenburg. I’ll need to give this book a second reading, and a third, and a fourth. It’s one of those books I need to go back to over and over again to fully absorb. I don’t mind. I am a slow learner, but I don’t easily forget something I learned.

I’m racing through Stephen King’s On Writing, too, so I can finally focus The Picture of Dorian Gray. Oscar Wilde deserved his last name.

Martial Law thoughts

We belong to the generation that asks of the Martial Law: "Was it really that bad?" We have poor or zero recollection of the past. It has been 40 years.

It is hard to write something that is foreign—outside of myself. About two months ago, I was invited to attend the book launch of Tibak Rising, stories of the Revolution. What’s more, I was asked to use my thespic skills and read excerpts from one of the essays in the book. Tibak Rising is a great read. I got amazing insight into the lives of activists during the Martial Law from firsthand accounts.

The closest I can get to exploring Martial Law in depth was through a play I did before: Griselda Gambaro’s Information for Foreigners. Under the direction of Anton Juan, we traversed lives of the desaperacidos, weaving in and out of the audience these stories that few newspapers care to report.

Today, on the 40th Anniversary of the Declaration of Martial Law, I remember the many Communists, men, women, rebels, activists, artists, who lost their lives because they rose against a dictator.

It’s been said that the only thing it takes for evil to prosper is for good men to do nothing. We’re Filipinos. The blood of dictators, traitors, heroes, and revolutionaries, run through our veins. The question is, which side are you on?

Look around you. There is still evil lurking around. Will you stand around and do nothing?

Quitting Smoking, Quitting You

I will smoke my last twenty cigarettes
In memory of you.

One stick for your secret kisses in the Fire Exit
Two for those kisses when you bite my lip.
Four sticks I’ll burn for the times we made love.
Like our mingled laughter the smoke
dissipates and depletes the ozone.

Three sticks I’ll burn for your tight hugs
How I buried my face in your neck
And felt safe all through the night.

One stick for the smell of my cologne
That has rubbed off on your skin
When I pressed next to you.

One stick for how you kept my nails neat
And taught me what clothes to wear
And how you’ve always been there
When I didn’t expect you to.

One stick for the dinners, and the movies, and the plays
One more for getting my jokes even in the bad days.

Two sticks for keeping my heart’s secrets
And two more for entrusting me with yours
I tried to listen to the music on your phone
Two broken hearts strumming along.

One stick, I’ll keep, to carry a wish
That fate will cancel out all your regret.

I’ll smoke my last puff, down deep in my belly
I know it feels right as I know it is killing me
And your love, like a cancer, I will snuff right
out…
          of…
                   my…
                             life

Hotel Stotsenberg

We're back from Clark, Pampanga where we did absolutely... nothing! Haha! While Veck was out on the pediatric conferences, Dana vegetated in front of Nick Jr., and would release excess energy by jumping up and down the beds or running up and down the halls screaming so her voice would echo. I whiled the hours away reading "A Bottle of Storm Cloud Stories" by Eliza Victoria laying in a hot bath. When I got bored I sang "Sana Maulit Muli" out loud. I wanted to go to Zoocobia but we couldn't fit it in our schedule. So we opted to stay in the hotel premises instead.
Hotel Stotsenberg I imagine resembled a nun cloister or a boarding school in London. The building is a square, with a wide square courtyard, with a fountain in the center of the courtyard. Our room was 305C, which meant Hall C, third floor.

The place was empty except for the pediatric delegates. There were very few other guests. Walking up and down the halls trying to locate the swimming pool and the gym with Dana trotting by my side, I plotted a novel in my mind I can set in here. I have been writing fiction for the longest time. It's a joy that matches the exhiliration of being onstage. But I usually just hide my fiction in drawers, or lose them. I have an ambition: be published. But to be published, I first have to write a novel, and a good one. That I plan to do a few pages each day after shift. What are long bus rides home for?

The Manila International Book Fair 2012 is open at the SMX Convention Center near SM MOA only until Sunday, September 16. I haven't gone but I must! Who's going? When? Once a week Dana asks to be brought to Pandayan, the only bookstore in Malolos. A trip to the bookstores excites her. I want to see her eyes pop out when I bring her to MIBF! Halls and halls of books of all kinds!

Back at the Hotel Stotsenberg. The water costs P44 per 500mL bottle, so in the evening after dinner Veck and I decided we'll just go to the nearest 7Eleven and buy water from there. The "nearest" 7Eleven turned out to be a full 30 minutes walk away, and I carried Dana in my arms who loved to be up in her Daddy's arms. We passed by vacant lots, abandoned buildings, rows and rows of trees. Naturally I saw some elementals that let's just say the normal eye wouldn't see.

Veck kept asking, "What is it? What is it? What are you looking at?" Of course I didn't want to scare my wife so I steered the conversation into what the convention was about. Veck then told me about the advances in the study of Autism and ADHD in the Philippines. Now that's a topic that isn't scary at all! Apparently, it wasn't a good idea to walk out at this time of night. There were no other pedestrians beside us. I whispered a prayer under my breath.

Sometimes Dana would wave at the shadows and Veck would laugh. "She loves playing pretend games," Veck said. If only Dana was pretending. I saw what Dana was waving at.

When 7Eleven was near sight, there were three tambays quarreling over a cellphone, and some scantily clad girls at the corner. I knew they were up to no good, so I squeezed Veck's hand as a signal for us to cross to the other side of the street. A car stopped in front of tambays. One of them, the one who "won" the cellphone by wrenching it out of the others, approached the car window. Then one of the girls came over, opened the door, and got in the passenger seat. Neat.

It must've been the unfriendliest 7Eleven ever. When we got there the other customers eyed us curiously. We bought a tall bottle of Wilkins and debated whether Dana deserved chocolates that late at night. On the walk back home, Dana promptly fell asleep on my shoulder. (She would remain asleep for the rest of the night.) My eye fell on a tree a few yards in front of us. Beside the tree there was a child with a frozen look of horror on her face. Then the apparition disappeared.

I pretended I didn't see anything. I told Veck maybe we should just wait for a jeep to pass by that we can ride back to the hotel. We waited but no jeeps passed by. Then a car passed by. Its windows were down. The driver looked at us. Then it stopped right in front of the tree. The child appeared again and then was gone.

Veck said, "I don't feel comfortable approaching that car." Better listen to a woman's intution. Not only that, in my head I heard the child's scream: "Stop!"

The car remained parked and flashed on its hazard. Veck and I crossed to the other side of the street and started walking again. After a few moments the car started again and sped past us.

Then it hit me. Prostitutes at the corner. Few people out in the dark. Did the driver think we were selling our daughter? Yikes! Which leads me to thinking. All these "elementals"... they can't hurt you anyway. There's no need to fear them. Sometimes it's fellow humans we need to be wary of. Is it any coincidence that the apparition chose the form of a child when it warned us?

Finally, when you have God's protection, you've nothing to fear. We arrived at the hotel without incident. I put Dana to bed. Veck put diapers on her. We saw some episodes of Dog Whisperer and drifted off to sleep.

Some good things never last

It pays to listen to the signals of the Universe. For example, if you keep meeting your ex in the last few days, find out the status of your current relationship. See if you’re in danger of losing him or her and gaining another ex.

Dreams should be listened to as well. I once dreamed my father died. But I knew he wanted me to reach down into the pockets of his corpse in the coffin and get the loads of money he hid down there. I knew what the dream meant at that time and glad I heeded it.

Recently, I bumped into an ex. It’s kind of hard to avoid the person at that moment. I realize I didn’t have hard feelings on the ex. I wasn’t angry at the person. In fact I only have compassion for X.

What I realized was that I was angry at myself. I saw how I ordered my life around that person, fixing and rescheduling my days and weekends to suit X’s. I was angry at myself for playing the fool, moving mountains just to spend a little more time with X when we were still a couple.

I remember sharply the day this hit me. This was long ago. We were supposed to watch a play. I reserved our tickets, made arrangements for getting leaves from work, and planned to stay out to the wee hours of the night in Taumbayan. Taumbayan is a bar where theater actors hang out. I thought it’d be interesting to go there after watching the play.

On that day, hours before our date, I learned my date wasn’t having a good time. A series of events caused agitated my date. I thought to call off the theater date, but hoped that maybe, if we have a good time in the theater, it would make up for the sour day my date had. My date’s reply was that yes, we’ll still go.

While waiting at our rendezvous, and after unreplied messages and unanswered calls, I got worried. Boy, how bad was it?

Finally, I got the dignity of a BBM: “I’m not in the mood to watch anymore.”

Now, under the circumstances this was perfectly understandable. The person was having a bad day and I didn’t want to impose. But then it hit me:

In the relationship I bended over backwards for this person, and just for a “mood” your date wouldn’t show. For a mood. That’s all I was worth. If the mood was not right, then there’s no seeing me.

I recalled the many times when I was tired, hungry, fraught, and yet still showed up when we agreed to. And here I was, being dumped for a mood.

People, beware. You teach people who to treat you by how you treat yourself. I did the only thing that would save my self-respect: I walked out on the relationship.

This is not to say I didn’t try to wheedle my way back in. I tried texting, asking if we can talk it out. Then I realize, if we do get back together, I will forever be at the mercy of that person’s mood.

When marriage vows are exchanged, couples do not say, “I feel” or “I will” or “Yeah… yeah…” The say, “I do.” That means loving no matter what your mood is. You want to find a person who sees you for your worth and would move mountains for you just as you would for them. You want a person who knows the value of commitment.

For example, I remember Jeff going to Cambodia because he made a commitment. No matter if he was going there with an ex who hurt him. It was a commitment and it was meant to be kept. That’s the kind of person you want to be with. (Right, Geli?) You don’t want someone who will drop you depending on their current mood.

Dana Discovers Barasaoin Sweets

Barasaoin Sweets is located in front of the Barasaoin Church (famous for its history and a cat sleeping on its hot tin roof). It has been there even before Mommy Jenny was born (no fact-checking has been done to authenticate this. I don’t know when Mommy Jenny was born.)

I bet Barasaoin Sweets is as much a historical landmark to Malolenos (yeah, that’s how they’re called. I was pushing for “Malolosers” but they didn’t like the connotation) as much as the Church. It has been feeding Malolenos and Bulacenos with ensaymada with salted egg for generations. I bet during its time it was a booming business.

Right now, I hardly see customers enter their doors. There is a Red Ribbon right beside it and I don’t know if that affected their business or people just forgot (as most Filipinos are wont to forget).

Veck wanted me to try the bangus pobre in Red Ribbon so we were there one day for lunch. Dana threw a terrific tantrum because she wanted to have some candy sprinkles on the Red Ribbon cakes on display. No amount of explaining that those aren’t for sale unless you buy a whole cake and we couldn’t possibly finish the whole of it in one sitting. And no way are we taking home a dedication chocolate cake just for the sprinkles!

Veck suggested I take Dana to the next door Barasaoin Sweets and see if we could buy candy sprinkles. As Dana and I entered the doors I swore I saw a vision of people lined up for orders, people filling up the tables happily eating with families and noisily chattering and laughing. The vision vanished and the place was empty.

A lady asked us what we wanted. On the display were rows of crystal jars that stored confectionary flowers. I asked the lady how much they sold those flowers and when she looked at Dana, she gave Dana ten flowers and said they’re free. Wow! You don’t receive kindness from strangers often these days. And here Dana was getting a bouquet of candies.

Wow! I thanked the lady profusely and promised myself to eat there soon. I’ll sink my teeth into authentic Malolos ensaymada even if all I have for company is my notebook and pen.

Be A Star!

Here’s a stellar exercise that’s sure to make you shine! This is an easy way to be the star that you are!

Remember Da Vinci’s Vitruvian man? We are going to stretch our muscles that way.

• Remember to keep breathing through this exercise.
• Place feet parallel and evenly on the floor. Distribute your weight evenly from the heels, to the balls of your feet, to the big toes of the feet.
• Unlock the knees and keep them unclamped.
• Engage your thighs, tuck your tailbone, and square your hips.
• Take a breath, and as you do, widen your stance and stretch your arms to the side.
• Generally stretch from fingertip to fingertip in one line of energy.
• Now gently drop your right arm to your side. Relax your shoulder and let your arm find its natural position.
• Stretch your left arm lifting it now at a higher angle. Be careful not to pull the shoulder. Drop your shoulder away from the ear but keep stretching.
• Now do the same for the right arm.
• Elongate the back of the neck.
• You are now a star! Energy is flowing out of your toes and fingertips. Slowly lower your arms, put your feet together, and feel the alertness.

How King beats the Censor

I am reading Stephen King's On Writing, his treatise on writing fiction. I highly recommend it to everyone, writers and non-writers alike, because it's very entertaining. King is witty and humorous here, a side we don't see in his novels of the dark and macabre.

On Writing gives you insight into the mind of one of the most successful novelists of our time.

I also suspect that what he says about writing can be applied, with personal and intelligent adjustment, to one's own current career.

Here's a quote from the book:

With the door shut, downloading what’s in my head directly to the page, I write as fast as I can and still remain comfortable. Writing fiction, especially a long work of fiction, can be a difficult, lonely job; it’s like crossing the Atlantic

Ocean in a bathtub. There’s plenty of opportunity for selfdoubt. If I write rapidly, putting down my story exactly as it comes into my mind, only looking back to check the names of my characters and the relevant parts of their back stories, I find that I can keep up with my original enthusiasm and at the same time outrun the self-doubt that’s always waiting to settle in.

This is the same trick that Natalie Goldberg, poet, painter, and author of Banana Rose employs. Write fast! Do your writing practice and write faster than your Internal Editor can catch up with you. Don't think too much, Nat says, in her rules for writing practice:

1. Keep your hand moving.
When you sit down to write, whether it’s for ten minutes or an hour, once you begin, don’t stop. If an atom bomb drops at your feet eight minutes after you have begun and you were going to write for ten minutes, don’t budge. You’ll go out writing.

2. Lose control.
Say what you want to say. Don’t worry if it’s correct, polite, appropriate. Just let it rip.

3. Be specific.
Not car, but Cadillac. Not fruit, but apple. Not bird, but wren. Not a codependent, neurotic man, but Harry, who runs to open the refrigerator for his wife, thinking she wants an apple, when she’s headed for the gas stove to light her cigarette. Be careful of those pop-psychology labels. Get below the label and be specific to the person.

4. Don’t think.
We usually live in the realm of second or third thoughts, thoughts on thoughts, rather than in the realm of first thoughts, the real way we flash on something. Stay with the first flash.

5. Don’t worry about punctuation, spelling, grammar.

6. You are free to write the worst junk ever.

7. Go for the jugular.
If something scary comes up, go for it. That’s where the energy is. Otherwise, you’ll spend all your time writing around whatever makes you nervous.

Creativity guru Julia Cameron has written lots of books on creativity. In these books she showers you with hundreds of exercises for examination and self-discovery. She also prescribes the same formula. Write fast.

So you have a story or an idea of a story in your head right now. This essay ends here. Go! Write! Do it fast! Burn through to original thoughts.

Learning to act again

I am reading "The Actor Speaks" by Patsy Rodenburg. I'm still at the first few pages and already I got these gems of insight! The following are quotes I culled from the book.

Actors come from all kinds of backgrounds and from around the world. They are all different shapes, sizes and temperaments. But they each share something in common -- they all want to be actors.

Imagine that! The way she puts it, there is no one right shape, size or temperament to be an actor. There is no proper background or ethnicity! The invitation is open, wide open to anyone. The one thing in common is the desire to be an actor -- to experience the range of human emotion and thought and express all of that with truth and clarity on the stage!

This frees me from forever auditioning to be something other than what I am; from comparing my insides to other actors' outsides. It frees me to begin to create and contribute from where I am, from who I am. And that means where we are and who we are is where we all begin to be actors.

Patsy describes her students: "Each one has talent. Everyone is brimming with energy and passion." So... those are the primary ingredients. Talent, energy, passion. Energy, you're born with. That's your birthright. We all were born with amazing energy coming out of our mother's wombs, screaming our entrance into the world.

Now, this energy is either stolen from us or denied by abusive people or life-altering events. This can be regained and this is the thesis of her book "The Second Circle" which I highly recommend everyone to read.

As for the other ingredients: talent and passion, well, those are somethings only God can give. (The truth is, your life energy came from God, too). If you're not sure you have talent or passion, then use your available energy and start praying to get the other two. And when you do get them, do everything you can to stoke and develop them!

Ultimately, as wannabe actors, our goal and reason for training is, as Patsy says, "To speak on-stage with power, clarity and confidence... For me that is what acting is all about."

Some Office Yoga

For tired eyes, rub your palms together and generate some heat. Place palms gently over closed eyes. The warmth should dissipate through your eyelids and help relax your eyes.

Now, for slouchers such as myself, sitting on the office chair for hours can wreak havoc on your back alignment. Our spine slumps, our shoulders cave forward, and our breathing shallows. A gentle exercise done every break time should correct this.

Sit at the edge of your chairs. Make sure your seatbones are in contact with the edge of the chair. Place your feet evenly on the floor hip-width apart. Make sure your knees are at a 90-degree angle.

Put your fists below your lower back and just above your buttocks. Inhale deeply, and as you exhale, push your fists, open your chest, draw your elbows in, and look up. Aaaah! Relief!

Rains and dreams

Last night I had a weird dream. I was on a jeepney. It was late in the night. The driver dropped me off at an open air night bazaar in the middle of a dark wood.

The ceramic shop I entered was well lit, and sold other furniture and home decor. I wasn’t interested so I went out and found a secondhand/rares bookstore.

I found an illustrated “The Witching Hour” by Anne Rice, but I couldn’t recognize the text. There was some other book I liked, too, but I knew I couldn’t blow my last P1000 bill in my pocket on books.

Turns out Anne Rice was sitting in a desk inside the bookstore, so I knew I had to buy these books and get them signed. But alas! My P1000 turned into a P20 bill. Even on a discount I couldn’t buy these books.

Anne took my right foot and autographed her on name across the ball and toes of my foot. Then she wrote her initials on the sole of my left foot.

I woke up thinking I should dash to the only bookstore in Malolos (Pandayan Bookshop) and buy Anne Rice books.

But maybe the dream meant something else. Maybe I should set out and follow in the footsteps of one of my favorite novelists. Maybe I should write, too.

Luzon and Visayas continue to be battered by rain and floods. Snow Patrol fans are banging their brains out in the concert in Araneta. The Congressmen debated on the RH Bill. I want to go home and do sitting meditation. I don’t want to go to work.

Two nights ago the Bayan, Malolos’s market center, blazed in fire. The rain and the strong winds aggravated the situation. This morning fire trucks barricaded the entrance to the Bayan. It was the cleanest I ever saw that place. No flood. No litter.

I didn’t find the banana and pineapple stores I frequent.
On my way now to work and everything is wet. High school students are happy about the early announcement of class suspension tomorrow. I didn’t go to the film audition I wanted to go to earlier today. Hm. I don’t know what’s to become of me.

2012 Birthday Wish List

It's August 4! Tomorrow I turn 31. And no, I do not post anything profound or particularly earth-shaking on my birthday.

Instead, I post a gift wish list. It's okay, no one's ever gifted me anything anyway. That's why I shamelessly re-post my list annually. It's become tradition.

You never know. I just might get a secret Santa this year.

So here's my list:

1. a rechargeable razor
2. The Prosperous Heart, by Julia Cameron
3. The Wolf Gift, by Anne Rice
4. The Complete Calvin and Hobbes

And I actually drew a blank. What a short list this year. Hm. Interesting. Maybe it comes with the age?

New blog at WordPress

On why I have a new blog now at writerico.wordpress.com

This is a short history of how Rico (that’s me) has come upon starting a blog on WordPress.

My first blog, the BB Files, was hosted on multiply. It was bongerbongerbonger.multiply.com. I truly loved the multiply platform. It was easy to use, idiot-friendly, and allowed me to be connected to my blogging friends. Way before FB ever was, there was Multiply.

I abandoned Multiply when it became nothing more than a market site. Plus, a blogger told me only ABSCBN earns revenue from my entries. I ought to move to google blog, he said, which gives me the opportunity to monetize my blog.

That gave birth to writerico.blogspot.com, and a lot of my old entries from multiply were transferred to my blogger.com site. It was fun, simplistic, and yes, I earn a few cents each time someone clicked on the ads.

About two months ago we moved to Malolos City, Bulacan. We moved because Veck wanted to practice pediatrics and there was a clinic there that needed a doctor. So, we migrated, and I had to give up the comfort of internet service at home. I had to say hello to long commutes to and from Malolos to Taguig where I work.

I didn’t think I would survive the two hours on the road doing nothing. Sometimes I read, which I love, but I do wish I can use the time for self-expression as well.

So I got myself a new BB again–a gift from my loving wife, Veck. Not without drama I said the only way I can survive the long bus rides is if I could write.

To my dismay I found it was close to impossible to compose and post a blog entry on Blogger using my BB device. I contacted Blogger.com about this through their Send Feedback link on their dashboard but nothing happened. I gave up on the idea and consigned myself to an artless, creation-less commute in a cramped van.

I subscribe to several blogs and I was reading one of Joel C Rosenburg, the author and political analyst, and outspoken Christian and Israeli supporter. At the bottom of his blog, which is hosted by WordPress, I found a link where one can download a BB app for WordPress. Lights began turning on in my head. If I can start a blog on WordPress, it may be easier to blog, and it’s the whole reason I wanted a BlackBerry in the first place!

So, finally, I present to the world, and whoever cares to listen, WriteRico.WordPress.com. In the world of Twitter and Facebook and other microblogging networks, here I am, typing my thoughts with words and sentences on a blog. Do people still read blogs? I don’t know. I still do. But I’m old school.

I’m excited about this blog and I hope I never run out of things to write about.

Photos for JB

They whom I hold dearest

About a week ago there was some slight furore among the writers in our office. The management will open an email support team and the application is open to everyone. All you do is to submit an essay the person you value most in your life, and three sample email correspondence, and then they judge if you're up for the job or not.

This is the entry I submitted:

(I didn't get the post, but even then, I think the essay that came out of me, I feel, is a winner.)

They whom I hold dearest
by Rico D. del Rosario

Shall I be sentimental and say my Dad, Engr. Rene C. del Rosario, Jr., is the most important person in my life? Or must I be devoted and describe my darling daughter, Dana Keziah, in doting detail? Should I be patriotic and talk about the Philippine hero, Dr. Jose Rizal and his self-sacrificial contribution to the nation? Or be romantic and extol the virtues of my wife, Marivic? Shall I assume the stance of the political activist and talk about Ninoy Aquino and his legacy to Filipinos? Must I put on the manner of the religious and idealize Mother Teresa? Yes, I can do all these things, and yet still be left wondering: who really is the most important person in my life? Just how does one answer such a question?

I take a path most familiar to me--a path, that is, sadly, has become unpopular in our times. This is the same path I take whenever I am graced with the opportunity to launch myself onto the stage. I choose to answer the question with honesty. And my honest answer to that question is: MYSELF.

My self is the most important person for me. It is my self that I force out of bed each evening and marshal to face the first cold splash of water in the shower. My self that, coming home from work tired and sleep-starved, chooses to play with Dana in her latest pretend game. It is my self that tries his best to be a strong and gentle husband to Veck, cherishing her trust and nurturing her dreams.

It is my self that braves the hour-long bus ride from Malolos to Cubao, and then the train ride from Cubao to Makati. It is my self that takes step after step on my lean, slow legs to Net Plaza and take calls. It is my self that immerses himself in another human being and portray him truthfully and faithfully on the stage.

But what is self? Is it really that important? I sit down in meditation and observe my breath. I cross my legs, straighten my back, close my eyes, and try to sit still. I observe my body and try to remain aware even as my monkey mind races on, flitting from one thought to another, buzzing with ideas about the world, my latest QA markdown, the amount of rice left in our Kyowa grains dispenser, the rising price of milk. The question remains, "What is the self?"

My mind meanders to the past--what this advisor said about me in a snide remark and how I was too dumbfounded to retort. How I was bullied in high school and loved Literature like mad. How Dana and Veck looked exactly alike fast asleep last night. I remember my grandfather proudly showing all the neighbors a small blackboard where I wrote the alphabet and the numbers 1 to 100 when I was four. I remember my Dad weeping when I told him I flunked college, and how terrible I felt. And my Dad weeping again during my wedding and how wonderful I felt. I remember how Dana was born all purple and wrinkly, screaming and kicking, with the umbilical cord coiled around her neck.

My mind flies to the future: which auditions to go to, what dates to file my vacation leaves, which plays and concerts to watch or let pass.

Is this who my self is? The sum of my past pains and future aspirations? Is my self husband? father? son? brother? financial services advisor? colleague? writer? friend? artist? What do these labels mean to me? Does my name hold the clue to my identity?

My hands open up to heaven and I ponder the Filipino word for fate: kapalaran, which has palad for its root word. Is my destiny etched on the lines of my palm? Do these crisscrossing lines define who I am?

I cannot wait for an answer to arrive. I simply continue to breathe in meditation, paying attention to my breath, my aching back, my itching ear. I see that all I am is body parts and fluids, made up of organs and cells, that are made up of molecules and atoms. An atom is the building block of matter, which is, physicists have discovered, to be nothing but a form of energy.

So that is all that I am to science. A manifestation of energy in the here and now. A physical body that has breath and mind and passions and instincts. I am a wonder, but not unlike all the other common wonders of nature: plants, animals, objects, human beings. I am at once both miraculous and ordinary. What is self, then, when there really is no self for the self to define?

I have my breath, my pen, my mind, sheets of paper. I write about how I take pleasure in cuddling my daughter and hearing her laugh as I tickle the nape of her neck. How we watch Annie the Musical on DVD for the nth time and sing along to "Tomorrow" together. I lie next to my wife and we talk about her hopes, worries, dreams, fears. Without my wife and daughter, my self has no sense of being. I long to be home every time I'm at the office. I long to be with them, each day becomes a happy reunion whenever I arrive home. They are whom I hold dearest in my life.

My self is both large and small. In the end, my self belongs not to me at all.

Waking up along EDSA

Walking that short strip of EDSA--
that strip between the corner of East Avenue and the MRT station,
that I used to walk daily for years--
I suddenly noticed it.

The way the sunlight fell from the east at an 8AM height,
the smell of people's colognes mixed with hurried sweat;
as I guzzle on bottled soy milk peddled by a taho vendor.

The streetsweeper MMDA did a great job getting litter off the street.

Suddenly I'm hungry for the deep-fried crablets and tortang talong and tokwa,
the softdrinks in iced chests,
the eyes of strangers on their way to work or death.

I long to understand the graffitti on the wall.
Last night's rain washed away the stench of urine but not the acidic discoloration.

The barker with lop-sided eyes sneezed.
I was grateful to catch that moment: I may never see that again.

Living now in Malolos, had to be miles away, an hour a half bus ride away,
to notice what I once took for granted.

BB rules

Veck spoiled me big time this weekend. First we saw god of carnage and had a great time at the theater.

Then she bought me a new BB after I cracked my old Nokia. So I'm self-imposing these rules on my BB use:

a) No going on social apps when with Veck or Dana
b) No going on social apps when with a friend who wanted to meet me to talk
c) Blog / post only when alone and during spare time

That's it. Those are my rules. My BB has to have its proper place in my life. It is a tool. It has its use. I can't make it central to my life.

July 15 is National Carnage Day

We saw Yasmin Reza's God of Carnage today at the Carlos P. Romulo Auditorium. I was with Veck, and our friends JM and Patty, Jeff and Geli, Louise, Liz and Dannie. For some of them, this was the first time they get to see Lea Salonga to perform live in the theater!

Of course, AFLS (Manila chapter) was in attendance, too. It was fun to see again Jacq, Betsy, Jeff, Edcel, Jojo, Anna, Noel and Tin.

We saw four musical theater superstars on the stage tackling a straight play: Lea Salonga, Menchu Lauchengco-Yulo, Adrian Pang and Art Acuna.

We had a lot of fun watching the show. I know all of you theatergoers out there wouldn't want to miss this production!

Afterwards, we took pictures with Lea. Lea said she wasn't accustomed to seeing me with a beard. I said I was trying to look older. She said, "Good luck with that!" Haha! Well, Lea doesn't look like she's in her mid-twenties!

Afterwards, Dannie suggested we eat at Marciano's, and we did. Veck and I had Autumn in New York salad, which had calamares and shrimp. I loved it. We also had eggplant parmigiana, and the waiter educated me that you don't pronounce the 'a' sound in parmigiana. We also shared the pizza.

What a weekend that was. We just got a BB for me, plus the play, plus eating out. Yikes! I'd have to take some OT work so that we don't dip into our savings because of these extravagant spending! But anything for theater!

Oh, I hope I can step onstage again!

Congrats to the cast of God of Carnage! And to Tin for a sold-out show! Woof! Woof!

Grace calls

To make ends meet as an artist and family man, I took on a job at a call center. I have been working for this company for about seven months now, and I am actually enjoying it. I am thankful for it because God uses this job as a channel of His provisions for us.

Anyway, I do want to talk about my call center job a bit. I was thinking how I can integrate my core values of truth and integrity on the stage and in life into corporate job of dealing with customers over the phone.

Now customers would not always be nice or jovial or at least courteous. Some would be righteously or wrongfully frustrated, rude, uneducated... They complain, grumble, vent out, or worse, mumble. (I have bias against lazy speakers.)

Usually, when I get a less than pleasant customer, I just switch off. I build a wall. I distance myself. I become passive-agressive. I get filled with thoughts like: "Oh, God. I'm not your psychiatrist. Nor your parent. It's not my fault you got low EQ."

Anyhow, this attitude of mine is not going well with my scores at work. I know I can do better and engage the customers in a friendlier manner, but if I do that to every person I talk to I'd be depleted! My energy reserves would dry up.

So, I was thinking a lot about this, and how I'm so passionate for theater even though I haven't always been treated right there. And how, when this call center company is treating me right, I'm not giving them 100% of what I give to the theater.

I was looking for a sense of integration. Then it hit me: Grace. Grace. I don't deserve it, but I received it. Grace. If I can dispense grace to every caller, treat them not as I think they deserve, but as grace would treat them, then I'll be better off.

And since God is the Author of grace, if I connect with Him, branch to the Vine, then I'll never be depleted of grace reserves.
I think I ought to appropriate this grace through prayer. "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever" (Psalm 23).