I believed in Christ, it was difficult to reconcile what I felt was right in conscience to what was being preached in churches I’ve attended over the years.

Then I found Church Simplified. Click the link and see for yourselves what it’s about. Maybe I’ll see you on Sunday?

The songs below are just some of the highlights of my journey through Christ thus far. For me, faith is a very personal journey, but wherever you are in your life – may these songs seek to uplift and inspire you.

After the Cut:

1) Gungor’s – “Beautiful Things”

You make beautiful things out of dust, You make beautiful things out of us

2) Sara Groves – “Painting Pictures of Egypt”

The place I was wasn’t perfect, but I had found a way to live,

It wasn’t milk or honey, but then neither is this

3) Jars of Clay – “Shelter”

May this place of rest in the fold of your journey, Bind you to hope

You will never walk alone

4) Steven Curtis Chapman – “Remembering You”

And I watch as the cold winter melts into spring, And I’ll be remembering You

and I’ll be remembering You, I’ll be remembering You

5) Jay Enrile – “Thank You”

Thank you for emptiness, thank you for rage

Thanks for confusion and the labyrinth it’s made

Thanks for denial, thank you for lust

Thanks for rejection and all the hurts from those I trust

Thank you that I haven’t heard the sweetest sound

Cause I know that’s the only way my knees will scrape the ground

“Beautiful Things”

“Painting Pictures of Egypt”

“Shelter”

“Remembering You”

“Thank You”

To my dear guests,

You are cordially invited to my totally awesome Christmas party. I promise you it will be epic: fire dancers, Cirque du Soleil, Michael Jackson rising out of the grave, with a 5-star Michelin buffet. The party I have in mind will be the stuff of rap videos. And I want all of you, people I consider my friends, to be there. We will have fun, sober or not.

I only have one condition: leave your baggage at the door.

I don’t mean your bags. I also mean the baggage you have inside you. Because my guest list includes your ex something, or the person you find annoying, maybe even your distant cousin from your Dad’s third family or something. They are not on my list to spite you. They are on my list because I find them fun. Look, there’s room enough for warring parties to do their high school thing and form cliques. Heck, just for that night, fake being nice. Ignore them even. But don’t ruin it for the rest of us by dragging your dislike and hatred through my front door.

I am your host. I am there to make sure you have fun. You are a guest at my party and it is your responsibility to have fun and stay clear of those who ruin it for you. Or hey, there’s the door.

I’ll be blunt: it’s not my problem if you had a one-night stand with so-and-so who happens to be there. It is not my problem if you don’t like whoever for whatever reason. So don’t make it my problem by picking a fight and putting out my fire dancers while toppling over my 5-star buffet. That’s when I get pissed. And I don’t want to be pissed on Christmas.

Remember the wise words of Marshall from How I met your mother, “It’s only awkward if you make it.”

So don’t make it awkward. Make it fun. Or you’re going to miss one hell of a party.

Sincerely,

Mii

Some loose observations based on ‘Face the Facts‘ likes and trends:

-It is true: it helps to have a major blogger or figure vouch for your blog. The surge in popularity of Face the Facts would not be possible without the help of Carlos Celdran, who very kindly retweeted the url.

-A good chunk of its initial followers are Filipino teens, about as young as 15 or 16 years old. They tend to like or reblog the sex myths. Before parents freak out at how young they are, I think it’s a telling sign on what parents and even schools should be telling their kids. Be glad that the kids found the blog, imagine if they ended up in an unmoderated chatroom instead.

-A sad fact I was forced to face: the greater disasters will not be reblogged. A post on a local maternity hospital where it’s 3 patients to a bed went largely ignored, while a post on the poor talking about the RH bill ends up on tumblr radar. The post on RH Bill not being passed this year got as few as 3 hearts and only 1 reblog. This is a more interesting finding: generalizations have some kind of impact. It’s fine if you’re talking about the poor, but it’s another entirely if you have details on how it directly affects them. One is easier to digest than the other. Consider this article which touches on the point: What motivates people to give to charity by the authors of ‘Freakonomics’.

As for the dead reaction on the RH Bill dying – I wonder if it’s largely due to that newsbit overshadowed by the fuss on Gloria Arroyo’s medical treatment. Or have we simply given up?

What do you think?

It seems silly to  take the word of a hit-or-miss weather bureau and a daily known for dipping into tabloid fodder. Yet as I while away in an office the end of the world seems all the more likely. Why not now, after all? We’ve survived plagues, technological breakdown, forces of nature…what’s one asteroid to end it all?

What would you do? A friend asked. Simple, I replied. I’d stop cramming. I’d finally write the poems I’ve been meaning to write, that treatment I’ve meant to finish, exorcise those scenes that have lived in my head since I was 12. I’d put them in a little tin box: the kind that seems to survive meltdowns. Whatever lives after the fall will be sure to find it.

Then I’d wander. Wonder what Manila would look like through graduation goggles? Traffic must seem so wonderful. It’s like a time paradox: funny how life goes on while you’re stuck in place. Trash would be so nice, evidence of a time it was relevant, when it smelled nice, when it was of use.

If I had the cash, hopping around Asia as a grand finale also sounds sublime. I’d be Lara Croft rolling through the ruins of Angkor, chasing after my own shadow. I’d be in search of the perfect pad thai and thai coffee.

Maybe I’d end it all at the topmost level of Borobodur in that deceptive quiet, napping against a stupa.

But no, home would be the best place to wait for The End. Exhausted after all that traveling, all that writing, with the blasted pets stepping all over me as I collapse into bed. Just a little extra to the ordinary.

Where will you be when the asteroid hits?

He designed the set for “Comfort Women” made out of bamboos. The lead actress would be bruised every time they had to go through her rape scene. Director Missy Maramara asked if there was any way to keep her from bruising. Bernal’s retort, “Let her adjust to the set.”

He never hobbled with a cane. He strutted, with confident strides down Gonzaga Hall. Rumor has it, he was sighted without his cane once. Why? “Style.” He said simply.

It was also for that reason he put huge lights in the wings during a ballet performance. Never mind that dancers exited and entered from there and had to watch their step. It was an inconvenience yes, but there was no better way to put light on the full form of the body. You could see it even if you were seated in the last seat of the last row of CCP Main Theater.

For Bawat-Tao (Everyman), he saw a see-saw to describe the delicate balance of life sought by Everyman. Say what you will about Metropolitan Theater Guild’s Midsummer Night’s Dream but most of its magic, I feel, would not be possible without Badong.

He was old-school: he screamed at people till they got it right. He even threw his cane at students. They say, the more he screamed at someone, the more promise that someone actually had. Sure enough, a blockmate that got the brunt of his temper sought him to be her thesis adviser. She did well.

Some other things told to classmates:

“Never allow yourself to be mediocre!”

“To create, you must learn to destroy.”

Difficult lessons that even I take pains to learn, over and over again.

I cried when I found out he had passed. I couldn’t understand why. “Because he is an institution. He’s one of those that made it possible to actually work in theater.” says a good friend, Mahar.

Sure enough, in his passing, there’s a change in the air. There is loss, yet, but then there’s the sense of so much more to come. After all, it’s a vibrant year for local theater.

Besides, another friend quipped, “The good Lord needed someone to manage all the Souls in Soul Parade day. Who else but.”

I can imagine him dressing up the people we love in those rich, Asian-inspired robes.

Love and light, Badong Bernal. R.I.P.

I don’t believe you’re dead, Steve Jobs.

I believe that you’re somewhere out there hanging out with Michael Jackson. I imagine that you’re both stuck in limbo similar to Judgement City but for visionary VIPs. One of you, maybe even both of you will be sighted in the oddest places; in diners, soup, truck stops, or simply backstage.

Go in peace, Steve Jobs.

But what is an iconic ad? A lot of ads become memorable, but you can tick off the ads that defined the generation. The sodas, I feel, have mastered owning the time they aired. Most know “Coke is it?” as an 80s tagline, the same way Pepsi’s “Generation Next” situates the soda in the 90s, singing Spice Girls and all.

In the context of Philippine advertising, I personally consider these three ads as iconic:

-classic Seiko wallet (for lack of a video, sing it with me: “Seiko seiko wallet, ang wallet na maswerte…”)

-Beam toothpaste (“B-E-A-M means smile, smile kami pag beam!”)

-Purefoods Tender Juicy Hotdog’s “Carlo”

Two out of three of the above are more campy than classic ads. But it has somehow embedded itself into Filipino consciousness. Even my ubersheltered Tagalog-deficient sister can still recite the entirety of “Carlo” and it’s been almost 10 years.

My Mother was actually part of the agency (Lintas, now known as Lowe) that made the ad. I remember her ushering the family to the maid’s tiny TV screen during the Sunday variety show for the TVC’s premiere. This was not a usual Sunday for the family. Mom disliked local TV, and usually barred us from watching it.

As any Pinoy 90s kid can attest, “Carlo” stuck around for years after it first aired. It seemed as if no one else took a bite out of a juicy red hotdog, Purefoods or not, without remembering “Carlo”.

Did Mom know it would be a “defining” ad? I never had the chance to ask. Maybe I’ll find out through a different ad, who knows?

Then there’s the campy stuff. The timelessness of Seiko and Beam undoubtedly comes from the jingle. They weren’t much production and copy wise but it was sticky. Try it: I bet you can’t get those jingles out of your head just by mere mention of it.

Credit to Beam tho, “B-E-A-M means smile” is a ridiculously clever turn of phrase.

Does iconic just happen, or can it be made to happen? What do you think?

Also, what do you consider iconic ads?

(As I am also presently employed by an ad agency, this is the part where I assure readers that this entry is composed of my own personal views and does not reflect the views of my company and associates.)

What I liked about Zsa Zsa Zaturnah the graphic novel is how it showed a rare vulnerability through Ada, the boy who would be Zsa Zsa. That kind of vulnerability, the quiet contemplation of what it means to be gay was lost in the slapstick of the musical and movie adaptations. It’s enjoyable, but I came out of it feeling that it seemed be the only way to be gay: just be sing out loud silly.

I feel that Zombadings learned from the flaws of the Zsa Zsa adaptations. The camp is very much there, from the minute Roderick Paulate casts his curse upon Remington, to a wink-nudge at Robot Unicorn, to the “gaydar”. At the heart of it is Remington himself, a boy forced to learn a hard lesson on being careful who you pick on, and what it really means to be a man. This is a film I’d show as a way of homophobic intervention.

This time, if all they see are zombies, it’s not the film’s fault.

Tarush! Catch Zombadings now on its last run at cinemas around the Philippines.

My approach to art is to see if it works as a whole. I wasn’t wowed by Mideo Cruz’s “Poleteismo”, but I get it. If the only thing we see is a condom and a dildo over pictures of Jesus and Mary, then the criticism fails.

I overheard a colleague criticize Mideo Cruz’s work as being too controversial, because, “If this were a Middle Eastern country he’d be dead.” Yes, but then the rest of the world goes on to call them barbaric.

“Poleteismo” was shocking, but I wouldn’t say controversial because it is a slice of the real world. I thought what made it more disturbing for other people was the placement of pop culture posters right next to religious imagery. For those who thought it tasteless, I say they haven’t been inside a typical poorhouse where it’s not weird to see FHM posters are put up next to the Last Supper. It’s not about being sacrilegious to them. It’s just decor, it’s their aesthetic. Agree or disagree with it, it’s their concept of “maganda”.

As the debate on reproductive health rages on in the country: Do we also continue to deny that religion, Catholicism in particular, continues to meddle with what should be state issue of reproductive health? Review your facts. The symbolism of “Poleteismo” isn’t even that much of a stretch.

In the time I’ve spent with the arts, I have not seen any government or church body support or uphold a standard for art and aesthetic. I have seen a lot more toned down, even outright banned.

This is what agitates me most about the Mideo Cruz fiasco: why are we so concerned about what shouldn’t be seen, when we haven’t set the foundations for good, local art?

Recommended viewing: “Hamlet 2″ by Andrew Fleming.

“It was stupid!” “Yes it was stupid, but it was also theater.”

When then-boyfriend and I made up, we continued to frequent Hana. More takoyaki and shaved ice desserts were had. Even after our break-up, Hana and Little Tokyo became a watering hole and comfort zone. Friendships were enforced and forged over umeshuu, sake, yakitori… it was the best of Japanese cuisine without having to leave the country.

The more I visited Hana, the more I got to know the Sugawara’s, especially Yue. Yue and I shared a fondness for cute toys, anime, Japanese movies, and music. Through Yue I also got to know her sister, Mom, and especially her Dad, Mr. Sugawara.

Mr. Sugawara, in particular, we joked to be “Mayor” of Little Tokyo. He got along with the shop owners, and helped keep the peace among them. I know that no trip to Hana was complete without seeing him seated at the bar, smoking and talking loudly with his friends and colleagues.

I remember the first time I met him, when Yue, Angel, and I had dinner to celebrate my purchase of a tokidoki vinyl toy. He gave us a few coupons for ice cream at Chotto Stop. “He won the coupons at a karaoke contest that he also organized,” Yue shared, “His friends thought it was strange that he organized and won it.”

I love good food, but I had a notoriously small appetite. Yue would joke, “You can never be a Sugawara!” Khursten, who spent New Year’s Eve with them, and sought to pick up a few recipes from Mrs. Sugawara in the process, fondly called them her “yakuza”. For a time, I took her literally.

It was with Mr. Sugawara’s blessing that we were able to follow the World Cup in the wee hours of the day at Hana. We joined the Japanese community of Little Tokyo in cheering their team on, and their sadness in defeat. Hana also kept their doors open for the World Cup final, which ended with our entire table singing “Ole Ole” when Spain took home the cup.

Over Holy Week, Yue and I went out on Good Friday for a tour of Intramuros and Binondo. We were stuffed with dimsum and streetfood from the tour, but Mrs. Sugawara wanted us to taste-test some new menu when we got back. It is probably the best Japanese meal I’ve had in Manila, come to think of it.

I didn’t see Mr. Sugawara then. I remember Yue mention in passing that he was sick – he loved his smoke, and he loved his drink, a bit too much.

I met up with an old college friend last Friday at Hana. It was the first time since Holy Week that I’ve visited, Mrs. Sugawara didn’t even recognize me with my short hair. We caught up a little bit in between the bustle of the dinner rush, but she made no mention of Mr. Sugawara.

I just found out a few hours ago that he had passed on.

A number of  anime series emphasize that good food is made by good hearts, or something along those lines. The warmth and generosity of the Sugawara’s have always come out in their cooking, especially in Hana.

If you’re a Japanese foodie, I urge you to drop by Hana at Little Tokyo, Makati. It’s the restaurant with a takoyaki and barbeque grill in front. Great meals are served at reasonable rates starting at around P200 for a dish. More than just treating yourself to comfort food, you’ll also be helping a lovely family at this trying time.

You will be missed Sugawara-san. Thank you for everything.