Tailwinds of loss

Trikora

Fresh

Firsts in my Banda Aceh trip

1. Wore tudung - after getting shouted at by a bunch of Acehnese for entering the mosque with hair exposed
2. Swam in deep open water without life jacket in Pulau Weh - an achievement considering I learned how to swim only last December
3. Got stung by a jellyfish
4. Rode a motorbike sans driving lessons except from GTA
5. Sped at a hairpin turn, fell and got bad bruises
6. Was mistaken for a Japanese - but some Indonesians thought I'm some Indonesian snob for faking improficiency in Bahasa given that my pronunciations are perfect
7. Got a tasteful yet cheap baju kebaya from Pasar Aceh
8. Never seen so much goat shit/cow dung in my whole life!

More pictures here.

Shivaji Das

A tribute to a very special hirsute brute, who, despite his acrid criticisms of capitalism and the bourgeoisie, which are really nothing but an intellectual wanking exercise haberdashery of his one-man armchair rebellion, was recently promoted to become VP of some third-tier management consulting firm. Having spent his early yuppie years chauffeur-driven across the notorious Mumbaikar slums, Shivaji grew discomfited with being a corporate pig and started to believe in what Uncle Marx ranted. But in spite of this disenchantment, he continues to claim living life to the fullest by pursuing He He as his career goal in the island of Singapore where he is currently based, by running until his nipples bleed, and by looking for gullible prospective proselytes, such as yours truly, to his blasphemy of a New Age religion wherein he calls himself the Messiah.

Almodóvarian

The beauty of Pedro Almodóvar's films is that there's a consistent freshness in each plot that are oft identifiable only in independent movies. Not limiting himself to a certain genre, in each movies Almodóvar has maintained the certain aptness in making complicated people witty, absurd and eventually coming to full circle. The general theme tend to be existential in nature with all the main characters unyielding to despair and life's treachery. There's also an overflowing amount of sensuality and tastefulness in his universe, set against the backdrop of passionate characters and colours.

Serbis (2008)

The depiction of reality is crude, but the reality itself is crude, which is what I think Brillante Mendoza succeeded in achieving. The movie has repelled many in its blatant sexual content, which I did not see all of in the apparently hushed version when I watched it in The Picture House last year. The censored version at The Picture House was in every sense redolent of the Philippines that is devoid of pretensions - sexual, untidy and filthy. The second time I watched Serbis, with the fellatio session between the tranny and a guy complete and intact, it was utter debasement. I felt somewhat violated, not expecting that my contemporaries who have lamented its crass quality to be justified. Serbis, the second time around, is a mere teleserye episode punctuated with unsatisfactorily short sexual congresses- short for a porno that is.

Some overseas Filipino complex

I have met a lot of Filipinos who speak condescendingly of our compatriots who earn less than the educated privileged lot. Some would even berate the accent and appearance of those who have crossed the seas to be indentured servants of their ungrateful masters. You'd actually find a lot of Filipinos distancing themselves from their lesser compatriots in public arenas with a mark of contempt on their faces, as if a life of indignity under a foreign master's whims is not enough that they must get it, too, from people from their own land. But then, I've been told a number of times that the only reason why I am proud of being Filipino is that no one would ever mistake me for a maid, a nurse or a hooker, and hence would not need to establish my distinction amongst the disgraced lot for which the Philippines are world-renowned.

I am guilty of renouncing any stereotype that is beyond the superficial somewhat. When thrown at criticisms by foreigners such as the Singaporeans, Indians and Indians from Dubai I have encountered through job interviews and networks, saying that Filipinos lose steam after a few months, I would be quick to differentiate myself with my Singaporean education. I also find myself annoyed at those Tom Dick and Harry to which the Singapore government has given Permanent Residency status liberally in the past, feeling somewhat injusticed for my kind, who stayed and could speak one local language but are denied the hallowed status.

Perhaps the truly Filipino trait about this is crab mentality. But it is almost justifiable only when there’s scarcity, which is really absent, in most cases.

Another attempt at self-portrait

Suitheistic

As I sat on the park bench, concluding my lunch with a rather overpriced ice cream and fruit cake, I noticed a flock of doves around one tree engaging in what could be called grooming in an apparent noontime recess. I was finishing my ice cream when a dove came over my bench with the prospect of consuming the crumbs that fall under. I threw the bottom of my ice cream cone, the dove pecking the aim with notable alacrity and accuracy. Delighted at the sight of this creature approaching me without hesitation, I was somehow stung with compunction to give my cake too, grinding between my fingers and distributing the crumbs. Soon, all of the grooming flock followed suit. A group of sparrows mimicked but being much smaller they were less successful in grabbing the crumbs. The sparrows were left observing from a distance the free food their bigger counterparts are reveling in, with helpless envy.

It was a commotion. As I threw croutons, they hurried with fervour to whichever direction my hand motioned. While most were busy rummaging the ground for what jot of bread that is left, there were healthier individuals who cooed roughly and deeply, and bellowed their necks to intimidate the older and the skinnier ones. Everyone poked the ground ruthlessly and indiscriminately, even pecking near the droppings of their inconsiderate fellows in the process of eating. Within a few seconds there's no trace of the fruit cake left. These scavengers are the avian version of women hoarding bags on a Great Singapore Sale store, albeit more intense and guttural.

Somewhere in the gospel it was stated "Look at the birds. They don't plant or harvest or save food in barns. But your heavenly Father feeds those birds." Surely, if Jehovah Jireh feeds these birds, they would not have approached a pedestrian, a possible abductor and torturer, that is me with such desperation and audacity. Surely, these creatures did not worry as much as humans to need assurance from a biblical verse, but their existence of being in constant search of food must render them to be insane in human standards. I thought of how they subsist on worms and insects in that tiny park with so much competition. I wondered how they survive in the worst of storms.

As I left, they hurried to my direction only to realize I have no more to give. Some persisted to fly towards my direction, but gave up when I made haste towards my flat. I was their momentary fruit cake god and I abandoned them - it must be really hard to be a bird.