(From the Editor, the editor's letter in the December 2007 issue of Sense&Style, under the theme "Festive Families," with Tingting Cojuangco and her grandchildren on the cover.)
What a year it has been and we have yet a month to go before we can tuck it away in our memories! It has been a rollercoaster ride, but I love 2007! If I were Charles Dickens, I would describe it as the best of the times and the worst of the times, although I do not wish it would lead us to anything like the French Revolution.
BLURB
Christmas waves a magic wand over this world, and, behold, everything is softer and more beautiful. —Norman Vince Peale
Still, a revolution appears to be a necessary evil. Over the past few months, following the lead of Al Gore’s An Inconvenient Truth, the Discovery Channel and the National Geographic, as well as both BBC and CNN, have decided to draw more attention to Earth in distress with Emmy Award-worthy productions that, with hope, will by now have conveyed the message effectively. CNN’s Planet in Peril, for instance, is a searing look at some of the planet’s most urgent troubles, such as deforestation, species loss, and overpopulation. It’s a continuing campaign, with CNN sharing green tips during breaks, and I hope it will build up further in 2008.
Philippine media has yet to extensively train the spotlight on environmentalism, but Sense&Style has in its humble way given the planet an important place in its agenda since last year when we ventured to repackage this five-year-old magazine (“The Year that Was,” page 70)!
Already, the calls of nature are beginning to sound as desperate as an emergency bell and it’s at once good and bad. I’m happy that more and more people are jumping on the bandwagon for whatever reason. Whether they do care about the environment or they simply think it is fashionable to do so, I believe they will make a difference and that’s what counts.
Without a doubt, the environment will play a starring role in the saga of life that will unfold with all of us on the cast in 2008. What role do you wish to play? Why don’t you consider some of our recommendations (“New Year (Eco)Solutions,” page 65 and “Will Earth Survive Our Lifetime?,” page 68).
But it’s the season of joy and our troubles notwithstanding, we have every reason on earth to celebrate. From this desk, I am quite in a celebratory mood, thanks to the inspiring essays on volunteerism our “Making A Difference” campaign has generated from our readers. Adjudged the best is the tale of breast cancer survivor and ICanServe volunteer Carla Paras Sison, who wins for herself a chance to inspire others like you and me through a published essay, along with a special pampering gift package from Rustan’s and Sense&Style (“CarlaCanServe,” page 37). Indeed, sometimes, all it takes is one person to make a world of difference.
The good news is we don’t have to be alone. This month is as good a time as any to be reminded of this precious gift, the gift of friends and family. In this issue, we invite ourselves to some of the most heartwarming family get-togethers, including those of Tingting Cojuangco and her grandchildren (“Ring-Tingting,” page 126), Ambassador Joey Antonio and his army of four (“Father and Sons,” page 56), and Discovery Suites’ GM Bobby Horrigan and the three most special people in his young life (“A Family Affair,” page 39).
Nature’s balance of earth, wind, water, and fire is doubtlessly worth walking a few blocks instead of driving a car to get from point A to B if the latter will save energy and reduce carbon emission. Trees and forests, ponds and oceans, bugs and elephants are all worth embarking on a major lifestyle change to save from extinction.
But there’s no more compelling reason to be earth-friendly than the people we love. There is no more urgent reason than family to do what we can to keep the planet a wonderful place to live and build a future, especially now that there are more and more of us sharing our diminishing resources.
In this season of hope, here’s wishing the planet and everyone of us in it a better, brighter, healthier, happier, and more prosperous year in 2008!
Happy holidays!
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
Saturday, December 1, 2007
PARTY POOPER
(From "A Weekend Note," the editor's letter in Style Weekend, a weekend special every Friday in Manila Bulletin, 7 December 2007)
A bunch of renegade soldiers crashed our months-long shopping party and, for a while there, just for a fleeting second or two, our holiday fervor turned to fear. My first impulse was to call the bank and pull out some investments, but thank God it was followed quickly by the thought that neither our economy nor our government nor our spirit, by all indications, was that volatile.
BLURB
It’s a very small price for us to pay to live in a democracy. —Gen. Hermogenes Esperon, Jr., Armed Forces of the Philippines
But Makati, the centerpiece of our holiday revelry, was the center of the drizzle, which nevertheless rained on some of our parades, such as what would have been an exciting pageant of holiday collections, from Gucci to Prada, at Greenbelt 4 just across the street from the Peninsula Manila, where the useless, pointless drama unfolded, spoiling a lot of other parties, a big wedding with guests flying in from half a world away included.
My college friends and I, busy for weeks organizing a costume get-together at Fraser Place in Salcedo Village, kept our party spirits up and did not entertain the possibility of canceling on account of Trillanes et al. At 5 p.m. on that stupid Thursday day we were still exchanging SMS to each other to keep going: “Where to find Absolut Peppar in this town?” and, since our theme was New Wave, “What to wear? What to wear?” Not one to don costumes, I was happy to settle for a pair of Topman socks in the pattern and colors of the UK flag, which, to me, was all I needed to get in the spirit of The Cure’s “Lovesong” or Joy Division’s “Love Will Tear Us Apart,” although, more than music, I was listening to the news on AM radio, hoping that the standoff would be over before it became a major party pooper.
But a party pooper it had to be, at least for the night. Just as my friends Richie and Gina sent a “Siege is Over! Another Reason to Party!” message to all our guests, the curfew between midnight and 5 a.m. was announced, something new for our generation. If half of our guests could still pull an all-nighter, like we used to do only a decade ago, this new development would have been the perfect excuse to “have some fun until the sun comes up” like Sheryl Crow. Alas, the next day was TGIF and a holiday, too. Siege or not, even a party-‘til-sunrise and, worse, a hangover could not compromise our individual plans for the long weekend, especially since none of us thought the trouble at the Pen could be any more than a little hiccup in our holiday schedule.
Indeed, all’s well that ends well, even if to make it home before curfew hours, I had to crawl through two-hour-long bumper-to-bumper traffic, from just past Airport Road all the way to the end of Coastal Road. Midnight caught me behind the wheel, but no sign of policemen, no sign of any checkpoint, at least where I passed.
Whew, it could have been worse, but it will take more than a few aging officers and men bearing personal grudges to take us all back to step 1 on the road to a safe, stable, progressive country. An opportunity to practice constant, tireless vigilance and a reminder of the need thereof, last week’s surprise, suprise, to look at the bright side and to borrow from Kanye West, only “makes us harder, better, faster, stronger…” Or does it?
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
A bunch of renegade soldiers crashed our months-long shopping party and, for a while there, just for a fleeting second or two, our holiday fervor turned to fear. My first impulse was to call the bank and pull out some investments, but thank God it was followed quickly by the thought that neither our economy nor our government nor our spirit, by all indications, was that volatile.
BLURB
It’s a very small price for us to pay to live in a democracy. —Gen. Hermogenes Esperon, Jr., Armed Forces of the Philippines
But Makati, the centerpiece of our holiday revelry, was the center of the drizzle, which nevertheless rained on some of our parades, such as what would have been an exciting pageant of holiday collections, from Gucci to Prada, at Greenbelt 4 just across the street from the Peninsula Manila, where the useless, pointless drama unfolded, spoiling a lot of other parties, a big wedding with guests flying in from half a world away included.
My college friends and I, busy for weeks organizing a costume get-together at Fraser Place in Salcedo Village, kept our party spirits up and did not entertain the possibility of canceling on account of Trillanes et al. At 5 p.m. on that stupid Thursday day we were still exchanging SMS to each other to keep going: “Where to find Absolut Peppar in this town?” and, since our theme was New Wave, “What to wear? What to wear?” Not one to don costumes, I was happy to settle for a pair of Topman socks in the pattern and colors of the UK flag, which, to me, was all I needed to get in the spirit of The Cure’s “Lovesong” or Joy Division’s “Love Will Tear Us Apart,” although, more than music, I was listening to the news on AM radio, hoping that the standoff would be over before it became a major party pooper.
But a party pooper it had to be, at least for the night. Just as my friends Richie and Gina sent a “Siege is Over! Another Reason to Party!” message to all our guests, the curfew between midnight and 5 a.m. was announced, something new for our generation. If half of our guests could still pull an all-nighter, like we used to do only a decade ago, this new development would have been the perfect excuse to “have some fun until the sun comes up” like Sheryl Crow. Alas, the next day was TGIF and a holiday, too. Siege or not, even a party-‘til-sunrise and, worse, a hangover could not compromise our individual plans for the long weekend, especially since none of us thought the trouble at the Pen could be any more than a little hiccup in our holiday schedule.
Indeed, all’s well that ends well, even if to make it home before curfew hours, I had to crawl through two-hour-long bumper-to-bumper traffic, from just past Airport Road all the way to the end of Coastal Road. Midnight caught me behind the wheel, but no sign of policemen, no sign of any checkpoint, at least where I passed.
Whew, it could have been worse, but it will take more than a few aging officers and men bearing personal grudges to take us all back to step 1 on the road to a safe, stable, progressive country. An opportunity to practice constant, tireless vigilance and a reminder of the need thereof, last week’s surprise, suprise, to look at the bright side and to borrow from Kanye West, only “makes us harder, better, faster, stronger…” Or does it?
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
A DAY IN THE SUN
(From "A Weekend Note," the editor's letter in Style Weekend, a weekend special every Friday in Manila Bulletin, 23 November 2007)
In fashion speak, resort is a long-selling season, the pieces of which sell around the end of the year, but people wear them, as Calvin Klein has observed, until the summer of next. Cotton, of course, has its day in the sun in this hot, hot season, but only where the winter chill is sending people to the sunny parts of the world, such as the Caribbean and the tropics.
BLURB
What, besides khakis, is worth buying to take away? —Issac Mizrahi
Here in our all-year-round resort community of 7,100 ++ islands in the sun, the swimwear stores, along with the Boracay-bound flights and resort hotels like Whitehouse or Pearl of the Pacific or, especially, Chalet Y, are packed! Woe to those who did not think of booking their vacation back in July if they were hoping to end the year with a splash. From the third week of December to the first few days of January, Boracay morphs into Manila, albeit with white, sandy shores and alluring sun-sea-and-sky. Practically everyone is there, from your nosy neighbor to your fussy client, and the only way to hide if you’re tired of screaming “Hello! How are you?” along the length of the four-kilometer beach or while relishing your lycheetini at Hey Jude is to crawl under the sheets at your beachfront resort suite. Make sure you hang the “Do Not Disturb” sign on your door, if you do not wish to get up every now and then to let in a sunshiny hotel attendant bearing a bottle of Grey Goose or two from a friend next door.
Here in Manila, the cold months from December to February provide a rare opportunity to layer clothes: jackets over vests over shirts, with maybe a woolen muffler around the neck just for effect. Lately, with fashion gaining an upper hand in popular consciousness, Manila is more open to “eccentricities” and elaborate projections in style. To a growing number of Manileños, fashion, after all, has become its own excuse and, with your head up, you can wear a tank top over a voluminous tulle skirt, whether or not it is as passé as pre-movie comeback Carrie Bradshaw, at an end-of-the-year party aboard M/S Vianelle, whose cruise parties are legendary in Boracay, especially during the New Year countdown! Besides, if you do wish to show off your Hermés scarf-turned-head wrap in the middle of the beach, you can always say your SPF70 sunscreen is not just enough to protect your from UVA and UVB in this age of climate change.
In Manila, the New Year’s Eve destination, I believe, is going to be Embassy, especially now that it has expanded into the next-door building formerly occupied by the MTV office. I heard over the grapevine that the superclub, which opened its new side last Friday, is refurbishing the old one, so that pretty soon there are going to be two Embassies, one heavy on hip-hop and the other heavy on lounge music. An underground bridge will connect the two, so you can go from hyper to chill anytime you wish, unless two factions emerge out of this demarcation line, whose two sides have every potential to be determined by age or clothes or character or depth of pockets or sophistication of alcohol preference.
In places like the Hamptons, resort season is all about casual chic, but in Manila where resort season can last 365 days, depending on whether or not you can afford the hotel bill or, better yet, if you can afford at least a bahay kubo-on-stilts on the bank of the Mactan Channel, the season is best spent on your boot-clad toes hopping from one party to the other.
Defying the season’s forecast, whether for resort or for the holidays, black is, of course, the staple and how nice, indeed, to sit around lounge chairs sipping sweet white and nibbling on risotto balls while watching all the ladies air kiss one another in a million shades of black-is-beautiful, crinkled as crepe, taut as taffeta, shiny as silk, lively as jersey, and charming as cotton toile.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
In fashion speak, resort is a long-selling season, the pieces of which sell around the end of the year, but people wear them, as Calvin Klein has observed, until the summer of next. Cotton, of course, has its day in the sun in this hot, hot season, but only where the winter chill is sending people to the sunny parts of the world, such as the Caribbean and the tropics.
BLURB
What, besides khakis, is worth buying to take away? —Issac Mizrahi
Here in our all-year-round resort community of 7,100 ++ islands in the sun, the swimwear stores, along with the Boracay-bound flights and resort hotels like Whitehouse or Pearl of the Pacific or, especially, Chalet Y, are packed! Woe to those who did not think of booking their vacation back in July if they were hoping to end the year with a splash. From the third week of December to the first few days of January, Boracay morphs into Manila, albeit with white, sandy shores and alluring sun-sea-and-sky. Practically everyone is there, from your nosy neighbor to your fussy client, and the only way to hide if you’re tired of screaming “Hello! How are you?” along the length of the four-kilometer beach or while relishing your lycheetini at Hey Jude is to crawl under the sheets at your beachfront resort suite. Make sure you hang the “Do Not Disturb” sign on your door, if you do not wish to get up every now and then to let in a sunshiny hotel attendant bearing a bottle of Grey Goose or two from a friend next door.
Here in Manila, the cold months from December to February provide a rare opportunity to layer clothes: jackets over vests over shirts, with maybe a woolen muffler around the neck just for effect. Lately, with fashion gaining an upper hand in popular consciousness, Manila is more open to “eccentricities” and elaborate projections in style. To a growing number of Manileños, fashion, after all, has become its own excuse and, with your head up, you can wear a tank top over a voluminous tulle skirt, whether or not it is as passé as pre-movie comeback Carrie Bradshaw, at an end-of-the-year party aboard M/S Vianelle, whose cruise parties are legendary in Boracay, especially during the New Year countdown! Besides, if you do wish to show off your Hermés scarf-turned-head wrap in the middle of the beach, you can always say your SPF70 sunscreen is not just enough to protect your from UVA and UVB in this age of climate change.
In Manila, the New Year’s Eve destination, I believe, is going to be Embassy, especially now that it has expanded into the next-door building formerly occupied by the MTV office. I heard over the grapevine that the superclub, which opened its new side last Friday, is refurbishing the old one, so that pretty soon there are going to be two Embassies, one heavy on hip-hop and the other heavy on lounge music. An underground bridge will connect the two, so you can go from hyper to chill anytime you wish, unless two factions emerge out of this demarcation line, whose two sides have every potential to be determined by age or clothes or character or depth of pockets or sophistication of alcohol preference.
In places like the Hamptons, resort season is all about casual chic, but in Manila where resort season can last 365 days, depending on whether or not you can afford the hotel bill or, better yet, if you can afford at least a bahay kubo-on-stilts on the bank of the Mactan Channel, the season is best spent on your boot-clad toes hopping from one party to the other.
Defying the season’s forecast, whether for resort or for the holidays, black is, of course, the staple and how nice, indeed, to sit around lounge chairs sipping sweet white and nibbling on risotto balls while watching all the ladies air kiss one another in a million shades of black-is-beautiful, crinkled as crepe, taut as taffeta, shiny as silk, lively as jersey, and charming as cotton toile.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
EXCHANGE GIFTS
(From "A Weekend Note," the editor's letter in Style Weekend, a weekend special every Friday in Manila Bulletin, 16 November 2007)
What globalization really means is a constant exchange of gifts among nations. Finland, along with Korea, presents the world with a great way to stay in touch through mobile technology. Paris, Milan, New York, and London keep the rest of the world in step with the latest in fashion. Seattle’s gift is coffee, hot or cold, and a new hangout for the young. Brazil’s timber is building homes elsewhere on the planet.
BLURB
We predict a scenario in which people and nations are threatened by massive food and water shortages, devastating natural disasters, and deadly disease outbreaks. —John Podesta, former US President Bill Clinton’s chief of staff
Unfortunately, most of these gifts that we so proudly share with each other, whether from the Pantanal or from Guimaras, come from one and the same source: nature, whose miraculous ability to heal and replenish itself cannot quite keep up with the demands of a global community, if only because we give back too little as we take too much.
At a forum held early this month in Washington D.C., national security experts predicted the end of globalization by 2040 on account of climate change. In their report, dubbed “Age of Consequences,” published by the Center for Strategic and International Studies, scarcity of resources could disrupt international relations. Rising waters and drought could make refugees out of whole towns or cities, causing conflict, and nations or units smaller than nations would hold on to what little they could during such a crisis of global proportions.
“Some of the consequences could essentially involve the end of globalization as we have known it,” said George Washington University’s Leon Fuerth, national security adviser to former US Vice President Al Gore and one of the principal authors of the report. “Different parts of the world [would] contract upon themselves in order to conserve what they need to survive.”
It’s not at all difficult to imagine this dire scenario. To call it a prediction is like sweeping the issue under the rug. After all, it has long been happening. Just over the past week or two, world weather has been worse than unpredictable. It has been apocalyptic, with the Santa Ana winds keeping much of Southern California ablaze for almost a week, with Bogota drowning in ice weather, with Haiti swimming in mud, with the Arctic ice melting…
And climate change has barely begun. In fact, it has yet to be wholly accepted as a fact. In the Washington D.C. report, the forecast for global warming by 2040 is a difference of 2.3 degrees F or 1.3 degrees C, “with a sea level rise of about nine inches.”
The good news, however, is that we are all burdened by this problem, which could end life as we know it now, and therefore we have no other choice but to share in its resolution. That is if we all first agree to recognize the problem, no matter what the consequences or inconveniences.
Nature is wise and even in its rage it hopes to impart a lesson, so that weird weather is affecting not only the poorest of nations but the superpowers as well, the United States and China, particularly.
Our forefathers used to sniff the air to detect the pouring of rain. They would look up in the sky to tell the time. They would count on certain sounds from frogs or lizards or birds or insects to tell the changing of the seasons.
Maybe the best gift we can give each other as well as ourselves in this season that celebrates the birth of hope and salvation is to learn to heed the signs of nature again. After all, 2040 is half a lifetime away, but, thanks to global TV, we can all see it happening now all over the planet.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
What globalization really means is a constant exchange of gifts among nations. Finland, along with Korea, presents the world with a great way to stay in touch through mobile technology. Paris, Milan, New York, and London keep the rest of the world in step with the latest in fashion. Seattle’s gift is coffee, hot or cold, and a new hangout for the young. Brazil’s timber is building homes elsewhere on the planet.
BLURB
We predict a scenario in which people and nations are threatened by massive food and water shortages, devastating natural disasters, and deadly disease outbreaks. —John Podesta, former US President Bill Clinton’s chief of staff
Unfortunately, most of these gifts that we so proudly share with each other, whether from the Pantanal or from Guimaras, come from one and the same source: nature, whose miraculous ability to heal and replenish itself cannot quite keep up with the demands of a global community, if only because we give back too little as we take too much.
At a forum held early this month in Washington D.C., national security experts predicted the end of globalization by 2040 on account of climate change. In their report, dubbed “Age of Consequences,” published by the Center for Strategic and International Studies, scarcity of resources could disrupt international relations. Rising waters and drought could make refugees out of whole towns or cities, causing conflict, and nations or units smaller than nations would hold on to what little they could during such a crisis of global proportions.
“Some of the consequences could essentially involve the end of globalization as we have known it,” said George Washington University’s Leon Fuerth, national security adviser to former US Vice President Al Gore and one of the principal authors of the report. “Different parts of the world [would] contract upon themselves in order to conserve what they need to survive.”
It’s not at all difficult to imagine this dire scenario. To call it a prediction is like sweeping the issue under the rug. After all, it has long been happening. Just over the past week or two, world weather has been worse than unpredictable. It has been apocalyptic, with the Santa Ana winds keeping much of Southern California ablaze for almost a week, with Bogota drowning in ice weather, with Haiti swimming in mud, with the Arctic ice melting…
And climate change has barely begun. In fact, it has yet to be wholly accepted as a fact. In the Washington D.C. report, the forecast for global warming by 2040 is a difference of 2.3 degrees F or 1.3 degrees C, “with a sea level rise of about nine inches.”
The good news, however, is that we are all burdened by this problem, which could end life as we know it now, and therefore we have no other choice but to share in its resolution. That is if we all first agree to recognize the problem, no matter what the consequences or inconveniences.
Nature is wise and even in its rage it hopes to impart a lesson, so that weird weather is affecting not only the poorest of nations but the superpowers as well, the United States and China, particularly.
Our forefathers used to sniff the air to detect the pouring of rain. They would look up in the sky to tell the time. They would count on certain sounds from frogs or lizards or birds or insects to tell the changing of the seasons.
Maybe the best gift we can give each other as well as ourselves in this season that celebrates the birth of hope and salvation is to learn to heed the signs of nature again. After all, 2040 is half a lifetime away, but, thanks to global TV, we can all see it happening now all over the planet.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
DESIRE
(From "A Weekend Note," the editor's letter in Style Weekend, a weekend special every Friday in Manila Bulletin, 9 November 2007)
BLURB
Desire! That’s the one secret of every man’s career. Not education. Not being born with hidden talents. Desire. —Bobby Unser, American racer
I find it hard to advise friends to just do it, to just do what they think they feel like doing.
Nike has made it sound as though it is just as simple as, say, stretching out your arm and reaching for the stars, but it’s really not that simple. For one, there’s just too much space between one’s arm and the nearest star, which is not to say one cannot reach it ever. But more important, does one really want that star?
I’m one of the lucky few, who have known from childhood what I wanted. When I went for it finally after testing the more lucrative field of advertising, I had no doubt I wanted it enough to happily undergo a severe salary beating just to have it. From a junior copywriter position at an advertising agency, I set myself back four years accepting a startup position as a staffwriter and losing the equivalent of the combined salaries of two advertising startups.
And so I have since been living my dream! But I can’t deny it hasn’t been always easy, either. That’s where just doing it becomes tricky: Going after what your heart desires presupposes that you know what your heart wants. In other words, it’s a mistake to follow your clueless heart. It’s like the blind leading the blind.
What’s more, knowing what your heart wants doesn’t make things necessarily easier, except that it’s easier to go through the challenges knowing that surmounting them will amount to something. Some say if you love your work, you’ll never have to work a day in your life. It’s a bit of an overpromise, but I cannot argue that loving your work is in itself a great blessing because you definitely have to love your work to survive the many inconveniences, the stresses, the pain, the challenges, the heartbreak that are all part of the work picture, whether or not you love it and especially if you love it. The people who are only going through the motions, when you come to think of it, do not have to hurt as much because they can simply shrug off the frustrations or simply escape or simply give up or simply leave it to others, who care more, to deal with the problems.
I read in a book that to figure out what you truly want in life, you have to remember what gave you so much pleasure as a child and, in the context of your adult life, find out how you can convert it into a job, a profession, or a career. It’s the simplest trick to get paid doing what you love to do.
In course of my life as an editor, I have interviewed so many young aspiring writers who think it pays to be honest and say, “I really don’t know what I want, but I’m here because I want to try it out.” I think it’s such a waste of my time to talk to jobseekers, who have yet to decide what they want to do, especially if they make it appear they’re gunning for the job on offer so they can earn money while taking their sweet time making up their hearts and minds.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
BLURB
Desire! That’s the one secret of every man’s career. Not education. Not being born with hidden talents. Desire. —Bobby Unser, American racer
I find it hard to advise friends to just do it, to just do what they think they feel like doing.
Nike has made it sound as though it is just as simple as, say, stretching out your arm and reaching for the stars, but it’s really not that simple. For one, there’s just too much space between one’s arm and the nearest star, which is not to say one cannot reach it ever. But more important, does one really want that star?
I’m one of the lucky few, who have known from childhood what I wanted. When I went for it finally after testing the more lucrative field of advertising, I had no doubt I wanted it enough to happily undergo a severe salary beating just to have it. From a junior copywriter position at an advertising agency, I set myself back four years accepting a startup position as a staffwriter and losing the equivalent of the combined salaries of two advertising startups.
And so I have since been living my dream! But I can’t deny it hasn’t been always easy, either. That’s where just doing it becomes tricky: Going after what your heart desires presupposes that you know what your heart wants. In other words, it’s a mistake to follow your clueless heart. It’s like the blind leading the blind.
What’s more, knowing what your heart wants doesn’t make things necessarily easier, except that it’s easier to go through the challenges knowing that surmounting them will amount to something. Some say if you love your work, you’ll never have to work a day in your life. It’s a bit of an overpromise, but I cannot argue that loving your work is in itself a great blessing because you definitely have to love your work to survive the many inconveniences, the stresses, the pain, the challenges, the heartbreak that are all part of the work picture, whether or not you love it and especially if you love it. The people who are only going through the motions, when you come to think of it, do not have to hurt as much because they can simply shrug off the frustrations or simply escape or simply give up or simply leave it to others, who care more, to deal with the problems.
I read in a book that to figure out what you truly want in life, you have to remember what gave you so much pleasure as a child and, in the context of your adult life, find out how you can convert it into a job, a profession, or a career. It’s the simplest trick to get paid doing what you love to do.
In course of my life as an editor, I have interviewed so many young aspiring writers who think it pays to be honest and say, “I really don’t know what I want, but I’m here because I want to try it out.” I think it’s such a waste of my time to talk to jobseekers, who have yet to decide what they want to do, especially if they make it appear they’re gunning for the job on offer so they can earn money while taking their sweet time making up their hearts and minds.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
Saturday, October 27, 2007
MR. NICE GUY
(From "A Weekend Note," the editor's letter in Style Weekend, Manila Bulletin's weekender, Friday, November 2, 2007)
At the news recently is the collaboration between Walt Disney Co. and the Bush administration, a seven-minute video to be played at US airports and embassies around the world. Set to a familiar Disney score, the film, Welcome: Portraits of America, premiered last week at the Washington Dulles International Airport and the George Bush Intercontinental Airport in Houston, Texas.
I just want you to know that, when we talk about war, we’re really talking about peace. —George W. Bush
I’m sure that film will be so much more entertaining than the video to which I was subjected exactly 10 years ago. At the American embassy in Manila in 1987, the continuous reel was pure torture, the price I had to pay for my 10-year visa. Scene after scene, the video showed clips of Filipinos who cheated on their visa application. “I’ll never have a US visa in my life,” said one of the role-players in the vernacular, “because I lied about my marital status (or age or income).” It didn’t help that the queue was long (at breakfast time) and we were herded like cows not so much by the Americans but by the Filipino guards, who addressed the admittedly sometimes-rowdy crowd with words like “Hoy!”
Still, I was happy to have had my visa and my US visits had been very enriching experiences. I don’t know about people who hate Americans for good reason because I hardly ever really paid attention to the US foreign policy as it unfolded in good or bad light on CNN or BBC.
In Paris a few years ago, however, it dawned on me that the impression that Parisians were not warm to tourists applied particularly to American tourists. I have had many occasions to be a visitor in Paris and each time I thought the French were helpful and accommodating to me, including the Frenchwoman I could have mistaken for Cruella de Ville, but who proved to be more than generous with her time helping me figure out the “Foto Me” machine at a Métro station. I’ve also tried to travel to my hotel in Montmartre from Gare du Nord using the Métro, where I had to change trains and climb stairs and, without fail, where I needed a hand in carrying my luggage, a Frenchman was there to give it to me.
At a café in Saint-Germaine, I was a hapless witness to a word war between a young French girl and a middle-aged American tourist, who kept going on and on about Paris being “beautiful, but nothing works!” Apparently, the older woman lost a coin at the lavatory, where a coin was required to get a cubicle open.
Both women were nice to me, but I did find the American quite overbearing, as though Paris owed it to her to work perfectly. Like the American tourist, I could not really speak French beyond “Bonjour, je suis… et vous?,” but the French girl took the time to explain to me, in broken English, that she hated it that the Americans assumed that everyone understood their twang or behaved as though the world was theirs to enjoy.
To me, the American lady was simply having a bad day. I have, however, encountered a lot of other foreigners who have similar feelings about the Americans, to think I have yet to visit Iraq or Iran or Spain, where, according to a recent CNN survey, nearly 40 percent of the population has ill feelings about George W Bush’s countrymen.
I can’t wait to see Disney’s Portraits of America just to check if, like the Beauty and the Beast, it can endear us all to the “beastly” work America is supposed to be doing in its war against terrorism or, as in the Hunchback of Notre Dame, we can begin to see past all the ugliness the anti-Bush elements have given the American president and discover the good intentions behind it all.
At any rate, I really have nothing against America. Like I said during my interview at the US embassy 10 years ago when the officer asked me why I wanted to go, I do have desire to go the US the same way I do have desire to go to every other part of the world, Kabul included.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
At the news recently is the collaboration between Walt Disney Co. and the Bush administration, a seven-minute video to be played at US airports and embassies around the world. Set to a familiar Disney score, the film, Welcome: Portraits of America, premiered last week at the Washington Dulles International Airport and the George Bush Intercontinental Airport in Houston, Texas.
I just want you to know that, when we talk about war, we’re really talking about peace. —George W. Bush
I’m sure that film will be so much more entertaining than the video to which I was subjected exactly 10 years ago. At the American embassy in Manila in 1987, the continuous reel was pure torture, the price I had to pay for my 10-year visa. Scene after scene, the video showed clips of Filipinos who cheated on their visa application. “I’ll never have a US visa in my life,” said one of the role-players in the vernacular, “because I lied about my marital status (or age or income).” It didn’t help that the queue was long (at breakfast time) and we were herded like cows not so much by the Americans but by the Filipino guards, who addressed the admittedly sometimes-rowdy crowd with words like “Hoy!”
Still, I was happy to have had my visa and my US visits had been very enriching experiences. I don’t know about people who hate Americans for good reason because I hardly ever really paid attention to the US foreign policy as it unfolded in good or bad light on CNN or BBC.
In Paris a few years ago, however, it dawned on me that the impression that Parisians were not warm to tourists applied particularly to American tourists. I have had many occasions to be a visitor in Paris and each time I thought the French were helpful and accommodating to me, including the Frenchwoman I could have mistaken for Cruella de Ville, but who proved to be more than generous with her time helping me figure out the “Foto Me” machine at a Métro station. I’ve also tried to travel to my hotel in Montmartre from Gare du Nord using the Métro, where I had to change trains and climb stairs and, without fail, where I needed a hand in carrying my luggage, a Frenchman was there to give it to me.
At a café in Saint-Germaine, I was a hapless witness to a word war between a young French girl and a middle-aged American tourist, who kept going on and on about Paris being “beautiful, but nothing works!” Apparently, the older woman lost a coin at the lavatory, where a coin was required to get a cubicle open.
Both women were nice to me, but I did find the American quite overbearing, as though Paris owed it to her to work perfectly. Like the American tourist, I could not really speak French beyond “Bonjour, je suis… et vous?,” but the French girl took the time to explain to me, in broken English, that she hated it that the Americans assumed that everyone understood their twang or behaved as though the world was theirs to enjoy.
To me, the American lady was simply having a bad day. I have, however, encountered a lot of other foreigners who have similar feelings about the Americans, to think I have yet to visit Iraq or Iran or Spain, where, according to a recent CNN survey, nearly 40 percent of the population has ill feelings about George W Bush’s countrymen.
I can’t wait to see Disney’s Portraits of America just to check if, like the Beauty and the Beast, it can endear us all to the “beastly” work America is supposed to be doing in its war against terrorism or, as in the Hunchback of Notre Dame, we can begin to see past all the ugliness the anti-Bush elements have given the American president and discover the good intentions behind it all.
At any rate, I really have nothing against America. Like I said during my interview at the US embassy 10 years ago when the officer asked me why I wanted to go, I do have desire to go the US the same way I do have desire to go to every other part of the world, Kabul included.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
POWER TO THE SHOPPER!
(From the Editor, the editor's letter, in the monthly Sense&Style, November 2007, under the theme "Shopping!" with Josie Natori on the cover.)
CHECK OUT OUR WEBSITE!
senseandstyle.net.ph
------------------------------------------
Christmas starts as early as September at our editorial offices, especially at this point when, as of this writing, we are not only putting the finishing touches on this shopping issue, but piling up the pages for our big holiday issue in December.
Carrie: Honey, if it’s hurts too much, why are we going shopping?
Samantha: I have a broken toe, not a broken spirit
—From Sex and the City
I don’t know of anybody who doesn’t like the frenzy of the holidays, except those too jaded to see beyond the commercial craze, which I don’t mind at all because I’m sure it helps that, thanks to the shopaholics among us, the economy is proving healthy enough for entrepreneurs to dream up stuff and make things better. Why, I’m very happy, for instance, that there’s a market big enough in the Philippines to translate the design sensibilities of people like Amina Aranaz, Tweetie de Leon, Twinkle Ferraren, Joyce Oreña, and Shiela Bermudez into pieces we can actually buy and own. Incidentally, these women and more, who have all developed a keen eye for what’s worth owning, collaborated with our editorial team to give you expert advice on your shopping spree (“The Experts,” page 127).
Heralding this issue that’s designed to help you through the maze of choices on your shopping expedition is Josie Natori (“Natorious,” page 120). Included in Time’s list of women who are “redefining the business of style” around the world, she is, indeed, in the words of the Fall 2007 Style&Design supplement editor Kate Betts, among “the handful of dynamic women, who drive the global luxury-goods business,” right in the company of Jimmy Choo president Tamara Mellon and YSL CEO Valerie Hermann. But Josie, at least in our interview, is quick to divert the honor to her customer, who is not only the end-user of her sartorial visions, but her muse as well. As she tells us, “In seeking inspiration, the most important step is always, always to listen to and understand [the customer].”
The same goes for everybody else, men or women, whose fashion genius—and business savvy—have brought them to the realms of greatness. Louis Vuitton and Coco Chanel, Manolo Blahnik and Christian Louboutin, all of these great people, whom some of us now only see as luggage or dresses or shoes to die for, have been standing on the shoulders of legions of ordinary folks like you and me, whose patronage has made global empires of heels and hemlines, frills and fabrics, and stuff.
Long live the shopper, indeed! And here’s to deep and deeper pockets!
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
CHECK OUT OUR WEBSITE!
senseandstyle.net.ph
------------------------------------------
Christmas starts as early as September at our editorial offices, especially at this point when, as of this writing, we are not only putting the finishing touches on this shopping issue, but piling up the pages for our big holiday issue in December.
Carrie: Honey, if it’s hurts too much, why are we going shopping?
Samantha: I have a broken toe, not a broken spirit
—From Sex and the City
I don’t know of anybody who doesn’t like the frenzy of the holidays, except those too jaded to see beyond the commercial craze, which I don’t mind at all because I’m sure it helps that, thanks to the shopaholics among us, the economy is proving healthy enough for entrepreneurs to dream up stuff and make things better. Why, I’m very happy, for instance, that there’s a market big enough in the Philippines to translate the design sensibilities of people like Amina Aranaz, Tweetie de Leon, Twinkle Ferraren, Joyce Oreña, and Shiela Bermudez into pieces we can actually buy and own. Incidentally, these women and more, who have all developed a keen eye for what’s worth owning, collaborated with our editorial team to give you expert advice on your shopping spree (“The Experts,” page 127).
Heralding this issue that’s designed to help you through the maze of choices on your shopping expedition is Josie Natori (“Natorious,” page 120). Included in Time’s list of women who are “redefining the business of style” around the world, she is, indeed, in the words of the Fall 2007 Style&Design supplement editor Kate Betts, among “the handful of dynamic women, who drive the global luxury-goods business,” right in the company of Jimmy Choo president Tamara Mellon and YSL CEO Valerie Hermann. But Josie, at least in our interview, is quick to divert the honor to her customer, who is not only the end-user of her sartorial visions, but her muse as well. As she tells us, “In seeking inspiration, the most important step is always, always to listen to and understand [the customer].”
The same goes for everybody else, men or women, whose fashion genius—and business savvy—have brought them to the realms of greatness. Louis Vuitton and Coco Chanel, Manolo Blahnik and Christian Louboutin, all of these great people, whom some of us now only see as luggage or dresses or shoes to die for, have been standing on the shoulders of legions of ordinary folks like you and me, whose patronage has made global empires of heels and hemlines, frills and fabrics, and stuff.
Long live the shopper, indeed! And here’s to deep and deeper pockets!
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
NEVER FEAR
(From "A Weekend Note," the editor's letter in Style Weekend, Manila Bulletin's weekender, Friday, October 26, 2007)
For the first time, at least to me, Manila seemed quite as scary as people the world over thought it was, the way CNN presented it during our bomb scare episode in early 2000. Scary, indeed, but only very, very briefly!
Last Friday, driving out of the Makati Shangri-La, I didn’t let a taxi cut me, realizing too late that he had every right to be in such a hurry. A young boy with a bleeding arm was on his passenger seat, cradled on the lap of his mother. Thank God I was able to redeem myself when policemen guided the taxi through the gridlock and I had the “honor” of moving my car away in consideration of the victim.
Only then did I start to notice that something was wrong. Sirens were going off everywhere and there was a sense of panic in the way security men were keeping order on the street.
BLURB
He who fears being conquered is sure of defeat. —Napoleon Bonaparte
What was behind all the commotion was a blast at Glorietta 2! I don’t remember now if I came by the information via SMS or voice calls from friends, but I somehow found myself tuning in on any AM station on my radio to figure out what was happening. It didn’t help. Reporters in the vicinity were as clueless as I was and hours after the explosion, after my friends and I had spent a whole afternoon browsing through five halls of merchandise at CITEM’s Manila F.A.M.E at the World Trade Center, the radio stations could confirm no more than that there was, indeed, a blast and the extent of the resultant damage positively ruled out LPG as the cause. The good news on that dark, gloomy, bleary, rainy, tragic Friday afternoon was that all the news spreading around via SMS that a similar explosion rocked SM Megamall was no more than a prank some irresponsible people were trying to pull.
It’s shopping season and Manila is a-buzz with commercial activity. The arrival of fall/winter and holiday stock is enough reason to send summer or even pre-fall collections flying off the rack at a steal in the stores as well as in some secret shopaholic rendezvous.
At the Makati Shangri-La, we were at lunch with Kuala Lumpur-based Makoto Takahashi, CEO of Sharp Corporation’s Asian operation, who was just too happy to take us through the new Sharp Alexander, whose piece-de-resistance, as presented to us in a blare of trumpets ironically on this day of the blast, was its sound.
Last Friday was also the third day of the bi-annual Manila F.A.M.E, at the World Trade Center and buyers from around the world were looking around and checking out merchandise they could order for the next season.
What a pity that just when I’m seeing a lot of foreigners in our midst something might again keep them away, especially with the US Embassy advising Americans to “stay away from Glorietta and nearby areas” only hours after the Friday explosion.
The good news is, at least in our offices, no one thought of canceling any appointment at the mall in the coming days. Why let some misguided elements take the fun out of the shopping season? More important, why let them stagnate our economy by keeping us at home, locked up like prisoners?
If I have to die living my life, well, I might as well live. Of course, I can say that because I don’t live in Pyongyang or in the Gaza strip or in Kabul or in Darfur or in Rangoon. And, of course, I thank God and my dear country that I can be brave and make a statement like this without any fear that tomorrow I might be hanged or gassed or clubbed to death.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
For the first time, at least to me, Manila seemed quite as scary as people the world over thought it was, the way CNN presented it during our bomb scare episode in early 2000. Scary, indeed, but only very, very briefly!
Last Friday, driving out of the Makati Shangri-La, I didn’t let a taxi cut me, realizing too late that he had every right to be in such a hurry. A young boy with a bleeding arm was on his passenger seat, cradled on the lap of his mother. Thank God I was able to redeem myself when policemen guided the taxi through the gridlock and I had the “honor” of moving my car away in consideration of the victim.
Only then did I start to notice that something was wrong. Sirens were going off everywhere and there was a sense of panic in the way security men were keeping order on the street.
BLURB
He who fears being conquered is sure of defeat. —Napoleon Bonaparte
What was behind all the commotion was a blast at Glorietta 2! I don’t remember now if I came by the information via SMS or voice calls from friends, but I somehow found myself tuning in on any AM station on my radio to figure out what was happening. It didn’t help. Reporters in the vicinity were as clueless as I was and hours after the explosion, after my friends and I had spent a whole afternoon browsing through five halls of merchandise at CITEM’s Manila F.A.M.E at the World Trade Center, the radio stations could confirm no more than that there was, indeed, a blast and the extent of the resultant damage positively ruled out LPG as the cause. The good news on that dark, gloomy, bleary, rainy, tragic Friday afternoon was that all the news spreading around via SMS that a similar explosion rocked SM Megamall was no more than a prank some irresponsible people were trying to pull.
It’s shopping season and Manila is a-buzz with commercial activity. The arrival of fall/winter and holiday stock is enough reason to send summer or even pre-fall collections flying off the rack at a steal in the stores as well as in some secret shopaholic rendezvous.
At the Makati Shangri-La, we were at lunch with Kuala Lumpur-based Makoto Takahashi, CEO of Sharp Corporation’s Asian operation, who was just too happy to take us through the new Sharp Alexander, whose piece-de-resistance, as presented to us in a blare of trumpets ironically on this day of the blast, was its sound.
Last Friday was also the third day of the bi-annual Manila F.A.M.E, at the World Trade Center and buyers from around the world were looking around and checking out merchandise they could order for the next season.
What a pity that just when I’m seeing a lot of foreigners in our midst something might again keep them away, especially with the US Embassy advising Americans to “stay away from Glorietta and nearby areas” only hours after the Friday explosion.
The good news is, at least in our offices, no one thought of canceling any appointment at the mall in the coming days. Why let some misguided elements take the fun out of the shopping season? More important, why let them stagnate our economy by keeping us at home, locked up like prisoners?
If I have to die living my life, well, I might as well live. Of course, I can say that because I don’t live in Pyongyang or in the Gaza strip or in Kabul or in Darfur or in Rangoon. And, of course, I thank God and my dear country that I can be brave and make a statement like this without any fear that tomorrow I might be hanged or gassed or clubbed to death.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
WORLD WAR
(From "A Weekend Note," the editor's letter in Style Weekend, Manila Bulletin's weekender, Friday, October 19, 2007)
Our quest for victory has, indeed, shaped the world as we know it now, where practically everything, as many will argue, is a result of our desire to win over nature. Thanks to this appetite for triumph, no matter what the odds, we have, to cite a few examples, heavy machinery coasting the airwaves in defiance of gravity and traveling through space to challenge the lack of it.
No matter how hard the loss, defeat might serve as well as victory to shake the soul and let the glory out. —Al Gore
In my book, it’s not so much about victory, but a passion to turn what seems implausible into common realities to make life better, longer, easier, more meaningful. Diseases, for instance, are part of nature and thankfully we have won many a battle on this front, except that, to this day, there is reason to believe that some of us are using this conquest over germ territory to craft biological weapons targeted against the rest of us.
Here, indeed, the winners become losers in the ultimate game that is life. The winning nations, otherwise known as the First World and most often represented by the United States of America, have always been accused of stacking the odds in their favor and leaving their poorer cousins, the Third World, with which the Philippines remains identified, to scamper around for the crumbs and, like puppets on a string, to subject themselves to the machinations of the nations in power. A recent report by the American Council for the United Nations University in Tokyo states that “although great human tragedies like Iraq and Darfur dominate the news, the vast majority of the world is living in peace.” But shortly after the release of this report, monstrosity broke out in Myanmar, where monks, symbols of the peace-loving life, were the casualties. Suddenly, I am proud that, at least in Philippine history, thanks to the Edsa Revolution in 1986, peace, as symbolized by the nuns and the priests who trooped to the streets to call for change, prevailed upon brute force. Even the most heartless of gunmen could not have possibly fired at the lady in white with a rosary in her hands.
A new war is upon us now and it does not involve goons or terrorists or dictators or insatiable superpowers. This year, Al Gore’s extreme efforts to call attention to global warming have earned him the Nobel Peace Prize, which he now shares “in equal parts,” as the Norwegian Nobel Committee points out, with the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. It’s sad that this distinction is an admission that “Yeah, Gore was right,” now that climate change has melted ice over a section of the North Pole the size of Texas and New Mexico combined.
Suddenly, all the other threats to world peace, Myanmar, North Korea, Darfur, Iraq, and Turkey joining in the fray, seem so inconsequential, although, according to a Time report, the opening up of all that once impassable space in the Arctic, which provides the shortest route between the Atlantic and the Pacific, is again causing a commotion in the form of territorial pissings among Canada, Norway, Russia, and, again, the United States.
But yes, Gore is right and, whether we like it or not, what’s happening—melting ice, diminishing forests, species loss, weather disturbances—is leading us all in the direction of a war to end all wars and possibly everything else, including life itself.
With hope, Gore is right, indeed, in his belief that all is not hopeless and that, yes, win this war we can, except that this war is different because in this war the enemy is ourselves.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
Our quest for victory has, indeed, shaped the world as we know it now, where practically everything, as many will argue, is a result of our desire to win over nature. Thanks to this appetite for triumph, no matter what the odds, we have, to cite a few examples, heavy machinery coasting the airwaves in defiance of gravity and traveling through space to challenge the lack of it.
No matter how hard the loss, defeat might serve as well as victory to shake the soul and let the glory out. —Al Gore
In my book, it’s not so much about victory, but a passion to turn what seems implausible into common realities to make life better, longer, easier, more meaningful. Diseases, for instance, are part of nature and thankfully we have won many a battle on this front, except that, to this day, there is reason to believe that some of us are using this conquest over germ territory to craft biological weapons targeted against the rest of us.
Here, indeed, the winners become losers in the ultimate game that is life. The winning nations, otherwise known as the First World and most often represented by the United States of America, have always been accused of stacking the odds in their favor and leaving their poorer cousins, the Third World, with which the Philippines remains identified, to scamper around for the crumbs and, like puppets on a string, to subject themselves to the machinations of the nations in power. A recent report by the American Council for the United Nations University in Tokyo states that “although great human tragedies like Iraq and Darfur dominate the news, the vast majority of the world is living in peace.” But shortly after the release of this report, monstrosity broke out in Myanmar, where monks, symbols of the peace-loving life, were the casualties. Suddenly, I am proud that, at least in Philippine history, thanks to the Edsa Revolution in 1986, peace, as symbolized by the nuns and the priests who trooped to the streets to call for change, prevailed upon brute force. Even the most heartless of gunmen could not have possibly fired at the lady in white with a rosary in her hands.
A new war is upon us now and it does not involve goons or terrorists or dictators or insatiable superpowers. This year, Al Gore’s extreme efforts to call attention to global warming have earned him the Nobel Peace Prize, which he now shares “in equal parts,” as the Norwegian Nobel Committee points out, with the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. It’s sad that this distinction is an admission that “Yeah, Gore was right,” now that climate change has melted ice over a section of the North Pole the size of Texas and New Mexico combined.
Suddenly, all the other threats to world peace, Myanmar, North Korea, Darfur, Iraq, and Turkey joining in the fray, seem so inconsequential, although, according to a Time report, the opening up of all that once impassable space in the Arctic, which provides the shortest route between the Atlantic and the Pacific, is again causing a commotion in the form of territorial pissings among Canada, Norway, Russia, and, again, the United States.
But yes, Gore is right and, whether we like it or not, what’s happening—melting ice, diminishing forests, species loss, weather disturbances—is leading us all in the direction of a war to end all wars and possibly everything else, including life itself.
With hope, Gore is right, indeed, in his belief that all is not hopeless and that, yes, win this war we can, except that this war is different because in this war the enemy is ourselves.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
Saturday, October 6, 2007
CHANGING CITY
(From "A Weekend Note," the editor's letter in Style Weekend, Manila Bulletin's weekender, Friday, October 12, 2007)
It’s always a delightful experience to discover a new place to be in Hong Kong, especially when on your trip you are not out to discover anything, but to do the same old things, which mostly have to do with shopping or eating.
BLURB
All that a city will ever allow you is an angle on it—an oblique, indirect sample of what it contains, or what passes through it; a point of view. —Peter Conrad
But on the whole Hong Kong looks quite different now, to think that it hasn’t been six months since I was last there. Pretty soon, at least based on the protests I read over the local papers, Mong Kok, which translates to busy corner, will give way to skyscrapers and the storeowners and shopkeepers are banding to keep some parts of it intact. On the Saturday news, their proposal was turned down, but it’s not yet the end of the fight. As I write, I believe an appeal is being drawn up.
If you ask me, I don’t see what character they are fighting to preserve, but then I’m not sure I’ve seen enough of Mong Kok, except its rows upon rows of stalls with all manner of merchandise. I can’t even remember a single standalone store that is worth fighting for as much as I remember a few strange alleys tucked between high-rises in Central, where I chanced upon vintage dresses that looked pretty much like Diane von Furstenberg and cost no more than HK$200. And to think that only a few paces away Chanel and Burberry are irresistibly calling at Landmark and David Tang’s Shanghai Tang, along with the used LVs and Fendis in the resale stores above it, is only two alleys away at the Pedder Building.
All in all, however, I think Hong Kong has character, in as much as New York and Paris have character that cannot be drowned in the deluge of modern buildings and major international brands heralding themselves in blinding, dancing neon. It’s character enough that the dai pai dongs, outdoor food stands, can proudly sit next to expensive eateries and the temples can stand their ground, basking in their centuries-old glory, in between sky-high living sculptures of steel and glass. Even HSBC, whose landmark building in Central is a Norman Forster masterpiece, adapts to the character nuances of Hong Kong. In the fishing village of Tai O, away from the madding crowd of either Kowloon or the Hong Kong island, the “world’s local bank” has a branch in a combination of wood and concrete to blend in with the village’s quaint collection of wooden houses floating on stilts on the riverbank.
Someday, I think Manila will be like Hong Kong, although I’m not sure it will happen in my lifetime. Right now, however, the beginnings of a great city may have all the ugliness of a construction site, with malls mushrooming all over the place and, along with them, some yet half-hearted attempts at making the cities more pleasant, such as the skywalk that bridges the gaps among high-traffic commercial centers like Glorietta, Landmark, and Greenbelt, all the way to the Enterprise Building and the Rufino Pacific Tower, ending just a short distance (but still quite a distance if it’s raining) to the Makati Medical Center.
As I write, I am still huffing and puffing from a long drive from Bonifacio High Street, which almost feels like Los Angeles. I could have gone to another cocktail party at Trinoma, but no way would I drive all the way to the end of the world through rush-hour traffic at cocktail hour!
If only like the cities of New York, Paris, or Hong Kong, there was an MRT stop right underneath Bonifacio High Street to take me via skytrain or underground to North Edsa, it would have been a different story. I could go anywhere at the drop of a hat and spend my money, whether remorsefully or guiltlessly, and, by default, help the economy.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
It’s always a delightful experience to discover a new place to be in Hong Kong, especially when on your trip you are not out to discover anything, but to do the same old things, which mostly have to do with shopping or eating.
BLURB
All that a city will ever allow you is an angle on it—an oblique, indirect sample of what it contains, or what passes through it; a point of view. —Peter Conrad
But on the whole Hong Kong looks quite different now, to think that it hasn’t been six months since I was last there. Pretty soon, at least based on the protests I read over the local papers, Mong Kok, which translates to busy corner, will give way to skyscrapers and the storeowners and shopkeepers are banding to keep some parts of it intact. On the Saturday news, their proposal was turned down, but it’s not yet the end of the fight. As I write, I believe an appeal is being drawn up.
If you ask me, I don’t see what character they are fighting to preserve, but then I’m not sure I’ve seen enough of Mong Kok, except its rows upon rows of stalls with all manner of merchandise. I can’t even remember a single standalone store that is worth fighting for as much as I remember a few strange alleys tucked between high-rises in Central, where I chanced upon vintage dresses that looked pretty much like Diane von Furstenberg and cost no more than HK$200. And to think that only a few paces away Chanel and Burberry are irresistibly calling at Landmark and David Tang’s Shanghai Tang, along with the used LVs and Fendis in the resale stores above it, is only two alleys away at the Pedder Building.
All in all, however, I think Hong Kong has character, in as much as New York and Paris have character that cannot be drowned in the deluge of modern buildings and major international brands heralding themselves in blinding, dancing neon. It’s character enough that the dai pai dongs, outdoor food stands, can proudly sit next to expensive eateries and the temples can stand their ground, basking in their centuries-old glory, in between sky-high living sculptures of steel and glass. Even HSBC, whose landmark building in Central is a Norman Forster masterpiece, adapts to the character nuances of Hong Kong. In the fishing village of Tai O, away from the madding crowd of either Kowloon or the Hong Kong island, the “world’s local bank” has a branch in a combination of wood and concrete to blend in with the village’s quaint collection of wooden houses floating on stilts on the riverbank.
Someday, I think Manila will be like Hong Kong, although I’m not sure it will happen in my lifetime. Right now, however, the beginnings of a great city may have all the ugliness of a construction site, with malls mushrooming all over the place and, along with them, some yet half-hearted attempts at making the cities more pleasant, such as the skywalk that bridges the gaps among high-traffic commercial centers like Glorietta, Landmark, and Greenbelt, all the way to the Enterprise Building and the Rufino Pacific Tower, ending just a short distance (but still quite a distance if it’s raining) to the Makati Medical Center.
As I write, I am still huffing and puffing from a long drive from Bonifacio High Street, which almost feels like Los Angeles. I could have gone to another cocktail party at Trinoma, but no way would I drive all the way to the end of the world through rush-hour traffic at cocktail hour!
If only like the cities of New York, Paris, or Hong Kong, there was an MRT stop right underneath Bonifacio High Street to take me via skytrain or underground to North Edsa, it would have been a different story. I could go anywhere at the drop of a hat and spend my money, whether remorsefully or guiltlessly, and, by default, help the economy.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
Monday, October 1, 2007
HELP NEEDED
(FROM A WEEKEND NOTE, THE EDITOR'S LETTER IN STYLE WEEKEND, MANILA BULLETIN'S WEEKEND SECTION, FRIDAY, OCTOBER 5, 2007)
If we were to go by the figures gathered by the Tokyo-based United Nations University, philanthropy, rather than an act of good will, is in fact a responsibility that falls on the shoulder of everyone blessed enough to do it.
According to a report published by the American Council for the abovementioned global think tank, “two percent of people own 50 percent of the world’s wealth while the poorest 50 percent own only one percent.” More succinctly, the report cited that “the income of the richest 225 people in the world equals that of the poorest 2.7 billion or 40 percent of the global population.”
Charity is injurious unless it helps the recipient to become independent of it. —John D. Rockefeller
At a glance, it seems rather sad, but I hope that these alarming figures will not add fuel to the anti-rich sensibilities that seem to prevail in places like Manila where the haves and the haves-not live dangerously close to each other. I grew up at a time when movies honored, even glamorized poverty. In the old movies, particularly during the height of Nora Aunor’s stardom, poor meant virtuous, honorable, good, and wise while rich meant, naturally, the opposite. Actresses like mother-and-daughter Rosemary Gil and Cherie Gil, with their aristocratic features and impeccable diction, were typecast as contravidas, scheming, selfish, greedy, cruel, evil.
In real life, however, people like the characters Cherie Gil has been typecast to play do have a heart and the superrich are busy not only making money but spreading it around as employers, suppliers, customers, and as influential leaders or members of organizations created to support a whole range of causes, from women and children in need to the arts and culture, from education to the environment.
What is most helpful, however, is the example the rich set. Many of them, after all, did start from scratch, their riches built from nothing. And just like you and me, they only needed one body, one brain, a pair of hands (and sometimes even just one hand), a pair of legs (or none at all), 24 hours a day, and everything else with which nature has blessed both the poor and the rich. The point is if they can do it, why can’t we? Of course, it’s quite easy to answer this question, especially for some of us who believe that the gods of fortune play favorites and that all rich men and women got rich because of reasons other than hard work and competence. Now if everyone could be self-sufficient and no one ever needs the help of the other, then it would be a perfect world, but it’s not, so there.
Still and all, I believe that people, rich or poor, are always willing to help where help is needed. This issue, for instance, we are devoting to the cause of spreading awareness on breast cancer, the number one killer of women, whose urgency has made modern-day heroes of women like Evelyn Lauder, Estee Lauder’s dynamo of a daughter-in-law, who has made the pink ribbon the worldwide symbol for the fight against the killer disease.
The world is not perfect, indeed, but with people like Evelyn Lauder, it is undoubtedly wonderful. It is comforting to know that all it takes to make a difference in this life is the desire to extend a helping hand, which, I still believe, is a reflex rather than a supreme act of self-sacrifice.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
If we were to go by the figures gathered by the Tokyo-based United Nations University, philanthropy, rather than an act of good will, is in fact a responsibility that falls on the shoulder of everyone blessed enough to do it.
According to a report published by the American Council for the abovementioned global think tank, “two percent of people own 50 percent of the world’s wealth while the poorest 50 percent own only one percent.” More succinctly, the report cited that “the income of the richest 225 people in the world equals that of the poorest 2.7 billion or 40 percent of the global population.”
Charity is injurious unless it helps the recipient to become independent of it. —John D. Rockefeller
At a glance, it seems rather sad, but I hope that these alarming figures will not add fuel to the anti-rich sensibilities that seem to prevail in places like Manila where the haves and the haves-not live dangerously close to each other. I grew up at a time when movies honored, even glamorized poverty. In the old movies, particularly during the height of Nora Aunor’s stardom, poor meant virtuous, honorable, good, and wise while rich meant, naturally, the opposite. Actresses like mother-and-daughter Rosemary Gil and Cherie Gil, with their aristocratic features and impeccable diction, were typecast as contravidas, scheming, selfish, greedy, cruel, evil.
In real life, however, people like the characters Cherie Gil has been typecast to play do have a heart and the superrich are busy not only making money but spreading it around as employers, suppliers, customers, and as influential leaders or members of organizations created to support a whole range of causes, from women and children in need to the arts and culture, from education to the environment.
What is most helpful, however, is the example the rich set. Many of them, after all, did start from scratch, their riches built from nothing. And just like you and me, they only needed one body, one brain, a pair of hands (and sometimes even just one hand), a pair of legs (or none at all), 24 hours a day, and everything else with which nature has blessed both the poor and the rich. The point is if they can do it, why can’t we? Of course, it’s quite easy to answer this question, especially for some of us who believe that the gods of fortune play favorites and that all rich men and women got rich because of reasons other than hard work and competence. Now if everyone could be self-sufficient and no one ever needs the help of the other, then it would be a perfect world, but it’s not, so there.
Still and all, I believe that people, rich or poor, are always willing to help where help is needed. This issue, for instance, we are devoting to the cause of spreading awareness on breast cancer, the number one killer of women, whose urgency has made modern-day heroes of women like Evelyn Lauder, Estee Lauder’s dynamo of a daughter-in-law, who has made the pink ribbon the worldwide symbol for the fight against the killer disease.
The world is not perfect, indeed, but with people like Evelyn Lauder, it is undoubtedly wonderful. It is comforting to know that all it takes to make a difference in this life is the desire to extend a helping hand, which, I still believe, is a reflex rather than a supreme act of self-sacrifice.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
MODEL PROFESSIONAL
(FROM A WEEKEND NOTE, THE EDITOR'S LETTER IN STYLE WEEKEND, MANILA BULLETIN'S WEEKEND SECTION, FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 28, 2007)
More than a show, it was a party, a reunion of sorts, a toast to the good ‘ol times!
On the ramp, for what appeared to be the first time, women, rather than mannequins, strutted their stuff, eliciting oohs and ahhs not so much because of what they had on their backs, but because of who they were or because of the memories they brought back with them.
BLURB
‘We were trained to do so many things. There were no delays on our part. Delays could never be on account of the models.’ —Tweetie de Leon Gonzalez, Sense&Style, March2007
The 20th anniversary gala of the Professional Modeling Association of the Philippines (PMAP), held at the Rigodon Ballroom of the Peninsula Manila, was a tribute not only to the individual glories of its most esteemed members like Tweetie de Leon Gonzalez, but to the over-all achievement of the Filipino model, for whose protection and progress the PMAP was established two decades ago. After all, a modeling industry is as serious a business, despite all the fluff and the frou-frou associated with it, as the cross-section of industries, from fashion to telecommunications, it services.
As Tina Maristela Ocampo, who co-founded the organization with models Ronnie Asuncion and Robert David in 1987, “As a union, we are vocal with our rights. As an association, we have a vision of what we want to become in the future.” Too bad Tina sat on the front row rather than walking up and down the ramp with her batchmates. In the heady days of my career as a magazine upstart, I remember her distinctly on the runway, where I always thought of her as a vision.
Still, there was more than enough of the glamour and glitz of the golden era of the supermodels with the likes of Suyene Chi and Bea Recto bringing it all back to life. Although the current crop of PMAP models, under the leadership of current president Rissa Mananquil Samson, did not in any way pale in comparison, it was refreshing to see the ñoras (from the word Señora referring to senior models) like Apples Aberin and Annette Coronel do their walk once again. It was just a different style back then, I guess, when models had to make do with a lot of improvisations, technology not being as sophisticated and as fool-proof as it is now.
I’ve spent at least a decade working with models and I always thought all models were professional. For over half of that decade, I had never had the misfortune of working with anyone who came to the shoot late, (looking) tired, or with bruises on their legs and with nails long and unkempt. I mean it, as in never, that is until about three or four years ago. In the course of the past two years, however, I have had to deal with models who never showed up, who had to leave in the middle of the game on account of “prior” engagement, and who arrived with her whole family tree and her mother to distract her and harass the crew.
But then times are different. For one, there are many more models now, including the self-proclaimed ones, whose only “claim to fame” is a brief appearance in a TV commercial. There is also such a thing as the Brazilian invasion, which some insiders say is killing the industry. I believe, however, that it’s a challenge well worthy of the Filipino model, who, like other Filipino professionals, has truly got what it takes to stand tall and towering in the global community.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
More than a show, it was a party, a reunion of sorts, a toast to the good ‘ol times!
On the ramp, for what appeared to be the first time, women, rather than mannequins, strutted their stuff, eliciting oohs and ahhs not so much because of what they had on their backs, but because of who they were or because of the memories they brought back with them.
BLURB
‘We were trained to do so many things. There were no delays on our part. Delays could never be on account of the models.’ —Tweetie de Leon Gonzalez, Sense&Style, March2007
The 20th anniversary gala of the Professional Modeling Association of the Philippines (PMAP), held at the Rigodon Ballroom of the Peninsula Manila, was a tribute not only to the individual glories of its most esteemed members like Tweetie de Leon Gonzalez, but to the over-all achievement of the Filipino model, for whose protection and progress the PMAP was established two decades ago. After all, a modeling industry is as serious a business, despite all the fluff and the frou-frou associated with it, as the cross-section of industries, from fashion to telecommunications, it services.
As Tina Maristela Ocampo, who co-founded the organization with models Ronnie Asuncion and Robert David in 1987, “As a union, we are vocal with our rights. As an association, we have a vision of what we want to become in the future.” Too bad Tina sat on the front row rather than walking up and down the ramp with her batchmates. In the heady days of my career as a magazine upstart, I remember her distinctly on the runway, where I always thought of her as a vision.
Still, there was more than enough of the glamour and glitz of the golden era of the supermodels with the likes of Suyene Chi and Bea Recto bringing it all back to life. Although the current crop of PMAP models, under the leadership of current president Rissa Mananquil Samson, did not in any way pale in comparison, it was refreshing to see the ñoras (from the word Señora referring to senior models) like Apples Aberin and Annette Coronel do their walk once again. It was just a different style back then, I guess, when models had to make do with a lot of improvisations, technology not being as sophisticated and as fool-proof as it is now.
I’ve spent at least a decade working with models and I always thought all models were professional. For over half of that decade, I had never had the misfortune of working with anyone who came to the shoot late, (looking) tired, or with bruises on their legs and with nails long and unkempt. I mean it, as in never, that is until about three or four years ago. In the course of the past two years, however, I have had to deal with models who never showed up, who had to leave in the middle of the game on account of “prior” engagement, and who arrived with her whole family tree and her mother to distract her and harass the crew.
But then times are different. For one, there are many more models now, including the self-proclaimed ones, whose only “claim to fame” is a brief appearance in a TV commercial. There is also such a thing as the Brazilian invasion, which some insiders say is killing the industry. I believe, however, that it’s a challenge well worthy of the Filipino model, who, like other Filipino professionals, has truly got what it takes to stand tall and towering in the global community.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
Monday, September 17, 2007
VIEW FROM A MOVING WINDOW
(From "A Weekend Note," the Editor's Letter, in Style Weekend, Manila Bulletin, Friday, 21 September, 2007)
From Manila Bay, you can view the city skyline, as though from a foreigner’s eyes. I’ve tried it more than a few times. Each time, aboard Justin Po’s m/v Shanti, for instance, it has always been as though I were in another time, another place. The last time, on a La Mer-sponsored sunset cruise, in which the group of brand manager Sandra Lacson introduced La Mer’s Eye Concentrate to the beauty and lifestyle press, I didn’t even recognize the SM Mall of Asia. With the setting sun tinting everything in gold, violet, and orange, I could really have made believe I was seeing some port in some strange city.
The traveler is the most important part of traveling. —Andrè Suarés
It helped, of course, that I was indulging myself with a glass or two of red wine and with more than generous helpings of caviar while some of my cruisemates, having popped Bonamine a minute too late, were unfortunately too busy trying not to be seasick on the upper deck. Although I was much better off outside, at the tailend of the yacht, where I could see the darkening skies overhead and all the foam the yacht left beneath us in its wake, I would not have minded watching the view from the cabin, where the dessert buffet was.
Indeed, the world looks quite romantically different when viewed within the frames of a moving window. Back when I was a student (and less jaded), watching Manila drift by from the window of even a rickety, roach-infested bus on Edsa was like reading poetry to me. The faces on the pavements, too fleeting to be real, were glimpses of lives I would never know, each a slice of the whole spectrum of human emotions, from ennui to worry, from longing to bliss.
Once, from the window of a car parked in Cartimar in Pasay City, where an uncle was to buy me some pet goldfish as a treat, I saw a woman balancing a huge basket on her head. Even then, I saw scenes like this as a magazine page, transporting the power of the image onto a page in Life or National Geographic. But, as I got older, Manila became too much of an everyday place to stir any strong emotions in me. It’s sad because I strongly believe it’s just me losing that eye that once saw beauty everywhere, even in sadness or poverty or emptiness.
Just a couple of years ago, on a 10-hour drive to Vigan, behind the wheel of a borrowed BMW, I tried desperately to pretend I was driving through the Italian countryside. I wasn’t exactly conjuring up orchards and vineyards, but I was trying to replicate the sense of enrichment that views of quaint villages perched on rolling hills a train ride between Milan and Florence once afforded me. It wasn’t so much Italy or Europe, which in most places, particularly outside the tourist traps, is postcard-pretty.
Even in the dark tunnel that bridges the gap between New Jersey and New York, there had been those strange feelings of adventure. I’d recommend first-timers to arrive in New York this way: Land in Newark (in New Jersey) and rent a car (or have a friend pick you up by car) and arrive in New York via the Lincoln Tunnel. In this tunnel, indeed, you are between worlds. At its New York end, in a span of minutes, you can sense you have arrived. The city’s energy is so palpable it is almost physical.
But then again, it’s just me. Sometimes, do you ever wonder what it will be like if you went to any bus station, picked out a destination that sounded the most strange to you, and boarded the bus that would take you there?
The unknown is an indispensable ingredient of any great adventure. I believe that’s the fine line that separates the traveler from the tourist. But is there any more unknown to explore, besides outer space, now that every global hamburger chain, every soda giant has beat us to practically every corner of the shrinking world? Pretty soon, we can all rest easy there’s going to be a Burger King in Patagonia, unless Mars proves to be a more lucrative venue for expansion.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
From Manila Bay, you can view the city skyline, as though from a foreigner’s eyes. I’ve tried it more than a few times. Each time, aboard Justin Po’s m/v Shanti, for instance, it has always been as though I were in another time, another place. The last time, on a La Mer-sponsored sunset cruise, in which the group of brand manager Sandra Lacson introduced La Mer’s Eye Concentrate to the beauty and lifestyle press, I didn’t even recognize the SM Mall of Asia. With the setting sun tinting everything in gold, violet, and orange, I could really have made believe I was seeing some port in some strange city.
The traveler is the most important part of traveling. —Andrè Suarés
It helped, of course, that I was indulging myself with a glass or two of red wine and with more than generous helpings of caviar while some of my cruisemates, having popped Bonamine a minute too late, were unfortunately too busy trying not to be seasick on the upper deck. Although I was much better off outside, at the tailend of the yacht, where I could see the darkening skies overhead and all the foam the yacht left beneath us in its wake, I would not have minded watching the view from the cabin, where the dessert buffet was.
Indeed, the world looks quite romantically different when viewed within the frames of a moving window. Back when I was a student (and less jaded), watching Manila drift by from the window of even a rickety, roach-infested bus on Edsa was like reading poetry to me. The faces on the pavements, too fleeting to be real, were glimpses of lives I would never know, each a slice of the whole spectrum of human emotions, from ennui to worry, from longing to bliss.
Once, from the window of a car parked in Cartimar in Pasay City, where an uncle was to buy me some pet goldfish as a treat, I saw a woman balancing a huge basket on her head. Even then, I saw scenes like this as a magazine page, transporting the power of the image onto a page in Life or National Geographic. But, as I got older, Manila became too much of an everyday place to stir any strong emotions in me. It’s sad because I strongly believe it’s just me losing that eye that once saw beauty everywhere, even in sadness or poverty or emptiness.
Just a couple of years ago, on a 10-hour drive to Vigan, behind the wheel of a borrowed BMW, I tried desperately to pretend I was driving through the Italian countryside. I wasn’t exactly conjuring up orchards and vineyards, but I was trying to replicate the sense of enrichment that views of quaint villages perched on rolling hills a train ride between Milan and Florence once afforded me. It wasn’t so much Italy or Europe, which in most places, particularly outside the tourist traps, is postcard-pretty.
Even in the dark tunnel that bridges the gap between New Jersey and New York, there had been those strange feelings of adventure. I’d recommend first-timers to arrive in New York this way: Land in Newark (in New Jersey) and rent a car (or have a friend pick you up by car) and arrive in New York via the Lincoln Tunnel. In this tunnel, indeed, you are between worlds. At its New York end, in a span of minutes, you can sense you have arrived. The city’s energy is so palpable it is almost physical.
But then again, it’s just me. Sometimes, do you ever wonder what it will be like if you went to any bus station, picked out a destination that sounded the most strange to you, and boarded the bus that would take you there?
The unknown is an indispensable ingredient of any great adventure. I believe that’s the fine line that separates the traveler from the tourist. But is there any more unknown to explore, besides outer space, now that every global hamburger chain, every soda giant has beat us to practically every corner of the shrinking world? Pretty soon, we can all rest easy there’s going to be a Burger King in Patagonia, unless Mars proves to be a more lucrative venue for expansion.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
Sunday, September 16, 2007
FACE FORWARD
(From the editorial, From the Editor, of the current September edition of the Sense&Stle, "Beauty and the Best," still available in Philippine bookstores, newsstands, hotel kiosks, and more)
I didn’t realize until we started preparing this issue devoted to the pursuit and the upkeep, the benefits and the burdens of beauty that this multi-billion-peso industry is run by people who are as serious about their business as, say, a bank or investments executive. The only difference is that in the way these beauty executives run their business the bottom line hardly ever appears to be about money but rather about putting the best “face” forward for both brand and its customer.
BLURB
Beautiful young people are accidents of nature. But beautiful old people are works of art. —Marjorie Barstow Breenbie
To these brand custodians, a night cream or drying lotion, more than a product to sell or a formula to address particular concerns, is time in a bottle or a porcelain jar. In it is contained a history of excellence, a promise that materializes now, and better, brighter, more beautiful days ahead, depending on the efficacy and effectiveness of the product. That’s the past, present, and future all sold as one over the counter every time a new line of anti-aging creams or a new packaging for a lipstick or a new formulation for your favorite facial wash is launched.
No wonder, the industry is run by the most engaging personalities, mostly women like Tina Tinio (“In Tina’s Shu,” page 112), whose phenomenal success, a PR feat, in making Japan’s Shu Uemura a household name among fashionistas in Manila has brought her on top of six countries in the “Shuniverse.” Mutya Crisostomo (“High on Her Heels,” page 124), the classic example of beauty with brains, has taken this former actress and beauty queen barely a year to be a young woman on top of Unilever’s skincare products like Pond’s and Dove. After her life-changing brush with breast cancer, Marionnaud’s Toni Abad (“Vanity’s Fare,” page 122) has made it her commitment to devote herself to what is truly important and that includes seeing other women with cancer through this ordeal.
So many other women make up this special “Beauty and the Best” edition who, like this magazine, are tasked with the mission of keeping the women and the world looking and feeling good. Among them are Manila’s devoted guardians of the world’s most trusted brands in makeup, skincare, and fragrances (“Brand Management,” page 130), such as Lancome’s Zerline Chan, Guerlain’s Trisha Chua, Coty Fragrances’ Vicky Marchadesch, Shisheido’s Raisa Mislang, and Creed’s and Paul & Joe’s Esmeralda Abe.
That’s a whole lot of beauty in this country. If only we can have these women pour all their ideas, energies, savvy, and taste into the Metro Manila Development Authority’s “Metro Gwapo” campaign, whose blue-and-pink sense of aesthetics I find quite disturbing, we can maybe begin to dream of a city as dreamlike as Paris! After all, beautiful people deserve to live in beautiful places, too.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
I didn’t realize until we started preparing this issue devoted to the pursuit and the upkeep, the benefits and the burdens of beauty that this multi-billion-peso industry is run by people who are as serious about their business as, say, a bank or investments executive. The only difference is that in the way these beauty executives run their business the bottom line hardly ever appears to be about money but rather about putting the best “face” forward for both brand and its customer.
BLURB
Beautiful young people are accidents of nature. But beautiful old people are works of art. —Marjorie Barstow Breenbie
To these brand custodians, a night cream or drying lotion, more than a product to sell or a formula to address particular concerns, is time in a bottle or a porcelain jar. In it is contained a history of excellence, a promise that materializes now, and better, brighter, more beautiful days ahead, depending on the efficacy and effectiveness of the product. That’s the past, present, and future all sold as one over the counter every time a new line of anti-aging creams or a new packaging for a lipstick or a new formulation for your favorite facial wash is launched.
No wonder, the industry is run by the most engaging personalities, mostly women like Tina Tinio (“In Tina’s Shu,” page 112), whose phenomenal success, a PR feat, in making Japan’s Shu Uemura a household name among fashionistas in Manila has brought her on top of six countries in the “Shuniverse.” Mutya Crisostomo (“High on Her Heels,” page 124), the classic example of beauty with brains, has taken this former actress and beauty queen barely a year to be a young woman on top of Unilever’s skincare products like Pond’s and Dove. After her life-changing brush with breast cancer, Marionnaud’s Toni Abad (“Vanity’s Fare,” page 122) has made it her commitment to devote herself to what is truly important and that includes seeing other women with cancer through this ordeal.
So many other women make up this special “Beauty and the Best” edition who, like this magazine, are tasked with the mission of keeping the women and the world looking and feeling good. Among them are Manila’s devoted guardians of the world’s most trusted brands in makeup, skincare, and fragrances (“Brand Management,” page 130), such as Lancome’s Zerline Chan, Guerlain’s Trisha Chua, Coty Fragrances’ Vicky Marchadesch, Shisheido’s Raisa Mislang, and Creed’s and Paul & Joe’s Esmeralda Abe.
That’s a whole lot of beauty in this country. If only we can have these women pour all their ideas, energies, savvy, and taste into the Metro Manila Development Authority’s “Metro Gwapo” campaign, whose blue-and-pink sense of aesthetics I find quite disturbing, we can maybe begin to dream of a city as dreamlike as Paris! After all, beautiful people deserve to live in beautiful places, too.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
PLAY DAY FRIDAYS
(From "A Weekend Note," the editor's letter in Style Weekened Play Day Fridays edition, published 14 Sept 14, 2007 in Manila Bulletin)
A ROOM AT THE GRAMERCY
Over lunch with Century Properties, Inc.’s Ambassador Joey Antonio, his wife Hilda, and their sons Jigger and Marco, as well as their interior designer, Chat Fores, and creative director, GP Reyes, at the Gramercy Residences showroom at the Pacific Star Building on Gil Puyat Avenue, I felt literally transported to New York City. The showroom alone was an eye-popper, despite its artistic restraint and effortlessness as apparent in the use of neutrals like beige and black. On the far side of the showroom, there was even a mock-up swimming pool that looked inviting enough for a dip or even a dive, though I suspected it was all of two feet at its deepest.
BLURB
When you look at a city, it’s like reading the hopes, aspirations, and hopes of everyone who built it. —Hugh Newell Jacobsen
Inspired by the Gramercy Park in Manhattan, this new P5-billion residential development promises to be the centerpiece of the Antonios’ vision for Century City, a P40-billion real estate revolution to rise over 4.8 hectares right at the heart of Makati. I know that the phrase “the heart of Makati” has been overused and often not precisely, but the Antonios are truly building Century City not in the outskirts or the previously undeveloped peripheries of the finance district, but in the very hub of it, right on Kalayaan Street, where the old International School campus used to be. Already creative director GP Reyes has coined a term to describe this part of Makati once Century City is up and running (skyward and into the future): MoMa or Modern Makati. Very New York, indeed!
But more than achieving another real estate coup, the vision of Century Properties, whose 21-year track record of excellence, as proven through landmark buildings like Essensa East Forbes, is to bring city living to the next level, bringing Manila up to par with cities like New York by creating something worthy of Filipino pride.
It is for this reason that Joey Antonio’s firm always collaborates with world-renowned talents like I.M. Pei, whose expertise they tapped for the design of Essensa. For Century City, the design partner is no less than Jon Adams Jerde, whose portfolio includes Bellagio Hotel in Las Vegas, the Universal Citywalk in Los Angeles, the Roppongi Hills in Tokyo, and the Zlote Tarasy in Warsaw.
We have every reason, indeed, to be excited about Gramercy Residences at Century City, due for completion in 2011, which is the only way we can truly live in this city of vision. The inspiration, Gramercy Park, one of the last remaining private fenced-in parks in the United States, is enough indication that more than glass and steel and space, Gramercy Residences at Century City will incorporate poetry into the development in a bid to redefine city living. The Oasis, for instance, a preview of which is present at the showroom, where the mock pool is, is another innovation, a sprawling 6,000-square-meter sky park, replete with cascading waterfalls, infinity pools, cafés and restaurants, health clubs, and even a library, a THX theater, and a wine bar, all set 36 stories above ground and traversing Century City’s trilogy cluster of buildings.
To have a piece of Gramercy, whether a flat or a loft with one bedroom or two or three, is to be at home with Manila’s only fully fitted, fully serviced, and fully furnished, hyper-amenitized luxury condominium concept that the Antonios have pioneered in Philippine real estate.
In the meantime, may this Play Day Friday edition of Style Weekend inspire you to take a very good look at what you are doing with the money you are working so hard to earn. Based on a computation we accessed at www.oprah.com, at least 35 percent of every peso you earn must go to housing. I am hoping that my lunch with the Antonios is the universe’s way of opening my eyes to this fact.
Work hard for the money, but, better yet, make your money work hard for you!
A
post aapatawaran@yahoo.com
A ROOM AT THE GRAMERCY
Over lunch with Century Properties, Inc.’s Ambassador Joey Antonio, his wife Hilda, and their sons Jigger and Marco, as well as their interior designer, Chat Fores, and creative director, GP Reyes, at the Gramercy Residences showroom at the Pacific Star Building on Gil Puyat Avenue, I felt literally transported to New York City. The showroom alone was an eye-popper, despite its artistic restraint and effortlessness as apparent in the use of neutrals like beige and black. On the far side of the showroom, there was even a mock-up swimming pool that looked inviting enough for a dip or even a dive, though I suspected it was all of two feet at its deepest.
BLURB
When you look at a city, it’s like reading the hopes, aspirations, and hopes of everyone who built it. —Hugh Newell Jacobsen
Inspired by the Gramercy Park in Manhattan, this new P5-billion residential development promises to be the centerpiece of the Antonios’ vision for Century City, a P40-billion real estate revolution to rise over 4.8 hectares right at the heart of Makati. I know that the phrase “the heart of Makati” has been overused and often not precisely, but the Antonios are truly building Century City not in the outskirts or the previously undeveloped peripheries of the finance district, but in the very hub of it, right on Kalayaan Street, where the old International School campus used to be. Already creative director GP Reyes has coined a term to describe this part of Makati once Century City is up and running (skyward and into the future): MoMa or Modern Makati. Very New York, indeed!
But more than achieving another real estate coup, the vision of Century Properties, whose 21-year track record of excellence, as proven through landmark buildings like Essensa East Forbes, is to bring city living to the next level, bringing Manila up to par with cities like New York by creating something worthy of Filipino pride.
It is for this reason that Joey Antonio’s firm always collaborates with world-renowned talents like I.M. Pei, whose expertise they tapped for the design of Essensa. For Century City, the design partner is no less than Jon Adams Jerde, whose portfolio includes Bellagio Hotel in Las Vegas, the Universal Citywalk in Los Angeles, the Roppongi Hills in Tokyo, and the Zlote Tarasy in Warsaw.
We have every reason, indeed, to be excited about Gramercy Residences at Century City, due for completion in 2011, which is the only way we can truly live in this city of vision. The inspiration, Gramercy Park, one of the last remaining private fenced-in parks in the United States, is enough indication that more than glass and steel and space, Gramercy Residences at Century City will incorporate poetry into the development in a bid to redefine city living. The Oasis, for instance, a preview of which is present at the showroom, where the mock pool is, is another innovation, a sprawling 6,000-square-meter sky park, replete with cascading waterfalls, infinity pools, cafés and restaurants, health clubs, and even a library, a THX theater, and a wine bar, all set 36 stories above ground and traversing Century City’s trilogy cluster of buildings.
To have a piece of Gramercy, whether a flat or a loft with one bedroom or two or three, is to be at home with Manila’s only fully fitted, fully serviced, and fully furnished, hyper-amenitized luxury condominium concept that the Antonios have pioneered in Philippine real estate.
In the meantime, may this Play Day Friday edition of Style Weekend inspire you to take a very good look at what you are doing with the money you are working so hard to earn. Based on a computation we accessed at www.oprah.com, at least 35 percent of every peso you earn must go to housing. I am hoping that my lunch with the Antonios is the universe’s way of opening my eyes to this fact.
Work hard for the money, but, better yet, make your money work hard for you!
A
post aapatawaran@yahoo.com
…AND SO WE DREAM
(From the Editor's Note, "From the Editor, of the upcoming October issue of Sense&Style)
What if you lived on a small, empty island, where the only visible sign of a larger life is a faint mountain silhouette on the far horizon? What if you lived in the slums, where the spectacle from your window is a panorama of rusty, makeshift rooftops, tucked into place by old tires? What if you lived in a box, where there are no sights to explore, no smells to discover, no flavors to unravel, no mysteries to untangle?
You open an atlas, you dream over a map, you repeat the glorious names of unknown cities. —Joseph Kessel
Then you dream. You focus on that pale shadow on the other side of the deep, blue sea, conjuring up images of great, seemingly implausible things. You keep your head above the vista of poverty, wondering what other worlds must exist under the same blue skies and cotton clouds overhead. You retreat into your inner world, inhabited by bizarre beings, the creatures of your imagination, the magic of your inventions.
That’s the power of dreams. Unlike most of the other things we value, they cannot be bought. They do not care whether we are rich or poor, dumb or smart, strong or weak. They cannot be locked up in a safe or stripped of their right to exist, that is, without our consent.
Dreams, I believe, are the reason we all start out in this world as children, who, despite the nagging of the grownups around us, spend our first many years on earth refusing to recognize lack, limitation, boundaries, or even danger. In the world of a child, a discarded tin can on the street is enough to stimulate the mind, to unleash the spirit, to make the heart go pitter-patter with infinite possibilities. It is so when the passage of time has turned us into adults, indoctrinated in the irrefutable science of cause and effect, the unassailable difference between fact and fiction, we can always draw from our childhood a certain power to “shoot rubberbands at the stars,” to borrow a phrase from Edie Brickel.
In this issue, in which we hope to invoke all the forces of the universe to turn our highest aspirations to reality, we turn to dreamers and doers like Tetchie Agbayani (“Steward of Futures,” page 132), who has quietly left the limelight to lead a quiet yet more meaningful life, guiding the youth by the hand on the path to an empowered future. The future, yet the great unknown, is also what feeds Mercedes Lopez Vargas’ dreams (“The Lopez Legacy,” page 126), although her path compels her to turn back time, if only to help history catch up with the present and lead the way. In a world obsessed with speed, Maia Yulo La’O (“Where Dreams Dwell,” page 122), along with her family, is slowing things down in a country estate, which, once consigned to the realm of dreams, has now become reality even for the city-bound, replete with ducks gliding on ponds and tall trees flirting with the sun. Our cover girl, Heart Evangelista (“Heart, Wind, & Fire,” page 114), after having devoted many years of her young life to the public eye, had to slow down, too, to discover the joys of living her life according to the dictates of her heart.
In these pages, there are many ways by which we can view possibilities in our mind’s eye, whether in the language of REM (“The Science of Sleep,” page 82) or in the guise of odd warnings or danger signs (“Lost in a Dream,” page 75). But dreams in order to be powerful have to come in the form of strong visuals, vivid images, compelling pictures. No matter how impossible it seems, if you can see it clearly, every tinge of color, every curve, chances are it will soon become reality. Imagination, not necessity, is the mother of invention. After all, before the submarine was invented for practical purposes, didn’t French novelist Jules Verne dream it up first, seeing it so clearly in his mind that he wrote Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea to describe it?
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
What if you lived on a small, empty island, where the only visible sign of a larger life is a faint mountain silhouette on the far horizon? What if you lived in the slums, where the spectacle from your window is a panorama of rusty, makeshift rooftops, tucked into place by old tires? What if you lived in a box, where there are no sights to explore, no smells to discover, no flavors to unravel, no mysteries to untangle?
You open an atlas, you dream over a map, you repeat the glorious names of unknown cities. —Joseph Kessel
Then you dream. You focus on that pale shadow on the other side of the deep, blue sea, conjuring up images of great, seemingly implausible things. You keep your head above the vista of poverty, wondering what other worlds must exist under the same blue skies and cotton clouds overhead. You retreat into your inner world, inhabited by bizarre beings, the creatures of your imagination, the magic of your inventions.
That’s the power of dreams. Unlike most of the other things we value, they cannot be bought. They do not care whether we are rich or poor, dumb or smart, strong or weak. They cannot be locked up in a safe or stripped of their right to exist, that is, without our consent.
Dreams, I believe, are the reason we all start out in this world as children, who, despite the nagging of the grownups around us, spend our first many years on earth refusing to recognize lack, limitation, boundaries, or even danger. In the world of a child, a discarded tin can on the street is enough to stimulate the mind, to unleash the spirit, to make the heart go pitter-patter with infinite possibilities. It is so when the passage of time has turned us into adults, indoctrinated in the irrefutable science of cause and effect, the unassailable difference between fact and fiction, we can always draw from our childhood a certain power to “shoot rubberbands at the stars,” to borrow a phrase from Edie Brickel.
In this issue, in which we hope to invoke all the forces of the universe to turn our highest aspirations to reality, we turn to dreamers and doers like Tetchie Agbayani (“Steward of Futures,” page 132), who has quietly left the limelight to lead a quiet yet more meaningful life, guiding the youth by the hand on the path to an empowered future. The future, yet the great unknown, is also what feeds Mercedes Lopez Vargas’ dreams (“The Lopez Legacy,” page 126), although her path compels her to turn back time, if only to help history catch up with the present and lead the way. In a world obsessed with speed, Maia Yulo La’O (“Where Dreams Dwell,” page 122), along with her family, is slowing things down in a country estate, which, once consigned to the realm of dreams, has now become reality even for the city-bound, replete with ducks gliding on ponds and tall trees flirting with the sun. Our cover girl, Heart Evangelista (“Heart, Wind, & Fire,” page 114), after having devoted many years of her young life to the public eye, had to slow down, too, to discover the joys of living her life according to the dictates of her heart.
In these pages, there are many ways by which we can view possibilities in our mind’s eye, whether in the language of REM (“The Science of Sleep,” page 82) or in the guise of odd warnings or danger signs (“Lost in a Dream,” page 75). But dreams in order to be powerful have to come in the form of strong visuals, vivid images, compelling pictures. No matter how impossible it seems, if you can see it clearly, every tinge of color, every curve, chances are it will soon become reality. Imagination, not necessity, is the mother of invention. After all, before the submarine was invented for practical purposes, didn’t French novelist Jules Verne dream it up first, seeing it so clearly in his mind that he wrote Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea to describe it?
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
Thursday, September 6, 2007
EVER AFTER
(FROM A WEEKEND NOTE, THE EDITOR'S LETTER IN STYLE WEEKEND, A SPECIAL SECTION OF MANILA BULLETIN THAT COMES OUT EVERY FRIDAY, 7 SEPT., 2007)
I’ve never really paid attention to Angel Locsin until the recent brouhaha on her transfer from GMA to ABS-CBN. I didn’t even realize until our one-on-one with her just four days after her return from London that Darna was her ticket to superstardom. It made her shine and soar. I hate to give away my age, but to me Darna remains to be Vilma Santos.
BLURB
Just think of happy things, and your heart will fly on wings, forever… —Peter Pan
During our shoot, when Angel, jetlagged and besieged by controversies, had every excuse to let the “diva’ out in her, the local tinsel town’s damsel in distress seemed as good-natured and sweet as Snow White. At this point, no amount of bad press will distract me from the fact that, indeed, here is a gem worth fighting for. My apologies to GMA-7, but you do have some reason to cry over spilled milk. At least, in my limited experience of her work ethics, this one here is a professional.
I know that the Angel controversy has somewhat died down, thanks to another inane battle on the so-called Network War, but, from the outset, I never understood what the fuss was all about. Emotions aside, a contract expired, which means whoever was bound by that contract had the option to renew or to seek better opportunities elsewhere. It’s as simple as that. Or is it?
At any rate, our time with Angel, a scoop for our other magazine, Sense&Style, was fun because it brought us back to our childhood fantasies. Set after set, the actress was transformed into our favorite fairy-tale protagonists, from Little Red Riding Hood in killer boots to Rapunzel in stilettos. Each set turned us back to unforgotten times, when we had more faith in the world and we all believed in happy endings. (See all the images, along with Angel’s heartbreaking yet hopeful story, in Sense&Style’s September issue, our big, collectible beauty edition, “Beauty and the Best.”)
I suppose our fancy pictorial also helped Angel set aside for a while the troubles of her controversial career move, although any woman with her sensibilities could not have escaped the bittersweet emotions of moving from one place to the next, no matter how promising the next place might be. That’s the curse of maturity, where life is no longer as plain as black and white. Whereas in childhood, friends are friends, as easily identifiable as the Seven Dwarves or Glinda, the Good Witch, and enemies are enemies, not quite as challenging to recognize despite their many guises as Cinderella’s wicked stepmother and the Big, Bad Wolf; in adulthood, it’s not that simple. As a mature adult, you can’t help thinking that maybe the wolf is just hungry. As the Snake in the Grass in The Little Prince, a story Antoine de Saint-Exupery wrote for the grownups, so succinctly pointed out, “It is just in my nature to sting.”
I wish it were not in the nature of people to hurt each other for any reason and I do wish Angel Locsin all the best in this new phase of her journey. I have yet to watch any of her movies, but she seems to love what she is doing and she seems willing to break a leg (and her heart) for it. In my book, loving what you do enough to beat all the odds is perhaps all you need to make it in this world. After all, I’m an adult, but I still believe in happy endings.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
I’ve never really paid attention to Angel Locsin until the recent brouhaha on her transfer from GMA to ABS-CBN. I didn’t even realize until our one-on-one with her just four days after her return from London that Darna was her ticket to superstardom. It made her shine and soar. I hate to give away my age, but to me Darna remains to be Vilma Santos.
BLURB
Just think of happy things, and your heart will fly on wings, forever… —Peter Pan
During our shoot, when Angel, jetlagged and besieged by controversies, had every excuse to let the “diva’ out in her, the local tinsel town’s damsel in distress seemed as good-natured and sweet as Snow White. At this point, no amount of bad press will distract me from the fact that, indeed, here is a gem worth fighting for. My apologies to GMA-7, but you do have some reason to cry over spilled milk. At least, in my limited experience of her work ethics, this one here is a professional.
I know that the Angel controversy has somewhat died down, thanks to another inane battle on the so-called Network War, but, from the outset, I never understood what the fuss was all about. Emotions aside, a contract expired, which means whoever was bound by that contract had the option to renew or to seek better opportunities elsewhere. It’s as simple as that. Or is it?
At any rate, our time with Angel, a scoop for our other magazine, Sense&Style, was fun because it brought us back to our childhood fantasies. Set after set, the actress was transformed into our favorite fairy-tale protagonists, from Little Red Riding Hood in killer boots to Rapunzel in stilettos. Each set turned us back to unforgotten times, when we had more faith in the world and we all believed in happy endings. (See all the images, along with Angel’s heartbreaking yet hopeful story, in Sense&Style’s September issue, our big, collectible beauty edition, “Beauty and the Best.”)
I suppose our fancy pictorial also helped Angel set aside for a while the troubles of her controversial career move, although any woman with her sensibilities could not have escaped the bittersweet emotions of moving from one place to the next, no matter how promising the next place might be. That’s the curse of maturity, where life is no longer as plain as black and white. Whereas in childhood, friends are friends, as easily identifiable as the Seven Dwarves or Glinda, the Good Witch, and enemies are enemies, not quite as challenging to recognize despite their many guises as Cinderella’s wicked stepmother and the Big, Bad Wolf; in adulthood, it’s not that simple. As a mature adult, you can’t help thinking that maybe the wolf is just hungry. As the Snake in the Grass in The Little Prince, a story Antoine de Saint-Exupery wrote for the grownups, so succinctly pointed out, “It is just in my nature to sting.”
I wish it were not in the nature of people to hurt each other for any reason and I do wish Angel Locsin all the best in this new phase of her journey. I have yet to watch any of her movies, but she seems to love what she is doing and she seems willing to break a leg (and her heart) for it. In my book, loving what you do enough to beat all the odds is perhaps all you need to make it in this world. After all, I’m an adult, but I still believe in happy endings.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
Thursday, August 30, 2007
A WALK IN THE PARK
(FROM THE EDITOR'S NOTE IN STYLE WEEKEND, A WEEKEND MAGAZINE THAT COMES WITH THE FRDIAY ISSUE OF MANILA BULLETIN, AUG. 31 2007)
If I had the time and the means, I would gather the top 10 Filipinos on Forbes’ list of the world’s richest to dinner at the Presidential Suite of the Manila Hotel, which has the best view of Rizal Park. With hope, I could get the best Filipino chefs to whip up a menu tantalizing and hypnotizing enough to have each of my dinner guests sign a check for the benefit of Luneta and, better yet, to pledge a hefty annual contribution to the goal of making the park worthy of its history and its future. With hope, if at all I trusted the National Parks Development Committee, whose leadership has complained of a lack of funds term after term, I could turn over enough money to get Luneta on a path that will soon make it up to par with, say, New York’s Central Park or even just Paris’ Jardin de Tuileries.
To sit in the shade on a fine day, and look upon verdure is the most perfect refreshment. —Jane Austen
Now a showcase of neglect and a study in deterioration, Luneta, as most of us know it, is home to vagrants, although, occasionally, on my way to work in Intramuros, I spot foreign dignitaries laying a wreath on the Rizal Monument or tourists striking a pose with the bronze-and-granite statue created by Zurich sculptor Richard Kissling in the backdrop. The Rizal Monument, more than a tribute to—and a mausoleum for the remains of—the National Hero Jose Rizal, is where it all starts. Unknown to most of us, the monument is Kilometer Zero, a point of origin from which all distances in the Philippines are measured.
I suppose that generations born after the ’80s no longer have good memories of Luneta, where, luckily, I have fond remembrances of Sunday picnics, the refreshing sensation of salt spray on my face at the breakwater, and a view of the world from the mouth of a giant hippopotamus. Although I am thankful that malls are sprouting to give us places to go to, I find it so sad that parks no longer provide us with escape options when we want to be away from it all. How very sad, indeed, that the lungs of our beloved city need desperately to be checked in at the intensive care unit of the Philippine Lung Center!
But maybe, after decades of neglect, Luneta, all 53 hectares of it, is beyond redemption, if all I could think of to save it is some donations from the 10 richest of our people. Maybe, more than money, what it needs is for all of us to start thinking of it as our own, an extension of our backyards and gardens, a place in which to have our little children learn a few more things about trees and flowers, the swirls of cotton candy in the sky, the occasional dragonfly or beetle or bird, and the Philippine archipelago through the replica of it made in the middle of Luneta’s man-made lake.
Of course, the park police, if we can even trust them, first have to do their part. But so do we. Our first, most important step, as I see it, is to claim it back, to make Luneta ours again. Once we do, the business sector may just begin to see the value of the park and begin to invest in it. With hope, all that attention will translate to cleaner restrooms, more dining options, better Concerts at the Park, lusher trees, greener grass, and more park benches in which to sit back and watch the day go by, without anyone bothering you for alms or running away with your purse or offering you cheap sex.
It’s not that easy, but it’s not impossible. It’s becoming quite urgent, too, now that, to the city-weary, the two-hour drive to the countryside to enjoy a few minutes of walking barefoot on green grass is beginning to sound like a walk in the park. After all, one hour is all we need to get out of this country, period.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
If I had the time and the means, I would gather the top 10 Filipinos on Forbes’ list of the world’s richest to dinner at the Presidential Suite of the Manila Hotel, which has the best view of Rizal Park. With hope, I could get the best Filipino chefs to whip up a menu tantalizing and hypnotizing enough to have each of my dinner guests sign a check for the benefit of Luneta and, better yet, to pledge a hefty annual contribution to the goal of making the park worthy of its history and its future. With hope, if at all I trusted the National Parks Development Committee, whose leadership has complained of a lack of funds term after term, I could turn over enough money to get Luneta on a path that will soon make it up to par with, say, New York’s Central Park or even just Paris’ Jardin de Tuileries.
To sit in the shade on a fine day, and look upon verdure is the most perfect refreshment. —Jane Austen
Now a showcase of neglect and a study in deterioration, Luneta, as most of us know it, is home to vagrants, although, occasionally, on my way to work in Intramuros, I spot foreign dignitaries laying a wreath on the Rizal Monument or tourists striking a pose with the bronze-and-granite statue created by Zurich sculptor Richard Kissling in the backdrop. The Rizal Monument, more than a tribute to—and a mausoleum for the remains of—the National Hero Jose Rizal, is where it all starts. Unknown to most of us, the monument is Kilometer Zero, a point of origin from which all distances in the Philippines are measured.
I suppose that generations born after the ’80s no longer have good memories of Luneta, where, luckily, I have fond remembrances of Sunday picnics, the refreshing sensation of salt spray on my face at the breakwater, and a view of the world from the mouth of a giant hippopotamus. Although I am thankful that malls are sprouting to give us places to go to, I find it so sad that parks no longer provide us with escape options when we want to be away from it all. How very sad, indeed, that the lungs of our beloved city need desperately to be checked in at the intensive care unit of the Philippine Lung Center!
But maybe, after decades of neglect, Luneta, all 53 hectares of it, is beyond redemption, if all I could think of to save it is some donations from the 10 richest of our people. Maybe, more than money, what it needs is for all of us to start thinking of it as our own, an extension of our backyards and gardens, a place in which to have our little children learn a few more things about trees and flowers, the swirls of cotton candy in the sky, the occasional dragonfly or beetle or bird, and the Philippine archipelago through the replica of it made in the middle of Luneta’s man-made lake.
Of course, the park police, if we can even trust them, first have to do their part. But so do we. Our first, most important step, as I see it, is to claim it back, to make Luneta ours again. Once we do, the business sector may just begin to see the value of the park and begin to invest in it. With hope, all that attention will translate to cleaner restrooms, more dining options, better Concerts at the Park, lusher trees, greener grass, and more park benches in which to sit back and watch the day go by, without anyone bothering you for alms or running away with your purse or offering you cheap sex.
It’s not that easy, but it’s not impossible. It’s becoming quite urgent, too, now that, to the city-weary, the two-hour drive to the countryside to enjoy a few minutes of walking barefoot on green grass is beginning to sound like a walk in the park. After all, one hour is all we need to get out of this country, period.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
Saturday, August 18, 2007
SECOND LIFE
(FROM A WEEKEND NOTE, THE EDITOR'S LETTER IN STYLE WEEKEND, TO BE PUBLISHED ON AUGUST 24, 2007. STYLE WEEKEND IS PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY AS A SPECIAL MAGAZINE INSERT IN THE MANILA BULLETIN)
I had a recent invitation to Second Life, a 3-D virtual world, where you can start all over again.
As of press time, there are about 8,953,230 residents in this digital continent. I am one of them. Although I believe I am not even in the infant stage yet, I have chosen a new name and a new look, as represented by my avatar whose image, rather than dictated by genes, is one of my choosing. In the Create Your Avatar phase of the application for residency, it says I can change the way I look as I go along.
BLURB
There are many ways to be free. One of them is to transcend reality by imagination, as I try to do. —Anais Nin
I heard through the style grapevine that global fashion giants are flocking to the site, but on my very, very brief digital tour of this virtual world, I hardly came across any real brands (But I did see H&M in the other just-as-popular online community, Sims 2). My first impulse was to browse through the Second Style magazine, but so far all the brands are as virtual as the avatars behind them. I must check the other magazines. Just like in Manila, there are so many of them cropping up in Second Life, with interesting titles like PixelPlus, Pixel Chic, Voodoo, and .Fur. Maybe, I should start a magazine of my own once I get the hang of this alternative universe, but then it’s going to be the same life as I lead now.
I was thrilled to hear Suzanne Vega was the first major recording artist to perform live in Second Life in August last year. In my meanderings, however, I only came across a sampling of her guitars with Robbie Dingo, as commissioned by Infinite Visions CEO (and Second Life entity) Oliver Oddfellow, building it to match the animation for the Vega avatar. I am a technodinosaur, so I have yet to navigate my way to the concert. After all, I have good memories of Suzanne Vega back when I was young and her “Tom’s Diner” was a hit. I did find her avatar performance of “The Queen and the Soldier” on YouTube and I wonder if it means Linden dollars down the drain for the virtual organizer that there was more space than avatars on the bleachers.
But that’s Second Life. It’s not like The Simpsons or The Grudge or The Titanic, where you can only momentarily escape the realities of life. It’s a whole new life, where you can buy property, own virtual land, and establish a business using Linden dollars, which, according to the Second Life primer, “can be converted to US dollars at several thriving online Linden Dollar exchanges.” I wonder if I could use a second life or if I need it at all when I barely have enough time for one.
The way I understand it, Second Life is real life, except that it exists in a parallel universe and except that it’s in 3-D animation rather than in solid, liquid, or gas and people are avatars rather than flesh and blood.
But then, is it going to be easier to make it in Second Life? With only a little over eight million residents to compete with, maybe, but that also means there is a chance to fail, to have your heart broken, to have your properties stolen, to have your Linden dollar account wiped out due to a failed business venture or extravagance or a swindler of a virtual wife or a compulsion for gambling.
Or maybe it’s a good idea to start over in Second Life and see what it’s like to just do it, to follow our instincts, to eliminate fear and go for broke and make it big, perchance in real-time we discover what it takes to make real life work by undoing what we have done and doing what we have yet to do.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
I had a recent invitation to Second Life, a 3-D virtual world, where you can start all over again.
As of press time, there are about 8,953,230 residents in this digital continent. I am one of them. Although I believe I am not even in the infant stage yet, I have chosen a new name and a new look, as represented by my avatar whose image, rather than dictated by genes, is one of my choosing. In the Create Your Avatar phase of the application for residency, it says I can change the way I look as I go along.
BLURB
There are many ways to be free. One of them is to transcend reality by imagination, as I try to do. —Anais Nin
I heard through the style grapevine that global fashion giants are flocking to the site, but on my very, very brief digital tour of this virtual world, I hardly came across any real brands (But I did see H&M in the other just-as-popular online community, Sims 2). My first impulse was to browse through the Second Style magazine, but so far all the brands are as virtual as the avatars behind them. I must check the other magazines. Just like in Manila, there are so many of them cropping up in Second Life, with interesting titles like PixelPlus, Pixel Chic, Voodoo, and .Fur. Maybe, I should start a magazine of my own once I get the hang of this alternative universe, but then it’s going to be the same life as I lead now.
I was thrilled to hear Suzanne Vega was the first major recording artist to perform live in Second Life in August last year. In my meanderings, however, I only came across a sampling of her guitars with Robbie Dingo, as commissioned by Infinite Visions CEO (and Second Life entity) Oliver Oddfellow, building it to match the animation for the Vega avatar. I am a technodinosaur, so I have yet to navigate my way to the concert. After all, I have good memories of Suzanne Vega back when I was young and her “Tom’s Diner” was a hit. I did find her avatar performance of “The Queen and the Soldier” on YouTube and I wonder if it means Linden dollars down the drain for the virtual organizer that there was more space than avatars on the bleachers.
But that’s Second Life. It’s not like The Simpsons or The Grudge or The Titanic, where you can only momentarily escape the realities of life. It’s a whole new life, where you can buy property, own virtual land, and establish a business using Linden dollars, which, according to the Second Life primer, “can be converted to US dollars at several thriving online Linden Dollar exchanges.” I wonder if I could use a second life or if I need it at all when I barely have enough time for one.
The way I understand it, Second Life is real life, except that it exists in a parallel universe and except that it’s in 3-D animation rather than in solid, liquid, or gas and people are avatars rather than flesh and blood.
But then, is it going to be easier to make it in Second Life? With only a little over eight million residents to compete with, maybe, but that also means there is a chance to fail, to have your heart broken, to have your properties stolen, to have your Linden dollar account wiped out due to a failed business venture or extravagance or a swindler of a virtual wife or a compulsion for gambling.
Or maybe it’s a good idea to start over in Second Life and see what it’s like to just do it, to follow our instincts, to eliminate fear and go for broke and make it big, perchance in real-time we discover what it takes to make real life work by undoing what we have done and doing what we have yet to do.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
IN FILIPINO FASHION
(FROM A WEEKEND NOTE, THE EDITOR'S LETTER IN STYLE WEEKEND, AUGUST 17, 2007. STYLE WEEKEND IS PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY AS A SPECIAL MAGAZINE INSERT IN THE MANILA BULLETIN)
I heard some good news from Lancôme chief makeup artist and proprietor of the recently launched House of Laurel Makeup Studio Gela Laurel. A bride-to-be traveling all the way from Singapore booked her for trial. The Singaporean had apparently been told that when in search of a good dress, whether for bridal or other reasons, it was best to look in the direction of Filipino designers, “the best in the region.” And since she had agreed to come to Manila to look for a designer, she might as well check out the city’s makeup artists who “are just as creative.”
We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit —Aristotle
Like all other things of our own, Philippine fashion design has been through the wringer in the critical eye of the Filipino. I guess it is in our nature, having had too many foreign influences, to look for excellence elsewhere, which is why we make a big deal of those who, like Josie Natori or Monique Lhuillier, make it in other places, often at the expense of their equally exceptional comrades who stick it out here, despite the pull of the bigger world out there. No offense to Josie or Monique, especially to Josie who has never given up on the local market, although I would assume it is only a drop in her New York bucket.
In recent years, a whole new batch of new designers have emerged and more than a handful of them has become so popular that their names now roll off the popular tongue quite as smoothly and as readily as Inno Sotto’s or Auggie Cordero’s or even Joe Salazar’s. In our press room, for instance, our directory of fashion designers has enough entries to fill up the Yellow Pages. What’s more, should we need to travel to places like Cebu for a shoot, there’s no need to worry about overweight charges as there’s no more need to fly in a whole atelier of clothes from Manila. An NDD call to Cebu’s growing A-list of designers like Cary Santiago or Philip Rodriguez prior to the shoot is all it takes.
The fashion industry is growing. It’s a problem for some, especially for the purists who believe that like fame and fortune the very idea of being a designer has become so accessible it has lost some of its “high life” nuances. That may be true in this age of reality TV, where all it takes to make your dream come true is Pinoy Big Brother, but the more, the merrier, if only because I still believe that sooner or later the mediocre (or the undecided) will fall by the wayside and excellence will prevail. In the meantime, we are happy we have a growing number of choices in matters of dress. As always, we have the choice to let mediocrity die a natural death, unless we are willing to embrace it and make it the norm.
With all the clothes on our shoot racks still eliciting oohs and ahhs, if not in terms of execution, at least in terms of promise, I am confident that, in general, the Filipino people have yet to mistake mediocrity for excellence. If this appears to happen, maybe we are just giving our fellows a chance.
And maybe to be given a chance is all we need. After all, the Philippines has been in existence only since 1521, as per the world records. France, on the other hand, has had at least since 843 BC, through the Verdun Treaty, to master civilization, as we define it now.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
I heard some good news from Lancôme chief makeup artist and proprietor of the recently launched House of Laurel Makeup Studio Gela Laurel. A bride-to-be traveling all the way from Singapore booked her for trial. The Singaporean had apparently been told that when in search of a good dress, whether for bridal or other reasons, it was best to look in the direction of Filipino designers, “the best in the region.” And since she had agreed to come to Manila to look for a designer, she might as well check out the city’s makeup artists who “are just as creative.”
We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit —Aristotle
Like all other things of our own, Philippine fashion design has been through the wringer in the critical eye of the Filipino. I guess it is in our nature, having had too many foreign influences, to look for excellence elsewhere, which is why we make a big deal of those who, like Josie Natori or Monique Lhuillier, make it in other places, often at the expense of their equally exceptional comrades who stick it out here, despite the pull of the bigger world out there. No offense to Josie or Monique, especially to Josie who has never given up on the local market, although I would assume it is only a drop in her New York bucket.
In recent years, a whole new batch of new designers have emerged and more than a handful of them has become so popular that their names now roll off the popular tongue quite as smoothly and as readily as Inno Sotto’s or Auggie Cordero’s or even Joe Salazar’s. In our press room, for instance, our directory of fashion designers has enough entries to fill up the Yellow Pages. What’s more, should we need to travel to places like Cebu for a shoot, there’s no need to worry about overweight charges as there’s no more need to fly in a whole atelier of clothes from Manila. An NDD call to Cebu’s growing A-list of designers like Cary Santiago or Philip Rodriguez prior to the shoot is all it takes.
The fashion industry is growing. It’s a problem for some, especially for the purists who believe that like fame and fortune the very idea of being a designer has become so accessible it has lost some of its “high life” nuances. That may be true in this age of reality TV, where all it takes to make your dream come true is Pinoy Big Brother, but the more, the merrier, if only because I still believe that sooner or later the mediocre (or the undecided) will fall by the wayside and excellence will prevail. In the meantime, we are happy we have a growing number of choices in matters of dress. As always, we have the choice to let mediocrity die a natural death, unless we are willing to embrace it and make it the norm.
With all the clothes on our shoot racks still eliciting oohs and ahhs, if not in terms of execution, at least in terms of promise, I am confident that, in general, the Filipino people have yet to mistake mediocrity for excellence. If this appears to happen, maybe we are just giving our fellows a chance.
And maybe to be given a chance is all we need. After all, the Philippines has been in existence only since 1521, as per the world records. France, on the other hand, has had at least since 843 BC, through the Verdun Treaty, to master civilization, as we define it now.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
FROM ZERO TO ETERNITY
(FROM A WEEKEND NOTE, THE EDITOR'S LETTER IN STYLE WEEKEND, AUGUST 10, 2007. STYLE WEEKEND IS PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY AS A MAGAZINE INSERT IN MANILA BULLETIN)
What if God were all this space, including the space we occupy? It makes sense because then it’s not quite hard to imagine God to be omnipresent, omniscient, and therefore omnipotent. If He is all there is, then He is, knows, and has power over everything. Growing up as a Catholic, I couldn’t quite make up my mind how God could be everywhere, if, like me, He had a body, with only a pair of eyes to see everything that was taking place in an infinite universe.
Limited in his nature, infinite in his desire, man is a fallen god who remembers heaven —Alphonse de Lamartine
I have always taken it for granted that space is infinite, but then, now that I am thinking about it, how do I know that? Did I get that from science books or from my religion classes? Who has ever gone to the edge of the universe to determine that there is no such thing and that this vastness just goes on and on and on, ad infinitum?
But then over the past decade, in my search for more out of life, I’ve had many opportunities to explore what the enlightened call the infinity within. From Days with the Lord to PSI, from year-long weekly sessions with renowned counselor Dr. Lourdes Lapuz to feng shui consultations with the late Paul Lau and now Hong Kong geomancer Joseph Chau, from reading (and watching) stuff like Star Wars, Neale Donald Walsch’s Conversations with God, and James Redfield’s The Celestine Prophecy to meditation classes under Nouel Resella, I’ve come to believe there is more power in this space than I can imagine.
Sometimes, I try to simplify the whole concept of infinity, a concept I often interchange with God, by imagining the universe or God as a blackboard, minus the borders, of course. In its emptiness, it’s just a blackboard but in it can emerge other concepts, from letters to figures, and all you need is a piece of chalk. Draw a cat figure on the board and the board disappears into the background. All you see is a cat, a concept that can exist purely on its own or at least pretend to. The material on which it exists is, after all, often perceived as irrelevant, so that if I were to ask you what it was, you would probably just say, “It’s a cat!” rather than a cat on a board. But without the board, will this cat exist? Better yet, isn’t the cat just a part of the board, a part of the board that has now found a new meaning, perhaps a new purpose, as a cat? Which is not to say that the blackboard had no meaning before somebody drew a cat on it. On the contrary, the blackboard always has the power to be anything and everything. It is, to put it simply, a universe of infinite possibilities.
Sometimes, when I meditate, I try to focus on the vastness within me. It can be an empowering tool to imagine yourself plunging deep into the core of the earth or soaring to heights in the infinite space. For most schools of meditation the practice is reconnecting to or establishing oneness with all there was, all there is, all there will ever be. In most cases, it entails emptying yourself out or focusing on the immensity of space, devoid of any extraneous elements, including your own thoughts, or the emptiness of silence, devoid of even your own voice, which, in a chanting meditation, you tend to lose, exactly the point of endless repetition.
Now that I’m no longer sure if the universe is truly infinite, then I believe that all that space the wise ones keep leading us to can only be God. After all, what else is there, from here to eternity, that can be all there was, all there is, all there ever will be but God alone? The question is, when our religious leaders said we were created out of the image of God, did they mean this physical body, meaning eyes, ears, nose, ears, arms, legs, and all? Or is the image after which we were patterned the infinity within, what many call the True Self, that quiet vastness that is boundless, borderless, and edgeless, inside all of us? No wonder, meditation, like prayers, often requires us to close our eyes.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
What if God were all this space, including the space we occupy? It makes sense because then it’s not quite hard to imagine God to be omnipresent, omniscient, and therefore omnipotent. If He is all there is, then He is, knows, and has power over everything. Growing up as a Catholic, I couldn’t quite make up my mind how God could be everywhere, if, like me, He had a body, with only a pair of eyes to see everything that was taking place in an infinite universe.
Limited in his nature, infinite in his desire, man is a fallen god who remembers heaven —Alphonse de Lamartine
I have always taken it for granted that space is infinite, but then, now that I am thinking about it, how do I know that? Did I get that from science books or from my religion classes? Who has ever gone to the edge of the universe to determine that there is no such thing and that this vastness just goes on and on and on, ad infinitum?
But then over the past decade, in my search for more out of life, I’ve had many opportunities to explore what the enlightened call the infinity within. From Days with the Lord to PSI, from year-long weekly sessions with renowned counselor Dr. Lourdes Lapuz to feng shui consultations with the late Paul Lau and now Hong Kong geomancer Joseph Chau, from reading (and watching) stuff like Star Wars, Neale Donald Walsch’s Conversations with God, and James Redfield’s The Celestine Prophecy to meditation classes under Nouel Resella, I’ve come to believe there is more power in this space than I can imagine.
Sometimes, I try to simplify the whole concept of infinity, a concept I often interchange with God, by imagining the universe or God as a blackboard, minus the borders, of course. In its emptiness, it’s just a blackboard but in it can emerge other concepts, from letters to figures, and all you need is a piece of chalk. Draw a cat figure on the board and the board disappears into the background. All you see is a cat, a concept that can exist purely on its own or at least pretend to. The material on which it exists is, after all, often perceived as irrelevant, so that if I were to ask you what it was, you would probably just say, “It’s a cat!” rather than a cat on a board. But without the board, will this cat exist? Better yet, isn’t the cat just a part of the board, a part of the board that has now found a new meaning, perhaps a new purpose, as a cat? Which is not to say that the blackboard had no meaning before somebody drew a cat on it. On the contrary, the blackboard always has the power to be anything and everything. It is, to put it simply, a universe of infinite possibilities.
Sometimes, when I meditate, I try to focus on the vastness within me. It can be an empowering tool to imagine yourself plunging deep into the core of the earth or soaring to heights in the infinite space. For most schools of meditation the practice is reconnecting to or establishing oneness with all there was, all there is, all there will ever be. In most cases, it entails emptying yourself out or focusing on the immensity of space, devoid of any extraneous elements, including your own thoughts, or the emptiness of silence, devoid of even your own voice, which, in a chanting meditation, you tend to lose, exactly the point of endless repetition.
Now that I’m no longer sure if the universe is truly infinite, then I believe that all that space the wise ones keep leading us to can only be God. After all, what else is there, from here to eternity, that can be all there was, all there is, all there ever will be but God alone? The question is, when our religious leaders said we were created out of the image of God, did they mean this physical body, meaning eyes, ears, nose, ears, arms, legs, and all? Or is the image after which we were patterned the infinity within, what many call the True Self, that quiet vastness that is boundless, borderless, and edgeless, inside all of us? No wonder, meditation, like prayers, often requires us to close our eyes.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
Monday, April 30, 2007
CEBOOM ERRATUM
just a few corrections on my last entry, entitled Ceboom.
Number one: The spa at Maribago Bluewater Resort is called Amuma, the Visayan word for pampering. It is Buyong Maribago, Mactan Island, Cebu, Philippines. Check out www.bluewater.com.ph.
Number two: The wine bar and cellar and deli in which I met Cebu Governor Gwen Garcia is not Azzasi, but Tinderbox.
It's Labor Day today. And just came back from another hour of pampering, a Diamond Peel, at Dermastrata at SM Southmall. Nothing quite like the Chi Spa and Amuma in Cebu, but I fell asleep and my face now is as soft and supple and clean as a baby's. Somehow, at the back of mind, I'm wondering: Are these day spas at the mall following stringent measures of hygiene? Dermstrata smells and feels clean and I make it a point to have them change the towels in front of me, but I hate it that the therapists talk to each other as though the customers are invisible. Tried to shush them several times, but now I know better: I put on earplugs and get lost in my iPod throughout the treatment.
But theese day spas are mushrooming sitting next to each other all over the place. A new one just opened yesterday, perfuming the air at SM Southmall with lavender. I forget the name, but it looks quite high end, with some Thai wooden structure bordering the entrance. Will try it soon enough.
Number one: The spa at Maribago Bluewater Resort is called Amuma, the Visayan word for pampering. It is Buyong Maribago, Mactan Island, Cebu, Philippines. Check out www.bluewater.com.ph.
Number two: The wine bar and cellar and deli in which I met Cebu Governor Gwen Garcia is not Azzasi, but Tinderbox.
It's Labor Day today. And just came back from another hour of pampering, a Diamond Peel, at Dermastrata at SM Southmall. Nothing quite like the Chi Spa and Amuma in Cebu, but I fell asleep and my face now is as soft and supple and clean as a baby's. Somehow, at the back of mind, I'm wondering: Are these day spas at the mall following stringent measures of hygiene? Dermstrata smells and feels clean and I make it a point to have them change the towels in front of me, but I hate it that the therapists talk to each other as though the customers are invisible. Tried to shush them several times, but now I know better: I put on earplugs and get lost in my iPod throughout the treatment.
But theese day spas are mushrooming sitting next to each other all over the place. A new one just opened yesterday, perfuming the air at SM Southmall with lavender. I forget the name, but it looks quite high end, with some Thai wooden structure bordering the entrance. Will try it soon enough.
CEBOOM
Just got back from Heaven.
I spent the weekend in Cebu, where, for two nights in a row, I had my muscles kneaded like dough, my flesh rubbed, my bones stretched, and all my stresses melted away through the Filipino's answer to the Thai and Swedish massage, hilot.
The first hilot was at the Chi Spa Village at Shangri-La Mactan. It was the second time for me, though the first time about two years ago when Chi had just opened had too many distractions what with all the extras thrown in to turn my brief indulgence into a five-hour total relaxation package, inclusive of a hydromassage, a facial, a foot treatment, etcetera, etcetera. Too much of a good thing, indeed, is not as pleasing, so on this second time I made sure I had only one hour and a half to lose myself in the pampering, healing, rejuvenating powers of touch.
The next night was at Ayuyam, the wellness center at the new extension of the old Maribago Blue Waters Resort, which was not as lavish as the Chi experience in terms of ambience and extra touches, but just as good (BUT then again just a teeny-weeny bit less expensive). Nevertheless, I loved my room at Maribago so much better than my room at the Shang, if only because it welcomed me with a huge bathroom with a tub a-bloom with bougainvilla. The spa was like twenty steps away and the grounds seemed private enough I felt comfortable walking back to my room across the pool area at two in the morning with nothing on but a pair of flimsy shorts, what I wore during my hilot.
This last trip to Cebu was also special because of my discovery of Abaca, a new restaurant, which is really just the dining outlet of a nine-room boutique hotel on the bank of the Mactan Channel. Owned by Korean Anna Ido Hyatt, who really spent most of her time as a fashion marketing specialist in Hong Kong, and her Australian chef husband Jayson, the resort has yet to pen, but the restaurant is already packing it in, what with great food and a great ambience, overlooking the channel, but feeling more like a hip resto in, say, Sydney or Hong Kong or Malibu (not that I've been to the last one). On the night I went, I bumped into Tourism Secretary Ace Durano and he was very gracious enough to introduce me to his wife and his friends. They were there to celebrate his birthday. Anna also took a lot of time to talk to me and my companions and she was so much fun, modern, candid, and totally sophisticated.
The next evening I spent chatting with Cebu governor Gwen Garcia over French wine, cheese, and cold cuts at the ultra cool (literally) wine cellar at Assazi (not sure about the name). Again, it was refreshing to talk to a politician like this hip governor in her slim jeans, stilleto boots, and a tiny shirt that revealed a Scarlet O'hara waistline, minus the corset. The place was also quite international in flavor, thoroughly sleek and modern, with a lot of glass and perfect lighting.
Cebu is really turning out to be quite as chic as Hong Kong in places. No wonder more and more of the affluent Cebuanos are beginning to overlook the Philippines on their where-to-go-for-fun map. Next month, there will be direct flights to and from Shanghai at the Mactan International Airport, so I guess more and more tourists will have to skip Manila on their way to Paradise.
As for me, I believe I am going back three more times before July, one of which is to accept the governor's invitation to experience what she calls suroy-suroy or suri-suri (no time to check right now) and the other to take Shangri-La up on its offer to arrange a trip to acquaint me more thoroughly with the fashionable side of this happening city.
So Ceboom Ceboom, here I come (again and again)!
I spent the weekend in Cebu, where, for two nights in a row, I had my muscles kneaded like dough, my flesh rubbed, my bones stretched, and all my stresses melted away through the Filipino's answer to the Thai and Swedish massage, hilot.
The first hilot was at the Chi Spa Village at Shangri-La Mactan. It was the second time for me, though the first time about two years ago when Chi had just opened had too many distractions what with all the extras thrown in to turn my brief indulgence into a five-hour total relaxation package, inclusive of a hydromassage, a facial, a foot treatment, etcetera, etcetera. Too much of a good thing, indeed, is not as pleasing, so on this second time I made sure I had only one hour and a half to lose myself in the pampering, healing, rejuvenating powers of touch.
The next night was at Ayuyam, the wellness center at the new extension of the old Maribago Blue Waters Resort, which was not as lavish as the Chi experience in terms of ambience and extra touches, but just as good (BUT then again just a teeny-weeny bit less expensive). Nevertheless, I loved my room at Maribago so much better than my room at the Shang, if only because it welcomed me with a huge bathroom with a tub a-bloom with bougainvilla. The spa was like twenty steps away and the grounds seemed private enough I felt comfortable walking back to my room across the pool area at two in the morning with nothing on but a pair of flimsy shorts, what I wore during my hilot.
This last trip to Cebu was also special because of my discovery of Abaca, a new restaurant, which is really just the dining outlet of a nine-room boutique hotel on the bank of the Mactan Channel. Owned by Korean Anna Ido Hyatt, who really spent most of her time as a fashion marketing specialist in Hong Kong, and her Australian chef husband Jayson, the resort has yet to pen, but the restaurant is already packing it in, what with great food and a great ambience, overlooking the channel, but feeling more like a hip resto in, say, Sydney or Hong Kong or Malibu (not that I've been to the last one). On the night I went, I bumped into Tourism Secretary Ace Durano and he was very gracious enough to introduce me to his wife and his friends. They were there to celebrate his birthday. Anna also took a lot of time to talk to me and my companions and she was so much fun, modern, candid, and totally sophisticated.
The next evening I spent chatting with Cebu governor Gwen Garcia over French wine, cheese, and cold cuts at the ultra cool (literally) wine cellar at Assazi (not sure about the name). Again, it was refreshing to talk to a politician like this hip governor in her slim jeans, stilleto boots, and a tiny shirt that revealed a Scarlet O'hara waistline, minus the corset. The place was also quite international in flavor, thoroughly sleek and modern, with a lot of glass and perfect lighting.
Cebu is really turning out to be quite as chic as Hong Kong in places. No wonder more and more of the affluent Cebuanos are beginning to overlook the Philippines on their where-to-go-for-fun map. Next month, there will be direct flights to and from Shanghai at the Mactan International Airport, so I guess more and more tourists will have to skip Manila on their way to Paradise.
As for me, I believe I am going back three more times before July, one of which is to accept the governor's invitation to experience what she calls suroy-suroy or suri-suri (no time to check right now) and the other to take Shangri-La up on its offer to arrange a trip to acquaint me more thoroughly with the fashionable side of this happening city.
So Ceboom Ceboom, here I come (again and again)!
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
CHO SENUNG HUI
Hey Ipsy,
Been very busy now that I have a double job and if lunch tomorrow proves fruitful, I'll have a third, too. Was out with my previously US, now Singapore-based friend Y who celebrated his birthday at anothe friend J's house. It was fun. As usual Y was his judgmental self. Why do i always feel that he is sizing me up, not so much concerned about where I have been and where I am headed, as long as he can make it clear to me, without leaving any evidence, that he is not impressed enough?
Anyway, that is no cause for alarm. Maybe it's just me. I guess I will just paste here an editorial I wrote for this coming Friday's edition of my weekender, a magazine that comes out with the Friday issue of Manila Bulletin.
Here it is:
LUCKY PEOPLE
This isn’t weekend reading, so it’s perfectly all right if you get right past this page and on to the next pages of pure leisure. On the other hand, since another weekend is upon us, it won’t hurt to be reminded that here is yet another great opportunity to bond with the people we love and the people who might find their way into our lives as we make the most of the next work-free days.
BLURB: First be a person who needs people —Barbra Streisand
I spent last Sunday reading up on Cho Seung-Hui, stumbling upon his plays, Richard McBeef and Mr. Brownstone. Cho’s former Creative Writing classmate Ian McFarlane, who posted the plays on AOL, described the works as “twisted” and “macabre,” but to me they were simply an assault to authority, parents and teachers, very sad at best.
In October, 2002, I was in the Washington D.C./Virginia/Maryland area, practically on the trail of John Allen Muhammad and Lee Boyd Malvo, the infamous snipers, as they were making their way to America’s history of violence, killing 10 people on a senseless shooting spree. Arriving at Union Station from New York, I found it totally a new experience to have to stay low, practically walking on all fours and making a shield out of parked cars, perchance the sniper was aiming his weapon at me.
I’ve been to many, supposedly richer parts of the world, where people are mostly alone. If only because in my immediate world there is always someone, whether a grandson or a grandniece, to accompany them, I find it sad, for instance, to see old women by themselves on a park bench in Paris or eating by their lonesome at a diner in New York. Maybe, it’s a blessing that here in the Philippines it’s more the norm to have as many as 10 people cramping a two-bedroom apartment, cousins and a distant aunt included. There is just so much room for self-indulgence, wallowing in self-pity or enraging yourself, when you are mostly on your own. Ever wonder why all serial killers, including Cho, are loners and why there is hardly any serial killer in Philippine history? With nobody to sort out their big issues with on why things are the way they are, these loners just have to shock the world so at last they can have its attention.
What a blessing in disguise, indeed, that in our part of the world solitude is a precious, often rare luxury! While people do love us and hurt us in equal doses, they do help us test our ammunition against challenges, without which, what is the point of living? More important, they do help us expand the scope of our experience, which is exactly what we need to understand this complicated world a little better.
With hope, you can spend this weekend with the people who can assure you there is always at least one person out there waiting to welcome you with open arms should you have the need for some company. This weekend, find time to say a prayer of thanks for the people who make up your life, keeping you on the ground, rather than leaving you to float, helpless and alone, in the bottomless pit of pointless hate, rage, and sadness.
Happy weekend!
A
Been very busy now that I have a double job and if lunch tomorrow proves fruitful, I'll have a third, too. Was out with my previously US, now Singapore-based friend Y who celebrated his birthday at anothe friend J's house. It was fun. As usual Y was his judgmental self. Why do i always feel that he is sizing me up, not so much concerned about where I have been and where I am headed, as long as he can make it clear to me, without leaving any evidence, that he is not impressed enough?
Anyway, that is no cause for alarm. Maybe it's just me. I guess I will just paste here an editorial I wrote for this coming Friday's edition of my weekender, a magazine that comes out with the Friday issue of Manila Bulletin.
Here it is:
LUCKY PEOPLE
This isn’t weekend reading, so it’s perfectly all right if you get right past this page and on to the next pages of pure leisure. On the other hand, since another weekend is upon us, it won’t hurt to be reminded that here is yet another great opportunity to bond with the people we love and the people who might find their way into our lives as we make the most of the next work-free days.
BLURB: First be a person who needs people —Barbra Streisand
I spent last Sunday reading up on Cho Seung-Hui, stumbling upon his plays, Richard McBeef and Mr. Brownstone. Cho’s former Creative Writing classmate Ian McFarlane, who posted the plays on AOL, described the works as “twisted” and “macabre,” but to me they were simply an assault to authority, parents and teachers, very sad at best.
In October, 2002, I was in the Washington D.C./Virginia/Maryland area, practically on the trail of John Allen Muhammad and Lee Boyd Malvo, the infamous snipers, as they were making their way to America’s history of violence, killing 10 people on a senseless shooting spree. Arriving at Union Station from New York, I found it totally a new experience to have to stay low, practically walking on all fours and making a shield out of parked cars, perchance the sniper was aiming his weapon at me.
I’ve been to many, supposedly richer parts of the world, where people are mostly alone. If only because in my immediate world there is always someone, whether a grandson or a grandniece, to accompany them, I find it sad, for instance, to see old women by themselves on a park bench in Paris or eating by their lonesome at a diner in New York. Maybe, it’s a blessing that here in the Philippines it’s more the norm to have as many as 10 people cramping a two-bedroom apartment, cousins and a distant aunt included. There is just so much room for self-indulgence, wallowing in self-pity or enraging yourself, when you are mostly on your own. Ever wonder why all serial killers, including Cho, are loners and why there is hardly any serial killer in Philippine history? With nobody to sort out their big issues with on why things are the way they are, these loners just have to shock the world so at last they can have its attention.
What a blessing in disguise, indeed, that in our part of the world solitude is a precious, often rare luxury! While people do love us and hurt us in equal doses, they do help us test our ammunition against challenges, without which, what is the point of living? More important, they do help us expand the scope of our experience, which is exactly what we need to understand this complicated world a little better.
With hope, you can spend this weekend with the people who can assure you there is always at least one person out there waiting to welcome you with open arms should you have the need for some company. This weekend, find time to say a prayer of thanks for the people who make up your life, keeping you on the ground, rather than leaving you to float, helpless and alone, in the bottomless pit of pointless hate, rage, and sadness.
Happy weekend!
A
Thursday, January 11, 2007
CRAZY HAPPY YEAR STARTER
I just got back to real life after two langorous days in Tagaytay.
It wasn't supposed to be langorous because it was work. It was a fashion shoot under the theme, "Lazy Summer Afternoons." But my friends and co-workers H and G spent the night there before the shoot, got ourselves a nice room, the Andalucia, at the Discovery Country Suites, and shot the bull all night, playing "Trivial Pursuit" with a touch of Charades only because most of the questions were just too difficult. I was second best, collecting two cards short of the six cards needed to win the game.
The next day, yesterday, on the day of the shoot, the rest of the team came. I booked this fabulous photographer from the Singapore Straits Times whose "eye" sees beauty in places that I don't even take a second look at. I also booked my favorite makeup team of C and J and Brazillian model Julianna, who was so game and so much fun! We spent most of the morning chatting over cups of coffee and bathing in the morning sunshine on the terrace of the Country Suites overlooking Taal, but that was because shoots always start after one hour of makeup and hairstyling, so the rest of the us were just so relaxed. L, the photographer, just spent three weeks in Laos and boy does she have great stories to tell about this mountainous paradise!
Lunch was a four-course meal specially prepared for us by the chef David Pardo de Ayala from Colombia. It was perfect for my braces because eveything was so tender there was hardly any need for chewing. We started with a salad, which I barely touched because I couldn't chew the greens and then it was followed by a bowl of heavenly asparagus soup and a beef dish with a side dish of mashed potatoes. A trio of panna cottas showered with pepper capped the "lazy summer" late lunch and again cups after cups of coffee.
The rest of the afternoon we spent at Ponderosa Leisure Farm, where the photographer L looked for the most undeveloped areas: tall grasses, open spaces, and old trees. The wind was cool, but the sun was out so it was a perfect combination. We were hopping in and out of two vans and a car, escorted by two security men on motorbikes, so we were making like we were on Amazing Race. It was fun!
After about seven setups that we finished in a breeze, we ended the day at Bags of Beans, where I had a fabulous pasta with cream and a hot chocolate. We were outdoors and it was so cold but we stayed out because we wanted to make the most of cool Tagaytay weather that actually felt like Hong Kong winter. I also bought my favorite, cinammon and raisin bread from Bags of Beans, though I had no doubt I couldn't eat it, unless I dipped it in in coffee til soggy.
Today drifted past in a haze. I was so busy arranging a trip to Hong Kong on Sunday, where my associate H and I are to cover the Hong Kong Fashion Week that runs til Thursday next week. I'm quite excited because this is going to be my first Fashion Week in Hong Kong. We're staying in a hotel called Emipre just three blocks away from the Hong Kong Convention Center, where the Fall-Winter 2007 collections will unfold. Of course, it will also be something of an edge for my magazine Sense&Style, though with all these last-minute preparations, H and I are really frantic about making sure we negotiate our way effectively through this forest of collections.
Today I spent mostly on the phone, also arranging trips to Boracay and El Nido, Palawan. I will fly to Boracay with a crew of 15 on Saturday, one day after I arrive from Hong Kong, whew! I'm very excited because this is really going to be a major production with four big ultra mega supermodels working with us. I realize how blessed I am with so many friends. Just as I was booking transfers from Caticlan to Boracay and from Boracay to Caticlan, a friend called to say a private boat will ferry us all right on the beachfront of our resorts in Station 1. The public ferries now all dock in the back as a new policy bars them from docking on the celebrated beachfront, but not me and my team.
Palawan I decided to ditch. I will send just one of my writers in my place. That is scheduled on the weekend after Boracay and I think I will really run out of breath if I jump on an airplane again after all these travel bonanza. Besides, I cannot be the only lucky one in our team. I need to distribute the blessings. I'd like my staff to see this job the way I see it, full of opportunities and always a door opening to brave new worlds, that is unless you are too lazy, too afraid, too crazy to walk past the doorway. Don't get me wrong. I've never monopolized the opportunities, even for travel, in my career, even as I was just getting started. My staff, in fact, get most of the opportunities now. All my writers are going to be with me in Boracay, too.
What a way, indeed, to get 2007 started! After all this hopping in and out of planes and boats and cars and all, it will soon be the Year of the Fire Pig. I claim it to be a good year, gentle as a pig, fat as a piggy bank, and with an appetite like that of a pig for the good things life has to offer.
Kung Hei Fat Choy!
It wasn't supposed to be langorous because it was work. It was a fashion shoot under the theme, "Lazy Summer Afternoons." But my friends and co-workers H and G spent the night there before the shoot, got ourselves a nice room, the Andalucia, at the Discovery Country Suites, and shot the bull all night, playing "Trivial Pursuit" with a touch of Charades only because most of the questions were just too difficult. I was second best, collecting two cards short of the six cards needed to win the game.
The next day, yesterday, on the day of the shoot, the rest of the team came. I booked this fabulous photographer from the Singapore Straits Times whose "eye" sees beauty in places that I don't even take a second look at. I also booked my favorite makeup team of C and J and Brazillian model Julianna, who was so game and so much fun! We spent most of the morning chatting over cups of coffee and bathing in the morning sunshine on the terrace of the Country Suites overlooking Taal, but that was because shoots always start after one hour of makeup and hairstyling, so the rest of the us were just so relaxed. L, the photographer, just spent three weeks in Laos and boy does she have great stories to tell about this mountainous paradise!
Lunch was a four-course meal specially prepared for us by the chef David Pardo de Ayala from Colombia. It was perfect for my braces because eveything was so tender there was hardly any need for chewing. We started with a salad, which I barely touched because I couldn't chew the greens and then it was followed by a bowl of heavenly asparagus soup and a beef dish with a side dish of mashed potatoes. A trio of panna cottas showered with pepper capped the "lazy summer" late lunch and again cups after cups of coffee.
The rest of the afternoon we spent at Ponderosa Leisure Farm, where the photographer L looked for the most undeveloped areas: tall grasses, open spaces, and old trees. The wind was cool, but the sun was out so it was a perfect combination. We were hopping in and out of two vans and a car, escorted by two security men on motorbikes, so we were making like we were on Amazing Race. It was fun!
After about seven setups that we finished in a breeze, we ended the day at Bags of Beans, where I had a fabulous pasta with cream and a hot chocolate. We were outdoors and it was so cold but we stayed out because we wanted to make the most of cool Tagaytay weather that actually felt like Hong Kong winter. I also bought my favorite, cinammon and raisin bread from Bags of Beans, though I had no doubt I couldn't eat it, unless I dipped it in in coffee til soggy.
Today drifted past in a haze. I was so busy arranging a trip to Hong Kong on Sunday, where my associate H and I are to cover the Hong Kong Fashion Week that runs til Thursday next week. I'm quite excited because this is going to be my first Fashion Week in Hong Kong. We're staying in a hotel called Emipre just three blocks away from the Hong Kong Convention Center, where the Fall-Winter 2007 collections will unfold. Of course, it will also be something of an edge for my magazine Sense&Style, though with all these last-minute preparations, H and I are really frantic about making sure we negotiate our way effectively through this forest of collections.
Today I spent mostly on the phone, also arranging trips to Boracay and El Nido, Palawan. I will fly to Boracay with a crew of 15 on Saturday, one day after I arrive from Hong Kong, whew! I'm very excited because this is really going to be a major production with four big ultra mega supermodels working with us. I realize how blessed I am with so many friends. Just as I was booking transfers from Caticlan to Boracay and from Boracay to Caticlan, a friend called to say a private boat will ferry us all right on the beachfront of our resorts in Station 1. The public ferries now all dock in the back as a new policy bars them from docking on the celebrated beachfront, but not me and my team.
Palawan I decided to ditch. I will send just one of my writers in my place. That is scheduled on the weekend after Boracay and I think I will really run out of breath if I jump on an airplane again after all these travel bonanza. Besides, I cannot be the only lucky one in our team. I need to distribute the blessings. I'd like my staff to see this job the way I see it, full of opportunities and always a door opening to brave new worlds, that is unless you are too lazy, too afraid, too crazy to walk past the doorway. Don't get me wrong. I've never monopolized the opportunities, even for travel, in my career, even as I was just getting started. My staff, in fact, get most of the opportunities now. All my writers are going to be with me in Boracay, too.
What a way, indeed, to get 2007 started! After all this hopping in and out of planes and boats and cars and all, it will soon be the Year of the Fire Pig. I claim it to be a good year, gentle as a pig, fat as a piggy bank, and with an appetite like that of a pig for the good things life has to offer.
Kung Hei Fat Choy!
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
WELCOME 2007
Is Christmas over?
Today, I just handed my valet the last of my Christmas gifts, though I had given him an earlier gift last Christmas. I just so appreciated that over the past week or so he has been making it a point to park my car safely and without blocking other cars so he could surrender the key to me before ending his shift at 7 p.m. His explanation was that he didn't want to share responsibility over my car with the nightshift valet. He wanted to be solely responsible for my car, so I had only him to blame in case anything went wrong or missing.
It's been a hectic week, though I've been very happy and so looking forward to the year ahead, which is nothing but promising from this vantage point. Also, it's been quite a hell of a time for reunions with my friend K in town from the Netherlands and my niece Rafa, now two months old, beginning to be more responsive to me.
Last Sunday I spent with old friends in K's ancestral house in Cabuyao, Laguna. Her brother A has really restored it with a twist, with a touch of a spa resort. The bathroom felt like El Nido, but a million times better because it was private.
Tonight, I am heading to Tagaytay, where I will camp for the night at the Discovery Country Suites in preparation for a fashion shoot tomorrow in an old, old house in the old, old town of Taal nearby.
In a week, I will be flying to Boracay with top supermodels Tweetie de Leon Gonzalez, Apples Aberin Sadhwani, Suyenne Chi, and Annette Coronel with a crew of 15 to shoot my cover story for my summer issue. A week later, El Nido here I come!
What a great way to get the year started!
If only I could live my life this way, one step at a time, like a car driving to a place a thousand miles away. Its driver can only see 20 feet or less ahead of him, yet he is confident that 2o feet at a time is all he needs to know that, soon, he will arrive.
Today, I just handed my valet the last of my Christmas gifts, though I had given him an earlier gift last Christmas. I just so appreciated that over the past week or so he has been making it a point to park my car safely and without blocking other cars so he could surrender the key to me before ending his shift at 7 p.m. His explanation was that he didn't want to share responsibility over my car with the nightshift valet. He wanted to be solely responsible for my car, so I had only him to blame in case anything went wrong or missing.
It's been a hectic week, though I've been very happy and so looking forward to the year ahead, which is nothing but promising from this vantage point. Also, it's been quite a hell of a time for reunions with my friend K in town from the Netherlands and my niece Rafa, now two months old, beginning to be more responsive to me.
Last Sunday I spent with old friends in K's ancestral house in Cabuyao, Laguna. Her brother A has really restored it with a twist, with a touch of a spa resort. The bathroom felt like El Nido, but a million times better because it was private.
Tonight, I am heading to Tagaytay, where I will camp for the night at the Discovery Country Suites in preparation for a fashion shoot tomorrow in an old, old house in the old, old town of Taal nearby.
In a week, I will be flying to Boracay with top supermodels Tweetie de Leon Gonzalez, Apples Aberin Sadhwani, Suyenne Chi, and Annette Coronel with a crew of 15 to shoot my cover story for my summer issue. A week later, El Nido here I come!
What a great way to get the year started!
If only I could live my life this way, one step at a time, like a car driving to a place a thousand miles away. Its driver can only see 20 feet or less ahead of him, yet he is confident that 2o feet at a time is all he needs to know that, soon, he will arrive.
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