(FROM A WEEKEND NOTE, THE EDITOR'S LETTER IN STYLE WEEKEND, THE FRIDAY LIFESTYLE SPECIAL OF MANILA BULLETIN, FRIDAY, 01 FEBRUARY 2008)
In Hong Kong two weeks ago, we had a glimpse of the last quarter of 2008 and beyond. After all, it was Fashion Week and while the catwalk was all dressed up for Fall/Winter 2008-2009, the trend forecast was already zooming in on the seasons after that.
The ‘Far Away’ is at our doorstep. —Martin Lehec, trends analyst and agent, Colin International
Technology, of course, is assumed to play an even greater, if pivotal, role in changing fashion. According to Martin Lehec of Carlin International, a global style agency that mixes design with marketing and communication, advancement in technology, which will enable more and more people to access information, form very strong opinions about their world, and, consequently, express themselves more resolutely, will make it imperative to shift from industry-based to individual-based economy.
As a result of rapid urbanization, nature will be a luxury and there will be a strong demand for the emotion elicited by untouched nature. A floral kaleidoscope, for instance, will dominate the future of prints, as will elements suggestive of the wild life. In future summers, there will be a growing interest in underwater touches, such as aquatic purples, seaweed effects, water shimmer, and the texture of droplets.
In the face of ecological challenges, which, to Lehec, are only another term for economic opportunities, plastic vegetation will bloom, along with vibrant optical yarns, airy, earthy volumes, and fragile but protective fabrics. The empowered individual who will comprise the market will no longer settle for empty promises from brands and so environmental credentials will be as important as cut, color, and fabric.
Also, in the context of an increasingly man-made world, fashion as well as other related industries, such as beauty and interior design, will explore matter, extracting meaning, as Lehec explains, “from the most mundane of objects,” such as a grain of salt or a lava flow or “metal, in its fluid state, coming to a boil.”
Science, from various fields such as genetics, climatology, and nanotechnology, will integrate itself into fashion, cosmetics, urban design, and architecture and take all into the direction of self-sustainability or otherwise proclaim it as the ultimate ideal expressed in strong, spontaneous statements.
These strong statements, catering to the empowered individual, will find expression in logos, messages “to go,” powerful graphics, and provocative, impactful, “what you see is what you get” visuals.
Indeed, a new breed of sentimentality is on the rise, as we seek a common ground between past and future, between poetry and technology, between natural and synthetic. Think lace in architecture-inspired treatments. Think cotton with silicon coatings or varnishes. Think coats-of-arms and family seals reinterpreted in futuristic graphics. Think jungle profusion in plastic.
As we move further into the 21st century, emotions will continue to define our humanity. Paradoxically, in our pursuit of future-focused design, whether in fashion or in interiors or in architecture, as the findings of Carlin International suggest, we will remain human beings who find beauty in a blooming flower, meaning in a raindrop, grace in the movements of anemone, dreams in the flight of birds, and hope in the rising sun.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
Sunday, January 27, 2008
PROUDLY PUEY
(FROM A WEEKEND NOTE, THE EDITOR'S LETTER IN STYLE WEEKEND, THE FRIDAY LIFESTYLE SPECIAL OF MANILA BULLETIN, FRIDAY, 25 JANUARY 2008)
Straight from the rush of Hong Kong Fashion Week, we flew into the fashionable frenzy of Puey Quiñones’ gala show at the Rockwell Tent. The difference, of course, was marked.
BLURB
‘I am proud of my past, where I came from, what I did before. I don’t look at everything now like everything’s so big. I’m still me.’ —Puey Quiñones
In Hong Kong, when the invitation said 8 p.m., even for the much-awaited two-in-one show of celebrated designers Peter Lau and Cecilia Yau, it meant exactly 8 p.m. Gates were open for the VIPs and the press at 7 p.m. and by 7:30, the public began their stampede into the unreserved rows. A delay of five minutes was already causing too much stress on the organizers so that in an earlier show, we could hear Indonesia-born, Hong Kong-based designer Ika Butoni urging the ushering staff to “Fill it up! Fill it up!” referring to a single unoccupied slot in the front row.
At Puey’s gala, it was totally the opposite. Of course, there was the usual cocktails, which was fun, notwithstanding the waiters going around and interrupting cocktail conversation every after 10 seconds. The fashionistas came in droves and you could spend eternity checking out everybody’s clothes. Gates opened around 10 minutes before 8 p.m. and that was where the show threatened to be a marketplace with designers getting kicked out of slots reserved for the fashion media and style-setters getting kicked out of seats reserved for “Cindy Yang’s friends” and other VVIPs. The commotion took over an hour to settle down that some people like Jigger Antonio decided they couldn’t wait much longer and waited elsewhere for friends to get out of the show.
The stars descended upon the stylish clutter, from society doyenne Tingting Cojuangco to favorite young icon KC Concepcion, along with Ruffa Gutierrez in a starry, starry, larger-than-life white number. Although they did stand out, they were among us, packed like sardines in an SRO crowd, with the hems of their long gowns as likely to be stepped on as those of the most nameless, faceless fashionista at the tent.
Finally, Joey Mead let the spectacle begin with enough energy to re-boot even those too cramped on their seats to be excited about the show. Within a few minutes, at maybe a quarter past nine, in the half light filled with shadows, the towering silhouettes of models dressed in all of Puey’s inventive, creative, innovative, almost magical finery began to divert all attention to the stage, away from claustrophobia, away from the clammy feel of too many bodies gathered in too little space, away from the growing desire to step outside to gasp for air (or to drag on a cigarette) knowing only too well that should you decide to leave your precious spot for 15 seconds you might as well give it up forever.
And the show was breathtaking, with Puey’ signature touches, replete with hems suddenly turning into shawls, tent dresses turning into serpentine gowns in milliseconds, and all that practical magic, for which the designer has earned the nickname “The Transformer.” To me, Joan Bitagcol was the highlight, throwing her cape around, each stride a masterful choreography that matched the intensity of her eyes, the pursing of her lips, the poetry of the dress she was wearing.
Was it worth the long wait? Yes, especially when it was time for Puey to take a bow, clasping his hands together in gratitude. Surrounded by six-foot-tall and taller models, the diminutive genius was every inch our darling David, finding his way from some small town in Samar to the very heights of fashion in Manila, which in a thousand ways is as cruel, as formidable, and as unforgiving as Goliath.
Puey Quiñones waited—and worked very hard—for eight years to be in this moment.
Suddenly, it didn’t feel so bad that I squeezed myself into a very tight spot in the VIP row for at least two hours to be in this very same moment, too.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com.
Straight from the rush of Hong Kong Fashion Week, we flew into the fashionable frenzy of Puey Quiñones’ gala show at the Rockwell Tent. The difference, of course, was marked.
BLURB
‘I am proud of my past, where I came from, what I did before. I don’t look at everything now like everything’s so big. I’m still me.’ —Puey Quiñones
In Hong Kong, when the invitation said 8 p.m., even for the much-awaited two-in-one show of celebrated designers Peter Lau and Cecilia Yau, it meant exactly 8 p.m. Gates were open for the VIPs and the press at 7 p.m. and by 7:30, the public began their stampede into the unreserved rows. A delay of five minutes was already causing too much stress on the organizers so that in an earlier show, we could hear Indonesia-born, Hong Kong-based designer Ika Butoni urging the ushering staff to “Fill it up! Fill it up!” referring to a single unoccupied slot in the front row.
At Puey’s gala, it was totally the opposite. Of course, there was the usual cocktails, which was fun, notwithstanding the waiters going around and interrupting cocktail conversation every after 10 seconds. The fashionistas came in droves and you could spend eternity checking out everybody’s clothes. Gates opened around 10 minutes before 8 p.m. and that was where the show threatened to be a marketplace with designers getting kicked out of slots reserved for the fashion media and style-setters getting kicked out of seats reserved for “Cindy Yang’s friends” and other VVIPs. The commotion took over an hour to settle down that some people like Jigger Antonio decided they couldn’t wait much longer and waited elsewhere for friends to get out of the show.
The stars descended upon the stylish clutter, from society doyenne Tingting Cojuangco to favorite young icon KC Concepcion, along with Ruffa Gutierrez in a starry, starry, larger-than-life white number. Although they did stand out, they were among us, packed like sardines in an SRO crowd, with the hems of their long gowns as likely to be stepped on as those of the most nameless, faceless fashionista at the tent.
Finally, Joey Mead let the spectacle begin with enough energy to re-boot even those too cramped on their seats to be excited about the show. Within a few minutes, at maybe a quarter past nine, in the half light filled with shadows, the towering silhouettes of models dressed in all of Puey’s inventive, creative, innovative, almost magical finery began to divert all attention to the stage, away from claustrophobia, away from the clammy feel of too many bodies gathered in too little space, away from the growing desire to step outside to gasp for air (or to drag on a cigarette) knowing only too well that should you decide to leave your precious spot for 15 seconds you might as well give it up forever.
And the show was breathtaking, with Puey’ signature touches, replete with hems suddenly turning into shawls, tent dresses turning into serpentine gowns in milliseconds, and all that practical magic, for which the designer has earned the nickname “The Transformer.” To me, Joan Bitagcol was the highlight, throwing her cape around, each stride a masterful choreography that matched the intensity of her eyes, the pursing of her lips, the poetry of the dress she was wearing.
Was it worth the long wait? Yes, especially when it was time for Puey to take a bow, clasping his hands together in gratitude. Surrounded by six-foot-tall and taller models, the diminutive genius was every inch our darling David, finding his way from some small town in Samar to the very heights of fashion in Manila, which in a thousand ways is as cruel, as formidable, and as unforgiving as Goliath.
Puey Quiñones waited—and worked very hard—for eight years to be in this moment.
Suddenly, it didn’t feel so bad that I squeezed myself into a very tight spot in the VIP row for at least two hours to be in this very same moment, too.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com.
WHAT’S YOUR FACE?
(FROM A WEEKEND NOTE, THE EDITOR'S LETTER IN STYLE WEEKEND, THE FRIDAY LIFESTYLE SPECIAL OF MANILA BULLETIN, FRIDAY, 18 JANUARY 2008)
Facebook killed our yahoogroups, which, in its time, also killed even more traditional ways of staying in touch, such as telephone calls, letters, and greeting cards. The Christmas before last, many holiday wishes were sent to my Yahoo! inbox from friends from all over the world and many of them felt somewhat like a handwritten letter, if only because handwritten letters have long gone the way of the dodo and there was nothing you could do about it.
BLURB
Our whole theory is that people have real connections in the world. —Mark Zuckerberg
What originally started as a college dorm service, founded by Harvard sophomore Mark Zuckerberg in 2004, is now, according to the New York Times, the largest and the fastest growing social networking website with at least 60 million users all over the world. Sure, it’s got a lot of problems and its privacy clauses have yet to be rewritten, but my collection of friends alone is growing every day and I believe it is the same for every other FB addict, which I hope I have not become.
Facebook is, indeed, quite fun, if only because it is a convenient way to keep track of your friends, family, and acquaintances. Its birthday alert and events alert are most useful to me, but that is assuming I will stay interested in the network to log in at least once a day.
Also, it has over 10,000 applications, including games such as Scrabble, so there is so much to do when you are in there. One of my favorites is iLike, which allows me to access a song, along with its video, as old as Sonny and Cher’s “I Got You Babe” and dedicate it to friends in my network who might have similar feelings about the song or the video.
There’s also TripAdvisor, which is quite fun, at least in the beginning when you are setting it up, trying to recall all the cities you have ever been in the world. Right now, it simply keeps a record of how much of the world I’ve covered and how much more I should plan on seeing in the future.
Drinking sessions on Facebook are not as fun as the midnight-to-morning sessions I used to do with friends back in high school and college, but at least I can enjoy anything between a regular black Russian and a whimsical “reindeer blush” with friends I do not see often without having to worry about where, when, how to meet and who’s driving should we all get too drunk to drive. What’s more, I can “rent a limo with” or “throw Hillary (Clinton) at” or even “cast a spell on” them on Superpoke.
I don’t know what this is saying about the future, but at the moment it is quite a relief that I don’t have to work too hard to stay in touch with some of the people in my network. I don’t have to make time to write them a carefully worded letter or a casual note. I don’t have to huff and puff my way across town, through hell and traffic, to meet them somewhere for a drink or for coffee or for conversation. Sometimes, all it takes is to pick a drink and “select all” when sending a round to any number of friends, from 5 to 5,000 or more, depending on how many friends you have or how selective you are in confirming “friend requests” or how bold you are in adding up people who might not even remember you.
If this is the future of friendship, how sad! But I can’t be too happy that practically all my Facebook friends are people I see every now and then and spend time with over real brunch, lunch, cocktails, dinner, or after-dinner. A good number of them have been there for me, all along, Facebook or not, and I have been there for them, too. Maybe a handful of them won’t be there when my life turns upside down, but with all of them, save for maybe one or two or—OK—three, I have had at the very, very least a conversation deep enough or fun enough or memorable enough to have developed into some level of friendship, if only we had the time and more opportunities to work on it.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
Facebook killed our yahoogroups, which, in its time, also killed even more traditional ways of staying in touch, such as telephone calls, letters, and greeting cards. The Christmas before last, many holiday wishes were sent to my Yahoo! inbox from friends from all over the world and many of them felt somewhat like a handwritten letter, if only because handwritten letters have long gone the way of the dodo and there was nothing you could do about it.
BLURB
Our whole theory is that people have real connections in the world. —Mark Zuckerberg
What originally started as a college dorm service, founded by Harvard sophomore Mark Zuckerberg in 2004, is now, according to the New York Times, the largest and the fastest growing social networking website with at least 60 million users all over the world. Sure, it’s got a lot of problems and its privacy clauses have yet to be rewritten, but my collection of friends alone is growing every day and I believe it is the same for every other FB addict, which I hope I have not become.
Facebook is, indeed, quite fun, if only because it is a convenient way to keep track of your friends, family, and acquaintances. Its birthday alert and events alert are most useful to me, but that is assuming I will stay interested in the network to log in at least once a day.
Also, it has over 10,000 applications, including games such as Scrabble, so there is so much to do when you are in there. One of my favorites is iLike, which allows me to access a song, along with its video, as old as Sonny and Cher’s “I Got You Babe” and dedicate it to friends in my network who might have similar feelings about the song or the video.
There’s also TripAdvisor, which is quite fun, at least in the beginning when you are setting it up, trying to recall all the cities you have ever been in the world. Right now, it simply keeps a record of how much of the world I’ve covered and how much more I should plan on seeing in the future.
Drinking sessions on Facebook are not as fun as the midnight-to-morning sessions I used to do with friends back in high school and college, but at least I can enjoy anything between a regular black Russian and a whimsical “reindeer blush” with friends I do not see often without having to worry about where, when, how to meet and who’s driving should we all get too drunk to drive. What’s more, I can “rent a limo with” or “throw Hillary (Clinton) at” or even “cast a spell on” them on Superpoke.
I don’t know what this is saying about the future, but at the moment it is quite a relief that I don’t have to work too hard to stay in touch with some of the people in my network. I don’t have to make time to write them a carefully worded letter or a casual note. I don’t have to huff and puff my way across town, through hell and traffic, to meet them somewhere for a drink or for coffee or for conversation. Sometimes, all it takes is to pick a drink and “select all” when sending a round to any number of friends, from 5 to 5,000 or more, depending on how many friends you have or how selective you are in confirming “friend requests” or how bold you are in adding up people who might not even remember you.
If this is the future of friendship, how sad! But I can’t be too happy that practically all my Facebook friends are people I see every now and then and spend time with over real brunch, lunch, cocktails, dinner, or after-dinner. A good number of them have been there for me, all along, Facebook or not, and I have been there for them, too. Maybe a handful of them won’t be there when my life turns upside down, but with all of them, save for maybe one or two or—OK—three, I have had at the very, very least a conversation deep enough or fun enough or memorable enough to have developed into some level of friendship, if only we had the time and more opportunities to work on it.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
THESE BOOTS ARE MADE FOR WALKING (AND FOR GETTING THERE)
FROM A WEEKEND NOTE, THE EDITOR'S NOTE IN STYLE WEEKEND, THE FRIDAY LIFESTYLE SPECIAL OF MANILA BULLETIN, FRIDAY, 11JANUARY2008)
Just recovering from the New Year’s Eve blast the night before, I woke up to a late-morning treat from Star Movies, the 2005 Golden Globe Award-nominated British film Kinky Boots. What a perfect way to start 2008, especially for me for whom, on account of my professional pursuits, shoes are as important as a contemporary piece at the museum! I do remember waking up in the middle of the night in my youth and from under the sheets pointing a flashlight on my collection of quirky black shoes, especially after having bought a fresh pair to add to it.
BLURB
I don’t know what you’re used to makin’, but now you’re making sex, two-and-a-half feet of irresistible tubular sex. —Chiwetel Ejiefor as Lola in Kinky Boots
Rather than a punctuation mark, shoes to me are an opening remark. They have infinitely more power to create a look than, say, a shirt or a dress. What good is a killer suit, for instance, when matched with a miserable pair of shoes? But a good pair can stand its ground even if worn with rags, especially if that’s the point. Imagine a woman in a drab, dreary dress and then imagine what a red-hot, stiletto-sexy heel can do to make her deserving of a second look. Imagine the reverse and chances are you will simply mutter under your breath, “What a waste!”
But Kinky Boots is not just about footwear, although the thigh-high boots in red python leather and rhinestone-studded sole take up so much more space on the movie poster than any of its main cast, the endearing Joel Edgerton and the showstopping Chiwetel Ejiefor. Based on the true story of Divine, a trademark of W.J. Brookes Ltd, a real factory of shoes and boots in Northampton, the comedy-drama is about dreams and reality and what it takes to turn one into the other. Without a doubt, as a BBC review has put, it “is more uplifting than a nine-inch stiletto.”
It’s a perfect New Year treat for me, too, just when I am contemplating the challenges that await me and my magazine team this year in our mission to be ahead of the trends or to sniff out the style news before they hit the streets. Although I have been doing this since the early ’90s, I find magazine work as daunting as when my very first editor, on my very first day in an editorial office, assigned me to do captions on brooches, which necessitated a trip to the Thomas Jefferson Library in Makati and then to the British Council in Quezon City, if only because, even if I was doing only captions, I wanted so much to pack each of them with some history, a bit of trivia, and loads of fun.
In Kinky Boots, Edgerton’s character, Charlie Price, had to see beyond shoes to make it in the shoe business, which he had grudgingly inherited after his father’s untimely death. It was an ailing business, but against all odds and with only half his heart in it in the beginning, it led him off track to save the factory and the jobs of the people working in it. With the help of Ejiefor’s character, Lola, a drag queen, whose friendship he could not have forged under ordinary circumstances, Charlie deviated from classic men’s shoes to fetish footwear, on whose sky-high heels he, along with his entire team of devoted craftsmen, literally made it from provincial Northampton to the shoe capital Milan in pursuit of the all-important niche.
How inspiring, especially because it is a true success story! I know, for instance, that what I do as a magazine editor is not so much a matter of life and death as what my contemporaries in the hard news do. When an earthquake or a tsunami claim lives, you cannot turn to me for information, let alone guidance, but I certainly can walk you through some good times!
That’s my job. It can get crazy, although it doesn’t quite cover the State of the Nation or the stock exchange tremors. Some of my friends describe it as frou frou, but they do expect me to tell them what’s best for them when they want to sit back and relax and enjoy life.
Like a pair of boots, I tell you, that’s really not quite easy to do.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com.
Just recovering from the New Year’s Eve blast the night before, I woke up to a late-morning treat from Star Movies, the 2005 Golden Globe Award-nominated British film Kinky Boots. What a perfect way to start 2008, especially for me for whom, on account of my professional pursuits, shoes are as important as a contemporary piece at the museum! I do remember waking up in the middle of the night in my youth and from under the sheets pointing a flashlight on my collection of quirky black shoes, especially after having bought a fresh pair to add to it.
BLURB
I don’t know what you’re used to makin’, but now you’re making sex, two-and-a-half feet of irresistible tubular sex. —Chiwetel Ejiefor as Lola in Kinky Boots
Rather than a punctuation mark, shoes to me are an opening remark. They have infinitely more power to create a look than, say, a shirt or a dress. What good is a killer suit, for instance, when matched with a miserable pair of shoes? But a good pair can stand its ground even if worn with rags, especially if that’s the point. Imagine a woman in a drab, dreary dress and then imagine what a red-hot, stiletto-sexy heel can do to make her deserving of a second look. Imagine the reverse and chances are you will simply mutter under your breath, “What a waste!”
But Kinky Boots is not just about footwear, although the thigh-high boots in red python leather and rhinestone-studded sole take up so much more space on the movie poster than any of its main cast, the endearing Joel Edgerton and the showstopping Chiwetel Ejiefor. Based on the true story of Divine, a trademark of W.J. Brookes Ltd, a real factory of shoes and boots in Northampton, the comedy-drama is about dreams and reality and what it takes to turn one into the other. Without a doubt, as a BBC review has put, it “is more uplifting than a nine-inch stiletto.”
It’s a perfect New Year treat for me, too, just when I am contemplating the challenges that await me and my magazine team this year in our mission to be ahead of the trends or to sniff out the style news before they hit the streets. Although I have been doing this since the early ’90s, I find magazine work as daunting as when my very first editor, on my very first day in an editorial office, assigned me to do captions on brooches, which necessitated a trip to the Thomas Jefferson Library in Makati and then to the British Council in Quezon City, if only because, even if I was doing only captions, I wanted so much to pack each of them with some history, a bit of trivia, and loads of fun.
In Kinky Boots, Edgerton’s character, Charlie Price, had to see beyond shoes to make it in the shoe business, which he had grudgingly inherited after his father’s untimely death. It was an ailing business, but against all odds and with only half his heart in it in the beginning, it led him off track to save the factory and the jobs of the people working in it. With the help of Ejiefor’s character, Lola, a drag queen, whose friendship he could not have forged under ordinary circumstances, Charlie deviated from classic men’s shoes to fetish footwear, on whose sky-high heels he, along with his entire team of devoted craftsmen, literally made it from provincial Northampton to the shoe capital Milan in pursuit of the all-important niche.
How inspiring, especially because it is a true success story! I know, for instance, that what I do as a magazine editor is not so much a matter of life and death as what my contemporaries in the hard news do. When an earthquake or a tsunami claim lives, you cannot turn to me for information, let alone guidance, but I certainly can walk you through some good times!
That’s my job. It can get crazy, although it doesn’t quite cover the State of the Nation or the stock exchange tremors. Some of my friends describe it as frou frou, but they do expect me to tell them what’s best for them when they want to sit back and relax and enjoy life.
Like a pair of boots, I tell you, that’s really not quite easy to do.
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com.
HERE’S TO A GR8 2008!
(FROM A WEEKEND NOTE, THE EDITOR'S NOTE IN STYLE WEEKEND, THE FRIDAY LIFESTYLE SPECIAL OF MANILA BULLETIN, FRIDAY, 04JANUARY2008)
I couldn’t wait for 2008 and now it’s four days old, but there are still around 362 days to look forward to in this leap year. I don’t imagine it to be any easier than 2007 or any year before that, but I sure hope it can be greater.
BLURB
Kites rise highest against the wind… not with it. —Winston Churchill
Who wants to go through constant challenges, but often, we have no choice in the matter. Problems come and go. Obstacles hurl themselves on your path. Things do go wrong, no matter what you do to keep them right. At the end of the day, you’re left with no other option but to plod on because what else is there to do? You can’t just pull the plug on life, unless you have no problem with suicide.
But the clichés help, one of which is the ever popular “see the glass as half full.” So here are a few questions you can ask yourself every time the going gets rough in the next 362 days, keeping in mind that a glass that is half-full is also in every way half-empty.
1. Which is better: Going crazy because you have too much to do or going crazy because you have nothing to do?
2. Is it better to have people leave you alone, not minding what you do, than to have them demand so much of you, whether it is your presence at a wedding or a job well done?
3. Would you rather that your boss is allowing you to get accustomed to a life of mediocrity and indolence or would you rather that your boss keeps you on your toes on the path to excellence?
4. Do you prefer an ugly truth or a beautiful lie?
5. Will you spend the day doing what you have to do or spend it worrying that you are doing something else?
6. Is your fear of death, which consumes your life, worse than dying, which ends it?
7. Are you afraid of the lizard or is the lizard more afraid of you?
8. Why worry about something you can’t do anything about?
9. Who cares what other people think, unless they’re willing to pay you for doing what they think you should be doing?
10. Life is short and every minute counts, so how do you choose to spend it?
Happy 2008! Make it gr8!
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
I couldn’t wait for 2008 and now it’s four days old, but there are still around 362 days to look forward to in this leap year. I don’t imagine it to be any easier than 2007 or any year before that, but I sure hope it can be greater.
BLURB
Kites rise highest against the wind… not with it. —Winston Churchill
Who wants to go through constant challenges, but often, we have no choice in the matter. Problems come and go. Obstacles hurl themselves on your path. Things do go wrong, no matter what you do to keep them right. At the end of the day, you’re left with no other option but to plod on because what else is there to do? You can’t just pull the plug on life, unless you have no problem with suicide.
But the clichés help, one of which is the ever popular “see the glass as half full.” So here are a few questions you can ask yourself every time the going gets rough in the next 362 days, keeping in mind that a glass that is half-full is also in every way half-empty.
1. Which is better: Going crazy because you have too much to do or going crazy because you have nothing to do?
2. Is it better to have people leave you alone, not minding what you do, than to have them demand so much of you, whether it is your presence at a wedding or a job well done?
3. Would you rather that your boss is allowing you to get accustomed to a life of mediocrity and indolence or would you rather that your boss keeps you on your toes on the path to excellence?
4. Do you prefer an ugly truth or a beautiful lie?
5. Will you spend the day doing what you have to do or spend it worrying that you are doing something else?
6. Is your fear of death, which consumes your life, worse than dying, which ends it?
7. Are you afraid of the lizard or is the lizard more afraid of you?
8. Why worry about something you can’t do anything about?
9. Who cares what other people think, unless they’re willing to pay you for doing what they think you should be doing?
10. Life is short and every minute counts, so how do you choose to spend it?
Happy 2008! Make it gr8!
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
HAPPY WEEKENDS IN 2008!
(FROM A WEEKEND NOTE, THE EDITOR'S LETTER IN STYLE WEEKEND, THE FRIDAY SPECIAL IN MANILA BULLETIN, 28 DEC 2007)
We’re down to the last four days of 2007. What have you promised to do this year that you have yet to do? You still have time, unless the next four days have already been reserved for the last-minute get-togethers that did not make it last Christmas.
BLURB
Cheers to a new year and another chance for us to get it right. —Oprah Winfrey
The year ahead, like all the years before it, will doubtless have its own set of challenges, the most serious of which, as it increasingly appears, may be the very survival of our planet. All other resolutions seem pointless, if we fail to address the one issue that threatens to obliterate opportunities to resolve all other issues, including terrorism, poverty, and our conflicting political ideologies.
But maybe global warming just sounds too much for one person to have to do something about, although, as they say, all it takes is one person to make a difference. I’m thinking maybe we should all start taking our weekends seriously in 2008, spending these precious two days as enjoyably as we can and, for the sake of the planet, as simply as we can.
What about weekends in the country? Now that’ll save energy if only because we can keep our airconditioning units unplugged for at least two days, especially if we spend the weekend in places like Tagaytay or Baguio or maybe the seaside in Batangas or Cavite or La Union.
But what about gas? Why not take the bus? It’s not really too much of a sacrifice, especially if we all start making it imperative for the bus operators to make the ride easier, more convenient, cleaner, safer, and more practical an alternative to driving ourselves. Better yet, if we are aligned in making our weekends more exciting, we can all pool together, riding vans full of friends out to have fun rather than driving our own individual carbon-emitting, globe-warming machines.
Throughout the weekend, maybe we can shut out the world, along with our everyday routines, which have undoubtedly put our future in jeopardy. Why should it hurt at all to spend two days out of seven every week doing something different? Keep your mobile phones away. Don’t take the laptop out of the bag. Let the TV rest. Ok, maybe keeping the radio off is far too much, but if 15 minutes of meditative silence a day can do wonders, just imagine what two days of quiet can do.
Our food habits are a major cause of planetary distress and there’s so much to do in the weekend to try to reduce our impact on the environment. It might be quite a refreshing change to turn vegetarian even just for the weekend. The purists might have some objections, but if we cannot stay away from meat forever, it might be bearable to try it just two days every week. Every year, that’s roughly 104 days to spend free from fat and cholesterol. You need not consider how Earth will benefit because the health benefits alone are compelling enough. Well, I’m sure it’s enough reason for a great number of pigs and cows and geese and chicken and fish to look forward to the weekend.
It might be a good idea to try to live like the rest of the natural world on the weekend, eating only when we are hungry and just picking off stuff in the backyard, like tomatoes or eggplants or okra, rather than orchestrating a major production in a kitchenful of energy-dependent thingamajigs like gas ranges, blenders, ovens, and high-tech egg beaters. If you’re feeling hot, think twice before turning on the airconditioner or even the electric fans. Maybe it’s just a matter of opening the windows. Lions, after all, can survive African summers, manes and all.
But what happens to the economy while we are taking the weekend off? What happens when all of a sudden we are two days less dependent on oil, electricity, energy, automation, technology, and all?
The question is why do you think global warming is still subject to international debate despite the many indications demanding the immediate recognition of—and immediate action on—it. To borrow from James Carville, Clinton campaign strategist, who coined the phrase in the 1992 Clinton-versus-Bush presidential derby, “it’s the economy, stupid!”
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
We’re down to the last four days of 2007. What have you promised to do this year that you have yet to do? You still have time, unless the next four days have already been reserved for the last-minute get-togethers that did not make it last Christmas.
BLURB
Cheers to a new year and another chance for us to get it right. —Oprah Winfrey
The year ahead, like all the years before it, will doubtless have its own set of challenges, the most serious of which, as it increasingly appears, may be the very survival of our planet. All other resolutions seem pointless, if we fail to address the one issue that threatens to obliterate opportunities to resolve all other issues, including terrorism, poverty, and our conflicting political ideologies.
But maybe global warming just sounds too much for one person to have to do something about, although, as they say, all it takes is one person to make a difference. I’m thinking maybe we should all start taking our weekends seriously in 2008, spending these precious two days as enjoyably as we can and, for the sake of the planet, as simply as we can.
What about weekends in the country? Now that’ll save energy if only because we can keep our airconditioning units unplugged for at least two days, especially if we spend the weekend in places like Tagaytay or Baguio or maybe the seaside in Batangas or Cavite or La Union.
But what about gas? Why not take the bus? It’s not really too much of a sacrifice, especially if we all start making it imperative for the bus operators to make the ride easier, more convenient, cleaner, safer, and more practical an alternative to driving ourselves. Better yet, if we are aligned in making our weekends more exciting, we can all pool together, riding vans full of friends out to have fun rather than driving our own individual carbon-emitting, globe-warming machines.
Throughout the weekend, maybe we can shut out the world, along with our everyday routines, which have undoubtedly put our future in jeopardy. Why should it hurt at all to spend two days out of seven every week doing something different? Keep your mobile phones away. Don’t take the laptop out of the bag. Let the TV rest. Ok, maybe keeping the radio off is far too much, but if 15 minutes of meditative silence a day can do wonders, just imagine what two days of quiet can do.
Our food habits are a major cause of planetary distress and there’s so much to do in the weekend to try to reduce our impact on the environment. It might be quite a refreshing change to turn vegetarian even just for the weekend. The purists might have some objections, but if we cannot stay away from meat forever, it might be bearable to try it just two days every week. Every year, that’s roughly 104 days to spend free from fat and cholesterol. You need not consider how Earth will benefit because the health benefits alone are compelling enough. Well, I’m sure it’s enough reason for a great number of pigs and cows and geese and chicken and fish to look forward to the weekend.
It might be a good idea to try to live like the rest of the natural world on the weekend, eating only when we are hungry and just picking off stuff in the backyard, like tomatoes or eggplants or okra, rather than orchestrating a major production in a kitchenful of energy-dependent thingamajigs like gas ranges, blenders, ovens, and high-tech egg beaters. If you’re feeling hot, think twice before turning on the airconditioner or even the electric fans. Maybe it’s just a matter of opening the windows. Lions, after all, can survive African summers, manes and all.
But what happens to the economy while we are taking the weekend off? What happens when all of a sudden we are two days less dependent on oil, electricity, energy, automation, technology, and all?
The question is why do you think global warming is still subject to international debate despite the many indications demanding the immediate recognition of—and immediate action on—it. To borrow from James Carville, Clinton campaign strategist, who coined the phrase in the 1992 Clinton-versus-Bush presidential derby, “it’s the economy, stupid!”
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com
HAVE YOURSELF A MERRY LITTLE CHRISTMAS
(FROM "A WEEKEND NOTE," THE EDITOR'S LETTER IN STYLE WEEKEND, THE FRIDAY SPECIAL IN MANILA BULLETIN, 21 DEC 2007)
At Rustan’s Makati, it’s Christmas, as we knew it back when Santa was a pudgy old man in a red suit. Behind the department store’s holiday windows Christmas classics come alive, heralded by Santa on his reindeer-drawn sleigh, along with the Christmas fairies and the camels or what Feliz Lim of Rustan’s visual team described to me as “the majestic bearers of gifts.”
BLURB
Here we are as in olden days
Happy golden days of yore
Upon the prodding of the very gentle Nena Tantoco, Christmas decorations at Rustan’s simply aim to “reawaken the child in every person,” so that each window, indeed, is a portal back into traditional times, paved with childhood memories and everything we hold near and dear to our hearts, which is exactly what Christmas is all about.
After all, over the past decades, some “iconoclasts” have had many attempts to redefine Christmas, restyling Santa in a gilded suit, replacing his sleigh with some futuristic supercar, or making gold and black the chic alternative to the “usual” red and green. It’s tiring to have to fix what ain’t broken just to be different or just to go against the flow, which is why it’s quite heartwarming to see tradition making a grand comeback into our holiday décor.
This year, at Rustan’s and elsewhere, Christmas wears its traditional colors, although white and silver seem to dominate the holidayscape. The color scheme is still traditional anyway in the light of “I’m Dreaming of A White Christmas,” a sentiment that dates back to the beginning of our Great American Dream, which, at Christmas time, was poignantly expressed by our fantasies about the Snowman and snowflakes on our lashes.
That’s why, for me, who grew up before the Americans pulled out of the Philippines, a walk around Rustan’s Makati, now animated with symbols of Christmases past and abloom with poinsettias, is a walk back to the grander times of my childhood, grander because then my dreams were more vivid, more real, more mesmerizing and, well, they were powerful dreams, whereas now many of them, through no fault of their own and strictly on account of my jadedness, have become boring, everyday realities.
The window display at Rustan’s Makati, indeed, is among this season’s glad tidings, if only because lately it seems quite a challenge to imbibe the holiday spirit. The carols, mostly reinterpreted by pop stars, no longer seem as jolly or as whimsical. Some of them sound no different from today’s Top 40 hits.
I wish a modern-day carol would bring to life the same holiday feelings Chrissie Hynde’s version of “Have Yourself A Merry Christmas” used to stir up in me back in my youth. But then again, Chrissie Hynde’s soulful version was only also a cover of the 1944 classic, made for the MGM film Meet Me in St. Louis and immortalized by Judy Garland. I’m sure that in the ‘80s, when the Pretenders lead sang her version of this saddest, most haunting Christmas carol of all, some traditionalist must have also scoffed at dear old Chrissie for recreating a Garland original.
Well, maybe, I’m really getting older. But then again, young or old, who doesn’t want Christmas to be the same, if Christmas means happy, merry, jolly, fruitcake and all?
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com.
At Rustan’s Makati, it’s Christmas, as we knew it back when Santa was a pudgy old man in a red suit. Behind the department store’s holiday windows Christmas classics come alive, heralded by Santa on his reindeer-drawn sleigh, along with the Christmas fairies and the camels or what Feliz Lim of Rustan’s visual team described to me as “the majestic bearers of gifts.”
BLURB
Here we are as in olden days
Happy golden days of yore
Upon the prodding of the very gentle Nena Tantoco, Christmas decorations at Rustan’s simply aim to “reawaken the child in every person,” so that each window, indeed, is a portal back into traditional times, paved with childhood memories and everything we hold near and dear to our hearts, which is exactly what Christmas is all about.
After all, over the past decades, some “iconoclasts” have had many attempts to redefine Christmas, restyling Santa in a gilded suit, replacing his sleigh with some futuristic supercar, or making gold and black the chic alternative to the “usual” red and green. It’s tiring to have to fix what ain’t broken just to be different or just to go against the flow, which is why it’s quite heartwarming to see tradition making a grand comeback into our holiday décor.
This year, at Rustan’s and elsewhere, Christmas wears its traditional colors, although white and silver seem to dominate the holidayscape. The color scheme is still traditional anyway in the light of “I’m Dreaming of A White Christmas,” a sentiment that dates back to the beginning of our Great American Dream, which, at Christmas time, was poignantly expressed by our fantasies about the Snowman and snowflakes on our lashes.
That’s why, for me, who grew up before the Americans pulled out of the Philippines, a walk around Rustan’s Makati, now animated with symbols of Christmases past and abloom with poinsettias, is a walk back to the grander times of my childhood, grander because then my dreams were more vivid, more real, more mesmerizing and, well, they were powerful dreams, whereas now many of them, through no fault of their own and strictly on account of my jadedness, have become boring, everyday realities.
The window display at Rustan’s Makati, indeed, is among this season’s glad tidings, if only because lately it seems quite a challenge to imbibe the holiday spirit. The carols, mostly reinterpreted by pop stars, no longer seem as jolly or as whimsical. Some of them sound no different from today’s Top 40 hits.
I wish a modern-day carol would bring to life the same holiday feelings Chrissie Hynde’s version of “Have Yourself A Merry Christmas” used to stir up in me back in my youth. But then again, Chrissie Hynde’s soulful version was only also a cover of the 1944 classic, made for the MGM film Meet Me in St. Louis and immortalized by Judy Garland. I’m sure that in the ‘80s, when the Pretenders lead sang her version of this saddest, most haunting Christmas carol of all, some traditionalist must have also scoffed at dear old Chrissie for recreating a Garland original.
Well, maybe, I’m really getting older. But then again, young or old, who doesn’t want Christmas to be the same, if Christmas means happy, merry, jolly, fruitcake and all?
A
post me at aapatawaran@yahoo.com.
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