(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
Saturday, December 1, 2007
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
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