It's in this time of the year that I found myself in two (2) extreme emotions: euphoria and melancholy. It is heartwarming to see people exhange Yuletide greetings and gifts with happy faces. You see people's generosity overflowing especially to those who are less privileged. Christmas songs fill the cool air. Yet amidst all these glitters, i can't help but feel down because the real meaning of the Season is not something that you can see or hear.
Thursday, December 23, 2004
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
what a waste?#@$!
I’ve never thought some supposedly intelligent guys can be that boring (ouch!). For instance, take this guy who can talk all about himself for hours and at a speed of 87 words per minute: his sports routine, diet, women she dated, how he almost got married, how much he wanted to own a car to get more dates (Hello, he might as well buy a car who knows how to ask a girl out). It just made me wonder if ever this guy knows that a sentence doesn’t have to start with “I” all the time. If I were to suggest how he could make money (if ever it could) out of narcissism, he might as well own, produce, direct and star his own TV show and named it “All About Me” if not, create a movie: “How To Lose A Girl In 10 Seconds.”
Oh well, this is a sad fact; a very, very sad one knowing that male population has been outnumbered by that of the female in scary proportion. While my first theory: “All good-looking guys are either gay or married” is gaining ground, here comes another theory--- “Some intelligent good-looking guys are better off keeping their intelligence and good looks with themselves.”
Oh well, this is a sad fact; a very, very sad one knowing that male population has been outnumbered by that of the female in scary proportion. While my first theory: “All good-looking guys are either gay or married” is gaining ground, here comes another theory--- “Some intelligent good-looking guys are better off keeping their intelligence and good looks with themselves.”
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
Celebrating Christmas....
I think there is no better way of celebrating Christmas than with the children. Christmas is for children, I guess.
Over the weekend, I had the chance of taking my time off with over 50 children, who -- if not attending Saturday Cathechism classes that my organization have been conducting for the past three years now--are in the streets peddling fruits, cigarettes, candies and other goodies. (Sadly, some of these kids were pushing drugs for some unscrupulous grown-ups.)
Thanks to some people with generous hearts, we were able to treat the children dinner, play with them, showcase thier talents in singing, dancing and poetry; and most of all, give them a couple of gifts to their heart's delight.
Yeah, what the children's tiny hands had carried on the way home may just wear out and perish soon. But we hope the daylong affair of being cared for and given importance by their Kuyas and Ates, familiar or not, was something that will forever stay in their hearts.
And I guess, Christmas is for the children-at-heart, too. Because I enjoyed the event, perhaps more than the kids did.
Over the weekend, I had the chance of taking my time off with over 50 children, who -- if not attending Saturday Cathechism classes that my organization have been conducting for the past three years now--are in the streets peddling fruits, cigarettes, candies and other goodies. (Sadly, some of these kids were pushing drugs for some unscrupulous grown-ups.)
Thanks to some people with generous hearts, we were able to treat the children dinner, play with them, showcase thier talents in singing, dancing and poetry; and most of all, give them a couple of gifts to their heart's delight.
Yeah, what the children's tiny hands had carried on the way home may just wear out and perish soon. But we hope the daylong affair of being cared for and given importance by their Kuyas and Ates, familiar or not, was something that will forever stay in their hearts.
And I guess, Christmas is for the children-at-heart, too. Because I enjoyed the event, perhaps more than the kids did.
Friday, December 10, 2004
unplugged
whew, i can't believe i haven't been bloggin' for 48 years already, thanks to the toxic urban life... anyhow, nothing earth-shattering changes have happened in my life in that hiatus.. though, i was able to wax an article in between my psychedelic moments; and thank God, it saw print in a Cebu weekend mag..
here it is....
Inhibitions Not Included
By Roslyn D. Tambago
Living in a grown-up world can be a letdown. Damn all that social etiquette, ethics, norms and what have you, attached to whatever is "social." Hey, don’t these often foil the triumph of what they call the freewheeling, passionate human spirit? Urrgh!
But who says it's not fun to be a grown-up? Well, you just have to be with the right people, at the right time.
One day I found myself amidst a bunch of promising writers and cartoonists flocking together for a comics workshop. And they were younger than the twenty-something me, save for the visiting resource speakers.
Suddenly, I felt out of place. Anyhow, I was able to resist the temptation of pushing the imaginary self-eject button. I decided to go on with the three-day affair and appointed myself as a tacit spectator on top of the official designation as participant. I guessed I would be better off with the former.
The first day brought us into mute mode, except of course, for the speakers who took turns in sharing with us the effectiveness of comics in social advocacies, the history of comics, among other significant topics.
Call it putting-the-best-foot-forward day. Even then, I found the stillness bizarre for these male-dominated youngsters whose looks can easily pass for members of some rock band. Bite me, but you know how rock stars can be raucous. There was a Bob Marley look-a-like, a Bon Jovi, a Bono, even an Eddie Gil (for lack of analogy). The thought of how they care for their hair was mind-boggling. How often they shampoo their hair? Do they use a conditioner? Do they use a comb? Is that a wig?
On the second day the glacier started to give way. In between lectures on storyline making and scriptwriting, a waft of giggles from one side now would float from the other end shortly. Somehow, human connections began to weave.
Real skin slowly surfaced, too. A quick panning through the room revealed personalities that are as colorful as their outfits. Some looked like they just came from a pajama party or from a street-begging routine, one sat all day like a Yoga master , another posed a blank stare; still others doodled on a blank paper while some pairs engrossed themselves on occasional whispered conversations or hummed a favorite tune.
The third day was a social psychology case study in progress. Time to put into practice the learning we got from the past two days, we were set out in groups. We took the mission of creating a four-page comics of our chosen storyline. Each group had to go through the entire process of comics-making from brainstorming on the storyline down to the computer-aided coloring of illustrations.
Once the actual tasks began, the room instantly turned into an animated representation of authentic human behaviors (or was it resembling a psychiatric ward?).In the middle of writing scripts, someone would just stand up and strike a winning air-guitar pose, strum his ribs and belt out "Wake me up inside…call my name and save me from the dark…” In no time another one would take centerstage and initiate a gag show. Someone momentarily put his sketching pencil to rest and before you'd figure out the next move he already broke into dance. Soon there would be pop-up scenes of dancing, singing, somersaulting.
But nothing beats the panache of self-expression and the defiance of social grace when somebody in the midst of everyone released his gas only plants would love. Such biological sound and “aroma” was only met with cackles and instinctive breath suspension. The rolling-on-the-floor laughter was just endless.
Such scenes at any point never cost a thing to the speakers nor to the organizers; they were unmindful of the clatter and the outrageous celebration of freedom, so were we. No amount of superego formation lines of "don't do this, don't do that " could be heard from anybody. Everyone was allowed to be in their own little worlds. Everybody was his own person. The result: five comics representing five stories campaigning against illegal drugs and corruption.
To find myself in the same spot again would be the rarest of chances. However, my stopover in that world of the creative yet real, of the avant-garde yet down-to- earth and of human beings unplugged from social correctness is a recall that will always put a wide grin on my face.
(Published: Sunstar.Cebu. Weekend Magazine. November 20, 2004)
here it is....
Inhibitions Not Included
By Roslyn D. Tambago
Living in a grown-up world can be a letdown. Damn all that social etiquette, ethics, norms and what have you, attached to whatever is "social." Hey, don’t these often foil the triumph of what they call the freewheeling, passionate human spirit? Urrgh!
But who says it's not fun to be a grown-up? Well, you just have to be with the right people, at the right time.
One day I found myself amidst a bunch of promising writers and cartoonists flocking together for a comics workshop. And they were younger than the twenty-something me, save for the visiting resource speakers.
Suddenly, I felt out of place. Anyhow, I was able to resist the temptation of pushing the imaginary self-eject button. I decided to go on with the three-day affair and appointed myself as a tacit spectator on top of the official designation as participant. I guessed I would be better off with the former.
The first day brought us into mute mode, except of course, for the speakers who took turns in sharing with us the effectiveness of comics in social advocacies, the history of comics, among other significant topics.
Call it putting-the-best-foot-forward day. Even then, I found the stillness bizarre for these male-dominated youngsters whose looks can easily pass for members of some rock band. Bite me, but you know how rock stars can be raucous. There was a Bob Marley look-a-like, a Bon Jovi, a Bono, even an Eddie Gil (for lack of analogy). The thought of how they care for their hair was mind-boggling. How often they shampoo their hair? Do they use a conditioner? Do they use a comb? Is that a wig?
On the second day the glacier started to give way. In between lectures on storyline making and scriptwriting, a waft of giggles from one side now would float from the other end shortly. Somehow, human connections began to weave.
Real skin slowly surfaced, too. A quick panning through the room revealed personalities that are as colorful as their outfits. Some looked like they just came from a pajama party or from a street-begging routine, one sat all day like a Yoga master , another posed a blank stare; still others doodled on a blank paper while some pairs engrossed themselves on occasional whispered conversations or hummed a favorite tune.
The third day was a social psychology case study in progress. Time to put into practice the learning we got from the past two days, we were set out in groups. We took the mission of creating a four-page comics of our chosen storyline. Each group had to go through the entire process of comics-making from brainstorming on the storyline down to the computer-aided coloring of illustrations.
Once the actual tasks began, the room instantly turned into an animated representation of authentic human behaviors (or was it resembling a psychiatric ward?).In the middle of writing scripts, someone would just stand up and strike a winning air-guitar pose, strum his ribs and belt out "Wake me up inside…call my name and save me from the dark…” In no time another one would take centerstage and initiate a gag show. Someone momentarily put his sketching pencil to rest and before you'd figure out the next move he already broke into dance. Soon there would be pop-up scenes of dancing, singing, somersaulting.
But nothing beats the panache of self-expression and the defiance of social grace when somebody in the midst of everyone released his gas only plants would love. Such biological sound and “aroma” was only met with cackles and instinctive breath suspension. The rolling-on-the-floor laughter was just endless.
Such scenes at any point never cost a thing to the speakers nor to the organizers; they were unmindful of the clatter and the outrageous celebration of freedom, so were we. No amount of superego formation lines of "don't do this, don't do that " could be heard from anybody. Everyone was allowed to be in their own little worlds. Everybody was his own person. The result: five comics representing five stories campaigning against illegal drugs and corruption.
To find myself in the same spot again would be the rarest of chances. However, my stopover in that world of the creative yet real, of the avant-garde yet down-to- earth and of human beings unplugged from social correctness is a recall that will always put a wide grin on my face.
(Published: Sunstar.Cebu. Weekend Magazine. November 20, 2004)
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