Scooby-Doobie-Doo, Where are you? No, wait that's the Chatelaine's Achilles in "costume." He's actually just hanging onto his chew toy ball. But doesn't it look like he's got a set of pearly whites? Besides, I'm sure he's really really happy mama will be back tomorrow.
soon, puppy, Mom will be home soon. And in the background you can see one of Galatea's art pieces. Cheer up, Achilles, you are one of the Top 10 Breeds of 2003.
I'm never quite sure what to talk about when going into a class. But they certainly seemed more awake than I used to be in 8am classes. They asked me about why I used food as a metaphor for sex, referring to the balut poems I wrote for "Eros Pinoy." To which I answered, as written they are not erotic, they are simply erotic in the context that I placed them in. OK, so that was a bit of a diplomatic cop out. But it is difficult writing good erotic poetry and food is an easy way to work in desire.
Brought a stick and a sword. Decided not to do kali demonstration, wasn't quite feeling it this morning and well, swords are dangerous when you're not quite feeling it.
They asked me what my major was in Berkeley, since I told them that I was class of 1997. I proudly told them I was a science major and had aspirations of being a physical therapist. Obviously, I didn't end up there. I don't know what major these students have chosen, but it's nice to put out there that a writer/artist can be a science major. It took me a while to accept that I could still be a writer even though I wasn't from a "writing" degree.
I think the difficulty of it all was that I was discussing kali and poetry and one could expound a great deal about both. And how do you explain what kali is, if you've never seen it, and how does this thing you've never seen change how one writes. I did write an essay on it, but in many ways I still haven't seen all the ways in which the kali influences my writing at least from a 3rd person analysts view. Instead at the end, I read a few poems. And hoped one of them might figure it out for me.
Then all of a sudden 45 minutes had flown by and we were done. I don't know if I left them with more questions than answers. It's a lot for a blurry eyed morning. We'll see what they say on their blogs.
It's California, it's dry. You can't have huge green lawns without using up tons of water. But you don't need huge lawns that take a tractor to mow, just a small patch of grass to call your own.
Not sure if dogs can tell time. But I'm sure Achilles notices that they've been away for a while now. Oh, he's not missing a leg, he likes to tuck his right paw underneath his chin.
Going to speak at Jean's Rhetoric 1B class tomorrow morning. I figure if Jean can truck it from Santa Cruz, I can get there too. But I am decidedly not a morning person unless I want to be. So tomorrow, I will be a morning person. It's an 8am class and Jean is kind to have me at 8:45.
They've read the Pinoy Poetics' essays of myself, Oscar Peneranda, and Tony Robles and are blogging about their responses to the reading.
I wish there was a class like Jean's when I was in school. I took an Asian American lit writing class and they wanted me to tell them about Filipino authors. At the time I was 18, just out of high school and I looked at them like, "um, why don't you tell me?" At the time I had barely heard of NVM and Bulosan.
At the time I resented the fact that just because I was Filipino that I was supposed know everything there was to know about Filipino lit. I'm actually still kind of resentful. Because I think it's the presumptions by Filipinos and non-Filipinos to assume that all Filipinos know everything about being Filipino (the language, the food, the literature, the culture, the history), that hides that very same culture from us. I think Filipino culture is much more complex than that. And our presumptions close us off from really discovering more about ourselves.
Alot has changed and not enough has changed since then.
I rarely interact with students though I'm on campus all the time. I only step in now and then and for the most part let them manage their own lives. I've spoken to quite a few classes over the years: stunt work for a drama class, kali to a history class, but I think this is the first time I'll be speaking about my writing. This is going to be fun!
Check out the Runbutans who are running and fundraising for the Manila Heritage cultural center at the new International Hotel being built. They'll be running in the marathon in Hawaii this December. I spoke with one of the runners and they're up to 22 miles now. Some of their website is still under construction. Hopefully, they'll get the "donations here" link up soon.
Why? Cuz I don't have a dog and he's just so cute. Achilles is a smart dog and he knows that when the bags start to pile up in the lobby it means he's getting left behind on the mountain. And so in protest, he blocks the front door with his body. He already understand the idea of civil disobedience. I wonder what will happen when Gabriela gets to mountain whether they'll link paws and both block the doorway.
This is Chatty trying to console the unconsolable.
It's monday, we need a dog picture. I promised dog pictures.
Here's the young Achilles now, just shy of his b-day.
You can see his slightly shaved side on the right there. That's what he gets for poking his nose into grass burrows.
The fiance and I attended the 80th anniversary of the Tanay Club. The Tanay Club along with Bohol Circle is one of the oldest Filipino town associations in the country still in existence today. They began in 1924. D's family is from Tanay. We attend their annual Padasal during Holy Week, so we're adopted Tanayans, since neither the fiance nor I are from there.
D and Flux were quite cute in their matching purple Filipiniana. The fiance and I were decked out in our Filipiniana wear but with the standard off white color. Lots of barong watching: matching orange outfits, embroidery throughout the shirt, etc.
Heading into the hall of the hotel, I see Liz M., from UC Berkeley Ethnic Studies, standing there. I think she was surprised to see me there as well. She was waiting for her husband who was parking the car. Liz is retired now and I only run into her now and then. She's not from Tanay either, but she knows folks from back in the day. I mean, the woman remembers when Union City was three different towns and how it was a flood plain where you'd go pick vegetables for work. Liz, of course, had her trusty video camera, forever documenting every Filipino event she attends. Always good to see Liz.
We sat through a short video of Filipino American history with pictures of the Tanay club over the years. Their basketball and baseball clubs, their annual dinners. They listed the names of the dozen men who started the Tanay Club in 1924. As with most township clubs, they were more a form of social service. A way for immigrants to bond and network and help each other out.
The mayor of Tanay gave a speech about the festivities for the upcoming 400th year anniversary of the town, with the standard we hope to see you all there along with plea for fundraising.
We were some of the youngest people there. Like many township organizations, they rely on immigrant populations as its base. Their children rarely join on their own. I think part of it, speaking as a child of immigrants, is not that we're not interested in Filipino culture. I don't think we're that interested in a specific township. You see Fil-Ams gravitate towards general Filipino associations rather than hometown associations. In that sense, though the Tanay Club has lasted this long, it also may be seeing the end of its days. With so many Filipinos around, there are so many bonds and associations forming that something like Tanay Club is hard pressed to hang onto a constituency.
I guess we were kind of odd hanging out at a township association dinner for a town we've never gone to. My family is a part of the Malasiquenians, but I don't go to their meetings and I'm not sure what else they do other than the annual dinner. Then again, every family party might as well be a meeting of the Malasiquenians. Even with my cousins who are my age and immigrated her, you see a waning interest in the township association. They have stronger bonds with their church groups.
The DJ was pretty bad when he had to switch songs. He spent most of his time letting his pretaped party jams go on. We didn't win the round trip to the Philippines nor the 50 lb bag of rice, but the fiance did win a CD containing pictures of the town that the guy in the back was selling for $20 each.
We will probably attend their padasal again next year. And we may eventually go and see this town. But there is something about going to Tanay Club functions that does feel like you're going home.
Went to my teacher's class last night because my cousin wanted to try out the class. I went as the carpool driver. Since I was on the recovery days of this nasty cold I've had all week, I planned to rest most of the class and give input from where I was sitting.
My cousin had a year of karate which was quite apparent. But he still moved alright considering. We have the same great grandfather. The one who held anting-anting and walked on fire. Since my cousin had grown up in the Philippines he had had more contact with Grandpa Jose. I know my cousin really wants to learn kali rather than go back to karate. And I wonder if his desire comes from the same source.
I remember watching kali for the first time. My gaze deeply attached to their movements. I only knew that what I was watching was different. The other thing I knew was that I wanted to do that. I wanted to be that. Whatever that was, that's where I was going to be. I would later drive wherever I could to be in kali class. To touch that thing. When my mother told me about her grandfather and how he had sticks like mine, I understood the source of my desire. A destiny that had been encoded in me at birth.
Later on, Tuhan asked me to demonstrate a bit, do some striking for other people. It all seemed kind of blurry, my body running on default. The energy through my body felt murky. My mind would think of things to do, but my body barely listened. I thought about trying to push through. Of course I was off. It would have been nice to be "on" despite the cold, in the same way I can still be "on" despite not feeling into it. But the connection between mind and body were out of sync.
Tuhan later talked about mastery and how few can determine a real master from someone just calling themselves one. He spoke of a friend of his who is also a true master. We used to train with his friend, his class next to hours. He would blow us away. There was something different in his eyes and you knew he saw something that we couldn't see. Tuhan talked about how back in his day they would travel everywhere and anywhere to check out these "masters" to see if they were any good. Constantly calibrating their eyes: they're good, they're not that good, they're real, these other guys are bogus.
Tuhan and his friend were talking and saying that none of their students could do what they do, which is true, but it is why they are masters. I began to wonder if any of us would reach their caliber some day. I wondered what it would take. I wondered about my own journey. What my own abilities would be.
I have not seen much. I have not travelled far and wide to seek out masters. I cannot do push ups without my feet touching the ground. I cannot drive a nail into a wooden board with my bare hands. I wondered how far I'd be willing to go.
But I suppose I made that choice 10 years ago when I took my first class, like my cousin did last night.
As I settled down for sleep last night, I thought of Tuhan's words. My body sank heavily into the mattress. Tears poured from the edges of my eyes. I could barely feel the trails skim my cheeks. They were emotionless tears, an odd sensation compared to most of the tears I had shed this week. My face was calm, my body heavy, my spirit clear, my breath deep and free. I slept soundly and dreamed well.
Rona, Leny, and Barbara wrote of Helen's memorial. Like Leny, the tears are still too close to the surface. During the Remembrances section, people talked of Helen as the academic, as the activist, sang a few songs. I wasn't sure if I was going to go up to say anything. But then I felt her pushing me up there, "oh go ahead, Michelle!" she would have said.
And so, I stood at the podium next to the altar where we had welcomed the directions, and placed various items that symbolized Helen. I didn't have anything written down, just started talking about why she loved science fiction. kept squeezing my fingers to keep from losing it.
Below is roughly what I said with some add-ons. I wrote it down afterwards to place in her memory book.
I first met Helen 11 years ago at my high school graduation. I was in the same class as her niece Geraldine. She remembered me when I attended the FAHNS conference in SF a couple of years later. It was my first time to a community event, I didn't know anyone. I was going to go home before the the banquet.
When she saw me peering in, she asked me if I was staying. I said no I didn't know anyone here. She said, " you know me. there's room at our table." And she sat me down and started introducing me to everyone.
And that's how she always got you. She'd ask you to sit. stay. Next thing you know you've stayed longer than you thought you would and you were drafted into a million different projects. It was her well used recruitment method. That's how many of us stayed for years I guess. There was always more room at her table.
Alot of people talked about the work Helen did changing the world. I think that's why she liked science fiction so much. She had a Lord of the Rings poster and Harry Potter poster in her room. Just about every sci-fi/fantasy series imagineable: read all the books, watched all the movies. Dune, Star Trek, Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter. It was a glimpse of a world we could come to create. that any world was possible. Helen believed in this future. She believed in the hope that science fiction gave us.
Star Trek was her favorite. No one was allowed to disturb her during Star Trek hour. No phone calls, no disruptions. To touch the remote was to get your hand cut off. We would discuss Star Trek and the sociopolitical difference between the Romulans, Klingons, and Humans and how the new accord would change that. And maybe too if whether or not that new ensign was a hottie.
she also could go with that suspension of disbelief when the time continuum didn't quite work out as planned. It was ok that the world didn't make sense.
She brought this hope into the work she did, this belief that a great new world was possible.
When she didn't leave the house much anymore, we'd stop by and she'd be watching TV. She LOVED the cartoon Lilo & Stitch. I remember her sitting at the table eating her morning cereal and watching the show. She really liked Lilo. I imagined that Helen was like that when she was a kid. I think she could relate to the story of a small rambunctious Hawaiian girl who befriends an alien and gets into lots of trouble.
Oh how Helen loved trouble. She liked making trouble, causing trouble, getting other people to make trouble. To know Helen was to get into lots and lots of trouble. She liked to push people. Ask questions. Wonder why, and make people give her an answer.
When people would visit, they had a rule "positivity only" and that to enter you had to leave your negative vibes at the door. And that often forced people to change their view of life. But that's what Helen got you to do, she got you to let go of your doubts and fears and enter that door and stay awhile. You could come up to her with just about any crazy scheme and she would tell you to go for it, try it. Some book idea, some conference and she would say yes go for it. And if she really liked the idea, she would give the emphatic triple, "yes yes YES!" She would always believe in you, suspend disbelief, lay negativity at the doorstep. She got you to believe in hope too.
I think she liked Harry Potter because of the magic. She believed each of us had the power to change the world and fight evil.
She liked science fiction because it was like the world she had always known. A place where people could have hope and have a bit of magic to help them out.
But that was Helen. Sit. Stay. Go. Do. Believe. Hope.
I'll remember Helen when the next time Star Trek is on, or when we watch the Return of the King Extended version, or the next Harry Potter movie. And I'm sure she'll be watching and laughing alongside us.
Filipino-American artist Lori Kay's Unzipped Heart will be on view until Oct. 30, 2004 in front of the War Memorial Theater, Van Ness Ave , one block from the Opera House, across from City Hall. Free.
For Lori Kay, gold is the color that comes closest to representing truth, beauty and love, the high attributes that are exposed revealed by the unzipping and undraping of the heart. Gold has a rich history of symbolism in many cultures, religions and art traditions. The artist applied most of the hearts 40-some luminous layers at dawn, while her twin daughters were still sleeping.
You can see all the hearts at:
"A Lot of Hearts" Public Viewing. Nov. 6 - 8, 2004
Come meet the artists and view all 130 hearts
Pac Bell Park, Parking Lot A.
$10 donation to view 130 hearts.
There will also be an online auction to benefit SF General Hospital Foundation
Nov. 4 - 14.
http://www.heartsinsf.org
Filipino-American artist Lori Kay's Unzipped Heart will be on view until Oct. 30, 2004 in front of the War Memorial Theater, Van Ness Ave , one block from the Opera House, across from City Hall. Free.
For Lori Kay, gold is the color that comes closest to representing truth, beauty and love, the high attributes that are exposed revealed by the unzipping and undraping of the heart. Gold has a rich history of symbolism in many cultures, religions and art traditions. The artist applied most of the hearts 40-some luminous layers at dawn, while her twin daughters were still sleeping.
You can see all the hearts at:
"A Lot of Hearts" Public Viewing. Nov. 6 - 8, 2004
Come meet the artists and view all 130 hearts
Pac Bell Park, Parking Lot A.
$10 donation to view 130 hearts.
There will also be an online auction to benefit SF General Hospital Foundation
Nov. 4 - 14.
http://www.heartsinsf.org
Once I asked folks to complete the statement above and came to realize that part of the Filipino culture contained the traits of a good environmentalist. OK, OK, so if you've gone to the Philippines, you've gotta wonder sometimes about their environmentalist nature. Some of it too has changed a bit due to marketing of "convenience" goods that tend to generate more trash. But look at it this way:
-very few Filipinos own their own car, most take the entrepeneurial public transit system. Other than the light rail, the jeepneys and buses are business owned. Often small business promotes mass transit.
-the baon/leftovers and never wasting food. It's all about leftovers. and then reusing the foil you wrapped it in.
-grow our own food in the backyard. particularly back in the day when there weren't Asian groceries around, a lot of Filipinos grew their own food in the backyard. then they'd often share the bountiful crop.
-use plastic grocery bags as the trash liners.
-pass along stuff you can't use anymore: old clothes, books, etc.
-the list goes on and on. and if you have another one, list it in the comments section.
Chatty was telling us how she aggravated she gets when the trash gets taken out when it's not full. Unless it's totally stinky of course. But when it's just a few pieces of paper and papertowels, why bother sending the trash to the dump when the bag isn't quite yet busting at its seams. We understood.
Of course, people will say, "c'mon, it's like 2 cents a bag. you get like a thousand of them in costco." But waste is waste, it triggers that notion of "sayang" (too bad, missed opportunity), that something was tossed before it reached its full potential as it were. And when you have to say "Sayang!" it just grates on the nerves. You can even add a double sucking of the teeth when you say it for emphasis.
The fiance came up with the brilliant idea of placing smaller plastic grocery bags inside the large trash container, so then the big trash bag only needs to be replaced when really necessary. I mean, because we can't have the Chatelaine become aggravated on the mountain top.
So, be Filipino, be an environmentalist. go ahead, you know you want to.
We had asked Abe and Helen to be one of our primary sponsors/godparents at our wedding. They were a couple we admired a lot and taught us many things about what it meant to be married for 25 years. Every few weeks or so we would stop by and discuss wedding plans. They had never had a big wedding so planning one was very exciting for her. She had never been ninang for a wedding. We discussed girlie accessories, invitations, outfits for the bridesmaids.
On one of our last visits, I had promised to cook her kaldereta kambing (goat stew). It had plenty of calories and protein that her diet at the time required. I didn't get a chance to cook it for her before she passed. But am cooking it for her for her memorial tonight.
Went to get the ingredients on Monday night. Ranch even had the goat on sale! It's simmering now on the stovetop. I'm sure the aroma will drift to wherever she is now.
Below is the recipe that a friend pulled from the Philippine Inquirer, translated roughly to our measurement system with a coconut milk suggestion from her mom. Don't ask me how Filipinos figured out to mix Sprite, liver spread, cheese, vegetables and goat together.
2.5 lbs goat meat, cut into large cubes
1 can Sprite
1/2 c soy sauce
1/2 cup carrots, quartered, fried
1/2 cup potato, quartered, fried
1/4 cup red and green bell pepper
1/3 cup liver spread
1/4 cup green olives
1/4 cup black olives
1/2 cup cheddar cheese
50 ml olive oil
1/2 cup Spanish sausage
1 tbsp garlic
1/2 cup onion
3 pieces bay leaf
0.5 g siling labuyo
1/3 c vinegar (original recipe said 0.75 ml which is like a dash, but I've made the modification for it to be more)
3/4 cup fresh tomatoes, peeled and crushed
salt and pepper
coconut milk (Mom's suggestion)
1) Thoroughly wash goat meat in running water.
2) Drain and place in an open pan to let it dry.
3) In a saucepan, boil meat with soy sauce, Sprite, vinegar and bay leaf for two hours or until meat is soft and tender. Strain meat from the soy sauce mixture. Set aside meat, as well as the soy sauce mixture for later use.
4) In a separate pan, saute olive oil, garlic and onion, add black and green olives then mix in the liver spread.
5) Add freshly crushed tomatoes.
6) Add cheddar cheese. Stir well.
7) Add sausage.
8) Add bell pepper.
9) Add the soy sauce mixture.
10) Add the goat meat. Bring to a boil.
11) Then add potatoes and carrots in the pan and cook for a few minutes more. (Note: Add more chilies if prefer super hot.)
Hey Ricky!
Grew up watching Ricky Henderson steal bases like the wind. Was even there for the record breaking one.
And for all of his pompousness when he was younger (he did used to refer to himself in the third person), he is obviously someone who in the end just loved the game. He doesn't want to coach, he doesn't need the major league, he just wants to play.
And you know, he's got to be 44/45 years by now and he's still leading his team with 37 stolen bases, 3 times more than the next closest player.
I suppose while the Chatelaine frolics offline, I'll post a few things about the weekend on the mountain in between various other posts in the works. It's not easy to get up the mountain, you gotta provide some offerings, know the secret code, and be able to race Achilles up the slope (and that young pup is quite speedy). Even have a few very cute latest photos of the big baby himself.
And Chatty, good thing Achilles is a dog, because guys REALLY REALLY hate it when their mothers talk publicly about their very privately painful privates to 10 mil plus peeps on the internet!
Just spreading the word. There will be a memorial for Helen on Wednesday at 6:30pm in Alameda. Email me if you haven't received details.
A larger community one will be held Saturday November 20, hopefully at City College. It will be an Aloha theme.
Been enjoying the posts for Helen (here, here, here, here, and here).
And indeed she was a fine activist, teacher, wife, and everything everyone mentioned and more. In the last few months, people were constantly dropping by. She would be sitting in her "thrown" this adjustable chair that allowed her to stand and sit easily, by the window filled with "Heaven's Bamboo." Opposite her people could sit in a single armed chair or crowd on the futuon to the side. But it was in that chair, I would watch and people would find various revelations of their lives. It's as if Helen was instinctively practicing the Buddhist monk method of gathering the negativity of the world and transforming it to positivity. They had a rule, no negativity when people entered the door. In many ways it forced people to see their lives differently. I watched one woman gain revelations about the immigrant parent relationship she had with her two daughters. Another woman became determined to accept herself as a writer and artist, as opposed to someone who wrote occassionally. I'm sure everyone who sat in that chair found something new about themselves.
But what I often appreciated about Helen, is that she was the biggest Sci-Fi geek. When she could no longer work, she caught up on all her sci-fi station programs. She read every Harry Potter book and watched every movie. She read and watched the Lord of the Ring books and extended movies. Her dvd collection not only had Dune (with Sting), but Dune the miniseries, and the Children of Dune. And she was a devoted Star Trek Fan, watched the old series, the next generation, deep space nine, voyager and enterprise even when the writing wasn't so great.
When there was a conference once in Vegas, we talked about when we could sneak away to catch the Star Trek tour at the Las Vegas Hilton. I mean, you have to have your priorities.
A few of us went to her place to watch the "Enterprise" season premiere and joked about the various Asian characters from the series either being really wimpy or not being utilized enough. Why didn't Tchakote get enough love interests and why Hochi whined a lot or why Ensign Kim was such a geek and only got game with holodeck characters and was a total wuss when the Klingon woman had interest in him.
We watched sci-fi because we said we were "post-modern" creatures at heart. We would discuss characters like they were our neighbors, gossiping about their relationships. How humans were kind of wimpy, all the people of color related to Klingons, and well wouldn't a tricorder be really really cool someday?
Helen, you were an honorable warrior and fought a valiant battle, Kahless awaits you in Sto-vo-kor.
October 15, 2004 11:30 p.m.
Go peacefully now, leave the heaviness of your body behind. Go now, to those friends and family waiting to embrace you in their arms. Set free your spirit.
Funny, Tuhan said something last night similar to Chatty's post on helping other poets as a way of getting published herself. The idea here is of course cultivating karma. But also believing that the their success, your success is also my success as well. That what kills the poem and the poetry, as I may extend the idea from the kali lecture last night, is indeed our pettiness, our greed, our jealousies, our envy, our possessiveness. As if this is our "precious" (ala Lord of the Rings), that we must hoard from other's hands.
I've heard people call the ability to write poetry a gift, something that comes to them. A poem that is lost, will return again one day. So what your parents told you when you were two about sharing your toys is still true. To give our gifts away, because the gift is not the thing, the poem, the technique, the real gift is being able to do it at all, the gift is really living.
I used to be scared about Tuhan seeing my students. I was afraid that they would not do well, that what I had been teaching them was wrong, that he would judge me, that I would not be worthy of my title. And during that first seminar that my students attended, I was nervous. I came to realize that I had to let go of my fears and learn to believe in the things I taught and believe in the people I taught. I had to learn to see their potential, there ability to achieve. And since my students are my mirrors, as are most people you encounter, I also began to see my own potential. Just when I think that I stink at this, that I have nothing more to teach them, something happens, something comes to me to make me believe again.
I am weak, sometimes, some days it's hard not to be petty, or greedy, or jealous, or possessive. It's so easy to be afraid, to not believe. And what you hope is that on those days that you are afraid, your karmic seeds will have blossomed and returned to you, that someone out there that you believed in that you helped will believe in you.
We don't always get it right, we don't always get to win. Afterall that's why all of this, the kali, the poetry, the living, is all a practice.
will be not blogging for a few days. there are people and things to take care of. be back soon.
I always forget I shouldn't drink tea in the evening. A cup on black chai on Sunday night, had me awake til 4am Monday morning and I still was pretty functional on Monday for work. But have yet to get back on rhythm.
Very many happy more years for Chatelaine and Ver on their wedding anniversaries!
Can't wait to hear about NYC from Jean.
At this point, just trying to find time to do laundry and organize my papers. Going to pick pine cones this weekend.
Was chatting with a student about whether they should go to Tuhan's kali seminar tonight. This is where he usually ups it a notch. The student felt like because they hadn't taken it for very long, wasn't qualified to go. Now unless it's a live blade class or something, I'd be concerned. But frankly, there's an advantage of knowing nothing, you have everything to learn. It's something I remind myself of every day that for everything I've learned, I still know nothing.
Hey, Leny, don't know if engrande (large, upscale) weddings are a sign of economic return. They seem to be in their own economic bubble. Because weddings play up to our greatest expectations and dreams and we will pay anything to make a dream come true.
But, yes, 240 folks in attendance. My sister did a fabulous job running around as the wedding coordinator. My bro, though he didn't sing, did a fine fine job as MC. The youngest cousin worked her Tahitian dancing, while her brother tickled the ivory during the reception for a jar full of ones, the family dancing queen did a rousing hip hop routine, and the couple themselves sang a karaoke duet. The family is quite taLENted.
Whew! Weddings are often crazy as family who doesn't see each other all that often come together because well they're family. First time for most of us to see the groom's family since they live way out where.
I've come to look at weddings differently now that I'm having one, looking at all the details, figuring out how everything falls into place. I took care of flowers for the bridal party and getting the line up in order. It's hard to keep Filipinos in one place. And we couldn't hold back the tide of flash photography no matter how much the priest hated it.
And in the end, yes, they were married, complete with tearful father/daughter dance.
The family is excited by all the weddings this year. Got cousins volunteering to do whatever task needed at our wedding. If you want volunteer staff at your own wedding, volunteer at everyone else's. I have a feeling that the family thinks that our wedding will be super engrande. Yeah, I know there's a lot of people, but we don't really care that much for having seat covers and an open bar all night. And no, no huge floral arrangements for the church either.
Fortunately enough, the fiance's sister had a super engrande wedding, tux affair for a hundred at the Beverly Hills Hilton with colored lights on the walls, handmade candelabras with rosebuds, silver charger plates, and a train that went down 4-5 pews. You really only need to experience one engrande wedding for a lifetime and hers was it. Thank you!
Afterwards we went home, while the younger cousins had an all night poker party at my aunt's house. There were more informal family gatherings the next day, but we had to start our church engagement classes.
The Catholic Church which is upset about the divorce rate in the US requires all couples that want to be married in the church to attend either a bootcamp weekend or a 6-week class for engaged couples. Though there's a bible reading at the beginning of each section and a couple of references to Jesus, there isn't a whole lot about "conversion." They're really opportunities for couples to discuss big topics in marriage: how your family experience influences the way you perceive marriage, how you handle disagreements, whether or not you want kids and how to raise them, etc.
There's a 100+ question evaluation called the FOCCUS evaluation where they compare the answers you put down individually with your partner. Lots of questions about how to handle finances, whether you think marriage will fix everything, whether there are outside sources that are influencing your decision on getting married. We then will talk about the results with the pastor in a couple of months. No right or wrong answers, just checking to see if the two of us are on the same page.
So far, we're liking it. We were a bit apprehensive since we don't go to church that often, but it's alright so far and it looks like the 6 weeks will go by fast.
In one of the handouts, it discussed love as a decision, a process as opposed to a feeling. Obviously, there will be arguments and conflict, but because love is a decision, I can continue to love my partner despite being mad at him. Love as the common denominator, a choice one makes each day of their lives. Not really about falling in and out of love, but to know that love in there whether or not it's palpable. It certainly makes the issue of love more meaningful in that one is empowered with choice. At the same time it puts a bit more responsibility on the one choosing as opposed to riding the whims of destiny. And maybe it's not so much that there is no love, but that we have taken love for granted or that we no longer notice the signs of love, or that those signs have changed.
As a writer, I've read a lot of love poems and written a few myself. Love is difficult to write about since you wonder how one could write about love again when everyone has a love poem. But most of the ones I've read and written are about an emotional love as opposed to love as a process an underlying current. Now there's a poem to write, to still find love when it can no longer be felt.
Check out the Ig Nobel Awards. About time someone recognized the creator of Karaoke:
PEACE
Daisuke Inoue of Hyogo, Japan, for inventing karaoke, thereby providing an entirely new way for people to learn to tolerate each other.
WHO ATTENDED THE IG NOBEL CEREMONY: Daisuke Inoue.
See, there is a grand purpose for karaoke. There really really is.
Now don't you wish that were true? Someone hoped it would be one day, along with a "transplanetary subway" that would link LA to NY. But the accountant said you'd have to transport the entire populations of NY and LA each day to make it worthwhile.
The family clan is gathering this weekend for our 2nd of 4 weddings. This is the first of the "big" weddings, topping 250 plus guests. All I can say is "STRESSIN'"! My cousin is a bit Type A, and um well, being Type A under pressure is not fun.
Tomorrow is the wedding rehearsal. Plus they're doing a lot of the flowers and decoration themselves, so that's just madness. A year's work to culminate in an intricate coordinated dance. Let's hope everyone can keep beat.
I'll try to shoot as much calming energy the bride's way.
Just got this drawing by my inaanak/godson. He's in 2nd grade in the Philippines and doing well in school. He's into drawing jungle scenes now. I told him I'd post up the picture (on my wall, but why not here too) and that I hope he's being a good kuya to his brother.
OK so Cheney can't remember the difference between .com or .org, which is fine cuz the owners of factcheck.com are sending folks over to George Soros' site, a loud opposition voice to the Bush campaign.
In any case, Factcheck.ORG is a great site if you want to see just how politicians are tweaking the statistics and stretching their wording. I took a Statistics class once where the textbook was called, "How to Lie with Statistics". I don't remember much from school, but that book was certainly a gem. And I'm glad the University of Pennsylvania is providing this great service that's long overdue.
Been reading Jean's class blogs. They're discussing cockfights, since they're reading Bulosan's "America is in the Heart." I've always found cockfighting to be a complicated issue. First off, how did it come about to being so popular with Filipinos? The animal rights/cruelty aspects of it and the deeply personal connection that Filipino men have to it. In the 70s, the SFPD busted a Filipino festival for trying to stage a sabong, calling it a cultural event. SFPD called it illegal. Regardless, numerous farm towns and even the urban east Oakland neighborhoods have backyard sabongs today.
I had always wanted to see a cockfight or sabong live. Driving through the Philippines you can see yards full of triangular shelters for each of the roosters. Even in Manila, the entire day is filled with the sounds of roosters crowing.
When my family and I went back in 2000, my uncle bought a fighting rooster from his cousin and planned to fight it at the sabong at the end of the week. Just about every community has a sabong pit, except for maybe Camiguin, with sabongs held every Saturday and the local restaurants serving the losers on Sunday, the special sabong dish.
While the men hung around and discussed the upcoming sabong, the women stood by looking with disdain. Sabong is almost exclusively a man's realm. Women tend to despise the birds because the men take care of the birds way better than their own children. These birds are pampered from the get go: the finest shelters, the best cornmeal. They are cradled in men's arms and stroked affectionately. All for a 30 second match. Considering the poverty level, hard to understand how they could care more for the animals than for their own people and spend money that no one has for one thing.
We asked our dad and then our uncle if they would take us there. The women were a bit shocked. Women don't go to sabongs. Fortunately, we passed off our Fil-Am cultural values to make an exception because Fil-Ams are known to want to do odd things like this.
Sabongs are readily identified by their very boxy shape and structure. There are women at sabongs, but they mostly run the small food and snack stands outside the building. They too gave us a strange look when we paid the entrance fee. We pretended not to notice and walked in. There are birds everywhere in boxes, on small leashes. Somewhere in the internal instinct of the bird is the need to gash the eyes out of the other bird. This is not trained, this is cultivated testosterone and territory. They do this naturally. They are skittish and defensive and territorial.
There is a small square dirt arena with clear plastic sides for viewing and rows of seats up to the ceiling. There is a lot of waiting in sabongs. Small children bring boxes of cigarettes and snacks up and down the rows. Another child, blind, gave head and neck massages. The two birds are announced over the loudspeaker. At that moment a dozen men around the arena start shouting to the stands and taking bets. There are hand signals as they negotiate odds. It's like watching the stock broker's exchange before they went high tech. I think, if these guys weren't here, they would be on wall street. I'm not sure how they memorize who bet what when, but they do.
All the while, the trainers are preparing their birds, blowing smoke into their faces to get them annoyed. They tie a long slender blade to one of its talons, then wipe it with a poison. They bring the birds close and let them peck at each other, showing them the rival. As the betting dies down the fight begins. There is a flutter of feathers as the birds puff up, spread their wings and send their feet in first. At times, one bird is able to get a swift killing blow. More often one bird suffers an injuring swipe and struggles to defend itself. If a bird decides not to fight, the bird is brought back into the fight 3 times. If the bird refuses to fight three times, the other bird is declared the winner.
Roosters naturally fight each other. What is unnatural is the fight to the death. Their own talons do not kill on contact. Once the birds realize that one is definitively stronger, the other will bow out. The blades it seems are there to make the fight go faster, to create more decisive victors.
At the end of the fight the "stock brokers" pass thousands of pesos around filling out the bets they had taken. The losing trainer sadly picks up his dead or injured bird, the hopes of a champion dashed, while the winning own collects his betting fee giving his bird hugs and loving strokes of the feathers. All in all, the fight itself was a minute, the waiting around 20 minutes, the betting 10 minutes.
The men will stay there much of the day, sitting through fight after fight til the sun sets. The birds that go home, return to their pens and meals for a king. The injured ones may recuperate. The dead ones are eaten the next day. We ended up leaving after about 4 matches, having seen what we wanted to see. Maybe it's the gambling or maybe it's the excitement of battling to the death. To cheer on a champion or to go home disappointed. Whatever it is, sabong is passion, as weekly of a ritual as mass on Sundays.
Asian Americans are least likely to vote. Makes me wonder if this ad will reach the young Asian-Am crowd.
Spent a couple of hours with the 21 and over cousins at Dave & Busters to well wish our cousin who is getting married this weekend. It was cool. Played pool, then won tickets at skee ball and basketball shooting. We're a competitive lot. Nowadays, we're too old for the toys, but now have enough nieces and nephews to pass them to.
Once we were in Vegas and all hung out at Circus Circus (even though half of us could gamble) and took over the horse racing thingy, combined all our winnings and scored 3 large prizes for the littlest cousin, who at the time was still 7.
There's a picture we have during our trip to the Philippines in 1995, the family's first trip back for 15 years. A picture of all the cousins. Each day we were pop quizzed on learning everyone's names and who their parents were. I was turning 21, most of the cousins were teenagers in their first years of college. Another picture shows a smaller group of us at Lingayen beach, our family name scrawled in the sand in large letters in front of us. They would immigrate here 2 years later. 8 years later, there's a dozen new in-laws and just as many babies and toddlers. I'm just now getting to know their new last names.
There's a slightly younger set who are just getting out of high school. They're about to find their way soon too. Life goes by fast. Questions to the up and coming newlyweds in the bunch include, "are you going to wait to have kids or have them right away?" The ones that do have kids commiserate with each other's discipline issues.
I used to do a lot of community work in college, all sorts of organizations and rallies. I stepped back from most of it to spend time with the family. As much as I wanted to make a difference in the world, I decided I would make my stand here with them. I sometimes feel guilty about having stepped back from those organizations and not attending so many rallies and political activities, but I feel that in the end it was worthwhile, to get to know them now when we're all relatively still young, to create the bonds that will serve us for a lifetime, to the next generation.
I wish I wasn't so busy this month, or else I'd be here every weekend. So far, this will be the only West Coast stop for this exhibit. One of the main organizing groups is a group of tattoo artists who have been bringing these designs back. Hope you can stop by!
Pusod proudly presents...
"SIGNS ON SKIN, BEAUTY AND BEING: Traditional Tattoos and Traditional Tooth Blackening Among the Philippine Cordillera"
OCTOBER 9 - 30, 2004
Pusod
1808 5th Street
Berkeley, CA 94710
An Exhibition of Photographs and Artifacts curated by Professor Ikin Salvador, Anthropologist - University of the Philippines Baguio.
A pre-Spanish practice, the tattoos and the black teeth complement the notion of the indigenous’ peoples concept of body aesthetics. The standard of beauty then were permanent markings on the skin (batek) and black teeth (tubug sangi), today these practices are vanishing and a dying tradition. This series of exhibitions, the Batek and the Tubug, were made for people to look into this aspect of beautiful tradition of the indigenous Filipinos.
BATEK: The Anthropology of Traditional Tattoos in a Kalinga Village. The Batek Exhibition comprises of old and new photographs and actual tattoo instruments.
“A series of black and white photographs taken during her anthropological field research comprises Salvador’s exhibition She recorded on her camera the older members of Ilubo in Tanudan, Kalinga province who have batek (tattoos). The photographs captured the detailed tattoos of the surviving warriors (maingor), the women (bobaei) and the actual tattoo process performed for the last time by an old manbatek (tattoo artist) of the village."
TUBUG: Traditional Tooth Staining in the Cordillera. The Tubug Exhibition comprises of colored and black/white photographs from the research site, dentures and other implements used for tooth staining.
"Despite the popularity of tooth whitening products, some old folks in the Cordillera keep their teeth black until this day. Tubug is the practice of blackening or staining the teeth with black resinous substance from burned guava, coffee branch and other plant dyes."
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Join us in welcoming the only westcoast showing as of yet.
OPENING RECEPTION
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 9
1-5PM
Exhibit will be open to the public on Saturdays
OCTOBER 16, 23, and 30
11am - 6pm, with programs from 2-4pm
"Signs on Skin, Beauty and Being" programs will consist of a talk by Professor Ikin Salvador with video documentation, traditional tattoo demonstrations, shaman rituals, and BIBAK (a coalition of various mountain province tribes) performing Northern Philippines Mountain dances. Please visit www.pusod.org for more information.
Note to organizations: Large groups of up to 10 people may schedule viewing the exhibit on Mondays and Fridays from 11-6pm. Please contact maya@bwf.org or call (510) 649-1537 to make an appointment.
This exhibit is sponsored by:
Mark of the Four Wings, Inc., Los Angeles, California
Center for Southeast Asian Studies
International Institute & Department of Asian Languages & Cultures
University of Michigan, Ann Arbor
In north beach, there is a tapas bar with a flamenco performance, where we headed to for some sangria after the consulate. (And yes, Tony, I do talk a lot about food, but only when it's really good or entertaining.)
Jean and others were already there having tried some scrumptious mushrooms, manchego, and blood saugsages. The walls are covered with posters from bullfighting matches, a large black and white poster of the bullfighter from behind was in the light near the bar. We order under candlelight and ask if there will be another flamenco performance as we ask the hostess for a pitcher of water.
We order, get our pitcher of water, and the music starts. A woman standing on a "dance floor" maybe 5 foot square stands with a red brimmed hat, arms held above her head, fingers strapped with castanets. It was our hostess. I had never seen flamenco done live before, but having seen numerous Philippine Spanish dances I could guess at how it might be. The music started with a very recognizable song, the one that's usually played when one imagines the bullfighter entering the ring, though I don't know the name.
Eileen equipped with some serious clogging heels rhythmically joined along. The music is indeed entrancing.
Our hostess danced for about 10-15 minutes. Some with music, one acapella-like dancing to the rhythm in her heart, then asked the crowd to join. She walked through the crowd and played castanets on the various men sitting around. Since the fiance was the only gentleman at our table, she rattled her castanets on his shoulder to which he replied, "I never knew I could be a musical instrument."
Part of me felt bad for her, the crowd was tepid, very few cheers of encouragement, a few grins, even one or two side louder side conversations. It's a hard venue to perform in. Our table feeling good from sangria cleared to cha-cha on the dance floor....close enough...worked with the beat. The fiance was particularly good at the sway rotation of the hands, so delicate.
It wasn't the best dancing I had ever seen. There was no furiously rapid rhythms. Her castanets supplemented by the piped music. Her sway balance was a bit stiff, not as layed back. Dance is often centered around youth. There are very few places for the aging dancer less they start their own troop full of young bodies. And of course, what you see with youth, is the sheer athleticism, how they effortlessly bend their bodies to perfect form, or push the beats to incomprehensible fractions. These things are always breathtaking. If you do not watch dance, these things are easily recognizable: speed, power, agility.
Yet, there was something mesmerizing about her. It was not about snapping to perfect form, it was about entering the music and becoming one with it. In her smile and movement, there was simply joy, the joy of dancing to simply dance to feel the force of your heels into the earth. There is an appreciation she shows in the dance. Dance is not about age or physical beauty, it's about soul, a sense of grace, of understanding what it means to dance for a lifetime and for dance to be that lifetime. Something that is difficult to find in younger dancers, even the good ones. There is sincerity. She is here because simply the flamenco calls, and she follows its will, a surrender to the dance. And so what the crowd just watches as if they were the posters on the walls and the waiters barely stop to even glance. So long as there is music in the heart, even the speakers can go silent.
In north beach, there is a tapas bar with a flamenco performance, where we headed to for some sangria after the consulate. (And yes, Tony, I do talk a lot about food, but only when it's really good or entertaining.)
Jean and others were already there having tried some scrumptious mushrooms, manchego, and blood saugsages. The walls are covered with posters from bullfighting matches, a large black and white poster of the bullfighter from behind was in the light near the bar. We order under candlelight and ask if there will be another flamenco performance as we ask the hostess for a pitcher of water.
We order, get our pitcher of water, and the music starts. A woman standing on a "dance floor" maybe 5 foot square stands with a red brimmed hat, arms held above her head, fingers strapped with castanets. It was our hostess. I had never seen flamenco done live before, but having seen numerous Philippine Spanish dances I could guess at how it might be. The music started with a very recognizable song, the one that's usually played when one imagines the bullfighter entering the ring, though I don't know the name.
Eileen equipped with some serious clogging heels rhythmically joined along. The music is indeed entrancing.
Our hostess danced for about 10-15 minutes. Some with music, one acapella-like dancing to the rhythm in her heart, then asked the crowd to join. She walked through the crowd and played castanets on the various men sitting around. Since the fiance was the only gentleman at our table, she rattled her castanets on his shoulder to which he replied, "I never knew I could be a musical instrument."
Part of me felt bad for her, the crowd was tepid, very few cheers of encouragement, a few grins, even one or two side louder side conversations. It's a hard venue to perform in. Our table feeling good from sangria cleared to cha-cha on the dance floor....close enough...worked with the beat. The fiance was particularly good at the sway rotation of the hands, so delicate.
It wasn't the best dancing I had ever seen. There was no furiously rapid rhythms. Her castanets supplemented by the piped music. Her sway balance was a bit stiff, not as layed back. Dance is often centered around youth. There are very few places for the aging dancer less they start their own troop full of young bodies. And of course, what you see with youth, is the sheer athleticism, how they effortlessly bend their bodies to perfect form, or push the beats to incomprehensible fractions. These things are always breathtaking. If you do not watch dance, these things are easily recognizable: speed, power, agility.
Yet, there was something mesmerizing about her. It was not about snapping to perfect form, it was about entering the music and becoming one with it. In her smile and movement, there was simply joy, the joy of dancing to simply dance to feel the force of your heels into the earth. There is an appreciation she shows in the dance. Dance is not about age or physical beauty, it's about soul, a sense of grace, of understanding what it means to dance for a lifetime and for dance to be that lifetime. Something that is difficult to find in younger dancers, even the good ones. There is sincerity. She is here because simply the flamenco calls, and she follows its will, a surrender to the dance. And so what the crowd just watches as if they were the posters on the walls and the waiters barely stop to even glance. So long as there is music in the heart, even the speakers can go silent.
The other day, I ran into an old "friend'. Well, we were friends for a bit and we hung out a lot for a few months in college and I got really "into" him, but he didn't feel the same way, so I had to walk away, a bit embarassed for having "exposed" myself emotionally to him. That's the background on that. Anyway, I ran into him maybe 9 years ago, and I really couldn't talk to him then, though I was polite and walked away as quickly as I could. But now was different.
He recognized me and stopped me. My mind suddenly swirling through databanks trying to figure out who he was, but I knew who he was. His hair was shaggy, was picking up a few tickets to a concert. We chatted. I asked him how he was, what he was up to, how his family was, and he asked me the same.
11 years ago, I had barely picked up a kali stick, had just gotten involved in maganda and poetry performance, didn't even declare a major, still drove the mustang. He was a couple of years older than me, a geography major, drove a noisy clunky jeep, and was in a band with his cousin. I don't remember what we ever talked about, but he must have been interesting for me to be so interested.
Though I've had only a handful of declared "boyfriends," I had often fantasized about my "guy" friends, wondering what would it be like if we became more than friends, and from there if we spent the rest of our lives together, where would we go in our lives. Who would we be today 11 years later? And like most of them, there was never really an opportunity to go beyond "friends," but it was fun to fantasize.
I told him how I teach kali now, still do poetry performances, get published now and then, and am getting married next year to someone I've been with for 7 years. And as I told him all this about my life, I realized that if we had chosen a path together, my story would have changed completely. This would not have been our life together. Maybe I'd be a saxophone player in a band with him or composing music. Maybe not even teaching kali. who knows, maybe.
In any case, I realized that to those I love and to those that allow me to love them, I give the world. I realized that what I love to do for the people I love, is help them make their dreams come true, to allow them to achieve the happiness they deserve. And yet you wonder, aren't I doing the things I love? teaching kali, writing/performing poetry? What of my dreams?
Ah, and there's the kicker. Standing on a street corner in Berkeley, speaking to a man from my past about my present, I realized that the one who loves me and the one who I've allowed to love me, does the same exact thing, he gives me the world.
In these first three days of October, there is a tangible tension. We've gotten honked at for not turning corners fast enough (we're talking hold the horn honking for several seconds). They've raced past us crossing double yellows facing oncoming traffic just to show us their disdain. Is it really worth risking your life? The television is filled with polls trying to get us to choose one way or another, filled with voters who are "undecided." At a birthday party, I ran into an acquaintance and we talked about a mutual friend who had lost most of his relationships after joining this "cultish" group and demanding everyone else join too. Part of me wants to adjust my tv so it becomes black and white. There is a tug of war, this tension brewing, a choice of two things and a demand to choose.
I was 6 when Mount St. Helen's exploded the last time. My dad travelled often to Seattle for his job. I was fascinated by the mountain. I remember the images of half the mountain being blown away by a wall of ash. I watch the news for Mount St. Helen's news. I wonder if we are all feeling this tension from the mountain, or maybe the mountain is feeding from the ongoing tensions of the world and wanting to let off some steam. Are we reacting to the earth, or is it reacting to us? But this is the feeling, this unsettled tension I keep feeling repeatedly.
Like we all would like to explode. Tired of the polls, tired of waiting for something to happen, tired of waiting for the green light to turn, tired of waiting for the war to end. There is a collective grating of nerves.
From an sfgate article: "With volcanoes, it is nature's way: vent, explode, rest, rebuild and then explode again."
I must remember that going to the Philippine Consul you are instantly transported to the Philippines. The land of balagtasan loves to give speeches. Part of me KNEW this was going to happen, but the pull of hanging out with those in-no-ba-tib pinays and pinoys, like Marianne Villanueva, Oscar Peneranda, Tony Robles, was just too much. So just had to suck it up. Even the enticement of Filipino merienda didn't do it.
First hour enjoyed browsing through the works of Mel Vera Cruz(oh, the lemons!), Vic Magsaysay (a wonderful photo of Vigan in the morning, and a loan fisherman in the middle of sunset), and Melissa Nolledo-Christoffels. Spent the 2nd hour thinking, "why did I come here again?" Was thoroughly amused at how the Philippine Consulate choir could sing the Philippine national anthem by heart, but needed cheat sheet notes to sing the American national anthem. I wondered if during interviews for jobs there whether or not they asked if they could use Excel and sing alto?
I had forgotten how tedious these kinds of things are. The Dept of Tourism guy gave a speech about how everyone else is unified except for Filipinos. I'm so tired of this argument. Because the reality is that EVERYONE is divided into hundreds of little organizations and groups.
But let me not disparage, let me go through some golden moments.
1. Finally getting the low down on Oscar Peneranda's so-called misdemeanors at the FAHNS conference in St. Louis. Hilarious! Mang Oscar always has a good story.
2. me: hey Leny, where's Cal?; leny: he dropped me off and said he'd be back at 8 (2 hours later); me: Cal is a very smart man.
3. Apparently Filipinos can sleep and listen at the same time. No less than 6 people taking naps at any one time.
4. Ninotchka discussing the advise from Ding Nolledo about being an "ethnic writer" in America and telling the Consulate, "I come from a people with small eyes." in the sweetest high pitched voice. Yes, Filipino includes a bit of Chinese, Korean, Spanish, etc.
5. Meeting Oscar's younger sister, who paid for Nolledo's book with a copy of her brother's book by telling Oscar to give Melissa one of your books. He had this slightly stunned look, like "okay," then realized he wasn't getting anything out of this deal when he signed it. He's like, why am I paying for her book? Because your kuya, Oscar, you're kuya.
6. Lots of books and artwork going home with people not the artist. Partially encouraged by Eileen's challenging statements. I didn't like the DOT guy's speech, BUT he bought 4 books and he was actually naturally thrilled to be buying them. That's more than I've seen most of these government officials do.
7. William Morin, the very cute non-Filipino guy singing Filipino love songs on a string guitar.
8. Mel's mini-speech (we were all asked to talk), that had just enough politeness and just enough edgy snarkiness to both appease yet prod the audience with a lovely tribute to Santi, heartfelt critique of the consumerist madness that is America, and a real freedom that only comes from within.
9. Vic spoke about the connection of the Sex, Heart, and throat chakras, which didn't come off too well in either English or Tagalog. I believe the audience nervously laughed as he mentioned the sex chakra which drives us to create that leads to the throat chakra, but that in the end you have no real voice, unless you have compassion in your heart. I think, that's what he was getting at.
10. Finding parking and having tapas and sangria at La Bodega with a short flamenco show (more on that later).
