It’s the new year!

Something Pretty

I’ve been wanting and hinting for a satchel for about five months now, ever since I saw my old officemate Din-Din carry one during the Seussical press launch. Since then, Monique (who also wanted her own) and I have been canvassing prices, looking for cheaper but nonetheless pretty alternatives. In August, she purchased a gorgeous genuine leather, handmade “FV (hahaha) original” (it arrived in October though) leaving me sorely tempted to buy one too. But because money’s a little tight (the FV is thrice the price I’m willing to pay) and I was hoping someone would give me one for Christmas anyway, I held out.

Lo and behold, like a true mind reader my sister understood my hints and got me a lovely yellow-green satchel from Cole Vintage. Thank you Achi! I LURVE it! It’s almost as beautiful as you!

Merry Christmas!

18 years :)

Today, someone is probably getting ready for her 18th birthday party. Her first pair of high heels? Check. Mani and pedi? Check. Gorgeous designer dress? Check. As long as everybody comes on time and brings the right gifts (no figurines, please) her debut is sure to be a blast.

But while that nameless debutante is preparing for one of the biggest nights of her life, here we are celebrating a loss that happened 18 years ago–probably around the hour of her birth–when a C-130 plane crashed in a Libmanan rice field. The past is riddled with holes and every now and then, we wonder how different life could have been if we slipped inside a different one. Sometimes, I wonder: maybe, just maybe, if the skies had been clear that night, would I be here right now? Would I be allowed out of the house in this short a miniskirt? In my life, the biggest hole is really the hardest one to get into.

It’s always hard to talk about loss, even one that’s so long ago. But for me, it’s plain hard not because it rubs a closed wound raw but simply because I find it difficult to remember anything. It’s borderline tragic that I remember someone’s death more than his life, especially when that same person gave me half of mine. It’s also slightly depressing that I don’t even have a photo with my dad (maybe I do but I’ve never seen it). Sometimes, it feels like he barely existed but then I remember that I’m here, with four happy siblings.

I could go on and on, complaining about what could have but didn’t happen, but that’s not really me. So allow me to re-post a little something I wrote last year about my dad. It’s the first time I ever talked about him and funny enough, it got published in the paper! One-time-big-time, ika nga! My brother said today is a time of prayer but I think this essay is especially apt for today. Because for me, this is the reminder that he lived.

I HAVE exactly five distinct memories of my father:

1. Him helping me throw cabbage at the giraffes in Manila Zoo.
2. Me pushing him as he hugged me when I slept.
3. The long curly hair on his legs that looked like tree trunks.
4. Him slipping on the bathroom floor.
5. His death.

My father died on Dec. 15, 1993 in a C-130H plane crash caused by a typhoon.

Whenever someone learns that I lost my father when I was 3 years old, the initial reactions are always the same: “You were so young, do you remember him?” “?What was it like growing up without a father?” and “How did your mom handle it?”

Well, let me tell you, my mom handled it perfectly well–with the grace and determination any young mother with five little mouths to feed should have in a sudden crisis. I can write an entire book about her methods, but that should be left for another day.

I do remember my father, even though it was 17 long years ago when I last saw him. I remember him lifting me up on his shoulders, gently instructing me in our native Bicolano to throw the cabbage heads high at the expectant giraffes. My throws were too weak and he ended up feeding the giraffes himself.

I remember choosing to hug Mama instead of him whenever I squeezed myself in between them at night. I remember how as a toddler I got annoyed when he asked me to massage his feet after a long day’s work and how I would pull the curly hair on his leg in revenge. But he barely noticed since he would soon fall asleep.

I remember the smell of the bathroom after he used it and the anger on his face when he blamed everybody for leaving the floor wet after he slipped.

I remember waking up in the middle of the night with two of my uncles huddled around our bed and telling us that my father had died. I even remember the night shirt Mama was wearing at the time.

So to the people who will ask me in the future: Yes, I do remember my father. But no, I never knew him. Neither do I know what it was like growing up without him.

My mother never married another man. Instead she married us, her children–a commitment just as unwavering and hard-wearing, if not more. Never in my life did she make us, especially me, feel less loved and incomplete because we no longer had a complete parental set. She attended every play, dance recital, presentation and award-giving ceremony without fail. She became the addressee of the Father’s Day letters English teachers assigned every June. She took over my father’s construction company (and more). She fulfilled both roles of breadwinner and housekeeper simultaneously.

And then there’s my ever-reliable brother, our eldest. Between us was a seven-year gap that felt like decades. He seemed to be old enough to deserve my reverence but young enough for me to always turn to. He taught me about superheroes, wrestling and video games. He wore my father’s shoes during father-daughter dances. He stepped into the places where my mother wouldn’t fit. He even sported a daddy belly. Between him and my mother, I had an unconventional father.

I sympathize for my friends who lost a loved one at a time when they actually knew what sadness felt like. But it’s hard to miss someone or something I never really had.

This whole setup has been the norm for more than three-quarters of my life. And as far as parenthood is concerned, I don’t know anything lacking. This has been my life as I know it.

Apart from those five memories, everything else I know about my father comes from stories told by others and photographs as well as his tennis and bowling trophies. Most of them are secondhand information, given from a perspective that is obviously not my own. Learning about him is like writing a research paper: it’s interesting but rather too formal and technical. My father is a far-away concept, an object. Sometimes even calling him “Papa” is a tad awkward because it seems too personal.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not an ungrateful, insensitive child. I’m not as detached as I might seem. Sometimes my mind does trail off to what life could have been had he lived. My sisters and I would probably not be allowed to have boyfriends until we are well past 30. My brother would probably have shown more interest in basketball (father’s favorite sport, I heard) and engineering (his profession).

Sometimes my imagination runs wild, and I would launch into a soap opera where he would suddenly come knocking on our door, the sole survivor of the crash, still recovering from a bout of amnesia and relearning that he left a family behind.

But even with these stories inside my head, that’s all they will ever be. And that’s all I want them to be.

Looking back at my almost fatherless life, I don’t want anything changed. I’m wistful that I have forgotten the timbre of his voice. I’m sorry I never learned how it felt to see him in the morning. I feel guilty that I was too young to actually feel bad over what happened to him. But I’m not longing or itching to turn back time and alter everything. Life has been good to me. I can’t consider a life without the close and supportive bond that my family developed after my father left us.

To my father who gave me one-half of my life, I lovingly carry those five memories forever. To me they are proof that even for a short time, you existed. And that’s enough. Because you’ve done your fatherly duties and you’ve done your part in keeping us tightly together all these years.

(Sasha Lim Uy, 20, is a graduate of Ateneo de Manila University and works as an editorial production assistant in the Inquirer.)

“Memories of father “
By Sasha Lim Uy
Philippine Daily Inquirer, Young Blood section
10/05/2010

A slice of cheese

The end of the year calls for a major inbox cleanup. There I was, deleting and deleting and deleting when I came across a bunch of e-mails that really made me go “awww…” I’d forgotten about most of these but now that we’re here, allow me to be a little mushy.

“To my surprise, you shrugged of the boys who were trying to ask you out (and I secretly jumped for joy). I even asked you what type of boys you like, remember? And I thought I fit your metrics!”

“When Ondoy came, I decided to jump off the cliff of love and fall head over heels for you. When we went to Tagaytay that night I was surprised to hear about Mark asking if I liked you (well I guess it was obvious that time even without me saying anything) and I confessed. I was crazy in love and I was ready to do anything for you to love me too.”

These were excerpted from an old e-mail dated October 1, 2010. Truth be told, I remember these e-mails but the words (not the sentiments) have gone stale. The funny thing is, we carried on for months not knowing we liked each other na pala since July! It was months of YMing, texting, talking, pa-breakfast breakfast pa then boom, yun na pala nun. We’re both pretty dense, I guess. I don’t know who the boys Jason mentioned are. Imbento lang ata yun para cool. But hope beyond hope, I was really holding out for him that year. I’ve never met a sweeter and funnier guy with that great a profile. Hahaha. He’ll probably kill me when he finds out I posted these here but I’d like to see him try!
Re-reading these messages, sometimes I can’t believe I wrote them (not the ones above, obviously), not because of the excessive cheesiness but because the words seem so together and, well, smart. Hahaha. I miss writing contemplative essays. Lately, there hasn’t been anything I feel uber strongly about. Hmnnn…

 

Share the love this Christmas everybody! In case you didn’t notice, Scotty Stuey is snowing!

Gone With The Wind: The Land of Tara

Honestly, I think that I’m a traitor to my own generation. During reunions, I would always find myself at the grown-ups’ table–giving a curt nod to cousins my age all while fascinated at the talk of premature osteoporosis and crow’s feet. I’m an old soul trapped inside a 21-year-old body which could possibly explain my yearning for the vintage:

As promised, more GWTW posts.

Scarlett O’Hara, 16, telling her father that she loves Ashley Wilkes and intends to marry him.

I wish I was back in a time when people wore ball gowns while drinking tea with milk in the afternoon. Look at those intricate lace tiers. That pop of color. Hem the skirt up several inches, get rid of those pigtails, and maybe deflate that balloon skirt a bit and she’d fit right into the 21st century.

Vivien Leigh in her first dress in the hit film. Scarlett wore the gorgeous white and red tiered gown in the opening scene when she is courted by the Tarleton brothers–yes, both of them.

Oompa Loompa Doo Ba Dee Doo

Have I mentioned that Charlie and the Chocolate Factory* (Tim Burton adaptation) is one of my favorite films? It was the first original DVD I ever bought. The fact that I actually paid 600 pesos for something I could’ve gotten for a fifth of the price is a show of integrity that proves just how important it is to me.  It was worth it though:  the classically haunting cinematography, the Danny Elfman songs, even the added Wilbur Wonka (Christopher Lee) bit all fitted together like pieces of a puzzle. When I was a freshman in college, my brother and I memorized all the songs and had a dance-off in our condo. Four years later, we still haven’t agreed on who won.

The launch of Candy Corner’s Wonka Imaginarium at the Shangri-La Plaza atrium earlier today brought back a surge of those memories. I grew up sucking on Gobstoppers, chomping on Nerds, and singing “Pure Imagination” after all. It wasn’t exactly the Chocolate Room Roald Dahl envisioned but the entire idea was sweet (literally, too!). In this rendition, the Wonka world is an enchanted factory that harvests dreams and turns them into candies. I don’t know about you but that sounds Freddy Kreuger-ish to me. We had to course through a “magical forest,” talk to a mysterious tree, walk past the tunnel of lost wishes, learn magic from a witch–all in search of a missing rainbow (the dream that makes the happiest of all candies)… and all while snatching as much candy as we can possibly fit into our pockets.

I just wish they put in a bunch of Oompa Loompas to add to the effect. But on the positive side: FREE CANDY. I ate so much taffy that only one thing was running through my head after we found the “rainbow”:

“Augustus Gloop, Augustus Gloop, the great big greedy nincompoop.”

“Augustus Gloop, so big and vile, so greedy, foul, and infantile.”

The three girls supposedly portrayed the different flavors of Wonka Laffy Taffy.

Happy first day of the month! The Wonka Imaginarium is open from today until December 4.

*The first movie starring Gene Wilder is titled Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory and was released in 1971.

Feels like Whoville

Wound up in Mandaluyong City Hall for an assignment. It was an accidental find. The terrible photos are equally accidental.

I love looking at Christmas decor–the more elaborate, the better! Marveling at blinking lights with cheesy Jose Mari Chan songs in the background never fails to put me in a holiday mood. Christmas isn’t exactly my merriest season: my dad died around this time almost 18 years ago. It’s good to see little signs like overly ornate trees and embellished buildings to remind me that there’s always a reason to celebrate no matter what.

This year (and I’m guessing a year and a half more) it’s all about work. Even visiting these places. But it’s Christmas! It’s a time of joy, a time of peace, a time when hearts are then set free. So let’s heal the wounds of division because it’s a time of grace and hope! Thank you Jamie Rivera for teaching us this.

I find the tiger emblem a little weird; it’s like a logo for camphor .

It’s Christmas time in the city.

Siopaos the size of my face!

Away with hackers

On June 21, Facebook informed me that someone tried to log in using my account at 11 PM in Makati, Manila. I was a little shaken but I let it go, thinking it could have been one of my friends trying to stalk people through my Facebook. I did have some suspicions but on the interest of thinking positively, I just changed my password and crossed my fingers, hoping that crazed lunatics aren’t out there trying to plague Facebook.

Last Friday, however, Facebook sent me another similar notification: The alleged hacking attempt apparently happened earlier that day and once again in Makati, Manila. This time I had another clue: the “hacker” used Flipboard, an iPad app for social networking particularly Facebook. I’m 90 percent sure that this is the same person, but I have no idea what he or she could possibly want from my Facebook (piece of advice: try hacking my e-mail instead, but good luck with that).

Now let’s sit on our thinking chair and think:

1. Person lives in Makati (I used to think it was someone in Makati at that time but both “hackings” happened during odd hours so this one is definitely a Makati resident)

2. Person has an iPad

3. Person is so desperately bored with his/her life that he/she wants to invade mine.

Who do I know lives in Makati with an iPad and is slightly pitiable? I think I know who you are. Stop it, you’re pathetic. I feel terrible wasting the word “hacker” on you.

Productivity x Meme

Between this post and my last, I’ve been: (1) watching Friends for 10 days; (2) procrastinating over my “highly pressured” article; (3) online Christmas shopping (really God, time would be a rad Christmas gift). So because I’m on a major writer dry spell, please allow me a few moments of MORE procrastination while I’m waiting for that flash inspiration (any time now) to… flash.

This is my first ever blog meme so go easy on me. It’s called the 30 Movie Meme and I just pretty much have to pick my best movie per given category. I may have cheated a bit. You’re supposed to answer swiftly as you go along but if I did that, Gone With The Wind would show up five times… so I had to make quite a few revisions.

1. The Best Movie You’ve Seen This Year

The formula’s pretty simple but I loved this so much that I watched it twice in the cinema. The pair-ups were so unexpected (Julianne Moore with Steve Carrell, Emma Stone with Ryan Gosling) yet their chemistry was incredible.

Runner-up: Super 8

2. The Most Underrated Movie

It kind of makes Gossip Girl seem like a muppet show.

3. A Movie That Makes You Really Happy

I like all things dysfunctional.

4. A Movie That Makes You Sad

First movie I’ve ever cried in. And now I’m a sap.

Runner up: Pursuit of Happyness

5. Favorite Love Story in A Film

It’s the cliched Romeo-Juliet, heaven-earth plot… but who cares? There’s a reason why that storyline works. John Travolta + lots of singing and dancing = love.

Runner up: Classic it is–Casablanca

6. Favorite Made For TV Movie

Off the top of my head, and just because I really can’t think of anything else.

7. The Most Surprising Plot Twist or Ending
Do I even have to explain? And Mischa Barton under the bed still gets me every time.

Runners up: Down With Love, Shutter Island

8. A Movie That You’ve Seen Countless Times

Runners up: Devil Wears Prada, Bring It On, She’s All That, and 10 Things I Hate About You

9. A Movie With The Best Soundtrack

Guiltily, I don’t really pay much attention to the soundtrack unless it’s really out there. So I’m going for the obvious.

10. Favorite Classic

Because I put Gone With The Wind in a separate category, I’d have to go with my second choice:

Surprised? It’s the complete opposite of GWTW but (1) I love horror films; (2) I love this particular horror film and it would make me sad not to put it her; (3) it’s a classic in every sense of the word. It was either this or Mary Poppins.

11. A Movie That Changed Your Opinion About Something

12. A Movie You Hate

Wannabe Goonies.

13. A Movie That is Guilty Pleasure

14. A Movie That No One Expected You To Love

15. A Character That You Can Relate To The Most

16. A Movie You Used To Love But Now Hate

17.  A Movie That Disappointed You The Most

Adapting something into a movie is a tricky business. There are the Greats (Chris Nolan’s Batman flicks), the Awesome (Jon Favreau’s Iron Man, Kenneth Branagh’s Thor, Sam Raimi’s first two Spiderman movies), the passable (Green Lantern, Spiderman 3), the awful (Superman Returns), and then this film.

18. A Movie You Wish More People Would See

19. Favorite Movie Adaptation From A Book or Comic

Sue me for cheating. This is a mini-series. hahaha

Or Up in the Air

20. Favorite Movie From Your Favorite Actor

21. Favorite Movie From Your Favorite Actress

I don’t have a favorite actress. But I have a lot of favorite actors: Tom Hanks, Robert Downey Jr., Ryan Gosling, and perfectly fitting for this case: Dustin Hoffman.

22. Favorite Action Movie

So not an action fan, but I love kung fu films… so…

23. Favorite Documentary

Does a biopic count as a documentary?

24. Favorite Animation

25. The Most Hilarious Film You’ve Seen

Or Superstar, Tropic Thunder, Blades of Glory

26. A Movie You Love But Everyone Else Hates

Hate is too strong a word… But I was the only one in my family who enjoyed it.

27. A Movie That You Wish You Saw At The Theater

Probably the best of all hockey-related fiction, this choice might come as a surprise (Clearly it fits better in so many other categories). But Mighty Ducks received unorthodox success: While it didn’t score so high in the theaters, it became one of the most awesome family movies of all time when it went to video. Weird. So yes, I would like to see (and appreciate) it on the big screen.

28. Favorite Movie From Your Favorite Director

29. Favorite Film From My Childhood

Runners up: My Girl, Little Rascals

30. Your Favorite Movie of All Time

Murphy Brown

I almost thought I’d broken my balat sa pwet curse. Almost. I managed to last a week without any disastrous “WTF-my-life-is-a-sitcom” moments. There I was, feeling like a sober Lindsay Lohan in the close-to-horrible flick Just My Luck.  Mentally, I was  resting on a chaise, legs propped up, and sipping an iced tea. But I should have known that the temporary period of semi-sanity was a mere precursor to another, crazier crisis.

Jason and I (and you know that by that, I mean ME) decided that the way to go with Christmas presents this year was to be fun and functional. Useful but a touch whimsical and definitely un-boring. During this mission, I saw a raincoat online that I thought would be perfect for my three-year-old nephew–it was green, his favorite color, and when worn, it looks like a frog. I bought it almost instantly and opted to pay via deposit in Banco de Oro.

That was no problem. I remember seeing a BDO in the mall beside my office. I planned it out in the most efficient way: my bank, Robinson’s Bank, has an ATM machine in the same mall. I would withdraw the money then deposit it. Easy and minus the inter-bank charges. But my peripheral vision failed me–it wasn’t a bank branch but a mere BDO ATM machine (yes, you may throw the tomatoes now). Trying to make the most out of the situation, I decided to just withdraw the money then deposit it elsewhere. But of course I forgot my ATM card in the office. Of course. Duh.

I went back up to work. After lunch, I crossed the street to the nearest (and actual) BDO branch. I went in, filled out the forms, but then I remembered I forgot to get my money. I opened my wallet hoping I had enough. My cash was a measly P10 short! Oh the lack of lucky stars! I hastily went out to the BDO ATM machine. Offline. I jogged a block to the adjacent BPI. Offline. With no other banks available, I just crossed the busy Pioneer Street back to the Metrobank ATM at our building. Fortunately, that was working just fine. Finally. When I finished the transaction, the BDO ATM was once again fully operational.

If I were in HP, I’d be Ron; if I were a friend, I’d be Phoebe; if I were a law, I’d be Murphy. But at least I got the raincoat. And after less than a day. Swift delivery, there’s my silver lining.