I'm just forcing myself to write something today, the 29th day of February. Leap day.
It's not a blog tradition, although, as it turns out, I have written something on the last two leap years. I don't know. I guess I thought we'd have something worth talking about on a day that is so special it only comes once every four years, a day so special the universe literally made it so.
I wish that was the case, but today was really just an ordinary day. You know, like I usually do. A day spent thinking, doing, regretting, and doing anyway. A day spent being productive, or at least trying to, knowing deep inside that you aren't really all along.
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2/29/2016
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2/25/2016
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Today marks thirty years since Ferdinand Marcos was ousted from power due to the sheer strength of the people, or so says the prevailing narrative.
I don't mean to sound skeptical. I was not yet around in 1986. I would be born three years later; I'm one of those kids who supposedly have lived through all the graces of a post-Marcos world. I am perfectly aware of the atrocities Marcos did to consolidate power and wealth, for himself, his family and his friends, especially in the immediate aftermath of the declaration of Martial Law, purportedly to quell a swelling communist contingent. I have read the books, seen the documentaries, and heard the stories from my parents, who were college students when Ninoy Aquino was assassinated, when anti-Marcos sentiment was at its peak - when things went pop and boom on those fateful four days in 1986.
And yet things are not sitting well with me today. Inevitably, you could say. It's not exactly the fortuitous timing of a landmark anniversary coinciding with an election year, however. It's not my skepticism of politicians using the supposed legacy of EDSA to further their place in the race for president. Perhaps it's something bigger.
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I don't mean to sound skeptical. I was not yet around in 1986. I would be born three years later; I'm one of those kids who supposedly have lived through all the graces of a post-Marcos world. I am perfectly aware of the atrocities Marcos did to consolidate power and wealth, for himself, his family and his friends, especially in the immediate aftermath of the declaration of Martial Law, purportedly to quell a swelling communist contingent. I have read the books, seen the documentaries, and heard the stories from my parents, who were college students when Ninoy Aquino was assassinated, when anti-Marcos sentiment was at its peak - when things went pop and boom on those fateful four days in 1986.
And yet things are not sitting well with me today. Inevitably, you could say. It's not exactly the fortuitous timing of a landmark anniversary coinciding with an election year, however. It's not my skepticism of politicians using the supposed legacy of EDSA to further their place in the race for president. Perhaps it's something bigger.
Read more »
2/19/2016
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Remember finally graduating from college and you feel like you have the entire world to yourself? You're seated in one seat among many, rows and rows of similarly giddy graduates wearing togas, fidgeting because the wait is long and you're incredibly bored. But at the end of all of this, you'll get your diploma - or, in this case, a diploma analogue, since they'll send you the real thing in a couple of weeks - and, well, that's it. You've graduated. You're ready.
The moment the dean hands you that rolled up piece of paper, you are powerful. You now have everything in your hands to make a change in the world: all those lessons, from the classroom, from the field, from the nooks and crannies in between - and the approval of the people that matter. "Yes, you know very well, now. Now, go!" As you take photographs with your friends, the frenzy of all this possibility overshadows the dread you actually are more inclined to feel.
What do I do exactly now?
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The moment the dean hands you that rolled up piece of paper, you are powerful. You now have everything in your hands to make a change in the world: all those lessons, from the classroom, from the field, from the nooks and crannies in between - and the approval of the people that matter. "Yes, you know very well, now. Now, go!" As you take photographs with your friends, the frenzy of all this possibility overshadows the dread you actually are more inclined to feel.
What do I do exactly now?
Read more »
2/16/2016
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I used to take pride in my ability to compose prayers on the fly.
They're not particularly amazing prayers. I just follow the same template as everyone. You thank the Lord at the beginning; you ask for his grace next; you sum it up nicely by invoking Jesus Christ in the end. But somehow this becomes a very monumental task. Ask someone to do the prayer and the first thing they'll say is "can it be someone else?" Nope, no chance of that, so they'll just fall into this sort of staccato rhythm using stock phrases.
It's really just me being a little too confident. My parents were part of Couples for Christ for a few years, which meant my sister and I were dragged to its equivalent for kids, named, well, Kids for Christ. We tagged along in prayer meetings, although I mostly spent the time sleeping at the master bedroom. On Sundays, I watched the same people give prayers, praising and exalting and whatever. It's just the template I picked up, and picked up with a bit more zeal than others.
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They're not particularly amazing prayers. I just follow the same template as everyone. You thank the Lord at the beginning; you ask for his grace next; you sum it up nicely by invoking Jesus Christ in the end. But somehow this becomes a very monumental task. Ask someone to do the prayer and the first thing they'll say is "can it be someone else?" Nope, no chance of that, so they'll just fall into this sort of staccato rhythm using stock phrases.
It's really just me being a little too confident. My parents were part of Couples for Christ for a few years, which meant my sister and I were dragged to its equivalent for kids, named, well, Kids for Christ. We tagged along in prayer meetings, although I mostly spent the time sleeping at the master bedroom. On Sundays, I watched the same people give prayers, praising and exalting and whatever. It's just the template I picked up, and picked up with a bit more zeal than others.
Read more »
2/09/2016
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I have just gotten my hands on the latest issue of Monocle, wrapping up a possibly misguided bid to collect an entire volume of the magazine - and by that I mean all ten issues in one year, plus the two special issues that are not sold here. (I know that reads like a brag, but I just got lucky I was in countries that sell those issues in months those issues are sold. But yeah, a brag.)
Now, yes, call me a hipster. I'll allow that. The magazine is decidedly international in perspective, definitely artisanal in orientation, and very much a creature of multiple paper stocks and the particular scents they give off upon opening. I'm not necessarily a fan of their escapist travel recommendations - after all, the magazine, the whole project, is aimed at jet setters who earn a hundred times more than I do - but I find the topics they cover interesting. Monocle articulated my views on how a city should work, for one; funnily, it wants its cities a little bit gritty and not too polished (ahem, Singapore), but then it features yet another heavily-gentrified First World neighborhood. It also tends to feature oft-overlooked players in world affairs, too, although it will almost always be followed by some entrepreneur from Japan, or Turkey, or Scandinavia.
In short, it is very white.
Read more »
Now, yes, call me a hipster. I'll allow that. The magazine is decidedly international in perspective, definitely artisanal in orientation, and very much a creature of multiple paper stocks and the particular scents they give off upon opening. I'm not necessarily a fan of their escapist travel recommendations - after all, the magazine, the whole project, is aimed at jet setters who earn a hundred times more than I do - but I find the topics they cover interesting. Monocle articulated my views on how a city should work, for one; funnily, it wants its cities a little bit gritty and not too polished (ahem, Singapore), but then it features yet another heavily-gentrified First World neighborhood. It also tends to feature oft-overlooked players in world affairs, too, although it will almost always be followed by some entrepreneur from Japan, or Turkey, or Scandinavia.
In short, it is very white.
Read more »
2/08/2016
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Stop worrying about what's yet to happen.
Stop talking about your problems in public.
Stop throwing a tantrum.
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Stop talking about your problems in public.
Stop throwing a tantrum.
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2/03/2016
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"Eh bakit nawala 'yung Nutribun?" he asks his colleague, an older man.
"Kasi ganito," the older man began. "Sinimulan ni Marcos 'yang Nutribun. Tapos tinigil."
He pauses for a bit, as the people settle in and the elevator door closes.
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"Kasi ganito," the older man began. "Sinimulan ni Marcos 'yang Nutribun. Tapos tinigil."
He pauses for a bit, as the people settle in and the elevator door closes.
Read more »
Niko Batallones writes The Upper Blog.
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Some photographs have been edited using post-production curves from Shalla Yu.
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