Mindanao Writers' Blogs

3 stars and the sun in venezia 67

Teng — Thu, 02 Sep 2010 08:49:00 +0000

Venizia 67 is officially on.

At the Palazzo del Cinema, the red carpet is spread out as gigantic golden winged lions stand guard in all corners of the Festival venue.

Flags flutter in the wind, representing all countries that have films screening in the eleven-day Mostra.

Right in the middle of the row of flags is the flag of the Philippines.

"It's [the flag] there because your film is in this year's Festival," Vincenzo tells me. "You should be proud."

I look at the opposite direction, suppressing the falling of a tear.

journey to venice

Teng — Tue, 31 Aug 2010 19:01:00 +0000

At three o'clock in the morning, moping from the big defeat at the Cinemalaya Awards Night only a few hours earlier, I was browsing my Facebook and Twitter, reading comments and congratulatory notes (well, the latter was not intended for me obviously) when suddenly my Yahoo Messenger notified me of an incoming email. I didn't recognize the sender; it was in a foreign language. Settimana della Critica. Italian or Spanish? I thought to myself. I opened the email, and what I saw were words that would change my life forever.

"I would like to confirm that the film Limbunan by Gutierrez Mangansakan II is invited in the 25. Settimana Internazionale della Critica di Venezia...organised within the 67th Mostra Internazionale d'Arte Cinematografica, to be held in Venice from September 1st to 11th 2010."

This was on July 19, 2010. The next forty two days would become one of the most challenging days of my life.

In order to participate in Venice, Limbunan needed to be transferred from HD to Digital Cinema Package (DCP). It sounded easy, but I found out that it would cost us between US$2,500 to 6,000. Where would I get that kind of money? I asked everybody.

The first big challenge was to raise that amount. I wrote government agencies foremost of which was the Film Development Council of the Philippines (FDCP) which is mandated to help in the participation of filmmakers to international film festivals among other things. I also wrote to politicians and businessmen. A FDCP representative said that they couldn't fund the DCP transfer, only the travel to Venice. Sounded reasonable enough to me. The politicians turned me down. And so did the businessmen.

I wrote the National Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCCA). After a board meeting, I received news that they will fund half of the DCP transfer. I needed to raise the remaining fifty percent. I organized a benefit screening in Davao City during the Kadayawan Festival. With it, we were able to raise the 25 percent.

During this time, my editor Dempster Samarista, was already negotiating and coordinating with the laboratory for the DCP transfer. We were grateful that even without a down payment, the laboratory agreed to start working on the transfer.

As the laboratory was about to finish the transfer, I was still begging people to pour in funds. The money trickled very slowly. Desperate, I went to loansharks ("5-6") if only to raise the funds even if they charge a very hefty interest. Bahala na! We were running very late. The DCP had to reach Venice by August 27. We sent the DCP on August 27, after pawning whatever valuable was left to come up with the much needed funds.

The dilemma was just getting started. During the intervening weeks, all the bosses of FDCP tendered their courtesy resignation letters to the new president. Without its officials, the FDCP could not act on my pending request. I became more frustrated when told that there was a chance that the new set of FDCP officials would not recognize my pending request. (Until now, the new president has not appointed people to the FDCP).

So how do I get to Venice? Where do I steal money to purchase a ticket? I even joked to a fellow filmmaker, Ian Lorenos, who happened to be of Chinese descent, to point to me the rich Tsinoy businessmen in Binondo. "Papa-kidnap for ransom ko sila para magka pera ako." (I'll have them kidnapped for ransom so that I can raise the money.) Sleepless nights.

Some journalist friends got wind of my dilemma. Chris Fabian ran a story on Mindanao Times and Bayani San Diego wrote another one for the Philippine Daily Inquirer. MindaNews editor Carolyn Arguillas mobilized her network in the Mindanao peace advocacy.

Those who have read the news reports or heard my plight from friends sent words of encouragement. And money.

Since then, there has been an overwhelming show of support and generosity. I am deeply moved. I am profoundly grateful. I realize that, despite the seemingly insurmountable difficulties that we faced, and whatever fate Venice has in store for us, the most important thing is that people do care. That in itself is reward enough for me.

I wrote again to NCCA, kapal muks na lang. Fortunately, in the recent board meeting, they decided to take care of my airfare to Venice.

I am deeply grateful to the people who have been with me in this momentous journey. To Dempster Samarista, for his patience and devotion, even when at times I was pushy and seemingly lacking in direction. To Miss Malou Jacob and Dr. Ricky de Ungria of the NCCA for the continued support. You truly saved the day.

To Sec. Jesus Dureza, Dr. Jean Lindo and Miss Eva Salvador, my heartfelt gratitude. To Carolyn Arguillas, for rallying friends to help us. To Archbishop Orlando Quevedo and my Notre Dame family for their overwhelming generosity. To Miss Emanuela Adesini of the Italian embassy in Manila for making things much easier for me. To my cousins Pipo Matalam, Sarah Matalam and Alisa Bernan for convincing people to spend money for the film during the benefit screening. To Arnel Mardoquio, Lyndee Prieto, Fe GingGing Hyde, Popong Landero, Geejay Arriola, Amor Fe Unte, Raissa Jajurie, Tes Marfil, Alber Hussin, Carlos Zarate, Jay Rosas, Gus Miclat, words will never express how grateful I am to you. To Mike Torralba and Lineth Villanueva of DCinema, Inc. for the wonderful work they have done for Limbunan. (My apologies too if I became a pain in the gluteus maximus). To Alleluia Panis and Kularts for the love and support. The list gets longer every day.

Venice, here we come.

Image courtesy of Huffington Post

ramblings

Teng — Tue, 31 Aug 2010 13:27:00 +0000

"Lately, you've been reposting old blog entries. Have you run out of anything to write?"

"Not really. I just want to reconnect to my past blog life."

"Why in hell did you delete your old entries anyway?"

"I got tired, and embarrassed."

"Of what?"

"Of my past life."

"So by deleting your blog entries, you think you can redo your life?"

"I like clean slates. Starting fresh."

"So why the reposts?"

"I want a sense of continuity. I've been blogging for five years. I need a sense that I've accomplished something from this point to that point."

"Does that mean no more deletion in your blog entries?"

"Maybe."

a king on his throne

Teng — Mon, 23 Aug 2010 06:29:00 +0000

Another repost of an old blog entry.

As a child I was taught that a Muslim’s devoutness is not judged solely on his or her ability to memorize prayers and verses in the Qur’an, or fast during the holy month of Ramadan, or give zakat, charity, to the less fortunate, or abstain from pork and other things haram — a Muslim I was instructed must, at all times, have a clean bottom.

Having a clean bottom means washing it with generous amount of water, preferably with soap. Toilet paper will not do, lest you become a kafir –a nonbeliever. It’s taking the adage “CLEANLINESS IS NEXT TO GODLINESS” to the next level. I never questioned this wisdom, not even when I was already a grown up and have earned a reputation for being a smartass. I discovered in geography lessons that many Muslims live in desert countries where water is a scarce resource; access to clean water can sometimes result to civil wars. For lack of imagination, rubbing sand in one’s ass never crossed my mind.

Shitting –the act that requires this seemingly ritualistic cleansing— is a serious business. It’s one of man’s most important bodily functions. It flushes out dirt and toxins, preventing certain type of diseases. It has given birth to a whole range of spa services like coffee enemas and colonic hydrotherapy. Shitting improves mood and emotional well-being. Just imagine when you haven’t shat in the morning – you’re more likely to be grumpy the whole day. Like most things, it’s an act anchored on tradition and to some extent, a lot of superstition. For instance, you must not face the qiblah, the direction of Mecca when you’re sitting on your throne. Misfortune can be a result of having a toilet that is elevated from the rest of the house. Our step grandmother gave a more lasting reminder: “Don’t speak when you are shitting because it causes bad breath.” That was enough to keep us silent when we were in the toilet.

The whole business of shitting and of cleansing the behind has a profound effect on my lifestyle. When I scout for a new house or apartment, the most important consideration is the physical condition of the toilet. I cannot take a dump in a dirty toilet, which was the case in high school so I was always constipated. When I felt the need to go to the toilet, my anal sphincter tightened and silently dispatched a telepathic message— “How can you take a dump in a place so filthy. Yuck!” I would walk out of the toilet disappointed. In youth camps foregoing trips to the toilet was not unusual. I managed five days without taking a shit. Later when I began working, the first thing that I do in my hotel room during business trips is check the toilet for tabo, a dipper, the most essential thing in cleaning one’s bottom. A tub made of the finest Italian marble can be ignored, but never a tabo. It can be made of plastic, ceramic, tin, or anahaw leaf – it doesn’t really matter. But it must be clean and be able to hold 500ml of water. In the absence of a tabo, I dart to the nearest department store and buy one. If the schedule will not allow it, I settle for a 1000ml bottle of mineral water.

During my first visit to Tokyo in 1995, I was astonished to find out one of man’s most brilliant inventions— the electronic toilet seat. At the home of my foster parents, Mr. and Mrs. Katayama, I sat like a king on his throne every morning. First I would adjust the temperature of the toilet seat. This was a significant factor in carrying out the task in full fruition. A cold seat was not encouraging. After fulfilling the task, I pressed a button that sprayed water in my butt –ranging from a light sprinkle to pressure washing— with water temperature adjusted to my liking. Satisfied, I wiped my butt with fresh paper towels, walked out of the toilet, and prepared to greet my temporary Oka-san and Oba-san, “Ohayo gozaimasu!” I was always in a nice mood after taking a dump each morning my foster parents got so smitten and asked me, “You wan to go Disneyrand?”

With the great importance that I put on the business of defecation and cleaning after, it can be deduced that my greatest fear is not writer’s block but being caught in a messy situation especially in public places. I go to great lengths to avoid it. At parties I eat cheesy and creamy food sparingly knowing that I’m lactose intolerant. I avoid curry-based food when I’m having beer or red wine. I always skip the buko pandan. Crustaceans mixed with tomato-based sauces plus alcohol produce a lethal combination that can be described as a ‘certified party pooper.’

I read that some people can live for weeks without taking a bath, as long as they have clean socks everyday. Others don’t care whether they’ve worn the same pair of jeans since the dawn of the new millennium. “As long as I wear fresh Calvins,” they confessed in an ad. A friend of mine is so obsessive-compulsive about his dental hygiene; he brushes his teeth after every meal –even if it’s just a pack of saltines. I wash my bottom with soap and water every chance I get. It’s my best shot at religiosity.

of geckoes and fake royalties

Teng — Sun, 22 Aug 2010 03:06:00 +0000

A repost from my old blog.

I am going to get myself a pet tuko.

Not the American Shorthair cat that I have been obsessing about for months now. It would cost me a fortune, although I can try the reliable Arrangue market in Manila where they might sell it for half the price. Come to think of it, my not having a cat boils down to being asthmatic, a condition I inherited from my mother. I cannot be within a five-meter radius with something that has fur.

As a substitute for my feline choice, I am going to have a pet tuko. It is a very practical pet. According to Maguindanaon myth, one could predict rain just by listening to the sound the tuko makes. I never learned the creature’s gift for meteorology but it would certainly be helpful in a very difficult task: authenticating royalty.

With the propensity for enthronement ceremonies in Morolandia these days, the gecko plays a very crucial role. In the Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tale The Princess and the Pea, the people learned that the protagonist was a real princess because she felt the pea right through the twenty mattresses and the twenty eider-downbeds.

In the quest for truth, I will submit myself to the mercy of the gecko’s jaws. Every time someone claims to be royalty, I will take out my pet and wiggle a finger right in front of its gaping mouth. Once bitten, we can proceed with authentication procedures. With my free hand, I shall cover my eyes to protect the honor of the claimants as they undress. Each claimant shall be given only three minutes to show her private parts to the creature and wait for it to release its jaws. All these proceedings shall be supervised by a panel of experts chosen by duly recognized royal houses. This office shall be duly called the Royal Commission for the Causes of Royalties.

I think I should come up with an emergency plan. What if the tuko doesn’t release my finger? Shall I then be forced to chop off its head and open its mouth with forceps? Wouldn’t it be wise to anticipate a great number of claimants and keep a dozen of tuko?

The Grand Duchess Anastasia Romanov appeared in my dream last night. “I am quite disturbed,” she spoke as she walked to the mock Louis XIV chair in my living room.

“Your Highness, may I ask why?” I offered her a cup of tea. She took the cup and didn’t say a word for a long time. Then she fixed her gaze at me.

“While the gecko can validate a female claim to nobility, what about their male counterpart?”

I told her about the existence of a datumanong— a golden armband that resembles a two-headed serpent facing each other. Legend has it will tighten its hold on the wearer’s arm if he is indeed of noble ancestry.

The Grand Duchess looked puzzled. I took a piece of paper from a small box on a desk at the corner of the room. “Here’s an illustration of the datumanong,” I said, handing the paper to her.

I assured the Grand Duchess that the Royal Commission is already searching for the important heirloom.

thundercats

Teng — Sat, 21 Aug 2010 12:29:00 +0000

Got this from Tabloid Prodigy.

For fans of the animated “Thundercats” series from the ’80s, the inner fanboy in you will appreciate this incredibly well done mashup trailer of what the live action movie will look like. Taking clips from “Troy,” “X-Men,” “Chronicles of Riddick,” “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade,” “Blade Runner,” and numerous other flicks, the creator was able to bring to life Brad Pitt as Lion-O, Hugh Jackman as Tygra, and Vin Deisel as Panthro; and Garfield plays snarf. Not bad casting right?

the best of justin bieber

Teng — Thu, 19 Aug 2010 04:12:00 +0000

This is the best Justin Bieber song ever. Hypnotic. Spellbinding. Ethereal. Heavenly. I don't care if she's teenage lesbo. I'm now a certified fan.

J. BIEBZ - U SMILE 800% SLOWER by Shamantis