#j195

[blogdoityourself]

Garage drywall question

[jinky-goes-elsewhere-blog]

Final requirement for J195 under Prof. Khrysta Imperial Rara

[journ-eys-blog]

A sigh of relief

“Whoa! What a warm welcome.” Krixia jokingly said, and I laughed, as the collective wails and howls were disconcertingly blasting somewhere a few feet from us. The windless air smelled of grass, mud and animal stench. We turned toward the noise and saw large, furred heads standing up in their cages, barking at us intently, intensely.  

Pit bulls. Big ones.

The entire pack sized us up for a minute through inscrutable dark brown eyes before sinking back into the secure confines of their bright-colored homes.

We then headed toward the reception area of the Laguna Pit Bull Rehabilitation Center in Tiaong, Quezon Province and were greeted by two bubbly volunteers, Jeff Diaz and Jay Jao. The center, shared Jeff, is a project of the Compassion and Responsibility for Animals (CARA) Welfare Philippines in cooperation with the Island Rescue Organization (IRO). Through the work of these two animal welfare organizations, an estimated 300 pit bulls were rescued in dogfighting facilities operated by Korean nationals and their Filipino cohorts in San Pablo and Calauan, Laguna in March 2012.

As Jeff continued to speak, I subtly looked back at the dogs, which now looked calm and collected with their tongues sticking out, and tried to absorb what I just learned. I couldn’t quite wrap my head around the thought that these dogs were traumatized and found in very poor health and condition—and yet, here they are, getting back to their normal lives, albeit little by little. It was heart-warming and heart-breaking at the same time.

After lunchtime, we gave the Laguna pit bulls some treats. At first I was pretty hesitant, as the child in me had this misconception that pit bulls, among other dog breeds, are aggressive and violent fighting dogs.  But the animal lover in me believed otherwise. And so, not one minute later, I found myself laughing and smiling while I reached over the cages to offer the dogs their food and pet them. It was funny and cute, how all at once they were frantically barking at me just to get my attention, as if yelling, “Where’s my food?!”

And then it was time for walking the dogs. Krixia and I chose to walk Cynthia, as the white and chocolate colored pooch immediately grabbed our attention the very instant we saw her. She was very quiet in her cage—she was perhaps the only one that didn’t bark at all, and just sat down obediently while waiting for her treat.

It turns out, though, that indoor Cynthia was the very opposite of her outdoor counterpart. As soon as she got out from her cage, she started snorting, loudly and uncontrollably.

And it just got worse as minutes passed. “OK,” Krixia said, “now I’m freaked out.”

I, however, started to get the sense that maybe Cynthia was only trying to tell us things. Maybe she had a message—or at least a plan. Why else would she announce herself with startling nostril-blasts? Was she remembering the abuse and neglect she experienced in the past? Was she hurt? Sick? Hungry? Upset?

“Are you sure that’s a pitbull—and not a pig?” Yvette teasingly asked. “That’s exactly my question, too.” I just said, laughing.

A short while later, when we were heading back to their doghouses, savouring my last moments with Cynthia, she let out a loud, long snort. I chuckled, and then placed my heart back into my chest. It snuffled again, slowly this time, and I realized that this little, lovely pooch—like all the other pit bulls in the area—wasn’t trying to tell me anything at all. She was simply letting out the sigh of relief and gratitude she’d been holding for too long. 

[journ-eys-blog]

"#BracketAKaNa: The UP Diliman 500-peso Challenge" features some of the best art, book and food places in the University of the Philippines-Diliman under P500. | A collaborative video production with Krixia Subingsubing, originally submitted as requirement in the Journalism 195 class of Prof. Khrysta Rara

[journ-eys-blog]

Just as bustling as ever

At the very moment I arrived in Binondo, I was struck by a tinge of nostalgia for what once was and what will be. Almost five hundred years after the Spanish colonial government created this urban enclave for unprivileged Chinese outcasts, the recollections of what had been are aggressively—inevitably—vanishing into the grit and grime of time and the staggering motifs of bustling metropolitan life.

On the surface, Binondo looks oppressive, what with its merciless humidity and extra high density living. Chaos mixes with routine, and the only thing constant is dust. The traffic chokes and flows—full of bicycles and motorcycles swerving around cars, FX vans and jeepneys waiting for a full load before going their way, crossing pedestrians and the occasional rickshaw and calesas (horse carriages) clip-clopping along the narrow arteries of downtown Manila. It seems that there are no road rules in the area—or perhaps just none that are followed. And then, amidst all the commotion: masses of lives are cramped in the streets, living on pennies and paper cups, doing whatever they can to get through the day.

But despite all these little nuances, the Chinatown district remains a popular tourist destination. The reason is quite clear: there is an abundance of not only authentic Chinese cuisine, but also age-old landmarks, stores, relics and rituals of both historic and cultural significance.

The place is an active dragon in itself—a long street branching into more side streets, exhibiting color and movement at every turn. Little stalls line the footpaths, selling a variety of delicacies, from hopia (mooncakes) and tikoy (Chinese glutinous rice cakes), to mangoes and oranges organized in small pyramids, and mounds of cabbages, carrots and beans in large cardboard boxes. From temples, to shrines, jewellery shops, and commercial and residential buildings, the place feels, as it has for centuries, like a living testimony of the country’s rich history and legacy.

There is the frenzied race between the new and the old, which seems to make up a massive chunk of Binondo’s personality. Everywhere in this Chinatown district you can find indications of how tradition and modernity marry, on both micro and macro scales. Stiff, spiny buildings and neon-colored billboards, festooned with signs in three languages, are situated just meters behind a Buddhist temple’s decorated awnings. Smartphones bleep in alleyways where the smell of sampaguita billows overhead from long, wiry poles extending from windows and balconies. Chinese businessmen and tourists promenade in the streets with their Converse shoes and Gucci bags, while street vendors sit next to their fruit and vegetable stalls, decked in thin-soled slippers and old hats.

When we reached an alley on one of the edges of Binondo, it doesn’t take much imagination to feel as if we have arrived not at the edge but at the heart of something—an almost literal heart, a gold-plated altar with flowers draping over it and the light of incense and red-colored candles illuminating the scene.

I stand there for a moment, taking it all in: the altar about two meters in front of me, two middle-aged Chinese guys in short-sleeved shirts and khaki pants, a woman whose bags of groceries were arranged neatly on the side—the three of them holding a pair of wooden half disks over their incense sticks, uttering prayers I couldn’t understand.

Behind me, a Filipino street vendor selling candles was slumped over her stall, exhausted and sleepy. I approached her and asked about the religion and the ritual. She looked up at me and said, “It’s Chinese Catholicism—extraordinary, isn’t it?”

“Very,” I replied. “But what are those half disks for?”

“They use those wooden half disks to have their fortunes told. They ask a question answerable by ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ and then they throw the disks to the floor. Identical faces mean ‘no’ while opposing figures mean ‘yes.’”

“Wow, that’s amazing! And the smoke?”

“The Chinese believe smoke is a way to connect the world of the living with the realm of the dead.”

Right then, I breathe in the small clouds of incense smoke—and strangely, it felt as if I’ve inhaled a spirit, something breathing and alive.

But none of this is the most interesting part of the trip. The most interesting part—the reason I endured the hour-long train ride and all the congested, polluted roads just to get there—occurred when I was about to leave the town.

On the bridge below the arch that says “Welcome to Manila Chinatown,” there was an old man with his almost bald head bowed over a paper takeaway plate. As I walked through the bridge, I watched as half of his rice meal slopped over his shirt when he tried to raise the plate to his lips. The last thing I saw was the skin, wrinkled but smooth, where his eyes were supposed to be.

It was a strange moment full of contrasts and irony—an eyeless, homeless local staying right under the arch of Chinatown; a lonely slowpoke who barely fits in with the crowd and commotion of everything. 

But then again, perhaps that's the beauty to it. After all, the old man has withstood his own wars, conflicts and the natural aging process, and as such stands as a metaphor for Binondo itself: a place that has endured successive waves of colonial invaders and cultural influences, and yet remains as bustling and alive as ever.

[jinky-goes-elsewhere-blog]

If there existed one universally loved boy band, it would have to be The Beatles. It’s no wonder then that Cirque du Soleil, a world-renowned entertainment company, produced a theatrical performance inspired by John, Paul, George and Ringgo. As avid fans, my sister and I scoured the net for cheaper tickets in the hopes of seeing LOVE live in Las Vegas, Nevada.

On the day of our arrival, our search led us to a nearby Tix4Tonight booth. Tix4Tonight is famous for selling discounted tickets to theatrical shows in the city. At most, the price could be slashed off by half. It seemed like a great plan! Little did we know that the long line would zigzag through the street by the time we got there at three in the afternoon. “Should we turn back?” I asked my sister. With a fierce determination in her brown eyes, she shook her head firmly. So under the sweltering heat of the desert sun, we joined the people in line and crossed our fingers for LOVE.    

By the time we were assisted by a lanky Tix4Tonight personnel, our situation looked dim. We’ve been in line for half an hour as we saw happy tourists walk away with humongous smiles, tickets clutched tightly in their hands. We found out that LOVE’s been sold out since the morning. With heavy hearts, we decided on watching Mystere, another Cirque production since we were already there anyway. Each ticket for the 9 p.m. show originally cost $130 but since they were being offered at a lower rate, we got it for $92 each instead. The great bargain instantly picked up my mood.

Perhaps long ticket lines should be considered as one of the many sins in Sin City. Fortunately, Tix4Tonight was able to help us. The ticket booths, littered all over the city, open at 10 a.m. The lines become more and more tangled as the clock nears show time so it’s best to go early. As for me, my sister and I will keep this in mind too should we ever hope to see LOVE when find ourselves back in Las Vegas.

[jinky-goes-elsewhere-blog]

Take a sneak peek of the many art forms right in the heart of UP-Diliman! A collaborative project with my friend, Ver Marcelo. :)