I feel lighter,
lured and reclaimed by that potent force,
that little being that calls me from slumber every day.

I am drawn.
Drawn irrevocably by the substance that is in it.
Somehow, in an imaginary way, it fills me like a power.

I no longer care if I get killed tonight.

At last I am restful,
Warmed by the bright sun and the seas in my night sky.
I am tranquil in the company of my lover, however unreal.

Over the days of my stay at Boracay, I learned quite a few things about the island that I think I should share with you about.



People do not go to Boracay for the sheer unadulterated pleasure of glorifying the place. That is far too noble, and i have yet to see someone with that kind of thinking in all of my life...

Noble, that is.



Boracay is beautiful.


Extraordinarily fine and white sand beaches. Blue and green sea with peacefulness that's warm and predictable.



(Like the heart-warming smile of the people there.)



But--believe me cus I've been there--no one goes to Boracay to see that beauty or experience it.




People go to Boracay to use beauty for purposes other than just seeing it.




---to glorify something (love, for example),



----
----
or curse it.




Only one of either options happen mostly when you go there.
The choice is up to you, depending on how creative you are.



Note:

I left the place yesterday. I am now blogging from Bacolod with the tender, heavenly warmth of the other night's tequila inside my system. I love Bacolod, and people here must love the place so much to have thought of filling it with so much fun and intoxication. If anybody from Bacolod goes to Cebu and shows up there, I vow to drown them with Cebu's San Miguel and let them know Cebu is a drinking city too. Just bragging. I'm on vacation here, and I'm loving it.

 

 But I heard you

heard you the first time,

heard you the second time

the third time. 

i heard you. 

 And i loved...

loved with a heart that knows nothing else but love...

but you,

you--

I rushed to your place the minute i knew you were leaving.

You were already gone...

 

-----------------
::This is an experiment at photography using only a lampshade, my canon cam, and some paint for blood. No photoshop here. My model, let's call her Aileen, is a senior college student at 19. This post is for her. I hope she likes it. Thanks to Anthony for arranging the meeting, to Jay for the ride and for allowing Aileen to participate, and Jona for the setup.

 

I forgot the name of the shop, but I'm sure it was in Bacolod last week where I saw this dog, who is obviously NOT UNEMPLOYED. They tell me what he does for a living is buy groceries for his boss every morning and do some office errands like set appointment with important clients, take phone calls, check emails.

YEPP.

I forgot to ask for his number. (Should I be surprised if he has a cellphone?) I have never seen dogs like that in Cebu, so I stood amazed in Spongebob wondering. All I ever did was take pictures, damn me. Not even polite enough to introduce myself to him.

Anyways, feast on this for now. Next time I'll do better. Thanks, thanks, dog.

::. I posted a closeup of his face below, just in case you might be curious.

Currently feeling: cheerful

They tell me that in Old Sagay, Negros, along the beach in a resort called Margaha, the Pacific wind is brute, sometimes harsh, but it is easily tamed by the warmth of the sea and the liveliness of the people there. I stayed there overnight last week, had the chance to be with the place and the people, and I can easily tell you that it is true.

I can tell you too, (and this I swear with my life), all the sweetness of the world could not compare to the language of the Negrense.

Last week, on a night deprived of cellphones and laptops, I listened as they told me many things, about Hiligaynon "balaks" and legends, about Margaha and how it came about.

The story goes that in one of the islands of Negros a long time ago, there lived a rich white girl who came to fall in love with a poor black native. It was a love that defied all tradition, defied parents and family--the world, because it happened at a time when the world was divided into black and white and there was nothing anyone could ever do to cross it.

But, like lovers of all fictitious fairy tales, they were defiant and swore never to leave each other, no matter what.

So very angry were the gods when they learned of this that they turned the lovers into ashes and scattered them in opposite directions of the Visayan sea, so they could never be together again. Cursed never to meet each other again, the lovers fell silent. But not without passing the curse of color into the places where their ashes fell: white sands on islands where hers fell; dark, almost black, on islands where his fell.

You will feel the love story if you travel through the neighboring islands, from Boracay where the sand is ethereal, soft, and white, to Sagay more than 10 hours after, where the sand is blackest, as though the gods themselves wanted it that way for the contrast to be evident.

When I came to Sagay, and into the resort whose name, Margaha, in honor of the man whose ashes fell there, I felt as though I opened my eyes for the first time.





The story I heard is not about love, but about suffering and about the fate of the common people unlucky enough to have been born in another side of life. Like in the Phlippines where all the wealth of the country is concentrated on the powerful few amid such ocean of poverty. Like in the haciendas of Negros where sugar is sweetest but most bitter to the the choiceless laborers, who work with pay barely enough to keep them living for the next day-




But the gods are not entirely cruel. It is in the same Margaha where I met national artist nominee and social realist Nunelucio Alvarado, his artist family and his community of brilliant painters called Pintor Kulapol (lousy painters in Negros language, but they're not lousy, I tell you) who work to alleviate this suffering by changing the minds of people through art.




In Margaha they did a month-long exhibit where guests do not only see the art of the exhibitors. They also get to participate by exhibiting their own art. The materials, all the "basura" they could find along the coast.

Ours must have been the most boring, but it was one that we did in 20 minutes, with only the handful stuff we could find. We painted a bamboo pole in black and listed there, in white paint, all the websites promoting Filipino prostitution. (This is all we could think of in 3 minutes, honestly. Forgive the simplicity.) There's so many that we ran out of space easily. But it should be enough to send the message.

>




I have much to tell, but I'm running out of time. My thanks to Pintor Kulapol, to Visayan art, to Maharlika, to artists who use art for change.






And to the gods for Margaha and his love, for the blackest skin but purest heart, to the love story that is tragic but insightful.

I did some "minor adjustments" to the tinolang baboy that Madame did yesterday night, to make it even tastier. Against protests by the maker herself, I added some more pork cubes for a more porky taste. But little did I know that it takes a while for them to dissolve completely. I swallowed half a cube accidentally. Sad to say, msg doesn't taste so good when you eat it raw. Not only that, it is also not that good for your health. (Symptoms: drowsiness)

So what is the lesson learned here? I'll share with you some stuff I learned from the madame:


1. There is no short cut to anything, cooking included.
2. You can't count talent when it isn't there. Either you can, or you can't--cook, that is.
3. Last but not the least. Eat slowly.

Thank you. That is all. More lessons later.

 

 Sun, wherever you are...

 

Currently feeling: contemplative

 

this is how she is in my landscape, --she.

 

(...impenetrably silent, elusive, woman, much warmer than the sun.)
lovelier than the night and loving it,
the skill of one born to love forever.

 

------------------------------------------

It took me a long time to decide whether or not to post this one. Ever since I started posting the Boracay pics I had some people asking me why I wasn't in any of them. And then when I posted the hand for the suicide concept, the same people asked me if it was mine. I know I'm gonna be asked again the same things. But I'd be really flattered. This fine body belongs to A, a young woman who was kind enough to allow me to photograph her. I'd like to thank her for her kindness. I'd like to thank the wonderful friends who introduced me to her, who helped me do the session. Wonderful people, you all. Thank you very much. ::Btw, there's no photoshop in the picture above...If you are interested in knowing what was written on her skin, well--just ask me. Hehe.