Alvin Doesn't Live Here Anymore

After much thought, after almost three years (well, two years and nine months, to be exact), I have decided to lower the lid, so to speak. I have decided to close this "window."

Why? Why the heck not? The way I'm feeling right now, I'm no longer the same Wordsmith who began blogging way back in April 2005. But I will not delete this: I've invested too much thought, too much time in it. And I will check on it from time to time, mainly to remember.

I'll continue to blog, though; I have already set up another one, which one could access--provided he/she is resourceful enough. One thing's sure: it's still in development.

In the meantime, HAPPY NEW YEAR, everyone!

Personal na Pamamaalam

Mahal na Rene:

Ang saya-saya kahapon, 'no? Panalo ang burol mo: kakaiba, nakakaaliw, nakakabaliw. Parang ikaw. At aminin mo, panalo din ang hinandog naming parangal sa iyo, ha? Sabi nga ni Luna pagkatapos, parang bi-polar ang mga taga TELON at Writers Bloc noong oras na 'yon. Sa isang sandali, halos mapapahikbi, mapapaluha, mapapangawa kami. Tapos, bigla-biglang may hihirit, may magbibitiw ng punchline, at mapapatawa kami. O 'di ba, hanep sa shift?

Tulad ng emcee natin, si Nick. Aba, mga lima, anim na beses yata siyang napahinto sa kanyang monologue dahil pinipigil niyang sarili niya na huwag umiyak. Pinipigil ang sarili na huwag maging Charito Solis ang pagluluksa. Pero ayaw mo no'n, 'di ba? Gusto mo Lolita Rodriguez ang drama: tahimik, poised, pero powerful. Pero si Nick being Nick, kailangang may malutong na one-liner. Hindi lang isa, kundi dalawa, tatlo, apat, lima. At syempre, ano'ng magagawa ng madla kundi tumawa nang tumawa? I'm sure nabigla ang mga kapitbahay mo sa Sanctuarium sa ingay: Ano ba 'to, funeral hotel o comedy/sing-a-long bar?

Siyempre, ang mga ibang nag-testimonial, naki-standup na rin. Si Jun, na ang huling sinabi niya'y ang huling sinabi mo doon sa burol ni Charley noon: na lahat ng mga iskrip naming pangit, isasama sa paglibing mo. Pero naku, Rene, kilala kita: mumurahin mo kami pag ginawa namin 'yon: "Hoy, mga punyeta! Huwag niyong itambak ang mga letseng iskrip ninyo dito! 'Di ko kailangan 'yan! Peperwisyuhin niyo pa ako, patay na nga ako!" Tapos 'yung mga kasama mo sa TELON. Sina Joey at Luna. Sina Ipat at Tim. Si Dennis, na sinabihin mo nito na: "You'll be famous, but you'll never be great!" Classic. Sina Allan at Lallie, na siguro matagal nang nag-shift sa Forestry course noon kung hindi mo siya naimpluwensyahan. Si Anna.

At dahil parang comedy/sing-a-long bar ang feel ng tribute, may mga kantahan din, salamat kina Rody--in full Sister Stella L./"Manggagawa" mode, ha--at Niel, na feel na feel ang kinanta niya, with matching gestures. At syempre, hindi mawawala ang mga excerpted readings mula sa mga ilang dula mo. May Isang Sundalo. Hiblang Abo. Walang Himala.

Sa mga oras na 'yon, hindi ko rin maiwasang maalala ka, maalala ang naging relasyon ko sa iyo: saan at kailan nagsimula (1993 o 1994, sa dating opisina ng PETA sa Little Baguio, San Juan; mga disinuebe o bente anyos ako no'n), kung paano tayo nakikitungo sa isa't isa. Katulad ng karamihan, naging mahalagang impluwensya ka sa akin bilang isang manunulat. Paano naman hindi, 'di ba? Pero may ikukumpisal ako: ako lang siguro ito, pero may suspetsa ako na hindi gano'ng kataas ang pagtingin mo sa akin bilang mandudula, sa kakayahan kong lumikha ng drama. Hindi naman kita masisisi do'n: madalang akong magsulat ng dula at magpabasa sa Bloc. Hindi mo naman gusto ang mga naisulat ko. Sa katunayan, sabi mo nga sa akin pagkatapos mong panoorin ang First Snow of November: "Napaka-melodramatic. Parang high school." Obviously, hindi rin ako nakatakas sa matalas mong dila. Pero OK lang, sinanay mo naman ako pagdating diyan. At nakita ko naman ang punto mo.

Ganunpaman, dama ko ang pagrespeto mo sa akin: bilang mandudula, bilang kapwa kasapi ng Writers Bloc, bilang kaibigan. Galing sa iyo, malaking bagay 'yon. Kahit ang dami mo nang nakamit na parangal sa larangan ng panitikan, pantay ang pagtrato mo, hindi lang sa akin, kundi sa mga iba nating mga kaibigan sa grupo.

Malungkot man ako na wala ka na, hindi kong maiwasang makaramdam ng konting kasiyahan. Bakit? Dahil nakuha mo na ang gusto mo. Matagal ka nang handang tumawid sa kabila. Matagal ka nang nasa departure area. Wala ka nang kailangang patunayan. Hindi ka na mahihirapan sa kalusugan mo. Sa loob ng limampu't tatlong taon ay marami kang napaiyak, napatawa, napaisip, napahanga, napamangha sa mga sinulat mo. Iilan lang ang kayang tapatan ang mga nagawa mo sa buhay. May ipagyayabang ka talaga. Ang hindi mo lang maipagyayabang ngayon siguro ay ang katawan mo. Abo ka na, 'no?

Maraming, maraming salamat, Rene: sa mga aral, sa respeto, sa tulong, sa pagkakaibigan. Bumaba man ang telon sa entablado ng buhay mo, tuloy pa rin ang pagtatanghal ng alaala mo sa aming mga isipan. Ikamusta mo na lang ako kay Charley, ha? Sigurado akong marami kayong pagkukuwentuhan, at magdamagan 'yan. Labindalawang taon yata na kayo hindi nagkikita. Mag-enjoy ka diyan, saan ka man.

Nagmamahal,
Alvin

Rene at Rest

RENATO OCAMPO VILLANUEVA

(22 September 1954 - 5 December 2007)

I last saw him last night, inside Room 234 of the Philippine Heart Center's Medical ICU. When I saw him, I thought my heart would break. I refuse to describe what I saw; he does not deserve the indignity, the pity. But he did deserve company, and that he had last night. His beloved mother, his siblings. His former wife, their daughters. His former playwriting pupils turned friends--Rollie dela Cruz, Nicolas Pichay, Liza Magtoto, Job Pagsibigan, myself. He is that loved, that treasured.

His body may have finally failed him, but the masterpieces that sprang from his head, from his imagination--they remain so alive: Kumbersasyon. Hiblang Abo. May Isang Sundalo. Huling Gabi sa Maragondon. Ang Unang Baboy sa Langit. Nemo, ang Batang Papel. Kuwento ni Malinis. Botong. Kalantiaw. Watawat. Walang Iwanan. What a stunning legacy that he will leave behind.

Enjoy that rest you have so earned, Rene. You deserve it, my mataray mentor, my friend.

I Beg Your Pardon?!

Pissed. That's the first thing I felt when I heard that GMA had pardoned Erap today. PISSED.

If she hopes that granting him executive clemency would benefit her somehow, would help move the nation forward (To where? Oblivion?), she's so mistaken. EDSA Dos, Erap's arrest, EDSA Tres, the long-winded trial--all gone to waste. Why bother, after all? Putangina.

Oh I do hope she's prepared to face the consequences, if only for her sake. Whatever they will be, she will not have my sympathy (and truth to tell, she has lost it a loooooong time ago). Unlike Gerald Ford (who pardoned Nixon for his role in the Watergate scandal, resulting in the loss of his re-election bid), history will not look at her so favorably, especially for what she did today.

The way I'm feeling right now, I'm almost tempted to do a Howard Beale (True cinephiles know what I'm taking about). Almost.

From Play to Poem

Talk about crossing genres, so to speak. On the way home from work today, I pleasantly stumbled upon this poem by Darwin Chiong while browsing through the latest issue of the Philippines Free Press. Having no talent at all for writing and analyzing poems, I have the greatest admiration for those who can.

For those who know me and the subject of Chiong's poem below, they (should) understand the reason for this post. My reaction after reading the poem? Cooooool.

If you're reading this, Darwin, hope you don't mind. And thanks. Ü


THOUGHTS AFTER WATCHING FIRST SNOW OF NOVEMBER AT CCP
AFTER BIENVENIDO N. SANTOS

by Darwin Chiong

I imagined sinuous bodies of streets swarmed with snow
Slowly sinking into a life, into slopes of memory, the cold
Crevices. Spaces where fireplace cannot warm
The freezing hands. In my mind the snow was whirling
And whirling around an old house in a shaken snow globe.

Fil Acayan looked out the window filled with snow
And wondered what else it could bring: an afterthought
Of autumn, naked branches, the dancers gliding
In the air like a snowflake when his fingers unfurl,
An open palm in the cold, white ghosts of trees.

He saw how their fingers parted the air. The dancers
Limned sway of bamboo leaves on their hips, slope
Of mountains on their shoulders, flap of bird wings
On their skirts. Each flick of their finger, a step
Into warm memories away from that cold country.

A whiteness spilled on the streets. But before that a sound
Of longing spooled on his tape. Then a growing hole of loneliness
Unravels within. How quickly snow turned to water on his palm,
Slipping through spaces between his fingers. When he walked,
I heard the cadence of footsteps, longing to find another way home.

(Published on page 36 in the October 13, 2007 issue of the Philippines Free Press).

A Playwright's Pet Peeve, Part Two

Almost two years ago, I wrote here about the annoying experience of having a play of mine being mounted not only without my knowledge, but also without my written permission.

Guess what? A while ago I experienced déjà vu when I stumbled onto www.teatrokanto.com. At the bottom of the page, it read: "The beneficiaries of these productions include the ABS-CBN Bantay Bata Foundation, GMA Kapuso Foundation, DZRH Operation Tulong Action Center, OWWA's Tuloy Aral Project, Lobo Batangas Elementary School and Nueva Ejica Operation Catarac. Tickets are 2,000 yen and will also be available at the gates."

I asked myself: Gano'n? At ako hindi? As of this writing, I have already typed a polite but firm letter addressed to the group's theater coordinator. I plan to send it first thing tomorrow.

Incidentally, our most recent Writers Bloc meeting dealt with the issue of demanding and securing royalties: how much for a short play? for a full-length? for how many shows? We also discussed our rights as dramatists: can a playwright actually prevent a theater group from staging his or her play during its run when there's no written permission? (The answer: YES) To paraphrase what the irrepressible Rene Villanueva said that time: "Wala nang hiya-hiya. Huwag na tayong mag-a la Nora Aunor." I totally agree; Filipino playwrights in general tend to reluctantly waive their rights because of hiya. Not only do they fail to get whatever that's due to him or her, they get exploited by some unscrupulous theater groups in the process. Well, no more. Aba, mahirap yata magsulat ng dula, tapos hindi babayaran ang pinaghirapan mo?! It all boils down to respect, really. Respect for the playwright, for the effort s/he had exerted in writing the play. When the meeting ended, all of us resolved to be more firm with our rights, to be more insistent about getting our dues, and to look for each other's welfare, hiya be damned.

And to those theater groups (amateur or professional, school-based and otherwise) thinking that they could get away with staging a play without permission? THINK AGAIN.

Call-Center Comedy

As I write this, this year's Palanca awardees have already feasted on their buffet dinner, accepted their prizes and--truth to tell, the real highlight of the night to many--enjoyed the free beer. Though I didn't win this year, I'm nonetheless happy that several of my online and offline friends did. I'm especially thrilled that the Writers Bloc--the writers' group that I'm most loyal to and proud to be a part of--boasts of (at least) seven members who have won this year, all in the playwriting categories: Debbie Tan, Layeta Bucoy, Chris Martinez, Allan Lopez, Dennis Teodosio, Nicolas Pichay (who's now a Palanca Hall of Famer) and Rody Vera.

At the same time, I'm also happy that Mikael Co, Glenn Mas, my UP workshop batchmate Allan Pastrana, and blog buds Dean Alfar and Ian Casocot also made it to this year's roster of winners.

To celebrate this year's awarding ceremony, below is a clip featuring the awesome Michael V. as Chelsea in Chris' Welcome to IntelStar, which placed third in the One-act Play in English category two years ago. The only thing regrettable about this video is its length; it's too short!

To my friends and the rest of this year's prizewinners: CONGRATULATIONS!