photo essays

The Starbucks planner for 2012 is a 180-degree turn from last year’s elegant design that came in red velvet and metallic finishes. This time around, it’s all about trees, evoked with natural materials – wood and coarse-weave fabric. It’s acquired through the usual means of stickers for each drink purchased during the designated holiday period (November to January).

There are five iterations shading from light to dark, each named after a tree. This one’s Cherry, the middle shade (#3).

What’s more, the design took more than a few cues from the Moleskine notebook.

This unboxing happened at Starbucks Harbour Square at the Cultural Center of the Philippines complex.

“Let’s give big hugs – and little gifts of hope.” Actually, I’m fine with the big hugs. Really.

The coarse-weave pouch is an innovation – it’s the first time it’s been done by Starbucks Philippines. The pouch keeps the planner clean, and is also handy for receipts, a pen, and other little items.

No worries that the planner inside will be damaged by things you might keep in the pouch – the covers are made of thin pieces of wood, with the siren design and edge text in bas-relief.

There’s a Moleskine-style elastic on the back. As always, the planner comes with coupons – nine, this time around, less than there used to be, at one per month, but then it takes less drinks to get the planner this season.

Instead of a Moleskine-type ribbon marker, a kraft-cardboard bookmark is provided. I love the horizontal layout. 

Now we come to the best thing about this planner – the paper. It is smooth, creamy, and fountain-pen friendly. The stiff nib of my daily-warrior Parker Jotter simply glides across the paper, as if it were glass. Or ice.

Another good thing for FP  users – there’s minimal show-through! 

As with every Starbucks planner, this one has magnificent photography.

A pocket attached to the inside back cover holds the coupons and bookmark. Again, just like the Moleskine. It’s handy-dandy for keeping more stray bits of paper and other ephemera. 

The size is smaller too, compared to previous editions. It’s about the size of a Kindle and fits neatly in my handbag, where I hope it gets along with all the pink things in there.

Photos taken with a 2MP Nokia C3.

taste more:

When in Baguio last April I visited one of the most interesting shops I’ve ever entered – Namaste, at Porto Vaga Building along Session Road.

Namaste attendant Meg Reyes with writers Clarissa Militante and Genevieve Asenjo.

a place of wonder

It is said to be the only shop in the Philippines that sells Nepali and Tibetan fine goods and art, as well as crystals and semi-precious stone beads to be made into custom jewelry.

The shop is filled with wonderful things. Everywhere, the gleam of brass, or perhaps gold leaf, the shimmer of fine pashmina wool, the sheen of beads displayed on countless racks.

The shop windows are crammed with interesting objects. Here, a brass figure holds center stage, perhaps an avalokiteshvara (bodhisattva of compassion); behind it walk Meg and fictionist Yvette Tan.

Yet another gleaming Buddha sits serenely in the window, behind a quartz geode and metal elephant. Elephants (gaja in Sanskrit) symbolize fertility, abundance, richness, boldness and strength,  wisdom and royalty. In Buddhism, the “Precious Elephant” means strength of mind, a “symbol of the calm majesty possessed by one who is on the Path.”

The walls are adorned with paintings, carvings, masks, even a  musical instrument or two…

…while from the ceiling dangle bells, wind chimes, patchwork fabric hangings, and more.

A view of the Namaste shop interior. I’d love to have one of those intricately-carved wooden stools.

A prayer wheel sits atop a display case.

Buddha figures in all shapes, sizes, and forms abound…

One of my favorite tableaus – a Buddha in the center, flanked by a warrior and a horse. In Chinese mythology, horses stand for virtue and power. From obvious associations, it also connotes speed, intelligence, and natural forces, like the wind and waves. In Buddhism, the “Precious Horse” is one of the “Seven Jewels of Royal Power”, said to “travel among the clouds and and mirror the Buddha’s abandonment of or “rising above” the cares of worldly existence.”

This very interesting triptych is carved from wood and painted. On the center of the left-hand panel is  a prayer wheel with the Sanskrit symbol for OM , the “eternal syllable”. Buddha sits upon a lotus, with more on the other panels; in Buddism, the lotus refers to “the complete purification of body, speech, and mind.”

More Buddhas sit atop a pile of silk and wool fabric – shawls and what-not. From the ceiling in front of them is suspended a wooden charm carved and painted with the Chinese symbol for good luck.

The shop has many of these displays of bracelets and necklaces made from crystals and stones.

I asked Meg to make me a bracelet. She asked me, “Ano’ng kailangan mo?” (What do you need?) I asked her, “Ano ang tingin mong kailangan ko?” (What do you think I need?) She looked into my eyes, while her own narrowed. Then she said, slowly, “Maraming naiinggit sa iyo.” (Many people envy you.) I was taken aback by that; it was unexpected.

But then I recalled two Enochian card readings I was given last year, in November and December; the reader, Malou Mallari, told me both times to be wary of workplace envy. For the same issue to crop up again was an uncanny coincidence; I decided to take heed, and let Meg guide me in the choice of stones for my bracelet.

She put in a mix of power (creativity, health, success, etc.) and protection (anti-negativity, anti-envy, returning back ill-wishing) stones. Because the power stones cost more, I got only one of each, while the rest of the length of the bracelet was made up of the less expensive jet black “anti-negative” stones.

Meg makes my bracelet…

…choosing from these beads – tourmaline, quartz, amethyst, jet, lapis lazuli, angelite, and onyx among them. Beside the box of amethyst beads are two tiny (less than 1.5 inches high) Buddha statues that I was choosing between. I got the one on the left. I carry it with me everyday in a pouch in my bag, putting it in front of my computer monitor when I get to work in the mornings.

Meg places my chosen beads on a makeshift cardboard stand, like a Scrabble tile holder, and strings them on several strands of elastic thread, knotting the ends tightly and fusing them together in a candle flame.

The finished bracelet.

Before handing me my items, Meg “blessed” both the bracelet and the mini-Buddha in a Tibetan metal “healing bowl”, running a wooden implement around the rim to create a ringing, echoing sound while telling me to think of good things. As I drew the bracelet on my wrist, Meg advised me to wear the power stones next to my pulse.

envy breaks rock

Fast-forward to May 2011. Now one of the protection stones on my bracelet has cracked in half, and half of the bead beside it has changed color, from black to a murky gray. I was puzzled – I don’t slam my hand around, while the color change is frankly inexplicable.

The other day a friend at work told me that at least four people in our department, three men and a woman – people I had known from before we came to our present office, people whom I thought were my friends – have been griping about my position at work, though they acknowledged I had never done anything against them, either professionally or personally.

I noticed these four people have barely spoken to me the past several months – now I know why. This was not the first manifestation of their envy. (The first time around, the woman staged a weird and uncalled-for temper tantrum, texting me strange messages.) When envy rears its ugly head in erstwhile friendly relationships, especially in the workplace, it spells the end of friendships. Or not, because now I realize these people never were my true friends.

When Malou read my cards last year and told me that my biggest problem this year would be office envy – “It would really be severe,” she said – I shrugged it off, paid no heed; I was more interested in hearing about whether my lovelife would improve. Now I see what she meant.

And I can’t help thinking that my bracelet took the hit of all that negative energy. A coincidence? Still, it’s uncanny. Three friends (a writer, a lawyer, and an editor) I had showed the damaged bracelet to pushed it away and averted their eyes. “Nakakakilabot,” (gives me the shivers, frightening) they said.

I plan to go up to Baguio on the next long weekend and visit Namaste again, this time to ask Meg for a bracelet made entirely of the “anti-negative” stones as a pangontra. Though I believe luck is what we make it, some coincidences are just too strange and cannot be ignored.

It will also be a treat to immerse myself once more in a world of wondrous things replete with symbolism, a trove of exotic treasures from a different place,  a haven for unraveling stress and instilling a sense of deep peace.   ***

All photos by JennyO, taken April 2011  with a Nikon Coolpix L21.

taste more:

The other night I was going through my blog stats and found these search terms: “jennyo laptop” and “jenny ortuoste netbook”. Or something like that. Point is, someone seems to be curious about what laptop I am using, if any.

Since I am all about ibigay ang hilig (give what’s wanted), then here’s a rundown of the portable computers in my life.

STOP!!!

WARNING: This post contains many photos of laptop porn that will be of interest only to gadget geeks.

PROCEED ONLY if truly interested in hardware.

I got my first laptop in 2005 – this Stormtrooper white Ebox made in China. At the time it was quite expensive. It served me well for a couple of years and I was happy with it. It had a PENTIUM M processor! Centrino technology! It even had a – gasp! – DISKETTE drive!

(For young people, old people, and people who have been living under a rock since 1985 who do not know what a “diskette” is, click here.)

Even back then, laptops already had a track pad and two buttons that were the equivalent of the right-click and left-click buttons on a mouse.

But this Ebox is heavy and I used it as my work computer, keeping it on my desk at the office. In time, models with bigger and badder specs emerged, and this guy was relegated to the kitchen, for my helper’s use. (Facebook, mostly.) It still works, and she says it’s a whiz at picking up wifi signals. (Yay, Intel!)

Then in 2006 my sister gave me this powerful Acer Travelmate 6292 installed with Windows Vista and that same bad-ass Centrino tech, but “Duo” this time, and with a Core 2 Duo processor. It has a fierce number of ports – USB, Firewire, you name it, it’s got it.

It also has a DVD writer and a built-in card reader, very handy for uploading photos and files from different storage media. It can be connected to a projector for presentations, and to video cameras for editing. One of my video editor friends told me, “This rocks, it’s got everything we need for video and photos. Don’t give it to your kids!”    

Since I prefer having other people do video editing for me than doing it myself (mainly because I can’t video-edit), I ended up giving this Acer to my kids. My eldest still uses it, not only for video editing but for a whole lot more besides, like downloading Korean pop music videos and other important stuff. This is one good puppy of a lappy. However, it now runs Windows 7, because as the whole world and his aged grandmother know, Windows Vista is one of the crappiest OS’s ever to come out of Microsoft.

I realized I didn’t need a monster lappy powerful enough to run black-ops by itself. In the dark. Without backup. What I really needed was something simple – the electronic equivalent of paper and pen – in short, a gadget running just Word, Excel, Powerpoint, and an Internet browser would be enough.

Then netbooks were invented. (Insert “Hallelujah Chorus” sung by divine celestial beings here.) Around 2008 I got this wee cute little pink Acer Aspire One. What sold me on it was the fact that it was pink.

Being a netbook, it is smaller and lighter than regular laptops. Compare it with the Acer Travelmate, which my daughter has covered with Tokio Hotel and Puffy Ami Yumi stickers. Big diff, right?

The bad thing, the EVIL thing, about the Acer Aspire One models, was their batteries. My sister also has one in black – she bought hers in Dubai – and both our batteries gave out after only a year or so of use. Of careful use. I had to ask a friend in the US get me a new one, and he did in grand style, getting me the largest he could find on eBay. It is so big, it functions as a stand. It also lasts for nine hours of regular netsurfing and Word use.

Being so tiny, the Acer did have one disadvantage for me – the keys were all cramped on the keyboard, and it was difficult to type. I ended up not being comfortable using it to write, a defeat of purpose because that was the reason I got it. I did like the design of the trackpad, with the right- and left-click keys placed on either side of it, instead of below.

The Acer Aspire One runs Atom and was designed for Windows XP, but being the contrarian that I am, I had Windows Vista installed in it. This was before I learned Vista is crap, okay?

This pretty baby has no DVD drive, but it has several USB ports, a card reader, the usual jacks for mic and headphones, and a port for projectors and LAN connections. I’ve used it successfully for Skype/Yahoo! Messenger and projector presentations. Like the Acer Travelmate, it has a built-in webcam at the top of the screen, now a standard feature for these gadgets. It’s still heavy, though. Especially with that gargantuan battery.

So I was happy when the office issued me this delightfully slim and elegant Sony Vaio.

It’s still not as light, as, say, an Apple iPad 2, but then those thingies are tablets, which are a whole different animal altogether. The Vaio possesses decent specs, and runs like a charm. It’s got Windows 7, one of the least crappy OS’s Microsoft has come up with (showing that some people do learn their lessons, although for some it takes a while), and an Intel Core i3 processor that is frakkishly fast.

I like the Vaio’s chiclet keyboard. In overall size the Vaio is larger than the Acer Aspire One, but as a person gets older (I’m not speaking from personal experience, I can just imagine), it’s more comfortable to work with a decent-sized screen and keyboard. Squinting is so not cool.

The Vaio’s trackpad is sensitive enough, made of plastic with the click-keys below it. It’s fairly responsive, and I hope it’s not that way just because it’s new. I’ve already used it for a Powerpoint presentation, hooking it up to a projector with no problem at all.

The gold standard in laptops for creatives is still Apple. I want one, but I can’t decide yet between a Macbook Pro or a Macbook Air. In any case, it might be cheaper to buy abroad than in Manila.

I’ve become increasingly dependent lately on my Samsung Galaxy Tab for media consumption – surfing the Net, using Facebook and Twitter, reading ebooks – that I can’t leave home without it. Still, it is difficult to create content upon it – the touchscreen sucks for typing. Tablets are not the gadget of choice for writers. Laptops and netbooks are.

The babies I’ve featured here are good and reliable workhorses; in terms of function and utility, they get the job done with a minimum of fuss.

taste more:

Residents of Makati City are fortunate to have not one, but two top-class museums in the central business district. I visited the Yuchengco Museum with my PhD classmates and our professor a couple of months ago, enjoyed the experience very much, and decided to take my offspring on a trip to the other one – the Ayala Museum in Greenbelt Park.

The Zobel de Ayala family, a prominent one in Philippine business and society, are generous patrons of the arts; some members of the clan are artists themselves, notably Fernando Zobel (painting) and Jaime Zobel (photography). To sh0wcase and store their art collections, mostly of Philippine provenance, the family established this museum, a venue for sharing their beautiful possessions with the public.

The facade. The museum is connected by first- and second-floor walkways to Greenbelt mall at Ayala Center.

Painted metal sculptures grace the front courtyard.

The guards at the museum advised us to start our tour at the top floor, where tradeware in an array of colors was displayed – blue-and-white, celadon, and brown-and-white among them. There were many pottery items whose uses and functions seem strange to us now – tiny water droppers that barely hold a quarter cup of liquid and miniscule dishes among them. Other artifacts are now made in other materials, such as pen boxes.

Porcelain jars. Image from here.

After our tour of the porcelain, museum guards directed us to a dimly-lit section barred with steel. We entered with trepidation, and were told to sit in front of a dark screen. A switch was flipped, lights, sound, and video came on, and we were treated to a wonderfully-produced, well-written documentary – “Gold of Ancestors”. I won’t spoil it by giving away the narrative – I highly recommend you go see it.

After the show, more lights came on and we made the rounds of display cases filled with gold objects – jewelry, funerary masks, containers. By far the most spectacular piece was something that looked like a belt. From the flyer “Gold of Ancestors: Pre-Colonial Treasures in the Philippines”, written by Dr Florina H. Capistrano-Baker: “A magnificent gold halter…weighing almost four kilograms, is believed by some to be an upavita, or sacred thread. In traditional Hindu society, only members of the elite Brahmin class were entitled to wear an upavita after a purification ritual.”

The Sacred Thread: a magnificent item of jewelry, and a work of art. Image from here.

There were also paintings by Amorsolo and Luna. Of course my favorite was Luna’s “Lady at the Racetrack”.

Image from here.

We saw many other beautiful things in the museum’s collections – an exhibit of 19th century daily wear, heavily embroidered and quaintly tailored; a full suit of Jose Rizal’s everyday clothes; carabao horn salakots and top hats; intricate models of galleons and other sailing ships; and other curios.

Unfortunately, museum rules strictly prohibit photography of the collections and exhibits, which is very frustrating and annoying since other museums such as Yuchengco and the Getty and LACMA in Los Angeles allow it in certain areas. Ayala Museum even forbids photos in the lobby! Visitors who want a souvenir can only pose in front of a bizarre display of unrelated and not-to-scale stand-up figures off to one side of the lobby.  We hope the museum administrators will soon rethink this policy.

A visit to the museum’s gift shop yielded bookmarks, a tote bag, books, a metal pencase, and other little treasures. It’s a great way to spend a geekend afternoon.

taste more:

This article is the fourth in a series of research studies about Philippine communication environments. See Part 1 for an introduction to the topic of the communication environment and its relationship to culture. Read Part 2 and Part 3 to know more.

On his turn to take us on a trip to explore an out-of-the-ordinary environment, UP College of Mass Communication Graduate Studies department chairman Dr Jose Lacson chose to show us the Yuchengco Museum at RCBC Plaza, Makati City.

The museum, which houses the art collection of banker and ambassador Alfonso T. Yuchengco, was established to “foster a greater public appreciation of the finest in Filipino and Filipino-Chinese visual arts and creativity.” (from a flyer)

Photography is prohibited only at the first and second floors.

Yuchengco Museum: Art, Intimately

The Architecture

The museum is located in the Yuchengco Tower at the RCBC (Rizal Commercial Banking Center) complex of buildings along Ayala Avenue. Passersby see massive erections of glass and steel, a familiar conglomeration of materials for this area. More than a profit-oriented real estate development, it is  a monument to the power and wealth of its owner.

Yet tucked in a corner of the megaphallic mass is what looks like a thimble. An odd, even aberrant, design choice, many think. Yet once inside the museum, the structure yields up the interesting secret of its shape.

Inside, the interior is neutral – gray, white, and chrome provide a nearly invisible setting that allow the collections to shine like gems in white gold.

The first floor is a wide space with high ceilings. Here, the museum’s most significant paintings are displayed, the public kept from close contact with the artworks by blue velvet ropes. As the museum patron’s first encounter with the collections, the ground floor’s  rope barriers, though soft and of a luxurious material, seem to say, “Look, but don’t get too close.” Limits are thus set, immediately; the “welcome” into the space is not as warm as might be desired.

However, the barriers also serve to reinforce the importance of these particular pieces. That they were chosen for this form of protection highlights their value, both artistic and commercial.

At the second floor, exhibit spaces are smaller, the ceilings lower, thus more intimate. There are no more barriers from hereon, communicating an invitation: “Come closer.” Patrons may approach the artworks, peer closely at them, and inspect the brush strokes and textures of materials.

The Artifacts

The Yuchengco family’s collection of personal art (reproduction ancestor scroll, commissioned portraits) and antiques (a jade horse, a breathtaking carved ivory tusk) is impressive. Obvious in the care lavished upon these objects is the family’s love of art and history, reflected in a “timeline” display of the Chinese presence in the Philippines beginning with arrival of the merchant ships bringing  Chinese traders to these shores.

The intricately-detailed ivory faces of these tiny figures, turned upward to the viewer as if in supplication to a god, are a marvel of the carver’s art.

Rotating exhibits punctuate the permanent displays. At the time of our visit, works from paper were prominently displayed and provided an interesting look at modern art using found and discarded materials.

The glory of the museum and my personal favorite is “Suspended Garden”. This is the “thimble’s” well-kept secret – a site-specific installation by Tony Gonzales and Tes Pasola.

Hung from different heights by fishing line from a metal grid in the ceiling of the “thimble” is a multitude of papier-mache rocks, looking like so many planets suspended in space. One may view the work from all sides, from the floor above, and from underneath, lying on the carpet on the floor, upon which more rocks are scattered. The rocks also line the inner circumference of the space.

The integration of space and materials into the piece is enhanced by the accidental effect of light on the “rocks”. They look like the river rocks kept in some Filipino bathrooms and used for exfoliating – panghilod – and are thus a familiar size and shape, further inviting the viewer to explore, touch, and play.

The Patrons

There is a sense of freedom in the upper floors lacking in the first floor and lobby. Visitors to the museum feel free to sit, squat, and lie down to take photographs and experience the art. This interaction allows viewers to become one with the art and absorb its meaning and beauty in a personal way.

This may have been inadvertent, but it is a happy effect for all that, enhancing one’s experience at the museum, and ensuring that one will return again and again to enjoy the carefully chosen art for the special exhibits, and revisit the permament treasures that the Yuchengco family is so generously sharing with the world.

Click on a picture, then click again to see a full-size image.

taste more:

This article is the third in a series of research studies about Philippine communication environments. See Part 1 for an introduction to the topic of the communication environment and its relationship to culture. Read Part 2 to know more.

As part of the requirements for our Communication Environment PhD class, I took my professor and classmates to the horse races.

Santa Ana Park: A Day at the Races

January 6, 2009 was a monumental day for Philippine horseracing fans.  It was the day the first races were held at the new Santa Ana Park in Naic, Cavite. While the new place is extensive and spacious, capable of holding the sport’s growing number of racehorses, many miss the old venue once located in Makati City, close to the boundary of Manila.

The old Santa Ana Park was built in 1937 in the Art Deco style popular at the time. Among its contemporaries in architecture were the Manila Jockey Club’s San Lazaro Hippodrome in Sta. Cruz, Manila, and the Jai Alai building along Taft Avenue, both torn down some years ago to make way for modern edifices; and the Philippine Charity Sweepstakes Office building, formerly the Quezon Institute, which the Department of Public Works and Highways has ordered demolished due to structural unsoundness.

In the case of horseracing, the buildings go, but the sport stays. It is flourishing at the new site in Naic chosen by the Philippine Racing Club.

The Architecture

The new track at Naic covers around 70 hectares, nearly three times as large as the 25-hectare facility at Makati. The old venue was cramped, unable to accommodate the horses enthusiastic players were breeding and buying, resulting in stables being built nearly on top of one another, affecting the horses’ health. Today there are clean stables arranged behind the far turn and home turn (the red roofs in picture above), with hotwalking areas inside each stable and easy access to the track for morning workouts and races.

The grandstand is of modest size compared to the old ones at Makati, but then the number of visitors here is not expected to be as high as at the old place, where track attendance was booming especially during big racing festivals and stakes race days.

The place is tall and white, looking very clean against the blue sky. Painting the edifice white connotes not only cleanliness but also purity; on a semiotic level, it could be seen as an attempt to ‘whitewash’ the sport, which suffers a degree of stigma in mainstream Philippine society because of its wagering aspect.

With lots of open seating, there’s a feeling of airiness and freedom. Leeway is given to patrons to walk all the way up to the plants edging the rail of the parade ground, which is just several feet away from the track itself. During mile races, the starting gate is right in front of the finish line, in full view from the parade ground allowing close scrutiny of the warm-up, loading, and jump-out.

The rest of the building is nondescript, with VIP rooms on the third floor, huge green-tinted glass windows overlooking the track, while the fourth floor houses racing officials – race stewards, judges, and racecallers. The spatial orientation of the building forces everyone to face towards the track and observe the activity there, reinforcing the concept that it is the sport that is the reason for the facility’s existence and the racing community’s continued sustenance over time and in different places.

The Artifacts

For visitors who know nothing about the sport, the track is a sensory overload. One can barely keep up with the barrage of information that, without a framework, is often difficult to interpret and may leave people overwhelmed, unless they have a friend in the know to explain things to them. Starting gate. Rails. Finish line. Racing programs. Jockeys. Betting matrix. And so on. The language – salitang karera - is also an artifact, one unique to this milieu.

Trophies deserve special mention here. As an artifact, for owners and trainers they symbolize more than a victory gained by one horse, one rider, in one race – they are also bragging rights and a reminder of the accomplishments of their stable. For the jockey, they commemorate personal triumphs along the timeline of his life. In other words, trophies orient achievements in spatial and temporal dimensions.

The Racegoers

People travel all the way to Naic for one reason, and that is to watch races and bet on them. Thus their activities at the venue are in line with this purpose. They may be seen studying racing programs (Dividendazo, Silip sa Tiyempo, Winning Time), texting sources such as horseowners, trainers, jockeys, grooms, and tipsters for racing tips, and scribbling their ruta (betting combinations) on scraps of paper. From time to time they glance up at the many monitors that line the interior walls of the building to view the betting matrix ( a grid of numbers that show estimated dividends for betting combinations).

When the patrons are ready, they line up in front of the betting windows to place their bets, then watch the race from the viewing area beside the track or on the monitors.

The exchange of money through betting is a significant activity in this sport; economics, therefore, is very much a key concept in this context, to a greater degree than in other sports that have no formal betting element. Racegoers communicate to each other, in words and actions, their excitement and anticipation upon placing their bets, suspense while watching the race, and elation upon winning or disappointment upon loss.

Since horseracing is not a mere game of chance that relies on the turn of the card or roll of the die, as in casino gambling, but a sport that requires knowledge about a myriad factors, being able to apply analytical methods to come up with winners leads to a feeling of vindication and even smugness when one is proven right and goes to the betting window to collect dividends. Losing a bet is equated not only with the loss of money, but also with being wrong, with error. Then the tendency is to try, try again.

At the track, there is camaraderie among the patrons, of belonging to a special group – kami (us) – na taga-karera or karerista, who are not understood by sila (them) – but then that is one of the draws of the sport, the sense of the arcane and mysterious, a flavor of the forbidden.

Click on a picture, then click again to see a full-size image.

taste more:

This article is the second in a series of research studies about Philippine communication environments. See Part 1 for an introduction to the topic of the communication environment and its relationship to culture.

For his field trip requirement for our Communication Environment class in the second semester of 2010, College of St. Benilde’s Professor Rod Rivera revealed to us a nearly forgotten venue for films.

Quiapo’s Adult Theaters: Exposing the Underbelly of Philippine Cinema

From the premiere shopping area of prewar times to the 1950s, Quiapo has declined into a melange of depressed stores selling cheap merchandise. Here one browses for new and used goods on dusty shelves, rubbing elbows with working folk seeking bargains and the dressed-down middle class rooting out new-old stock items for collections and vintage gems like vinyl records and ukay clothes.

The surroundings are grim and depressing. Yet it is a vibrant and thriving hub of buying and selling, of coming and going.

Somewhere in this maelstrom of commerce  are the decayed remnants of a once-thriving entertainment center – the cinemas of Manila.

The  Architecture

The old movie theaters in this area have seen their glory days come and go. Many, judging from the style of architecture, date back to the 1950s and ’60s. To pull in the pesos and keep financially afloat, they screen R-rated movies that border on the X.

The facades,though dingy, are colorful, trying to attract with hand-lettered banners, printed promotional posters, and old-fashioned painted billboards. The latter are a surprise; I didn’t know they are still being made, as they are laborious to make and the art died out when the technology for computer-printed tarpaulins became more cost-effective.

One theater was tucked into a crumbling building. To reach it, one must walk a narrow passageway, subject to the scrutiny of people outside and inside the place. Thus, watching a film there involves making a conscious decision exposed to the public eye.

Along the entryway was a girlie bar, the photographs of its dancers displayed on a garishly-lit notice board.

“Like attracts like”, it’s been said, and that is true of this environment, where forms of carnal entertainment, from the physical to the celluloid versions are housed together in one building.

We ended up buying tickets to watch a film at Vista Cinema, a fairly decent place considering what the others looked like. The prices are not too far off those charged in malls, yet still less expensive by twenty or thirty pesos. By this tactic the owners hope to draw in people who might otherwise patronize the bigger chain cinemas.

The Theater-Goers

As befits the surroundings, the clientele are those looking for cheap thrills in the afternoon, or a quiet snooze in an dark, airconditioned cave. From what I could see in the flickering light, they were all men. It was quiet inside; no babies whining, no teenagers laughing. The silence was broken only by the drone of the film’s soundtrack, the hum of the airconditioner, and an occasional soft snore. It was a place for titillation, but also for relaxation – at least while we were there.

The Artifacts

The posters displayed outside the theater (see gallery pictures) bore the conventional double-entendre one-word titles reserved for what were called “bold” or “bomba” films – “Booking”, “Binyag”, “Pitas”. Most of them were indie-produced. Surprisingly, the film we saw was well-acted and well-written, the narrative rife with riveting twists and turns, for all that it was a formulaic tearjerker, with dark elements of poverty and homosexuality and death. Heterosexual lovemaking scenes were inserted almost at random, to satisfy the urges of its target audience. Were they edited out, the film could have been shown in any chain moviehouse.

Yet it is precisely the carnal content that keeps films like these confined to screenings in cold dark caverns like these in the heart of the city, ironically trapped by that which makes them profitable.

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After an afternoon of art spent at the Yuchengco Museum at RCBC Plaza, my classmates, professor, and I crossed Buendia Avenue to The Columns condominium in search of food.

We looked at a pizza place, a deli, a Starbucks. Our professor, Dr Joey Lacson, said, “Let’s try the Indian place, neh?”

Which is how we wound up at New Bombay, eager to try their “authentic Indian cuisine”.

Nearly everything on the menu was unfamiliar – paneer? roti? masala? I ended up ordering the empanada-like vegetable samosas – pastry cases stuffed with spicy mashed potatoes – accompanied by green coriander chutney. To balance the tanginess, I had a tall glass of cool and tart mango lassi.

My friends had paneer (cottage cheese and spices and sauce), along with breaded vegetable cutlets (like samosas but without the crust), chicken masala, and two kinds of unleavened bread - roti (thin) and chappati (thick).

Paneer – chunks of homemade cottage cheese with tomatoes.

These tear-drop shaped vegetable cutlets will make you smile with joy. Served with coriander chutney and something that tasted like barbecue sauce.

Chicken masala – tender and juicy.

Indian food is highly spiced. Its flavors set your tastebuds aflame and craving for more. The textures are lush and gorgeous, inviting you to convey the food to your mouth with your hands, making eating a sensual, intimate experience.

Rod called this the “pizza pipino”.

Roti – thick and chewy.

Despite the spices, since everything we ordered was vegetarian, the food was light while still being filling. No heavy oils are used in cooking, making for a clean and refreshing gustatory experience.

Chapatti – flat and flavorful.

Vegetable cutlets, pizza pipino (not its real name), and spinach paneer, fantastic with roti and chapatti.

New Bombay has branches at The Columns, Ayala corner Buendia Avenues; Glorietta 3, Ayala Center, Makati; and 5/F The Podium, ADB Avenue, Ortigaas Center, Mandaluyong.

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This article starts a series of research studies about Philippine communication environments.

I had seen its carved facade before, on a trip with fellow fountain pen collectors to look for pens in the wilds of downtown Manila. A drive-by along that street left me intrigued. I had no idea then that a year later, I would discover the wonder of the temple’s glittering, golden interior.

In this semester’s PhD Communication Environment class at the University of the Philippines College of Mass Communication, our professor, Dr. Joey Lacson, said that it was best for us to learn about communication in different environments by actually visiting them. He and each of us students had to take the rest of the class to a place the others hadn’t visited before.

For her trip, Nina Villena chose to take us to Seng Guan temple in the heart of Binondo – a serendipitous random happenstance that opened my eyes and mind to a different side of my Manila.

From the outside, the temple looks like a hodgepodge of buildings that have sprouted in haphazard fashion through the years. But look closer to discover the wonderful things that abound inside.

The Communication Environment

Communication is, quite simply, the sharing of meaning. It always occurs within context, and this context is rooted in the environment. A person may use varying communication styles depending where she might be – for instance, she may use more formal and academic language while in class, and shift to a more informal way of speaking when with friends or at home.

The environment also conveys information that a person will organize and interpret to derive meaning. The semiotic model helps explain this process by conceiving data as a set of signs that bring up corresponding concepts in the mind. Signs may then be arranged into codes. Languages are examples of complex codes.

Non-verbal signs, touch (haptics), artifacts, and even space and distance (proxemics) may also be   part of a code that will impart meanings within a system of interrelated message senders and receivers.

A system cannot survive without its environment. An environment is active, and this activity creates further impact on the system. Since humans are always immersed in an environment, this reinforces the truism that it is impossible for people not to engage in communication wherever they may be.

Communication and Culture

Culture is “the complex collection of knowledge, folklore, language, rules, rituals, habits, lifestyles, attitudes, beliefs, and customs that link and give a common identity to a particular group of people at a specific point in time.” These elements that comprise a culture are constructed by society, meaning that negotiation takes place between the members of that society regarding the meanings attached to these elements until agreement is reached.

The relationship between communication and culture is complex and intertwined. Cultural elements, taken as artifacts along with their constructed meanings, form the communication environment. These artifacts may also be considered as “text”, the ‘what’ of communication that is observed and subjected to textual analysis so that the ‘how’ and ‘why’ of communication may be understood.

Consequently, any part of an environment may be studied as an artifact in order to derive and interpret meaning from it – meaning that can help the observer understand the context he is in, and guide his actions and responses within that environment.

Seng  Guan Temple: A Trove of Cross-Cultural Communication

The temple, established in 1936, espouses the Mahayana style of Buddhism, specifically that of the Pure Land sect. Part of the sect’s belief system is that nirvana (cessation of existence), the ultimate goal after countless cycles of life,  is no longer achievable during modern times, but that a way to heaven (the “Pure Land”) may still be achieved by good works and endlessly chanting the name of the Buddha – “Amitabha, Amitabha.”

The Architecture

The facade of the entrance is ornately carved in a style that is distinctly Chinese, exotic to eyes not exposed to the culture. There is no gate. The lack of a barrier at the entrance projects an aura of welcome reaches out to visitors and draws them in. Just within the entrance, a jolly Maitreya Buddha greets worshippers and visitors with a smile.

A stone lion, one of a pair, stands guard in front of the Buddha statue. The carving is deep and ornate, the subject a ‘cute’ mythological creature, inviting you to run your fingers over the runnels and recesses in the stone, and reach for the ball in the lion’s mouth. Again it is an artifact that beckons one to enter, approach, and touch.

Mr. Carlos Tan, who works at the temple, offered to be our tour guide and showed us around. Practically nothing was off limits; one feels a deep sense of acceptance for and tolerance of visitors, something that one does not readily experience in churches of other faiths. Although it is not stated directly, the license to explore comes with a common-sense caveat: the temple is a place of worship, and as such a visitor must conduct himself with proper respect for the place and its purpose.

The halls are wide and expansive, with high ceilings and spaces that entice one to roam around. Having an expanse of space is made possible by the practice of not providing seats for worshippers, only red-upholstered kneelers that are tucked away in small storage rooms on off-days.

The interior of the ground floor, with three Buddha images flanked by fresh and faux flowers and offerings of fruit.

The hall on the second floor is even grander, decorated with carvings depicting scenes from the life of Sakyamuni (Gautama) Buddha. The statues are made of silk mache and are hollow. Everywhere, one sees the glint of gold and the vibrancy of red, colors that signify prosperity and happiness.

Largest and grandest of all is this hall just off the second level. It is airconditioned on days when services are held. The Buddha statues here are large and dominant, matching the scale of the room, meant to inspire awe and reverence.

The Artifacts

Inside the temple are many things that are unfamiliar to non-Buddhists but, taken in context, are obviously ritual items. There was a drum that a saffron-robed monk beat in time to the chanting of other monks and worshippers. There was a red book with gold Chinese characters stamped on its cover (sutras?). There was a stick-like object that rested on the books, something that looked like a fan or a paddle, cymbals through which yellow scarves were knotted, and cinnabar-red squat carved figures beside which were padded sticks. Were the figures struck with the sticks?

I deliberately refrained from asking Mr. Tan, preferring to experience the environment as an observer, and trying to derive meaning from what was familiar, and gauging the extent of the unfamiliar. In this instance, much was an unknown quantity.

There were always offertory tables positioned in front of the images. The tables are heavily carved, some gilded as well. The tables bear offerings of fruit and flowers, because according to Buddhist tenets, “Only vegetarian offerings are allowed,” said Mr. Tan.

The Worshippers

Through observing their stance and actions in context, it can be seen how worshippers convey their sense of faith and participate in the rituals of their religion. Two women knelt in front of the Maitreya Buddha’s image holding incense sticks and waving them while chanting Buddha’s name. At the same time, at the second floor hall, monks held a service for a deceased man. The relatives were all clad in white, their culture’s color of mourning. Since no seats are provided, worshippers either kneel or stand and chant along with the monks.

The chanting was atonal, in a language I was unfamiliar with (Chinese, presumably), and sounded utterly alien to my ears. For that reason I found it fascinating; language is not an insurmountable barrier to understanding, because all that is required is a translation. On that initial exposure, the impression I obtained from the chanting was a sense of immense antiquity, that these words had been sung in this manner for centuries, the ritual kept alive by devotion and strict adherence to tradition.

Off that hall was a room where the dead man’s picture was displayed. Red marks pocked the picture “so he can breathe,” someone explained. On an offertory table were sweetmeats in covered glass dishes and plenty of fruit. Red lamps were lit. Just outside that room, people rolled paper into the boat shape of ancient Chinese currency, paper money for the dead to use in the afterlife.

Paper printed with gold Chinese characters, rolled into the proper shape, symbolize money for use in the afterlife. To show respect for the deceased, sacks upon sacks of these are laboriously prepared.

After the service, the portraits are moved to the ancestor worship hall on the ground floor, to be displayed beside the pictures of deceased persons whose relatives are waiting for a memorial service to be held in their behalf. Offerings of canned fruit are arranged in front of them – fruit cocktail, peaches, lychees. Chinese are practical; fresh fruit, they say, will spoil.

A woman lights joss sticks that she places in a large bronze urn, one of several placed in each of the temple’s many halls. The air in the temple is fogged with the heavy fragrance of incense carrying prayers to Buddha.

Inside the ancestor hall are serried rows of shrines that carried pictures of the deceased. Some are ‘double’ shrines for couples. A picture placed in the shrine frame denotes that the person was deceased; a plain red backing, that the person the shrine is reserved for is still alive. A fee is charged by the temple for the storage of the shrines – the more prominent the position, the higher the fee. It costs around one hundred thousand pesos for a central location for a shrine.

From time to time, people entered the hall, knelt before the shrines, said a prayer or meditated, and lit joss sticks before leaving.

Mr Tan also showed us pairs of red, kidney-shaped wooden blocks used in divination, a practice that dates back to China’s prehistory, when animal entrails were used to predict the future and reveal answers to questions. One throws the blocks up in the air; depending on how they fall, the answer to the devotee’s query is either ‘yes’ or ‘no’.

He often used the Tagalog word misa – as in Catholic Mass – to refer to their services. It may be the word actually used by Filipino Buddhists, or it may have been his way of making concepts easy for non-Buddhists to understand.

Overall, though I could not interpret a great deal of the information I was picking up from my surroundings, I understood enough and connected it with previously-read or gleaned facts and materials that enriched my appreciation of this particular environment.

I came away refreshed in spirit by the aura of peace and tranquility permeating every fragrant corner of the temple, fascinated by its art and history, and above all deeply appreciative of the warm welcome and acceptance extended by Mr. Tan and the others at the temple.

The Seng Guan Temple is along Narra Street, near Jose Abad Santos Street, Manila.

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