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OOOOOOOOOPPPPPPPPPPSSSSSSSSS........

the picture shows frontal nudity. for MATURE and INTELLECTUAL discussions only.

this is too much! I've been too forgiving about the Kulo issue, but this one crossed the line!! this is no art! this is pure blasphemy and work of darkness!!!

no matter how I try to decipher the symbolism hidden on this crap (well, this is not even a pic), nothing fills my mind!

im not saying that I worship images though coz that would be an idolatry. i mean, we have images and pictures which remind us of Biblical personages and im sure majority know who is being depicted in the trash above.

the lame psycho who made this is shouting to the world that there is no God. that there is no Creator. to not believe in Jesus Christ!

may we all respect each others belief and faith and that sure excludes desecration, blasphemy and disrespect.

Play Production: The House of Bernarda Alba - A Review

     

           

     LOL… I never imagined that I’ll end up writing a review on The House of Bernarda Alba, a week-long play produced and acted by the junior BSEd students! Honestly, I had no plan to watch it at the AVR. I thought it would be just like an ordinary high school tableau enthusiastically but lamely performed in order to get a grade in a Filipino subject. :D   

     Though I knew that it was directed by Sir Manrico “Bong” Embile, a well-acclaimed theatre actor, I still had reservations. C’mon, let’s be candid. The 50-peso charge was frightening, wasn’t it? Haha. That would explain why I watched not on the pilot performance on October 3, Monday nor on Tuesday!

     I saw the play on its third day and here’s why I changed my mind. While I was looking at the appealing (and tempting!), creepy-Spanish-nun-inspired tarp of the play’s ad, I overheard some students saying that they “also” overheard some students (lol) telling that the presentation was remarkable! “Oh?” was my initial reaction. I got curious!!!

     Some comments on fb and texts from friends affirmed that the play was exceptional. It got me even more excited! So, I watched the theatrical production the following day. Would you believe, a nega like me ended up spending 100 pesos for the play? Yes, I watched it two times! As in T-W-I-C-E!!!

     On my first time, I paid for the ticket half-heartedly (I wanted to give a donation rather since there was a donation box outside for those who are too frugal like me. Haha=). However, my experience inside caught me unguarded! While waiting for the play to start, the audience was relaxed by the soothing theatrical music and were transported to Spain by the white, old Hispanic-house stage décor (actually, only the interior was shown). Too good for setting the mood!

Quick Overview

     The story revolves around Bernarda Alba, a widow in her 60’s; her five daughters, namely: Angustias (39), Magdalena (30), Amelia (27), Martirio (24), and Adela (20); her housekeeper La Poncia (60); a maidservant (50); and Bernarda’s elderly mother Maria Josefa (80s) who live in a remote village in Spain.

     The drama opens with the maidservant thoroughly cleaning the floor when La Poncia entered. The latter talks about the funeral of Bernarda’s husband and how she hates her señora. When La Pocia leaves the scene, the maidservant cries and embraces her señor’s photo frame denoting that they had an illegal affair.

      Bernarda Alba and her five daughters, with a small number of women mourners, arrive in their black dress and veil. A mourning that would last eight years is imposed as a tradition in the household. After a few ritual, a tension arises. Angustias, the eldest daughter, enters after the visitors have left. This angers Bernarda since she is not present while the guests were there.

     Angustias inherits a small amount of money from her biological father and a larger sum from her mother’s second husband. Because of this, she attracts suitors including the young and handsome Pepe el Romano. Jealousy comes up among the sisters.

     Meanwhile, the youngest daughter Adela disobeys her mother’s command to wear only black dress; instead, she appears jubilant in her green dress. Her happiness however immediately breaks when she learns that Pepe el Romano is bound to Angustias. Martirio, who also has feeling for Pepe bides her to stop what she’s doing.

     In another scene, a commotion erupts when Bernarda sees Angustias in her purple dress and makeup. The dominating mother then fiercely erases the makeup from her daughter; and she uses the handle of the walking stick, which she always carries with her, to draw Angustias closer. Shortly after, Maria Josefa, who is locked up in her room, escapes from the maidservant and enters to where the chaos is happening. She is dressed in a wedding gown and fantasizes that she wants to marry. Bernarda orders her daughters and the housekeepers to lock her mother up in her room.

     When everyone is quiet in the middle of the night, Adela secretly goes out, apparently to meet Pepe el Romano. Meanwhile, Maria Josefa frees again from her “dungeon”, singing carelessly, roving around the house as if her fantasy is fulfilled. Martirio, who wakes up from sleep, leads her back to her room. When she is about to return to her bed, she sees Adela entering the house. Caught unguarded, Adela tries to make alibis to no gain. Their fight awakens the rest of the family. The straws found on Adela’s clothes unearth her illicit relationship with Pepe.

     Furious, Bernarda gets her gun and chases Pepe outside. The loud gunshots make Adela and others inside the house believe that the man is dead; but, he’s not. Adela enters her room and hangs herself. Everyone is devastated including Bernarda. She announces that her younger daughter died a virgin. The performance ends with the women pointing their fingers at Bernarda Alba.

Themes and Symbols

     Playwright Federico Garcia Lorca himself described the play as a drama of women in the villages of Spain. Indeed, The House of Bernarda Alba is all about women as shown in the intentional exclusion of male characters in the scenes (Pepe el Romano is talked about by the characters but he never appears on stage). It can therefore be viewed through feminism and psychoanalysis.

     The rules and restriction imposed upon the characters show that women are marginalized, stereotyped and exploited – having no enough social freedom and ascendancy – since Bernarda Alba, a woman who is conscious about what her neighbors would say, depicts the dictate and norm of the society. Her cane represents authority and power. At the near end of the play, Adela breaks her mother’s cane which illustrates women empowerment.

     The presence of hushes which happen several times, accompanied by an action to stop from talking whenever a character says something vulgar, offensive or even true, reveal that women in general have no “say”.

     Furthermore, Maria Josefa gives picture of women who are discriminated, whose wishes and fantasies are just kept to themselves. Her escape from her room in the night and the fulfillment of her fantasy to be married that lead to her happiness demonstrate women’s escape from repression.

     Repressed sexual desires is also apparent. The main object of conflict, Pepe, gives rise to sexual tension among the daughters. When Adela for instance is caught by Poncia when she is about to meet her lover, she explains that she is just thirsty and will get some water. “Thirst” could be referred to as a symbol of her repressed desires. Also, the “heat” of the atmosphere, dealt by fans and lemonade, not only implies Bernarda’s power but sexual desires as well.

    

The Performance

     Sir Bong did direct the play well. In fact, it was beyond what I expected. The blocking was choreographed perfectly as I could always see all the characters on stage effortlessly. Since I watched it two times, I noticed the consistency of the acts especially the “fight” scenes (like when Bernarda hit Angustias and when Adela argued with Martirio).

     The costume and props were also commendable. It surely made the play different from nonsensical tableaus back in high school! I was almost tricked by the stage and thought it was a real interior taken out of a house. Need not to mention, the array of elegant, black dresses was captivating (did they hire Rajo Laurel perhaps?)! The black-in-white photo in the frame, the old-fashioned mantle and curtains and the antique sewing machine all added to the traditional flavor of the play.  It was indeed believable, so to speak.

     But the most surprising for me was the performance of the characters. Since they are my classmates in some subject (and that’s what BSEd and ABLLT have in common), I saw the other side of them. They were all superb! My mouth dropped open as they flawlessly threw their long, exhausting lines. What a memory!

     Their final performance on October 7 made me admire them the more. Despite the absence of sound effects (because it was brownout. thanks, NORSAMELCO!!!), the play still went out to be the best. The barking of dogs (which however became puppies lol) and the whining of horses were all human voice. They were resourceful in every aspect.

     I was in fact more touched during my second time especially at the last scene when the entire household grieved over Adela’s fate while Maria Josefa, locked in her room, sang in lieu of a dramatic stinger! Who would not cry with Bernarda Alba as she showed remorse over what had happened to her supposedly perfect family?! Gracefully executed!

     How I wish more people patronized the play and that it is still on going up to this day. Kudos to all the group behind The House of Bernarda Alba!

Backride

     

     

  

     When it rains so hard, the tricycle queue in CATODA barely moves. But, it is not due to scarcity of commuters. No one wants to ride at the back.
      This morning was annoying. I was about to hop in the second tricycle in line when the driver beckoned me. In a flash, I found myself, with another ‘backrider’, struggling.

    There are different kinds of tricycle in town. Not uncommon are the jeep-type (named so because passengers are seated face-to-face); the tuktuk ( a Thai name, which I prefer to call maskrider) which is the longest among its types where eight persons can fill in aside from two others at the driver’s sides; and of course, the oldest and conventional style – the one with a seat at the driver’s back.

     I have nothing against the traditional kind except on rainy days. Regardless of the driver’s effort to protect me from being wet – with all the plastic cover or cloth – I still end up drenched. Drop by drop.

     I also examine if the sludge splatters on my pants. Thanks if there is a shield against the rubbish splash created by the innocent tires. But the security of my pants doesn’t stop there. I still have to pray that no speedy vehicles would overtake us so I can ride off clean.

      I cannot blame the drivers though. It is the dictate of our society that it is more tolerable for a man to sit at the back than for a woman. And so, a man who tries to appear manly enough would accept the offer despite the agony that he would feel en route to his destination.

      Whenever I’m in such situation, I oft murmur to myself that the circumstance is unjust. Sexism is just a state of mind. I also pay ten pesos as what other passengers who are comfortably sitting inside are paying. We all pay the same price irrespective of our sexes.

     Such difficult position, I think, is as irrational as the disproportionateness between oil price hikes and rollbacks. Oil price hastily increases but gradually rolls back without hitting the base. The cycle continues. Drop by drop.

     I can still recall when the fare was yet seven pesos. It increased to ten pesos when the route was redirected to diversion road. But when the Bangkerohan Bridge reopened, the price remained. Gasoline is pricey, drivers would say.

     We deserve to be dry and clean but we more deserve reasonable charge. I only fear that when the diesel strikes high once more (as it always does), fare would tower again. The pain and torment would not only be felt by the back-rider but also by the passengers who are inside the comfy seats of the tricycle – whether it is jeep-type, tuktuk or the usual kind.
      From ten pesos, how much would it cost by then?

Unsung Magicians

      In one of my classes, we discussed that teachers are the collective conscience of the nation. We also conversed that they are the best influence for good since that they constitute a large number of workforce. True, I said to myself. Teachers are everywhere. As such, their power in the society is unfathomably great!
      I instantaneously remembered the universal axiom “unsung heroes” which is always attached to them. The service they render is beyond measure. In fact, they do more even with less remuneration, salary and earnings. How admirable!  I want to be like them, said I again.

 

 

      On another occasion, I heard a group of students talking. Unfortunately, their conversation was clear to me while I was waiting for my turn at the peanut stand. I guessed they were classmates, if not close friends, because they were all in P.E. uniform. They were complaining about their instructor in a certain subject. A gay among them cursed that teacher which caused them to laugh very offensively. They also talked about some teachers whom they liked. They weighed one against the other. I didn’t realize that I was heading the same direction with them. Inside the tricycle, I barely heard their endless chit-chats. From time to time they hooted. They cursed. They protested. One thing I was sure of: it was all about their teachers.
    The world is never ideal, I reflected. There are always exceptions to the rule! Just like teachers. The world agrees that they are heroes; nonetheless, some of them ought not to be called as such. By and large, I still believe the first even though I myself have seen, heard of, and been with teachers who took advantage of their profession.
     I couldn’t blame those P.E. students if they acted that way. It’s real hard to have a teacher who suddenly appears and mysteriously disappears; who tricks requirements and invents assignments; and whose formula’s unknown in making a potion of grades. Magical indeed. It then becomes a game of luck on the part of the students. But, that luck is ambiguous. You only have a little chance to learn and a tiny possibility to get a good grade from a teacher who practices black magic.
    Either you get a high or a low mark is not an issue (at least, for some). What matters is the example of them, our supposed model. Imagine those teachers who are centers of criticisms because of their irresponsibility and laziness. They are but a disgrace to the highly looked up institution where they should not belong.
     Coincidentally, I got an illumination on this social enigma in another education class. My professor said that some teachers did not sign their psychological contract before they served. That is to say, they did not pledge in their hearts to be the kind of educator the society expects them to be.
     Thus far, I am grateful enough that though many profess wizardry and magic in the academe, they are still outnumbered by upright and responsible mentors.

When Everything Left is Fear

      
      He uncapped the plastic bottle, squeezed it, and then placed a small amount of hair-styling gel on his left palm. He rubbed his palms awhile and thoroughly applied the “greasy thing” on his hair which was trimmed a week before the Valentine’s Day. His hand searched for his small, camouflage comb and found it at the back of his pant’s seam. Stylishly, he stroked the comb against his hair to form spikes and waves. He bent to reach for the mirror he fortunately found at the abandoned repair shop nearby.

     “Wow!” Lito blurted out in adoration. He looked too good which made him proud and delighted. His girlfriend Maggie called earlier that morning. “Babe,” she said softly, “my parents are out for a business trip.” Maggie sighed heavily before she continued, “Would you please come home?”

     Startled by the unexpected call, Lito still managed to say, “Sure Babe, I’ll come.” It has been a month, he thought. There was something wrong. He noticed the coldness of her voice, or at least, it seemed so to him. He immediately threw the idea away when something tickled his broad imagination.Her parents are out and she’s… alone! A current of excitement ran through him and his lips curved into a smile.

    

     Lito put the plastic bottle in the wooden drawer and kept the comb inside his pocket. His face was as bright as the azure sky when he descended the three-step bamboo ladder. Before getting any further, an old, husky voice of his father chased him. “Be here before dusk. Your mother will need you.”  I will, he said to himself in an almost programmed manner. I can’t do otherwise, he added exactly when a rusty maroon tricycle approached him.

     Manuelito was a  junior Civil Engineering student in a local university. His parents strived day and night just to support their seven children – especially his studies. Being the eldest, much was expected of him. “Focus on your studies, Lito,” his strict, belligerent father would always remind him. Everyone was counting on him. Sometimes he had to gasp deeply to release the pressure he felt. He did well in class and aimed what his parents hoped him to be. In fact, his classmates teased him a “geek”. A Math geek, to be exact.  There were no problems in either Algebra or Calculus impossible for him to solve. He was determined to be a Civil Engineer.

     Though determined, Lito was also a young man. He was naturally insecure of everything: his bag, shoes, girlfriend and even his real name! “Manuelito” had been his irritation because it sounds like “little Manuel” so as Carlito, Juanito, Predrito and etcetera as long as it ends in I-T-O. He saved money to buy what everyone had. He was always on the trend despite of financial insufficiency. Iphone…converse shoes…signature clothes…astig! No doubt Maggie, a prominent Nursing coed, became his girlfriend ever since they were freshman in college.

     The unexpected brake of the tricycle awakened him. He fell asleep in his trip en route to San Jose. He didn’t notice the sudden change of the weather. A storm was coming. Lito handed his fare to the driver and headed towards Maggie’s house at the far end of the subdivision. True to her words, no one was around. He got excited. His heart pounded rapidly. He presumed that her girlfriend wanted another round! Maggie uneasily opened the door and led him to the living room. Hesitantly, she said, “It has been a month, Lito.” Lito smiled and made a few nods in agreement. He blushed.

    It has been a month since they had first intimate intercourse. It was Valentine’s Day when he surprised her with a chocolate cake he had been saving for. They were happy together, totally unaware of the perils of privacy. He purposely coaxed her which Maggie, to his great surprise, accepted voluntarily. Her parents were out…

    Lito noticed that there was no sign of her energy to chit-chat as she used to. Maggie sobbed and burst out with tears. “I’m afraid I’m pregnant, Lito!” His mouth dropped open in disbelief. It was not part of his plans – yet. Not this time!  Exasperated, he led her to the bathroom to do the pregnancy test. They needed to be sure. He got panicked outside while Maggie carefully examined the result. Her eyes widened…two lines…positive! Her knees trembled…

     Lito found her lying on the floor. He once and for all searched for the tube and looked at the result. His eyes widened. He knew it! Two lines…positive! There had a great recapitulation in his broad imagination. He could not just throw the idea away! It now gripped him rather than tickled! Focus on your studies Lito… you are our hope son… I’m afraid I’m pregnant Lito… my father will kill us…

      He was fazed! His knees trembled terribly… Soon after, they were both found lying on the floor.